'That is not what I wish, my lord,' she told him.
'Your wishes are of no consequence.' His sword came up and Karis raised her arm.
Duvodas had not eaten or slept for five days, yet there was no sensation of hunger or weariness. Nor did he feel the biting wind from the north, nor the heat of the midday sun as he crossed the mountains and descended into the verdant valleys below.
There was no sensation for him, and his mind was empty of all emotion - save one: the burning need to wreak revenge upon the Daroth. His clothes were filthy and mud-spattered, his blond hair greasy and lank as he moved through the darkness towards the domed city. No Daroth riders were in sight as he walked in the moonlight, and he made no attempt to move stealthily.
For two days now he had been aware that the land below his feet was devoid of magic. It did not matter, for sorcery, dark and terrible, coursed through his veins - feeding him, driving him on. The power within did not lessen; instead it seemed to grow with every step he took towards the city.
There were no walls. The Daroth, in their arrogance, did not believe that an enemy would come this close.
Had there been walls, Duvodas would have broken them. Had there been gates, he would have torn them asunder. He paused for the first time in five days and stood, staring at the moonlit city. An owl swooped above him, and a small fox scuttled away into the undergrowth to his right.
Sitting down on the ground, he let fall the two shoulder-bags he carried. The canvas sack slid several feet down the gentle slope and the Eldarin Pearl rolled clear, moonlight shimmering on its surface. Duvodas blinked, and a tiny needle of regret pricked his soul. He remembered Ranaloth warning him of the perils of love, and he knew now what the old Eldarin had meant. Like light and shadow, love and hate were inseparable. One could not exist without the other. Rising he gathered the sack and reached for the Pearl. But as his hand touched the milky surface, he recoiled in pain and stared at his palm. Blisters had formed there, the skin burnt by the contact. Carefully covering the orb with the sack, he eased it back into place.
'What have you become that you cannot touch it?' he asked himself.
The answer was all too obvious. Duvodas returned his stare to the city, and thought again of his plan. It seemed awesome now in its evil. Shira's beautiful face swam before his eyes, and he saw her once more lifted on the Daroth spear, the life torn from her. His resolution hardened.
'You who bring death and despair to the world deserve no mercy,' he told the distant city. 'You who live for destruction and pain deserve no life.'
By what right do you judge them?
The thought sprang unbidden, as if whispered on the wind.
'By the right of power, and the needs of vengeance,' he answered.
Does that not make you as evil as the Daroth?
'Indeed it does.'
Looping his bags over his shoulder, he walked on. There were no sentries, and he passed the first buildings without incident.
Then a Daroth moved into sight, carrying two buckets on a yoke across his shoulders. His black eyes fastened on the human. Duvodas pointed a finger and the Daroth died, his body crumbling to the ground with steam erupting from his eyes, ears and mouth. Duvodas did not even see him fall. On he walked through the night-shrouded city, searching for signs of his intended destination. Three times more he slew unsuspecting Daroth who stumbled across him. He had expected more of them to be on the streets, but the night was cold and the vast majority of the city-dwellers remained snug in their domed homes.
Duvodas saw twin towers in the distance, smoke drifting from them, and steadily he made his way towards them. Closer now, and he could feel the pulsing of life from the caverns deep in the ground. Ahead was a huge dome, where two sentries stood before the doors. Levelling their spears, they approached him.
He felt their feeble attempts to read his thoughts. This he allowed. 'I have come to destroy you and all your people.'
'Impossible, human. We are immortal!'
'You are doomed!' They rushed him then, but twin blasts of fire speared from his fingers, piercing their bodies and burning huge holes in the wall of the building behind them. Duvodas walked to the great doors and pushed them open. Within was a circular hall, and a vast empty table. Pulling shut the door he searched for a stairwell, finding it at the rear of the chamber. Behind him he could hear the city-dwellers running from their homes, a huge mob racing to stop him.
He did not increase his speed. Opening his thoughts, he reached out, feeling the panic in the minds of the Daroth. 'I am vengeance,' he told them. 'I am death.' The steps were shallow, and wound down deep below the city; there were no lanterns here, and the darkness was total. But Duvodas raised his hand, and his palm began to glow with a fierce white light. Down and down he moved, descending to a wide corridor and a second stairwell. The heat here was intense. Pausing, he knelt and touched the floor. The stone was warm, and he could feel hot air blowing against his skin. His glowing hand illuminated an air vent close to the wall.
Ahead was a wide entrance in the rock, blocked by a huge steel portcullis. Duvodas reached out and touched it and it began to glow - faintly red at first, then brighter and brighter. The centre sagged and melted away, smoke and steam hissing up from the floor as rivulets of molten metal swirled around his feet. He was about to enter the cavern beyond when he heard the sounds of booted feet upon the stairs behind him. Spinning, he threw out his hand.
The first two Daroth warriors ran into sight; both burst into flames.
The pulsing of new life was almost overpowering now as Duvodas strode into the massive chamber.
More than 600 paces long, and at least 200 wide, it was filled with thousands of yellow and black pods - huge cocoons, many of them throbbing and writhing.
The Daroth were indeed immortal. Twice in every generation they were reborn through these pods.
And that, as Sirano had known, was their greatest weakness. That is why they feared coexistence - for should an enemy ever reach where he had reached, their immortality would be lost. A human had but one life to lose, and that was hard enough. But to lose eternity . . . ? The fear was colossal.
He could feel it now in the panic of the Daroth as they surged down the stairwell behind him.
Several of the pods burst open and small, naked Daroth wriggled free. He felt the pulsing of their thoughts; two were the sentries he had despatched earlier. 'Tell me again of your immortality,' he pulsed at them.
Drawing in a deep breath, Duvodas spread out his arms. The temperature around him plummeted, ice forming intricate patterns on the walls - spreading, flowing, bright and white against the black rock.
The heat from the vents caused sleet to swirl, settling on the pods and frosting them with death.
The ice cold power of Duvo's hatred swelled out, and the nearest pods shrivelled and cracked. The three Daroth young who had emerged began to scream and writhe upon the ice-covered floor.
Duvodas began to walk the length of the immense cavern, radiating the bleakness of a savage winter with every step. Yellow-black pods cracked and burst all around him, disgorging their infant contents. The cavern echoed to their high-pitched, dying screams.
Hundreds of full-grown Daroth warriors ran into the chamber behind him. One charged at Duvodas but, as he neared, ice forming all around him, he began to slow. Desperate to save the pods, the warrior pushed on until his blood froze and he fell dead to the floor. Others hurled spears, but upon striking the walking man they shattered as if made of glass.