Echoes of the Great Song

Chapter Twenty-Three

As they reached the mist barrier Talaban bade farewell to Caprishan and the supply column and led his fifty riders further north-east. He glanced at the young man riding alongside him. The rider was clad in expensive riding clothes, his tan jerkin crafted from the finest of skins and decorated along the shoulder seams with black pearls. His knee-length riding boots were also of fine leather, each adorned with a silver band at the ankle. He had spoken little since they had left Egaru and then only to answer direct questions.

Up ahead Touchstone was riding scout, and the column moved slowly, seeking to raise as little dust as possible.

The Questor General's orders had been specific. 'Harass the enemy. It is time they learned the cost of invasion. Hit them hard, then move. Do not engage in any pitched battles. Strike like the hawk, then ride.'

Talaban had passed the captaincy of the Serpent to Methras, the exchange of power witnessed by Mejana and Rael. The young sergeant had accepted his new role with quiet dignity and Talaban had felt a surge of pride.

He was not as happy with his own appointment. He would have preferred to have chosen his own men, but with power being shared now he had also been forced to accept a compromise. Twenty Avatar archers and thirty Vagar warriors, led by the inexperienced young man who rode now beside him.

Talaban knew little about him — save that he was a merchant, the grandson of Mejana, and he was said to know well the lands into which they rode.

'How far is the first settlement?' asked Talaban.

'Around four miles,' the young man answered. He seemed nervous and on edge.

'Touchstone is a fine scout. There will be no ambush, Pendar.'

'I am not afraid,' said Pendar, his tone defensive. That the Vagar disliked him was obvious, and, Talaban realized, wholly natural. But the Avatar hoped that when they came into contact with the enemy Pendar would have the intelligence to put his hatred aside. Until then there was little point in trying to make a friend of the man.

Urging his horse into a run Talaban moved ahead of the column. The land was becoming more ridged.

Towering cliffs of red stone reared to their left and they were approaching the wide Gen-el Pass. Touchstone had reined in his pony and was staring ahead. He glanced back as Talaban rode alongside.

'What have you seen?' asked the Avatar.

'Nothing. But enemy there.'

'How can you be sure?'

'Someone watches. I know this. I feel his eyes.'

Talaban scanned the pass. The sun was high and there was no movement to be seen. Not a bird flew, and even the breeze had dropped.

Talaban swung his mount and rode back to his Avatars, calling the sergeant aside. Goray was a large man, his short-cropped hair dark, his trimmed trident beard dyed blue. He was a veteran of many tribal wars and was one of the older Avatars, well over three hundred. For sixty years he had been an officer of high rank, but had retired from the army twelve years before to spend more time studying the stars. He had not been best pleased when the Questor General summoned him and other retired Avatars to return to the army. 'The enemy is in the pass,'

Talaban told him.

'I would expect so, captain. What is your plan?'

'Have you ridden this pass?'

'Not in seventy years.'

'What do you make of the Vagar?'

'He is untried and his men are wary of him. There is too much of the woman showing in him.'

'His sexuality is immaterial to me.'

'And to me,' said Goray equably. 'But that is not what I meant. I am talking about perceptions. Not what it is — but what shows. His men are afraid. In war soldiers look to their leaders as wells of courage or inspiration. They drink from those wells. I fear that, for many of his soldiers, he is a figure of fun, someone to mock. This worries me.'

'I accept that,' said Talaban. 'But I asked what you made of him.'

'He needs a victory, something to give him confidence in himself — and to inspire his men.'

Talaban rode back to the column where he called Pendar aside. 'Touchstone believes there is a force waiting for us in the pass. Is there another way forward?'

Pendar was silent for a moment. 'We could swing north, but that would bring us in close to Morak, Ammon's capital. It would also add three days to our journey both ways. And, since we are carrying supplies for only ten days, it would limit our opportunities to harass the Almecs. Can we not fight them here?'

