Echoes of the Great Song

by David Gemmell

  He risked a glance behind and saw that the Almecs were gaining on him. He heard the thunder of hooves. Touchstone came riding out of the gully, leading a second horse. As he rode past, Talaban reached up, grabbed the saddle pommel and vaulted into the saddle. Fire-clubs sounded behind them, but no shots came near.

  The two men galloped their mounts towards the west and up over the hills, riding fast towards the distant Luan. After a while Talaban could just make out the silhouette of the Serpent.

  Half an hour later he was sitting in his old cabin, Touchstone stitching the wound above his hip. Methras was sitting opposite him. “I did not expect to see you again,” he told Talaban.

  “I hope you are not too disappointed.”

  Methras grinned. “Touchstone promised to cut my throat if I didn’t give him the chance to track you down.”

  Talaban winced with the pain from his wounds. “They took my crystal,” he said.

  “Use mine,” said Methras, opening the pouch at his side. Talaban looked into the man’s blue eyes. Only a week ago Vagar possession of such an item would have brought about a swift death sentence.

  “Can you use it?” asked Talaban.

  “After a fashion. But I will learn.”

  Talaban accepted the gem, and held it over the hip wound. Instantly the flesh began to knit. “I will teach you the rituals,” he said.

  “I know them. But my Vagar blood holds me back,” said Methras, with a smile.

  “How long were you on that roof?” Talaban asked the tribesman.

  “Long time. Too many soldiers close.”

  “How did you get there without being seen?”

  “Plenty skill. Bet you glad see me.”

  “I’m glad I gave you that axe.” Returning his attention to Methras he said: “We need to get back to Egaru as fast as possible. The Almec army marches tomorrow. They will be at the city in less than five days.”

  “The Questor General knows. There are three armies marching. Close to eight thousand men.”

  “Big number,” said Touchstone. “We lose maybe.”

  Talaban grunted as he rose from the bed. “I need to rest,” he said. “Where is my cabin?”

  “This is your cabin,” said Methras.

  “No, not any longer.”

  Methras smiled. “I shall be spending most of the night in the control room. Rest here. I will wake you when we reach Egaru.”

  Too weary to argue, Talaban stretched out on the familiar bed.

  As Touchstone made to leave Talaban reached out and took his arm. “You are going home, my friend. To Suryet.”

  Then he closed his eyes and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  For Rael the events of the last month had been unremittingly bleak. Nothing seemed to have been right since the day Questor Ro returned with those four fully-charged chests of power. It was as if, at the point of greatest hope, the Source had turned against them.

  Now three disciplined and deadly armies were marching on the twin cities, the Vagars were waiting to take control of their own destinies and the witch woman was growing in power daily. Rael was weary. Taking a white crystal from his pouch he held it to his brow. Cool, invigorating energy swept through him. He sighed, and his thoughts returned to Sofarita. Whenever he saw her Rael had to leave his crystals behind. Close proximity to her drained them. As a result he no longer invited her to the Council Chamber, but instead visited her at Ro’s home.

  Rael sat at his desk, staring down at the mass of paper there.

  Lifting the first, he read of the food situation. From the day he had learned of the Almecs he had ordered massive imports of food and the grain stores of the twin cities were now bulging. Even so a prolonged siege would see the populations begin to starve within three weeks. Rationing would have to begin tomorrow.

  Moving to his window he looked out over the bay. The Serpent was at anchor there, with some fifty smaller Vagar vessels. They had been supplying the city for days, but now there was nowhere for them to sail. The grain villages along the Luan were deserted, the people fled or slain.

  Returning to his desk he shuffled through the papers, coming at last to the report from the Crystal Treasury. Caprishan had taken a second chest to Anu, as requested. The third was in use now, re-powering zhi-bows. The last chest remained in the heart of the Serpent. Soon Rael would need to have it removed. Then the Serpent would sail no more.

  In some ways Serpent Seven was like the Avatar—powerful but doomed.

  Short of power, and short of men, Rael was in a grim mood. Talaban had called him the greatest strategist alive. Rael believed it. But there was little point in being a fine strategist if one did not have the means to execute those strategies.

