“I don’t want to be rewarded. I want to be alive!”
“A noble aim, potter. But let us concentrate on one thing at a time. And the first priority is food. Fetch some.”
Sadau stumbled into his small kitchen, returning with a fresh-baked loaf and a plate of raisins. “I have no milk for the child,” he said.
“Borrow some from your neighbors. But be quick, for there are beasts abroad.”
Sadau was in a daze as he unlocked the door and stepped out into the sunset. All was quiet now and he felt like running away, sprinting to some darkened place where he could lie down, close his eyes, and pray that he would wake and find this was all merely some fevered dream. Suddenly he heard screams in the distance and a terrible howling. The little man ran to the home of his cousin, Oris. The small house was dark, the shutters closed. Sadau tapped on the door. “It is me, Sadau,” he called.
Inside there were no lanterns lit. Oris was not at home and his wife Rula was sitting in the dark, her two small children beside her, her babe in her lap. “Are we all going to die?” she asked, her voice breaking. She was a mousy woman, round-shouldered and perpetually weary. As indeed anyone would be who had to live with Oris. The big riverman was a noisy, boisterous man, who treated his friends like loved ones, and his loved ones like servants. Rula had been worn down by his infidelities and his endless lies.
“No, we are not going to die,” said Sadau. “Where is Oris?”
“He did not come home. He left this morning to work at the river. What am I going to do, Sadau? What will happen to my babes if he’s dead?”
Her distress touched him, cutting through both his fear and his dislike of her. “Come to my home,” he said. “We will wait for Oris there. I am sure he is not dead.” Probably hiding in the home of some whore, he thought. Carrying one of the children and leading the other by the hand he led them back to his home. Rula seemed less frightened now, but the children were unusually quiet.
As they entered the house Rula stiffened. “You have friends here,” she said. “Perhaps I should wait at home.”
“It is all right,” Sadau assured her. “They are customers of mine.” Locking the door he put down the child he was carrying. She sat upon the floor and began to cry. Ammon approached her, kneeling down beside her.
“Don’t cry, little one,” he said. “It is just a game. Tell me your name.”
“Saris,” said the child. “My daddy owns the river.”
“What a coincidence,” said Ammon. “My daddy owned the river too.” The small room was crowded now. The toddler carried by Anwar began to wail.
“He’s hungry,” said Ammon, glancing up at Rula. “Do you think you could feed him?”
She nodded and, passing her own sleeping babe to Sadau, moved to the toddler, lifting him to her lap and opening her dress to expose a large breast. Instantly the toddler began to suckle greedily.
A silent hour passed. Then there came a knock at the door. Sadau almost fainted with the shock. “Who is it?” he called.
“Oris. Is Rula with you?”
Sadau opened the door and a heavy-set young man entered. Rula ran to him, hugging him close. “I was so worried,” she said.
“You and me both,” he confided. “It’s terrible out there. Corpses everywhere. It’s quiet now. They say the king is dead, and all the nobles either fled or slain. When the attack started I thought they were Avatars. But they’re not. They’re red-skinned. The palace is a ruin.”
Ammon stepped forward. “You say they killed the king?”
Oris stared at him, suspiciously. “Customers,” said Sadau, lamely.
“Yes. They dragged his body out to the main square and hung it from a rope.”
“How did they know it was the king?” asked Anwar.
“How would I know? He was dressed in a long blue robe. They found him in the palace, I guess.”
“How sad,” said Ammon. “I always liked him.”
“We better be getting home,” said Oris. “The gods alone know what tomorrow will bring.”
As they were leaving, Ammon asked Rula if she would take charge of the abandoned toddler. She said that she would and he gave her a gold coin which she instantly handed to Oris. The big riverman looked closely at Ammon. “Have I seen you somewhere before?” he asked him.
“Quite possibly. I travel the Luan regularly.”
“Right. Well, may the gods protect you. May they protect us all.”
Sadau closed the door behind them. Then he turned to the king. “They think you are dead,” he said happily.