Talaban ignored the question and stepped down from the saddle, gesturing Pendar to follow him. Moving to an area of bare, dry earth he knelt down. 'Sketch me the pass,' he said. He watched as Pendar drew his dagger and began to cut a series of lines.

'Once into the mouth of the pass it bends to the right and then undulates. The walls are sheer for the first four hundred yards. After that the pass narrows for a way — perhaps another five hundred yards. There have been many rock falls, and there are hundreds of hiding places among the boulders. After that it becomes sheer again.'

'So the main site for an ambush would be around a quarter of a mile into the pass?'

'I would say so, but I am no soldier.'

'You are now. Get used to it.' Pendar reddened, but before he could answer Talaban spoke again. 'Touchstone believes we are being observed. At what point does the pass bend to the right?'

Pendar pressed his dagger into the earth. 'Here. Is it significant?'

'If we are being watched it is from high on the cliff. Have you ever been up there?'

'On the left side only. You can walk to the top. There is a narrow series of paths and ledges. The right is sheer.'

'Then the watcher is on the left. He will lose sight of us as we enter the pass.' Talaban took a deep breath.

'Let's move!'

Stepping into the saddle he raised his arm and the column moved forward, across the open empty land.

Touchstone rode back. 'I see him. He crouches behind big stone. High on left.'

'How high?'

Three hundred feet.'

The walls of the pass reared up before them, pale red sandstone sculpted by thousands of years of wind and rain and running water. Deep vertical lines were scored into the towering walls as if chiselled there by a master hand. Talaban halted the column. Dismounting he gazed at the rock wall to his left. It was sheer, but there were no overhangs and he could see a shelf of rock some 60 feet above him. Calling his Avatars to him he outlined a plan and asked for ten volunteers. Every man raised his hand. Talaban chose the slimmest and smallest of the men, then summoned Pendar.

'We are going to climb the cliffs and move out above and behind the enemy. If there are a hundred or less we will shoot down into them. Once we begin shooting it is vital you lead a charge into the pass immediately. For there will be no cover for us, and their fire-clubs will cut us to pieces. You understand?'

Pendar nodded. 'But surely any one of the Almecs could look up and see you?'

'Touchstone will ride out and appear to be scouting the pass. Their eyes will be upon him.'

'They could just kill him.'

'Pendar, they are seeking to ambush our whole force, not one scout. However, you might be right. But then that is soldiering. Nothing is without risk.'

Talaban moved to the rock face. Loosening his belt he strapped his zhi-bow to his back then began to climb.

Hand and footholds were numerous, but the rock was dry and apt to crumble. Testing each hold carefully he inched his way up the face. At 45 feet the handholds disappeared. To his right a narrow vertical crack in the rock snaked up towards the shelf above it. The crack was no more than two inches deep. Talaban edged his way to it, then thrust his right hand up and inside it. There were tiny holds here, but the crack was not deep enough for him to be able to insert the toe of his boot for a foothold. He glanced up. The crack opened wider some eight feet above him. He could hear the men climbing below him. Looking down he saw that the first soldier had almost reached him.

'Steady yourself,' he told the man. 'I need your shoulder.' The soldier grinned. Moving up close to Talaban he settled himself against the face.

'Ready, sir.'

Wedging his hand into the crack Talaban hauled himself high then, placing his foot on the soldier's shoulder, he levered himself up to where the crack was wider. Using another wedge hold he climbed on, pushing his foot into the crack, and up over the lip of the shelf.

Below him the other ten soldiers were following his lead but this left them one man short, for there was no one to help the last climber. Talaban signalled him to return to the ground, then led his nine men carefully along the shelf.

Seated on his pony Touchstone waited for Talaban's signal. When it came the tribesman swung the reins and walked his mount out into the pass.

It was eerily quiet here and Touchstone could feel sweat trickling down his spine. The ambushers should not react to seeing the scout. They would be anxious to kill as many of the invading force as possible. But there might just be one nervous Almec. Touchstone rode on. Ahead and to the left he saw the signs of many rock falls.