  Ideally Rael would have sent out several strong units to harry the advancing armies, cutting off their supplies, wearing them down. But with fewer than 200 fighting Avatars he could not afford such a move. And sending out lightly armed Vagars against the fire-clubs of the Almecs would have proved suicidal. Therefore the advancing armies could move at their own pace, dictating the course of the war.

  The one advantage Rael possessed lay in the deadliness of the Almecs. Had their invasion been less bloody they could have used the captive population to keep them in supplies. As it was, they would need to take the cities with speed.

  Rael pondered this. Pagaru’s walls were not strong. They had been built fast in the early days of conquest. They would be breached, he was sure. Egaru, with a smaller perimeter, could be held far more effectively. With this in mind he decided to dispatch more Avatars to Pagaru.

  Then he turned his mind to Ammon. The king was in the apartments chosen for him on the second level of the Council Building. Soon Rael would have to meet with him. His 5,000 men could help turn the tide, but how sensible would it be to invite 5,000 essentially hostile warriors into the cities? If, by some miracle, the Almecs could be massively defeated Ammon would find himself in a position he had longed for. In control of the Avatar Empire.

  Empire?

  What empire? The thought depressed Rael. There was no empire any more.

  The door opened and Viruk stepped inside. “What do you want, cousin?” he asked, irritated by the sudden intrusion.

  “Don’t cousin me, you whoreson!” thundered Viruk. “You send me from an Avatar city to rescue an androgynous sub-human and what do I find when I return? The city being run by Vagar dogs. I ought to cut your throat, you treacherous bastard!”

  Coldly angry, Rael rose from his desk and moved to stand in front of the outraged warrior. “If anyone is guilty of treachery it is you, you arrogant fool,” he said. “The village woman you bedded is the real power in the cities now. And do you know why? Because you broke the law and healed her, Viruk. She is crystal-joined. Surely even you will understand what that means. We tried to kill her. We failed.”

  “I could kill her,” said Viruk. “There is nothing that lives or breathes that I cannot kill.”

  “It is not—at this time—an option. Her powers give us at least a fighting chance against the Almecs. But once Anu’s pyramid is complete we may have a better chance.”

  “What then? Do we seize back power?”

  “Of course,” lied Rael, smoothly.

  Viruk smiled broadly. “That is more like it.”

  “Now I must greet my guests.” Rael looked at Viruk’s travel-stained clothes. “I suggest you go to your home and bathe.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to know if my marsh marigolds arrived safely?” asked Viruk.

  “No, I wouldn’t,” the Questor General told him.

  After Viruk had left, Rael walked down to the Council Chamber and sent a servant to request the presence of the Lady Mejana and Ammon.

  Mejana arrived first, dressed in a voluminous blue robe. She nodded curtly at Rael, then sat down on his right without speaking. They sat in silence for several minutes before a servant announced the arrival of the king.

  Ammon entered, dress
ed in a borrowed tunic of pearl-grey silk and silver-thonged sandals. His dark hair had been washed and perfumed and hung low to his shoulders, and his movements were languid and graceful. Moving around the table he drew up a seat close to Rael. “Charming apartments you offered me,” he said, “but I would appreciate the talents of a tailor.”

  “I shall have one sent to you as soon as we are finished here,” said Rael. “But first let me welcome you to Egaru. It pleases me to have been helpful in your rescue.”

  “No doubt there will be a price to pay,” said Ammon. His violet eyes flickered towards Mejana. “And you are, lady?”

  Rael cut in swiftly. “Allow me to present the Lady Mejana, my First Councillor.”

  Ammon bowed his head briefly. “Is this a new fashion among the Avatar, lady, to eschew blue hair?” he asked, mischievously.

  “I am not an Avatar, sire.”

  Ammon assumed an expression of mock surprise. “Indeed? Then how, one wonders, have you achieved such remarkable status?”

  “As you are well aware,” said Rael, keeping his tone even, “Mejana is the head of the Pajists, an organization funded by yourself and your minister Anwar. However, that is of small consequence now. We are all facing a terrible enemy. What we must decide here is how best to combat them.”