“Not for long. Someone will see the body and know it is not me. But for now we appear to be safe. Tomorrow you will help me find a way to leave the city.”
“Please, lord,” begged Sadau, “I am not a brave man! I learned that when I watched the Avatar, Viruk, kill all my comrades.”
Ammon smiled. “You underestimate yourself, potter. You mistake natural fear for base cowardice. You are not a coward. Had I been in your place I too would have thrown the head into the Luan. That is one of the reasons why I did not have you killed. Look at me. Look me in the eye.” Sadau did so. “Do I look to you like a foolish man?”
“No, lord.”
“Then trust what I say. You have more courage than you know. And tomorrow we will leave this city and you will be safe. Is that right?”
“Yes, lord,” said Sadau, glumly.
Rael was in a cold and bitter mood. The council meeting had been awkward in the extreme, the Vagars saying little, leaving Mejana to voice their concerns. Well might they be silent, he thought. Traitors all. What especially galled him was that most of the Vagars present were men known to him, men who had prospered under Avatar rule, merchants and artists, many of whom had been entertained by Rael at official functions. Now he knew they had plotted to kill men like Baliel and Ro. Perhaps even himself. He wanted to strike out at them, send soldiers to their homes and drag them from their beds.
Forcing such sweet thoughts from his mind he turned his attention to Talaban, who was sitting quietly on a couch staring into a goblet of wine.
“You are very quiet,” he said. “Did she bewitch you?”
“I rather think she did,” said Talaban with a rueful smile. “I made a fool of myself. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. My tongue seemed twice its size and I spoke like a dolt.”
“Do not be deceived, Talaban. She is the greatest enemy we could imagine.”
“Hard to believe, sir.”
“Trust me. You don’t know what she is—what she will become.”
“I know she is helping us and she is ready to take the battle to the enemy.”
“That is now,” said Rael. “Every day she will grow in strength and knowledge. She will change, Talaban.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“She is crystal-joined.”
Talaban reacted as if struck. “No! That cannot be!”
Rael misread the cause of his concern. “It can—and is. Viruk found her in a local village. He bedded her and realized she had a cancer in her lungs. Typically he broke the rules and used his crystal to heal her. No real problem there. Except that she happened to be that one in a score of millions. The crystal changed her, became part of her. The process is continuing. Today she can read minds, heal wounds, and her soul can fly to the farthest corners of the earth. But tomorrow, or next month, or next year, she will be like the Crystal Queen, her powers vast. Do you believe that such a being will willingly die?”
“She will become crystal,” whispered Talaban, “like Chryssa.”
“Not like Chryssa,” snapped Rael. “Like the Crystal Queen, or the third Avatar Prime. How many thousands died in the Crystal Wars? How many gave their blood to keep him alive? According to contemporary accounts more than a hundred thousand died to feed him.”
“How long does she have in human form?” asked Talaban.
“I don’t know. Two years. Five. Who cares? The question is, what can we do to regain the initiative?
”
Talaban felt a sickness in the pit of his stomach at the thought of Sofarita dying. His mind reeled at the thought. Pushing the dread back he looked up at Rael. The Questor General was tired, his eyes dark-rimmed. “How long since you slept, sir?” he asked.
“Three days. I will sleep soon. So, tell me what you think.”
“I think it is pointless to try to plan against either Sofarita or the Vagars. The Almecs are the immediate enemy. They must be defeated. In truth we have little chance, but none at all if we are divided. The council meeting did not bode well. The Vagars were tense and uneasy. No real effort was made to draw them into the discussions. But I like the woman Mejana. Her words are careful and well thought out. She is no fool.”
“She ordered the murder of Baliel.”
Talaban rose from his chair. “May I speak frankly, cousin?”
“Always.”
“Put your hatred aside. It will affect your judgment. One enemy at a time. Mejana is, for the moment, an ally. She needs to be wooed like any tribal chieftain. The Almecs require all your thinking, all your enormous gifts of strategy. When they are dealt with, then you can worry about other enemies.”
Rael sighed. “I know what you say is true, but it is hard, Talaban.” He filled a wine goblet and drank deeply. “You say you want to command a land force. Why?”