A shadow moved behind a boulder, but Touchstone did not react. He looked both left and right as if scanning the pass. He allowed himself one glance up and to his left and saw Talaban and his nine soldiers moving warily along a narrow ledge.

Touchstone drew rein, lifted his water canteen from the pommel of his saddle and took a sip. It was hot here in the pass, the air heavy. Another movement caught his eye, the merest flicker of shadow behind a huge boulder. They are not so skilled, he thought. And they are too anxious for the kill. Swinging his pony he rode slowly back towards the mouth of the pass.

'What did you see?' asked Pendar. The man was sweating profusely, and fear shone in his eyes.

'Hundred I reckon,' said Touchstone.

'Then we will fight them?' The thought obviously dismayed the young man.

'You ride hard when battle starts,' Touchstone warned him. 'Talaban in open. No cover. Get ready. Killing time soon.'

Pendar drew his sword. His hand was trembling. Ignoring him, Touchstone cast his eyes over the waiting Vagar warriors. They too were on edge. He grinned at them and lifted his axe from his belt. They did not respond. Fighting men, he knew, took their inspiration from their leader. This Pendar was untried. He was frightened and that fear was contagious.

Touchstone moved his pony alongside Pendar's mount.

And the wait began.

Sweat dripped into Talaban's eyes as he inched his way along the narrow ledge. From here he could see the hidden warriors below. All but the two officers were dressed identically, sleeveless black shirts and dark leggings, no adornments on their arms, no bangles or bracelets of copper or gold. Nothing to glint or shine. Each man wore a small pack strapped to his upper back. The officers also eschewed colourful garb. Their breastplates were of blackened metal, as were their round helms. Talaban estimated that around 130 men were crouched behind boulders, their fire-clubs held ready. They were still and poised, which spoke of good discipline, and Talaban did not believe they would break and run at the first attack. His mouth was dry as he considered his plan. It was fraught with danger. Not one of the Almecs had yet looked up. But they would when the battle started.

Exposed as they were here the Avatars would certainly take losses. Indeed, thought Talaban, it was not beyond the bounds of possibility that all of them could be killed m the first volley. He glanced back at his men.

The same thought had occurred to them.

The ledge was less than two feet wide — just enough to allow the Avatars to crouch down, creating smaller targets. Talaban signalled them to spread out. They did so, and unstrapped their zhi-bows. 'Make your shots fast,' he told them. 'And let us pray the Vagar comes to our aid with all speed.' So saying he raised his bow, honed his mind to the weapon, and aimed at the back of a. kneeling warrior.

Ten zhi-bolts flashed down, then another ten. Below — for a moment only — all was pandemonium. The dead did not have time to scream. Their bodies lay, tunics ablaze, black smoke rising from the terrible wounds in their backs. An Almec officer shouted a command and discipline was instantly restored. Fire-clubs were raised and a volley of shots rang out. Lead shot smashed into the rock face. A stone splinter raked Talaban's cheek and he felt blood trickle from the wound. He remained where he was, coolly sending bolt after bolt into the startled Almecs.

The man beside him was slammed back into the rock. Then he pitched forward, and fell soundlessly, his body striking the ground head first.

Talaban killed one Almec officer and two other men. Then he heard the sound of galloping hooves. He did not risk a glance but continued to shoot. Another Avatar fell from the ledge, then a third. Below his position Talaban saw Touchstone gallop his pony into the fray. The tribesman threw himself from his mount, the blade of his hand-axe slamming into the head of the last Almec officer. The trilling war cry of the Anajo echoed in the pass.

The Almecs began to fall back, moving from boulder to boulder, seeking cover. No-one was now firing at the men on the ledge. Yet there was still no panic among the fleeing men and they retreated at first in good order.

The ten mounted Avatars galloped their horses down the pass, shooting from the saddle. The Vagars had dismounted and were fighting hand to hand with a group of Almecs who had taken up a defensive position directly below Talaban and his men. The fighting was fierce. Talaban saw the young Pendar defending himself against an Almec swordsman. The Vagar was ludicrously lacking in skill, his flailing blade causing little concern to his attacker. All that was keeping Pendar alive was the fact that he was backing away furiously.

