Dark Moon

'You think me stupid?' she asked him, her voice soft, barely above a whisper.

'I adore you, princess, but you should not be looking at love through the eyes of the frightened child you once were. Let me go and find him. I'll send him to you.' As Necklen pushed himself to his feet, Karis rose and stepped close to kiss his bearded cheek.

'I love you, old man,' she said. 'I wish you had been my father.'

'I love you too,' he said.

And, with despair in his heart, strode off to find Forin.

The sun was high in the sky as Ozhobar and Vint stood on the parapet of the north wall watching the Daroth toil. 'They have hit rock,' said Ozhobar. 'It has slowed them considerably.'

'Maybe they will not be able to pass it,' suggested the swordsman hopefully.

'They will pass it,' said Ozhobar grimly. 'Before long we will be able to hear them below us, like termites.' He switched his gaze to the soldiers on the wall; they were stern of face, and there was little conversation. The celebrations in the city had died away as the news spread of the new Daroth initiative. Already citizens had begun to report sounds underground, which they became convinced were Daroth engineers. It was hard to allay the fears, and fresh columns of refugees had already started to stream towards the south.

The smell of onion soup drifted up to them. 'I cannot stand another day of that,' said Vint. 'Join me for breakfast?'

'I thought you wanted to kill me,' Ozhobar observed.

'I also want to eat,' said Vint coldly. The two men left the ramparts and walked to a nearby tavern, where they breakfasted on eggs, bacon and beef, washed down with cider. 'Where are you from?' Vint asked the Weapon Maker.

'The islands. My father was a blacksmith and an inventor.'

'What brought you to the mainland?'

Ozhobar shrugged. 'I thought I'd travel and see the world. Thought there'd be more scope for my talents.'

'Well, you were right about that.'

'I didn't mean with weapons,' said Ozhobar sadly. 'Prentuis had a sewerage system - not a very good one, mind, but they survived the plague better than any other city. Less filth on the streets. Less disease.'

'The city doesn't exist any more,' said Vint.

'That's not the point I am trying to make. Life could be so much better for people if we weren't always fighting, using all our resources for weapons and armies. I suppose, however, that life would be exceedingly dull for you if peace ever came?'

'No, I would paint and write,' said Vint, draining the last of his cider.

'You are a painter?'

'Ah, I have surprised you,' said Vint. 'Yes, I paint. Landscapes mostly, but I have tackled portraits. I would offer to paint you, Oz, but I fear I wouldn't have a canvas large enough.'

Ozhobar laughed. 'Vint the painter and Ozhobar the sewer designer. What a pretty pair!'

'Indeed we are,' agreed Vint. 'And now, I fear, it is time for the return of the Swordsman and the Weapon Maker! Shall we tour the catacombs?'

Servants were rushing about the house packing valuables into chests and carrying them down to the two wagons drawn up outside. Miriac walked past them into the main room to find Pooris pushing papers into a leather shoulder-bag.

'What is happening?' asked Miriac.

'My dear, it is time to leave. The city is about to fall. I have had most of your clothes packed and loaded in the wagon. We set off for Hlobane within the hour.'

'I thought you had decided to stay,' she said.

'That was then,' he told her. 'Now events have overtaken my plans. The Daroth are tunnelling beneath the city as we speak.'

'And the Duke has allowed you this leave of absence?'

'I am not a bondsman,' he said curtly. 'I can go where I will. Now please look to your personal possessions and make yourself ready.'

Miriac left the little man and moved back into the hall. Stopping a servant, she told him to unload her chests and return them to the master bedroom. Pooris heard her and rushed out. 'Do not be stupid,' he said. The Daroth will have no need of courtesans, my dear - save to cook you over a charcoal pit.'

Leaning forward, she kissed the crown of his bald head. 'You go, Pooris,' she said. 'I will stay and look after your house.'

'You don't understand ...'

'I understand well enough. The Daroth are tunnelling

beneath us and you believe the city is about to fall. You wish to save yourself - that is entirely natural. Do as you think fit, Pooris. But I will remain.'

'But ... I need you.'

'No. You want me. There is a difference.' He stood very still, and she could see the confusion on his face.

Even more, she could understand the warring emotions within him. Pooris was not a coward but, like all politicians, he was a pragmatist. If the Daroth had won — which he believed they had - then it was only sensible to retreat before them. Now Miriac had presented him with a fresh dilemma. He loved her, and, as a man, wanted to protect her. He could not do this from Hlobane or Loretheli. Realistically, however, he could not do it here in Corduin either; the tiny councillor would be no match for a Daroth. 'I want you to be safe,' she told him. 'You are very dear to me. I think you have made the right decision.' She saw him relax then, as she had known he would.

Without further conversation, she went upstairs to her rooms and began to unpack the chests. She had promised Tarantio to return at dusk, and had been wondering how to break the news to Pooris. Now there was no need.

The councillor came to her an hour later, and stood in the doorway of her bedroom. 'Please come with me,' he said. 'I beg you.'

'No, dear heart.'

'I have great wealth, much of it invested in Loretheli and the islands. You would be like a queen there.'

'Go, Pooris. The Daroth may even now be riding to intercept the convoys.'

Moving forward, he kissed her cheek, then turned and ran from the room.

Miriac heard him on the stairs, then returned her gaze to the long mirror on her dressing table. 'You are a fool,' she told herself. Then she remembered the time with Tarantio, the warmth of his body upon hers.

She had thought of him every day since the curious events two years before, after the duel with Carlyn. The Duke had asked her to entertain his new champion, and she had done so to the best of her considerable abilities. It had been a wondrous night, and she had been surprised by the intensity of his virgin love-making. Then he had fled. No other word could describe it. The following morning she had tried to dismiss it from her mind, yet she could not. Investigations revealed that Tarantio had spurned the Duke's offer to become champion and instead had enlisted as a mercenary. There was no sense to it. Why would any man turn down the promise of riches and comfort for a life of hardship and premature death?

For some time she continued to ask about him. Then she met the merchant Lunder, whom Tarantio paid to invest his hard-earned silver. Through Lunder she knew where Tarantio was, and what battles he had fought in. It was a tenuous link, but a link nonetheless.

When she had gone to him last night she had hoped to find him less fabulous than in her memories, so that she could finally be rid of the torment of thinking of him. Instead she found the experience enriching, and she still felt an inner glow as she recalled his tender touch.

'I will not lose you again,' she said.

In the three days that followed, the Daroth made one half-hearted attack on the eastern gate, but were driven back by the fireballs of two catapults. Meanwhile the endless tunnelling continued. Minute by minute, Daroth engineers could be seen leaving the mouth of the tunnel bearing sacks of rock which were loaded to wagons, then ferried away out of sight. They worked ceaselessly, and always at the same pace. 'They are like machines,' said a soldier to Forin, as he and Karis observed the work. 'Do they never rest or sleep?'