Echoes of the Great Song

by David Gemmell

  “We should concentrate on the newcomers—the Almecs,” he said.

  “She was right,” said Rael. “They will not come in peace, and they will certainly not treat us as brothers. How did we become so arrogant, Ro?”

  “It is the nature of rulers,” said the little man. “We flick our fingers and lesser men come running. They bow and scrape, and thus reinforce our belief in our superiority. It is a game we all play, Avatar and Vagar.”

  “Are you well, my friend?” asked Rael, moving to sit opposite the Questor. “This does not sound like you.”

  Ro sighed. “I have learned so much today. It makes the last hundred years seem a waste of life. I cannot believe the events of this evening. A young woman with amazing talents was prepared to help us and we condemned her to death for it. What is worse, had Niclin brought her to the Council I too would have called for her life. What petty men we have become.”

  “I regret it also, Ro,” said Rael. “But we must put it aside. The golden ships will be here with the dawn. And we must make plans, and issue orders.”

  The two men talked through most of the night, then Rael sent for his most trusted officers and dispatched them to gather their troops.

  By the dawn the storm had swept inland and the sea was calm, the horizon clear, the sky a glorious blue. Rael, Ro and all the other senior councillors gathered at the harbor to await the arrival of the Almecs. Avatar soldiers closed off the area, and the wharf was silent as the city leaders stood waiting.

  The first of the golden ships hove into view minutes after the sun had cleared the eastern mountains. Even at this distance they could see the awesome size of the vessel. Rael and Ro had already seen it, thanks to the newborn talents of Sofarita. But those who had not felt the beginnings of fear. Niclin’s cold eyes narrowed. Fat Caprishan began to sweat. The huge ship gleamed in the morning light as it clove the water. Other vessels followed, spread in a long fighting line. Rael counted them. Twenty-four. As they neared the coast the fleet separated, eight ships moving slowly down the estuary between the two cities of Egaru and Pagaru. Eight more sailed to the south. The last eight came to a serene halt just outside the harbor and the lead ship smoothly approached the waiting men, swinging at the last moment, then nestling alongside the stone wharf. The ship was colossal, rearing high above the wharf. A ten-foot section of the upper hull detached itself, dropping slowly to the stone, forming a wide curved gangplank.

  A tall man, red-skinned and wearing a breastplate created from bands of gold, strode into view. Upon his head was an ornate helm adorned with golden feathers, and gold circlets graced his wrists, biceps and neck. He wore a kilt of gold-embossed red leather and a wide belt, the buckle of which was fashioned around a huge triangular emerald.

  But it was his face that caught the attention of the waiting group. Not just for the skin color of burnished copper, but for his features which shone strangely in the bright sunlight. It was as if his face was coated with grease. The man walked slowly down the gangplank, pausing to stare around him. He carried no weapon and seemed at ease. Halfway down he raised his arm. Instantly twenty other gangplanks dropped to the stone. Warriors clad in black armor and helms began to march down them. They were carrying what appeared to be thick black clubs around three feet long.

  At that moment fifty Avatar soldiers, armed with zhi-bows, stepped into sight from the buildings and alleyways close by, their iron breastplates shining like silver, their white cloaks flickering in the breeze. Once more the leader raised his hand. His warriors halted, and stood silently on the gangplanks.

  The leader strode down to where Rael waited. His face shocked the Avatars. His eyebrows, cheekbones and chin appeared to be made of glass, giving an inhuman cast to his features. “Welcome to Egaru,” said the Questor General smoothly. “We have awaited your arrival with great interest. Will you join us for breakfast?”

  “With my men?” replied the leader, his voice cold.

  “I think not,” Rael told him with a smile. “The people we rule are very fearful. It would be better if they saw you and I walking together back to the council building in friendship. The sight of so many soldiers might unnerve them.”

  “As you wish. I shall bring only my aides.”

  “They will be welcome,” said Rael.

  With an imperious flick of his hand the leader signalled the ship. The Almec soldiers swung and climbed back inside the golden vessel. All but one of the gangplanks were raised. Three officers strode down the last, then this too closed.