  “My army should be here within a few days,” said Ammon. “I would suggest we then defend the walls.”

  “Certain assurances must first be given,” said Mejana.

  “Such as?”

  “Your promise that the soldiers will leave once the war is won.”

  “I do not need to offer assurances, lady. This land was once under the direct rule of the Erek-jhip-zhonad. It will be again. It seems to me that it is I who should be making demands.”

  The door opened and a servant moved across the wide room. He bowed to all three occupants then approached Rael. “A message, lord, from the Lady Sofarita.”

  Rael took it, read it, then leaned back in his chair.

  “Good news, I hope,” said Ammon.

  Rael rose. “Your army was attacked in the Gen-el Pass. Three thousand dead, the rest scattered. Our conversation here is concluded.”

  “I think the Source must have come to hate me,” said Rael. He had told her of the destruction of Ammon’s army, and of the approach of the invincible Almecs. Taking him by the hand she led him to the roof garden. A long table had been set there, covered by soft towels. Beside it was a smaller table, upon which sat vials of scented oil.

  “Take off your clothes, Rael,” she said.

  “I have no time, Mirani.”

  “Do as you are told, husband,” she said. Rael sighed and removed his tunic and leggings. She gestured for him to lie face down on the massage bed. Once he had done so she poured oil into her hands and gently began to knead the muscles of his shoulders. “They are like bands of iron,” she told him. He groaned as she probed more deeply. “You think the Source hates you? If that is true he has a strange way of showing it. You and I have known more than a century of love. Arrogant man!” Her fingers and thumbs eased the tension from his upper back then moved down along the spine. “The Source does not hate you, Rael. But he must hate what we have become. Slave masters and tyrants. All our plans, all our ambitions, are for one purpose only: to retain control, to dominate. We live by stealing the lives of others. If the Source did not hate that, then I would have no time for the Source. Now do you understand why I refuse to join the Council?” He lay very still as her hands worked their magic. She continued the massage, using her elbow to stretch the long muscles above the hips. Rael groaned again.

  “Are you trying to heal me or kill me?” he said.

  “I am trying to make you see the truth,” she told him. “Mejana is the bright light of dawn; Sofarita, the sunshine that follows rain. They are not evil, Rael, they are necessary. We were blessed with many children in the early days. All grew to adulthood. All died in the fall of the world. All except Chryssa.” He closed his eyes against the pain of remembrance. “She lived for but a few years, and gave us great joy. Think of how Mejana must have felt when her daughter, the light of her life, was crystal-drawn. Think of her pain, Rael. Yes, she murdered Baliel, and ordered the deaths of others. Yes, she hates the Avatar. But her cause is just. She has dedicated her life to ensure that no mother will ever see her child crystal-drawn again. Do not hate her, Rael. Admire her. Respect her.

  “And as for these reverses you suffer … Did you expect all wars to be so easily won? You are the Questor General. You will find a way to win. I would expect no less of you. Now turn over.”

  He rolled onto his back. Mirani loosened the ties of her dress, and let it fall to the grass. Then she climbed to the table, straddling him.

  He reached up and stroked her shoulders. “How did you get to be so hard?” he asked, with a smile.

  “I married a soldier,” she said. And kissed him.

  “The dangers are too great,” Questor Ro told Talaban. Sofarita sat silently on the grass, apparently lost in thought. The heavy scent of jasmine was in the air and the trio were sitting in the afternoon sunshine. Ro had not been pleased to see the tall officer arrive. He had noticed, with concealed dismay, the way Sofarita brightened with his presence.

  “I think it is our only hope, Questor,” said Talaban.

  Sofarita glanced up. “Tell me again what you learned from the hunchback. Every detail.”