The Almec suddenly charged forward. Pendar tripped and fell back. The Almec loomed above him. Talaban's zhi-bolt took him in the side of the neck. The head was torn clear and the body fell across Pendar, blood bubbling from the severed jugular. The Vagar dropped his sword and scrambled back.

The surviving Almecs had retreated deeper into the pass, but they were being harried by the Avatars. Down below, the fighting had ended. Talaban rose to his feet. Only five of his men remained alive on the ledge and two of these were wounded, one in the shoulder, the other shot through the elbow. The drop from the ledge was not quite sheer, but it would still make a difficult climb. Sending the three fit men first Talaban edged along to the wounded.

'I can make it, sir,' said the man with the shoulder wound. He was sitting holding his crystal over the blood-drenched hole in his leather breastplate. 'No bones broken.'

'Are you sure?' The man nodded. Then, with a grin, he pocketed his crystal and swung his legs over the ledge. Talaban heard him grunt with pain as he took the weight on his injured shoulder, but slowly the soldier made his way down to the ground.

The other soldier sat with his back to the rock, his face grey with pain and shock. As Talaban moved alongside him he saw that the man had two wounds, the smashed elbow and another hole just below his belt.

'I don't believe I'll be making that climb,' he told Talaban, trying to force a grin. Using his dagger Talaban cut away the man's leggings and examined the wound. The ball had struck the hip, tearing the flesh and, apparently, bouncing from the pelvic bone. The gash was bleeding profusely.

'Where is your crystal?'

The soldier pointed to the pouch at his side. Talaban opened it. Placing the green gem into the man's left hand he told him to work on the pain from the elbow. Then he took his own healing stone and used its power to stop the bleeding from the hip wound. After some minutes the man's colour began to improve.

'You hurt, captain?' he heard Touchstone call.

'No. Catch my bow!' He dropped the weapon over the ledge. It spiralled down. Touchstone caught it expertly.

Returning his attention to the wounded man he gently unbuckled the soldier's belt and then his own. Buckling them together he helped the man to stand. 'I'll take you down on my back,' he told the soldier.

'You won't make it. Leave me here. I'll make a try later.'

Talaban shook his head. 'It is not possible with one arm. Now do as you're told.' Pushing one end of the belt into the soldier's good hand he slipped it around the soldier's body, then tightened it around his own waist. 'Put your arm around my neck and hold on. Not too tight, I'll need to breathe.'

'This is not wise,' said the soldier.

'We'll talk about wisdom when we get to the ground,' said Talaban. 'Move slowly with me.' Strapped together the two men crouched down over the ledge. 'Lean your weight forward onto my shoulders,' said Talaban.

Bracing himself he lay down on his stomach, then swung his legs over the edge. The soldier's dead weight dragged him back, and for one terrifying moment Talaban thought he was being torn from the ledge. Then his foot struck a jutting rock. Taking a deep calming breath, Talaban began to move down the face. The soldier was heavier than he had appeared and Talaban felt the muscles of his shoulders being stretched to tearing point.

From below men shouted encouragement, telling Talaban where the footholds were. 'A little to your left and down. That's it, captain. There's another just below that!'

Talaban's breath was coming in ragged gasps now and sweat was blinding him. His right hand began to tremble with fatigue. Two of the Avatars climbed alongside him, leaning in to help him with the weight of the soldier. Slowly they made their way down. Eager hands grabbed at Talaban as he reached the foot of the face. A soldier unbuckled the doubled belt and helped the wounded man to a boulder where he slumped down and closed his eyes in a prayer of thanks.

Regaining his breath, Talaban summoned Goray to his side. 'Report,' he said.

'Six Avatar dead, three wounded. Two Vagars dead, nine wounded. None badly.'

'The enemy?'

'I've counted seventy-two bodies,' said Goray. 'The survivors fled to the east. No more than a dozen escaped.'