  The officers were also copper-skinned, but their features were human, their eyes dark brown, their faces sharp. There was a coldness about them, an arrogance in their movements.

  Rael led them to a waiting carriage which took them through the city to the council building. Rael rode with them, but there was no conversation, nor did the newcomers appear interested in their surroundings. They sat very quietly, their faces impassive.

  Once inside the Council Chamber Rael bade them sit down. They refused offers of food or drink and sat waiting for Rael to speak. The other councillors had filed in and taken their places. Rael rose. “First let me introduce myself,” he said. “I am Rael, Questor General of the Avatar Empire. These men seated here are the senior councillors. May I welcome you to our lands and congratulate you on the manner in which the Almecs escaped the cataclysm in your own world.”

  The Almec leader spoke from his seat. “I am Cas-Coatl, Lord of the Third Sector. I appreciate the warm words with which you greet us. It is my hope that unity can be established without destruction and bloodshed, and the transition of power completed without discord.”

  His words were met by a stunned silence. Rael struggled for inner calm. “And what do you offer the Avatars?” he asked.

  Cas-Coatl’s expression did not change. “Life,” he said, simply.

  “Life we already have,” Rael pointed out.

  “There is little point in discussion,” said Cas-Coatl. “You were preeminent. Now you are not. You were powerful. Now you are weak. The Almecs are strong. The strong rule. Do you see a flaw in the logic?”

  “Perhaps you underestimate us, Cas-Coatl,” said Rael, softly.

  “Your cities have few defenses, your army is less than seventeen hundred men—fifteen hundred formed from an inferior slave race. We shall leave now and give you two hours to make your decision.” He held out his hand. The first officer to his left handed him a folded cloth of bright green. This he laid upon the table. “If you decide wisely have this flag flown from the highest building at the wharf. I shall bring in my ships and we will discuss further the transition. You may then retire to your homes and live out your lives as you wish. If not … We will land anyway and march our soldiers through the rubble that remains.”

  Cas-Coatl rose, his officers with him.

  “You can, of course, hold us hostage, or even kill us. It will make no difference. Another Lord of the Third Sector will be appointed immediately and you will have lost your two hours.”

  “You are free to go, Cas-Coatl,” said Rael.

  The Almec and his officers strode from the chamber. Rael sent two officers to arrange a carriage for them back to the ship.

  As the door closed behind them Rael gazed around the faces of the councillors. All were in shock.

  “At least we know where we stand,” said Rael.

  “On the brink of an abyss,” observed Questor Ro.

  “The man was crystal-wed,” said Niclin. “How is it that he could still move?”

  “From what I saw of their ships they have advanced along different lines of learning,” said Ro. “The vessels are mechanically, rather than crystal, powered. Obviously this new line of knowledge allowed them to master the problem. But that is rather irrelevant now. It seems, my friends, that we are facing our doom.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Immediately a clamor began in the Council Chamber. Rael leapt to his feet, his arms in the air. “Enough, my friends,” he shouted. “We have two hours
. Surrender is unthinkable, and therefore we must use the time we have to marshal our defenses. All of you—bar Questors Caprishan, Niclin and Ro—should return to your duties. The enemy will certainly have weapons of long-range destruction upon their warships. Go to your districts and organize an evacuation of non-combatants to the eastern sections of the city. Vagar captains have already been told to hold their men in readiness for just such an event, and also to prepare units for recovery and burial. Liaise with the captains in your districts. And keep runners with you, ensuring at all times there is a line of communication between the War Council and yourselves. Go now, my friends. Time is short.”

  The councillors filed out, and, as the last left the room, Caprishan spoke. “This is a war we cannot win, cousin,” he said.