“You are short of commanders, cousin. Viruk is a fine fighter, but he is no leader. You need someone who can carry your strategies through on the battlefield. I do not wish to sound immodest, but I am the best you have.”
“I cannot afford to lose the Serpent, Talaban.”
“You will not lose it. I have another captain in mind. He is bright, courageous and skilled.”
“I know of no one with the training to take command.”
“He is my sergeant, Methras.”
Rael hurled the empty goblet across the room. “A Vagar! You would put our most powerful battle weapons in the hands of a Vagar? Are you insane?”
“He has Avatar blood, Rael,” said Talaban softly. “There is no question of that. And he is loyal.”
“Loyal? Yesterday I would have considered the Vagars at the meeting loyal. I would have considered you loyal. Now it seems you have been training Vagars behind my back, breaking the law. My law.”
“Yes, I broke the law,” admitted Talaban. “And I am sorry that has caused you pain. As you know I have tried in the past to teach other Avatars the secrets of handling the Serpent. None proved adept at it. None showed any aptitude. When I knew we were facing ships of battle I had to find someone who could take my place if I was injured. Equally I needed someone who could loose the Sunfire. When we sailed into Pagaru’s harbor it was Methras who sank the enemy ships.”
Rael fought for calm. “It is done now, but what is done can be undone.”
“Think for a moment, sir,” urged Talaban. “You will want, at least in the short term, to win over the Vagars on the Council, to convince them that they genuinely have a voice in matters of state. What better way than to announce a Vagar as captain of the Serpent—how did you put it?—our most powerful battle weapon? We both know it is only of real use against other ships. Admittedly the Sunfire could be used against land targets, but it only has three charges. Added to which there will be Avatars aboard, all armed with zhi-bows. Methras could hardly overpower them all.”
Rael sank into his chair. “There is truth in what you say,” he admitted. “It would help win over the Vagars. But let us be honest with one another, my friend. We need a miracle. I pray that Viruk has reached Ammon. That would be a start.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Though Virkokka was deadly, and loved by none, yet did he keep the world alive. His greatest enemies were the Frost Giants. Every year they would attack the fertile lands, covering them with ice and snow. Mortals would shiver, and crops would die. Then they would beg Virkokka to save them. And every year he came, as still he comes, with sword of fire, and lance of sun flame, to drive the Frost Giants from the land. And from his hands would spill fresh seeds from every tree and flower. Maize would spring up where he walked, and grass grow where he rested his head. And though no mortal ever loved him, the trees would whisper his name, the grass sigh with it, and the flowers make their scent for him alone.
From the Evening Song of the Anajo
Viruk was not in the best of spirits as he led his ten Avatars towards the last ridge before the lands of the Erek-jhip-zhonad. He still believed Rael was wrong to send him away from the front line and he had no wish to spend any time at all with foreign sub-humans. It was bad enough being surrounded by Vagars back home.
Rael had told him to choose ten of the best soldiers. Viruk had commandeered the first ten men he had come across at the barracks. He knew them all by name, though none were close to him. Few people were, and he had no friends.
He rode now, slightly ahead of the group, lost in thought, his zhi-bow resting on his saddle. His horse suddenly stumbled. Viruk almost fell across its neck. The zhi-bow tumbled to the ground. Annoyed, Viruk hauled on the reins and dismounted.
At that moment thunder broke all around the riders, a ferocious wall of sound that stunned Viruk. Five riders were smashed from their saddles, four horses went down screaming in agony. Viruk swept up his zhi-bow. The strings danced into light. On the ridge above them he saw a score of copper-skinned warriors carrying ornate black clubs. One of them pointed a club at Viruk. Smoke and flame belched from the weapon. Viruk felt a whoosh of air pass his face. His zhi-bow came up. The warrior’s chest exploded and he was hurled back into his comrades.
