Dark Moon Read Free

opening moments of the charge. Tarantio had frozen momentarily, but Dace had not. Drawing both his swords, Dace scanned the advancing line, and then charged. He did not know that Forin and Kiriel had followed him. Nor did he care. His deadly swords slashing left and right, he cut a path through the attackers, then sprinted for the darkness of the trees. Forin and Kiriel got through, though the boy took a terrible stab to the stomach. There was little moonlight, but Dace’s night vision was good and, eyes narrowed, he led them deep into the heart of the forest. Kiriel collapsed against a tree, blood soaking his shirt and leggings. Safe now, Tarantio resumed control of his body and had half-carried the boy on. Then, when Kiriel finally collapsed, Forin had lifted him into his arms and brought him to the cave.
    In the dream Tarantio became the boy, fear of death filling him with terror. And the faces of the men Dace had killed to break free became old friends and comrades of past skirmishes.
    An old man’s face floated before him. ‘The truth burns, Chio,’ it said. ‘The truth is a bright light, and it hurts so much.’
* * *
    Tarantio awoke in the faint light of the pre-dawn. As always he came fully awake immediately, senses alert and mind sharp. It was the only period of the day when Dace was absent, and Tarantio felt at one with himself and the world. He took a slow deep breath, revelling in the emotional privacy.
    The sound of cloth scraping on stone came from his left and Tarantio sat up. The huge form of the red-bearded warrior Forin was kneeling over the body of Kiriel, furtively searching through the dead boy’s pockets.
    ‘He has no coin,’ said Tarantio softly.
    Forin sat back. ‘None of us have coin,’ he grunted. ‘Three months’ back pay, and you think we’ll get it now – even if we make it back to the border?’
    Tarantio rolled to his feet and stepped outside the cave. The sun was clearing the eastern mountains, bathing the forest with golden light. The harsh cold stone of the cliff, corpse-grey in the twilight of the night before, now shone like coral. Tarantio emptied his bladder, then returned to the cave.
    ‘It was that damned woman … Karis,’ said Forin. ‘I’ll bet she’s a witch.’
    ‘She needs no sorcery,’ said Tarantio, swinging his sword-belt around his waist.
    ‘You know her?’
    ‘Rode with her for two campaigns. Cold she is, and hard, and she can out-think and out-plan any general I ever served.’
    ‘Why did you quit her service?’ asked the giant.
    ‘I didn’t. I was with her when she fought for the Duke of Corduin. At the end of the season she resigned and joined the army of Romark. He was said to have offered her six thousand in gold. I don’t doubt it is an exaggeration – but not by much, I’d wager.’
    ‘Six thousand!’ whispered Forin, awed by the sum.
    Tarantio moved to Kiriel’s body. The boy looked peaceful, his face relaxed. He could have been sleeping, save for the statue stillness of his features. ‘He was a good lad,’ said Tarantio, ‘but too young and too slow.’
    ‘It was his first campaign,’ said Forin. ‘He ran away from the farm to enlist. Thought it would be safer to be surrounded by soldiers.’ The big man looked up at Tarantio. ‘He was just a farm boy. Not a killer, like you – or me.’
    ‘And now he’s a dead farm boy,’ said Tarantio. Forin nodded, then rose and faced the swordsman.
    ‘What drives you, man?’ he asked suddenly. ‘Last night I saw the light of madness in your eyes. You wanted to kill me. Why?’
    ‘It is what we do,’ whispered Tarantio. He walked to the mouth of the cave and scanned the tree-line. There was no sign of the pursuers. Swinging back, he met Forin’s gaze. ‘Good luck to you,’ he said. Dipping into his pouch, he produced a small golden coin which he tossed to the surprised warrior.
    ‘What is this for?’ asked Forin.
    ‘I was wrong about you, big man. You’re a man to match the