'Gather the fire-clubs, the black powder bags and the ammunition. Give the weapons to the Vagars and explain how they operate.'

'Yes, sir.' Goray had been one of thirty Avatars to have experimented with the captured weapons back in Egaru. He had shown great aptitude with them.

Talaban strolled across to where Pendar was seated on a boulder. His sword was still on the ground near the headless Almec some 20 paces away.

'Are you feeling sick?' asked Talaban.

'Not any more. I've emptied what feels like the contents of three stomachs already. Now I just feel weak and faint. I see you are wounded,' said Pendar, pointing to the cut on Talaban's cheek. It was still leaking blood which had stained the right side of his face.

'I think it must look worse than it is. A fragment of stone pierced the skin.' Removing his crystal Talaban held it to the cut, which sealed instantly.

'That was a fine climb,' said Pendar. 'The men will love you for it.'

Talaban ignored the compliment. 'You have never had training with the sword, have you?'

'No. Was it you who saved me?'

'Yes. I shot fast and high. I am sorry. It must have been a shock when the bolt struck.'

'Shock does not truly describe it. One moment he was leering at me — the next he had no face to leer with. I would have known then — if I had not known already — that I am really not suited to this kind of work.' He smiled and looked away.

'Do not underestimate yourself, Pendar. Soldiering is about acquired skills. You have a keen mind and you will learn. Stick close to me. Observe the routines. It will come to you. You have already made a beginning. You led that charge well. My thanks for that. It was bravely done.'

Pendar smiled. 'A timely compliment, Talaban.' The Vagar relaxed, and scanned the battle site. 'So this is what it is like to be a warrior,' he said. 'I cannot say it has much to recommend it. There is a stench to the air that is gathering flies.'

'When men die in combat their bowels open,' said Talaban. 'There are so many songs about battles and heroes and not one mentions the stench. I think few of the song writers ever fought in one.' He sat down beside the Vagar. 'Are you feeling better?'

'Yes. What now?'

'We send the badly wounded back to Egaru and we push on to kill as many Almecs as we can. Would you prefer to go back? There is no disgrace in it. I will commend you in my report.'

'I don't think my grandmother would appreciate that,' said Pendar. 'She is grooming me for political office. She thinks that a hero will be well received by the people.'

'She is not wrong.'

'She rarely is. She's a tough woman, and single-minded.'

Touchstone strolled to where the two men were sitting. 'I go to clifftop,' he said. 'Kill watcher. Meet later, yes?'

'Be careful,' warned Talaban. 'We leave in one hour.' Touchstone smiled and loped away.

'I watched him kill four men with that small axe,' said Pendar. 'It was terrifying.'

'He is from a warrior people. They believe that battle is the only route to greatness.'

'And this is greatness?' said Pendar, gesturing towards the dead.

'No,' said Talaban. 'This is savagery, and the antithesis of everything civilization stands for. But in some respects Touchstone's people do understand truths we have long forgotten. Only in strife do we grow. What you have learned today, in a few brief moments, no book or song or teacher could ever have imparted to you. You sat upon your horse in the mouth of the pass and you faced death. Then you overcame your fear and you charged.

Have you ever felt so alive?'

'No, never,' admitted the Vagar. 'And yet it was still appalling.'

'Yes, it is. All these dead men — Almec, Avatar and Vagar — could have led useful productive lives. Now they are meat for scavenging birds. If your grandmother is right, and you move into political life, you can take what you have learned here and use it to benefit your people. In my long life I have grown to realize that all men sway between being base and noble. They make decisions daily that draw them one way, then the other. Leaders should inspire nobility of spirit. Today you have seen much that is base and more that was noble. You will either be a better or a worse man for it. I think you will be a better man. Now pick up your sword. I think it is time for a few basic lessons.'

It had been a long day and Sofarita was bone-weary as she returned to the house. Questor Ro was sleeping; all but one of his servants had retired to their beds. Old Sempes was waiting for her as she arrived.

'Would you like some food, lady?' he asked. 'Or perhaps I could prepare you a bath?'