  “I know that,” snapped Rael, “but this is not the time to discuss it. As we all saw, eight ships have sailed down the estuary towards the lands of the Erek-jhip-zhonad. I would estimate there to be perhaps three hundred fighting men per ship. That means around two thousand five hundred warriors will be landing somewhere to our rear. An equal number have sailed south. Were I in command of their battle fleet I would land my forces on the marshes three miles south of Pejkan. This is the weakest of the five cities. It will fall within a day. Boria and Caval will follow. There is only a token force of Avatar soldiers in each of the three cities, and they have orders to march to Egaru as soon as the enemy is sighted. The city councils have been ordered to surrender if approached. Most Avatar families have already left, and all crystals and power sources have been removed or dismantled.”

  “We are giving them up without a fight?” said Niclin. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “You think I do?” snapped Rael. “As Cas-Coatl so rightly pointed out we have fewer than two hundred Avatar soldiers, and only fifteen hundred trained Vagars. You may recall that the Council has always believed in—how did you put it, Caprishan?—the folly of having too large a Vagar force within the cities. Now we pay the price.”

  “I was not alone in my fears,” said Caprishan.

  “No, you were not.” Rael sighed. “And in many ways I agreed with you. But none of us could have foreseen the arrival of such an enemy. In the past our zhi-bows have more than compensated for lack of numbers. Not this time, I fear. All our efforts must be concentrated on Egaru and Pagaru,” insisted Rael. “The walls of both are high and strong, and the power chests are here. In the short term we have two elements in our favor. Serpent Seven, under the command of Talaban, and one land-based Sunfire which, on my orders, Questor Ro has hidden, fully charged, in the Harbor Tower.”

  Niclin interrupted him. “The Sunfire has not been charged or used in … what? … two hundred years. Even if it does not explode on first use, the enemy will see where the blast comes from and concentrate their attack upon the Harbor Tower. It will be a death-trap.”

  “In which case, cousin, you will finally be rid of me,” said Ro, “for I shall be manning the weapon.”

  “I do not wish to see you die, Ro,” said Niclin, softly. “We are rivals, and political enemies. But it would grieve me to see harm befall you.” He turned to Rael. “What is it you wish me to do, cousin?”

  “Get to Pagaru before the enemy closes the estuary to us. Hold it to the last. Make them suffer for every inch of ground they take. You will have only sixty Avatar soldiers, but more than two hundred zhi-bows. Ensure a supply is always fully charged. Caprishan, you will go with Niclin. Your role is to ensure supplies continue to get through to the two cities, and also to Questor Anu. This will not be easy once the enemy has landed. The mist is due to be dropped tomorrow. Make sure a message gets to Anu about the situation here.”

  Caprishan nodded. “Anu and his workforce are twenty miles inland. We cannot protect him.”

  “He will need no protection,” said Rael. “Any of the enemy who cross the mist will rot and die within a few heartbeats. The danger will come when he drops the mist to allow supplies through. You must see if there is any way he can create a secret channel through it.”

  “I will, cousin, but surely if he can wield such power in the valley he could wield it here? Could he not lay a line of mist before the cities, destroying our enemies as they land?”

  Rael shook his head. “He would not contemplate it,” he said. “Anu is not a killer. And there is no way I can force him into such an act. Believe me, I have tried. Now are there any further questions?” The Questors remained silent. “Good. Let us be about our business, my friends, and may the Source bless our endeavors.”

  • • •

  Within the hour the evacuation had begun. Vagar troops moved through the streets, ushering bewildered city dwellers from their homes. There were some arguments, but the presence of blue-haired Avatar councillors quelled the crowds. No one wanted to be arrested for civil disobedience and subsequently crystal-drawn. Assurances were made that Vagar troops would patrol the deserted areas, protecting homes and possessions from looters.

  But it was a slow business, and as the two-hour deadline approached more than a thousand homes had yet to be cleared. Refugees choked the roads and avenues, and more than once fights broke out, once as a wheel fell from a heavily laden wagon, causing the line to stall, and again when a Vagar merchant tried to spur his horse through the throng. A woman was hurled to the ground and her husband dragged the merchant from his mount and began to beat upon him with his fists. Vagar troops moved in on both occasions.