  Talaban smiled. “I could tell you his entire life, lady, but that would serve little purpose. The important fact is that the Crystal Queen did not intend to move a part of her continent to this world. What she was trying to do was, first, create a barrier over which the tidal wave would flow and then move her cities to a more clement part of their own planet. What she actually did was open a gateway between worlds. This, in itself, would be unimportant—save for the fact that she did not completely close the gateway. Tremendous forces are at play here, straining to draw her land back to its own place. She is using massive amounts of power merely to hold her continent in place. That is why she needs so many deaths. And why she fears you, lady. You can drain away some of the power she needs. But not from here. Rael tells me that he no longer dares to approach you carrying crystals. He leaves them back at the Council Chamber. Even there your power is drawing on them, but less so. It is my belief that if we travel to the west, and approach the realm of the Crystal Queen, you will be able to weaken her. Perhaps then the Almecs will be sucked back through the gateway.”

  “Only those still on the continent,” said Sofarita, absently.

  “You think I am wrong, lady?”

  “No, not wrong, merely ahead of yourself. My powers are not yet great enough to attack her directly. First I must help Rael destroy this invading force. Then we can think of an assault in the west. Now let us talk of more pleasant matters. You have a beautiful garden here, Ro.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “It is not as fine as Viruk’s, but it gives me great pleasure. I have always enjoyed watching—”

  “She is gone,” said Sofarita, suddenly. “Almeia was watching us, observing and listening. She will return. We do not have much time to plan our journey.”

  “Then you think I am right?” asked Talaban.

  “Yes, there is no other way. But as soon as we sail she will know what we plan. We will face many dangers.”

  “She is not all-knowing,” insisted Ro. “She did not anticipate the Sunfire, and the destruction of her ships, nor the arrival of the Serpent to save Pagaru. Nor did she succeed in the ambush of Talaban at the pass.”

  “She knows,” insisted Sofarita, “but she is limited by her need for others to carry out her commands. It is one matter to inform a general that a force is moving through a pass, quite another to direct the course of the subsequent battle. Her general, Cas-Coatl, communicates with her through the crystal he wears in his belt. She told him a small force was due in the Gen-el Pass. He sent two of his captains to oppose you. But they had no means of communicating wit
h Almeia. Equally, Cas-Coatl was told of the Sunfire. He thought he could destroy it before the Serpent arrived. He was wrong. Trust me on this. She knows our every weakness. But our strength lies in the time it takes for her orders to be carried out. We will sail to the west. I shall choose a landing place, and tell no one my choice until we are almost upon it.”

  “I shall come with you, Sofarita,” said Ro.

  “You are not a warrior, my friend. What will you do there?”

  “I have other talents,” said the little man. “And you will need them.”

  “Then let it be so. We will sail at midnight.”

  Viruk sat back in the open-topped carriage, his arm around the shoulders of the potter. “Over there,” he said, “is the Great Library.” Sadau had never seen such a building. He had thought the King’s Palace in Morak was astounding, but this made it look like a mud hut. The Library was massive, two 30-foot-tall statues supporting a colossal lintel stone at the front. Upon the lintel was a statue of a seated man, his hands outstretched. It was the tallest building Sadau had ever seen.

  “Who is the king seated there?” he asked.

  “The Fourth Avatar Prime,” said Viruk. “Or the Fifth. I really don’t remember. The building has over three hundred rooms.” A line of carriages waited outside the building and scores of servants were carrying chests inside.

  “What are they doing?” asked Sadau. “Moving treasure?”

  “Of a kind,” said Viruk. “It is the strongest building in Egaru. Avatar wives and children are being moved here for safety. Now, would you like to see something really special?”

  “Special?” queried Sadau. “It doesn’t involve killing, does it?”

  Viruk smiled and patted the man’s back. “Why would you think that?”

  “Because I didn’t deliver the head. Because I ran away and hid.”

  “So, you think your death is so important to me that I would hire a carriage merely to transport you to your doom? Come now, potter. Had I wished you dead I would have done it before now.”

  “Thank you, lord,” said Sadau, remembering how Viruk had reacted when the travellers had first come across the man Boru. Viruk had smiled at him, then drawn a dagger, leapt to the wagon, grabbed the man’s hair and wrenched back his head. The blade was poised above Boru’s throat when the king’s voice rang out.