'No, thank you. I think I will just sleep,' she said. She slowly climbed the stairs. Her knees and hip joints ached as she did so, yet another indication of the advancing crystallization of her limbs. She paused at the top of the stairs, then pushed on to her room. It was a small, westerly-facing bedroom with a wide arched window and a small balcony beyond. Through it she could see the stars shining above the glittering ocean.

Too tired to disrobe she kicked off her shoes, pulled back the blankets and lay down. The pillow was soft and inviting, but she did not drift away into sleep.

It was eight days since Talaban had ridden from the city with his men. She had observed his first encounter with the Almecs and found herself terrified that he might be killed. He was occupying a great deal of her thoughts now. There was something about him that reached out to her. She could not identify it. He had fought four skirmishes since then, lightning raids on Almec columns, and was now heading for his rendezvous with the Serpent, which Methras had sailed up the Luan estuary.

Elsewhere the news had all been dark. The Almecs had slaughtered most of the residents of Boria, Pejkan and Caval, and 3,000 soldiers were now marching slowly up the coast towards Egaru. They would be in sight of the capital in eight days. Another army of similar size was preparing to move from Ammon's capital.

Methras had sunk two golden ships, but more and more were sailing up the river, bringing soldiers and weapons of war.

Viruk, with Sofarita's aid, had linked with the agent Boru and together they were bringing Ammon to Egaru.

She had last seen the wagon earlier that day, trundling over the farmlands near her own village of Pacepta. The settlement was deserted, the farmers having taken to the hills in search of safety.

The Almecs had landed armies all over the continent. To the far south they had crushed the nomads, killing hundreds. To the east they had fought a pitched battle with the Hantu tribe. The Almecs had suffered heavy losses, but at the day's end more than 2,000 Hantu lay dead upon the field, among them the leader Rzak Xhen.

Twenty miles from Egaru another Almec army was camped close to the mist barrier around the Valley of the Stone Lion. They had assembled a structure of metal poles, boxes and wires and were studying the mist. Twenty of their men had tried to march through. One made it back. He died within moments, his body aged beyond belief.

Sofarita had flown through the mist, to find that Anu's pyramid had reached the thirty-first course, and was now almost 200 feet high. She had entered Anu's tent. He was asleep on his cot bed. His hair was sparse and cloud white, deeply etched lines scored his face, and his limbs were stick thin. Anu awoke and gazed up at her. 'I was wondering when you would visit,' he said, aloud. 'Or am I dreaming?'

'It is no dream, Holy One.'

Anu closed his eyes and lay back. A faint blue aura glimmered around his body, and then his spirit rose clear.

'It is good to see you, child,' he said. 'How are you faring?'

'The power is growing all the time,' she told him, 'sometimes slowly, sometimes with surges that overwhelm me. It is not constant. It frightens me.'

His spirit hand took hers. 'You are a brave woman, Sofarita. The Source chose well. But then he always does.'

'I did not ask to be chosen,' she said. 'Nor did I want to be.'

'I think you are wrong. If you had known the terrible evil that was to come, and had been offered the power to oppose it, I believe you would have made this choice. You are strong, and good, and fair hearted.'

'And I am to die.'

'We are all going to die, child. Everything does.' He released her hand. 'Tell Rael I need another chest. I must speed the Dance.'

'I will tell him. Why is it that you are allowing yourself to age?'

'I have no wish for immortality, Sofarita. It is a heavy burden, with few genuine pleasures.'

'When you are gone the Music will die with you.'

He smiled and shook his head. 'The Music cannot die. All that will fail will be men's understanding of it.

Perhaps that is good. Time will tell. But I feel there is enough evil in the world already, without magic adding to it.'

'The Almecs are trying to break through your barrier of mist. Can you hold them back?'

'I could, but I will not,' said Anu. He paused. 'Can you sense the presence of Almeia when she is close?'

'Yes.'

'Do you sense her now?'

'No.'