Three of the Avatars began to loose bolts into the enemy, who dropped their fire-clubs, drew serrated swords and charged down the slope. Viruk killed five of them before they had covered half of the distance. The charge faltered. On the slope above more Almec soldiers appeared. The fire-clubs boomed again. Two of the remaining Avatars fell. Viruk transferred his aim to this new force, killing three before they dropped from sight. The first attacking group of Almecs had almost reached the last surviving Avatars.
Viruk shot two as they closed upon him, and then a third as the man screamed a war cry and raced towards him, sword raised. Viruk’s bolt took him full in the face. His head disappeared. The last Avatar soldier killed two more, but a third stabbed him in the belly, and a fourth thrust his sword through the Avatar’s throat. Dropping his zhi-bow Viruk drew sword and dagger and leapt at the three Almecs. The first died, his throat ripped open, the second staggered back and fell with Viruk’s dagger in his heart. The last man turned and sprinted for the slope. Sheathing his sword Viruk knelt by the dead Avatar, lifting his zhi-bow. It took several seconds to attune his mind to the warrior’s weapon, then he sent a bolt into the fleeing man’s back. There was a burst of flame from the Almec’s dark armor and he pitched forward and lay still.
From the slope the fire-clubs blasted once more. Two of the surviving horses were punched from their feet. Viruk ran back to where his own zhi-bow lay, swept it up and grabbed the reins of his horse. The animal was bleeding from a hole in its flank. Vaulting into the saddle Viruk kicked the beast into a run.
Shots came from behind him, but nothing struck. The horse galloped on for almost half a mile then collapsed. Viruk leapt clear. Ahead was a grove of trees. Carrying the two zhi-bows he ran for them. Glancing back he saw more than thirty Almec soldiers moving into the open. They had spread out in a fighting line and were advancing warily.
Viruk ran on. The area was not thickly wooded and he could see no natural defensive point. He tried to picture exactly where he was in terms of the Luan and the many settlements along the border. He decided he was at least 10 miles from the nearest Vagar village and almost double that to Ammon’s capital. The ground was rising and Viruk pushed on. He could just see the soldiers entering the trees some 400 yards back. Reaching the top of the rise he came to a sudden stop. The ground dropped away sharply and he found himself standing on the brink of a cliff overlooking the Luan Riv
er 200 feet below. “Oh this is pleasant,” he said, sourly. A series of shots sounded from behind him. Instinctively he ducked down, listening again for the whooshing of wind close to him. There was nothing, save that dirt spurted up from the ground some 20 feet behind him. Viruk grinned. Hefting the soldier’s zhi-bow he sent three bolts flashing through the trees. The first struck a branch, which exploded in a shower of sparks. The second took a man in the shoulder, ripping his arm from his body and puncturing his lung. The third thundered against a tree trunk. Fire spurted from the bark and black smoke began to billow from the hole.
The Almecs took cover behind the trees, occasionally darting forward to another hiding place closer to the fleeing man.
Viruk was not a man given to great angers, but he felt an exception was called for here. Ten Avatars were dead, he had no horse, and he was facing almost thirty warriors. Behind him was a murderous drop to a stony riverbed. Two shots whizzed by him. With a soft curse he rose and began to run along the cliff edge, looking for a way to climb down. A wicked blow took him high in the shoulder, ripping the skin. Dropping the soldier’s bow Viruk stumbled a few feet farther. The Almecs ran from their hiding places, fire-clubs raised.
Viruk jumped from the cliff edge.
The Almecs swept forward, running to the edge and looking down. There was no sign of the man they were pursuing. They milled at the lip for some moments then, gathering up the zhi-bow, walked back into the woods.
Ten feet down, his body hugging the cliff wall beneath a narrow overhang, Viruk heard them move away.
“This has not been a good day,” he said. “Not good at all.” His arm was aching abominably. Swinging his legs he sat upon the ledge, removed his green crystal from his pouch and held it to the wound. The flesh began to knit almost immediately, but the bone beneath was badly bruised. The collar of his black leather jerkin was ripped. Viruk lifted his hand to it—and felt something small and round lodged there. Pulling it clear he saw it was a blood-smeared ball of lead.
Echoes of the Great Song Page 27