  Questor Ro crouched inside the Harbor Tower and applied a little oil to the gears and wheels of the Sunfire. Three Avatar soldiers waited with him, and further back ten Vagar laborers awaited orders to remove the machine once it was discharged. The tower was constructed of heavy stone blocks and seemed safe enough, especially here on the ground floor. But Ro had no idea what weaponry would be brought to bear on it. With a soft cloth he wiped excess oil from the gears and idly polished the long bronze tube. The weapon had been aligned with the small window, but there was only a narrow field of fire. Ro moved to the window and stared out across the bay. From here he could see all eight golden ships. But they were at least a half-mile from him. Could they loose their weapons from that distance? Ro did not know.

  The Sunfire had been kept in the Museum for almost ninety years. Ro had been present when such a weapon had last been used, against the warships of the Khasli. They had been destroyed utterly. As indeed had the Khasli themselves during the Fourteen Year War. We are the Khasli now, he thought. Ro struggled to remember the delay between shots, as the crystals repowered. But he could not. All he knew was that once fired the weapon needed some minutes to recharge.

  Calling the soldiers forward Ro re-sighted the tube, covering the mouth of the bay. With a long rule he checked its positioning, needing it to be parallel to the floor. It was out by a hair’s breadth. Mentally he calculated the effect this might have over a range of 400 yards. Sweat trickled from his temples. Ro was not a warrior and had little experience with the weapon. But then, apart from Rael, neither did any other Avatar in Egaru. The Sunfires had not been needed in almost 200 years. Zhi-bows had been more than adequate against the tribes. Moving to the rear of the weapon he raised the sight, a thin arm of bronze to which was attached a circle of gold. This he lined up with the short spike at the far end of the tube.

  His mouth was dry and he requested a cup of water. One of the soldiers filled a cup from a pottery jug. Ro sipped the liquid and flicked his gaze to the hourglass. The colored sand was trickling slowly through. Not long now, he thought.

  Three of the golden ships began to move, heading across the bay toward Pagaru. Four others began to glide toward the harbor. There was something about their movements which filled Ro with fear. Serene and assured, they radiated strength of purpose and enormous confidence. This is what it was like for the Khasli who faced us centuries ago, thought Ro. He shuddered inwardly. And activated the Sunfire. As the charge built up the machine began to hum. Ro could feel its vibration. This small movement in the
weapon made the coming battle suddenly real. Ro felt panic welling within him.

  You are an Avatar, he told himself sternly. Sweat dripped into his eyes. He wiped it clear with the oily cloth.

  “You want us on the roof, Questor?” asked one of the soldiers.

  “No. Remain here. If we can, we must carry the Sunfire clear. It is too valuable to be lost in only one action.”

  Ro crouched down behind the sights. Once we were truly gods, he thought. We strode the earth like giants. We brought law and knowledge to primitive peoples. We taught them the secrets of agriculture and building.

  And we made them slaves …

  The first of the golden ships was slowly moving into his line of fire.

  Slaves. In doing so we made slaves of ourselves, he thought. Slaves to tradition, slaves to our past.

  Ro pulled the firing lever.

  Nothing happened. He swore softly, his fingers flicking open the control chest. One of the crystals had slipped from its niche. He pushed it back and closed the lid. The first ship had moved on, but a second was closing. A series of dull thumping sounds came from outside, followed by a whooshing of disturbed air. Then three powerful explosions rocked the foundations of the building.

  “There are fires on the dockside!” shouted one of the soldiers. “They have machines upon the decks sending balls of fire over the city.”

  Ro ignored him as the second ship came into his sights. He pulled the lever. Blue fire crackled from the mouth of the tube, then a brilliant white light exploded in front of Ro’s eyes. Blinded, he fell back from the machine—and did not see the lightning spear slam into the warship. The gold-covered timbers were torn apart as the bolt smashed through them, expanding upon impact with terrible heat. The explosion that followed ripped the ship into three parts. Bodies were hurled through the air. A wave of heat struck the Harbor Tower. Ro, on his knees, his hands over his eyes, felt the heat wash over him.