Dark Heart by Russell Kirkpatrick Page B

got as far as the Money Exchange—I don’t know where that is, before you ask—and were confronted by red-bibbed soldiers, armed with swords and spears, coming the other way. The southern gate had been undefended, so the Racemen suppose the Neherians were only then securing the city. As the sun rose the Racemen could see red bibs atop buildings and in the intersections of the main streets. A fight broke out and one of the Racemen was killed. The others ran away, though that is not how they describe it, brave soldiers they imagine themselves to be. They left their friend’s body behind, of course.’
    And how many bodies did you leave behind, brave leader? The cynical voice took Duon by surprise, as it always did.
    ‘So, in essence, this tribe’s town has been conquered by another, stronger tribe,’ Dryman said. ‘Is this of any real importance? Will it prevent us resuming our task?’
    ‘Forgive me, soldier,’ Duon said, his mouth drying as he spoke, knowing he risked much. ‘I have been meaning to ask. What task is this?’
    Dryman turned to the captain. Duon searched the man’s face in vain for any sign of pity, of mercy, of humanity. He hadn’t meant to precipitate the confrontation so soon, but here it was, and he could no longer avoid it.
    ‘What task?’ Dryman echoed. ‘The task your Emperor set you, of course. You of all people should remember. It was you, after all, who reported to us the wealth and vulnerability of the northlands.’
    ‘But we are only four—’
    ‘Has the Emperor appeared to you? Has he told you to abandon your task? Where is your pride in your commission?’
    ‘Look here, man, pride is not the issue. What can we achieve? We were supposed to be here with thirty thousand men!’
    ‘Ah, so obedience to your Emperor is a matter of convenience? When you no longer have the resources you asked for, obedience ends?’
    That stung. ‘These are just words, Dryman. Anyone can see the futility of what you’re asking. How many baskets of treasure can we bring home on four backs? Wouldn’t we do better to return to Talamaq and apprise the Emperor of the failure of his mission?’
    The mercenary took a step closer to the captain. ‘Think on this then. Have you asked yourself why we were directed northward after our defeat? Clearly, someone or some thing wants us to continue with our mission. You came through the hole with the rest of us. Have you not yet asked yourself what could have been the purpose of this supernatural intervention?’
    Duon paused. And into the silence came the voice from the back of his head, the voice that had tormented him ever since the day they’d left Talamaq.
    Really, how can I do anything with you if you insist on remaining so obtuse?
    Shut up, Duon thought. I don’t believe in you; you are a product of my fear of failure—
    Oh, come on. You know I’m real. And if I’m real, why resist the notion that there are things going on you know nothing about?
    I don’t want to know anything about them. Or you. Stubborn, a child refusing to face reality. Duon knew he was behaving like a fool.
    Do you want to wrest back power from Dryman? the voice asked seductively.
    Oh.
    ‘I don’t know anything about supernatural forces,’ Duon said to Dryman. ‘I’m just a soldier. I’d need to have new orders to deal with supernatural forces.’
    The voice in the back of his head groaned.
    Dryman smiled the smile of a man who has manoeuvred his adversary to exactly the place he wants him.
    ‘Then it is fortunate you have me with you, for I have encountered supernatural forces before. Somewhat of an expert, in fact. Just listen to me, and all will be well.’
    Now do you see why you must take my advice?
    No. I see why I need advice. Yours may be no better than his. But speak away; I will listen. On one condition. You explain exactly who you are and how you gained access to my head.
    A tickle of sound moved across his mind, as though someone had run a fingernail gently