'Good, then let us talk. I am not a man given to lies, but I have left Rael and the others with the belief that my pyramid will save them, that it will be a new power source to recharge the chests. This is exactly the opposite of the truth. When the Music flows from it all crystal power will be drained. The chests will empty, the zhi-bows fail. Immortality for the Avatars will cease. Equally, when the Music reaches the west, the Crystal Queen will die. But first I must finish the pyramid. At this moment Almeia believes the pyramid will be a power source for her. While she believes this no attempt will be made to stop me. It is vital that she does not learn the truth. You must keep her focused upon you, Sofarita. In any way you can.'

Sofarita remained with him for another hour, discussing strategies. Then feeling the approach of Almeia, she bade him farewell and returned to her body.

Now, as she lay in her bed, she thought again of Talaban.

His bravery had not surprised her, but she had been pleased with his sensitivity in dealing with Pendar. She wondered what it would be like to touch Talaban's skin, to stroke her fingers across his cheek. For a moment only she was a farm girl again, remembering her first time with Veris. Only it wasn't Veris in her imagination. It was the lean, powerful figure of Talaban the Avatar.

Cold reality struck her.

You are not a farm girl any longer. You are a goddess.

A dying goddess.

Questor Ro was not asleep. The day had been a long one, supervising the training of new recruits at the three barracks. The task was not easy. Thousands of Vagars wanted to enlist and each one needed to be physically examined and questioned at length. In turn this led to massive lines of men, snaking out around the buildings, blocking thoroughfares. Ro had been summoned to create order from the chaos. At the first of the barracks he had found Rael and Mejana in heated debate. She wanted to know why fit young men could not merely sign their name and be assigned to a unit. Rael was struggling to explain the military ramifications of such a move. Neither was making an impression on the other.

Ro stepped in. 'If I may speak,' he said. Mejana was struggling to hold her temper. Rael also was ashen-faced.

Both nodded. 'Let me first sum up both points of view. The Questor General is concerned that our new army be disciplined and effective. You, lady, are worried about the need for such rigorous examination, fearing it may be some part of a secret Avatar plan to retain control of the army.'

'Exactly,' said Mejana.

'I am not, as Rael knows, a military man,' said Ro. 'But I do know certain principles that should always apply.

Our army is small but it has, over the years, proved effective. Lines of communication are well drawn, officers and men know one another well. Orders, when given, are carried out with speed and efficiency. A huge influx of untrained recruits could prove chaotic. It is, I understand, the Questor General's plan to add one thousand new soldiers. This would almost double our force.'

'We could put twenty thousand men on the field of battle,' said Mejana. 'We would outnumber the Almecs five to one.'

'And watch them all slaughtered!' snapped Rael.

'With respect, lady,' said Ro, soothingly, 'and I do mean with respect, for I believe you to be a formidable woman, you are out of your depth in this matter. What I said about lines of communication is not just important, but utterly vital. In any battle a general must be able to formulate changes in strategy, give orders and see them carried out swiftly. What you are suggesting is that we face the Almecs with an undisciplined mob. We Avatars have fought such armies before. We always won. At the first attack hundreds of them are killed. The rest become demoralized. Some decide to run for safety. This causes confusion and, more often than not, panic. We do not have time to train a huge force. However, I think I know a compromise.'

'It needs to be a good one,' said Rael. 'There should be two forces,' said Ro. 'The first will be the army and we will continue our examinations as before, seeking only one thousand of the fittest, most able men. The second will be a militia force under appointed commanders in every district. These will be men who will defend the walls when called upon or who will fight on the streets if the walls are breached. Each district commander will appoint sub-commanders and they will organize distribution of weapons. How does that sound?'

'A recipe for disaster,' said Rael.

'I like it,' said Mejana. 'My people will feel, perhaps for the first time, that their destiny is in their own hands.'

Then we are done here,' said Rael. 'Excuse me.' He stalked from the room. Mejana turned to Ro.

'Will you assist me in organizing the militia?' she asked him.

'Of course, lady.' Ro was silent for a moment, then he looked into Mejana's eyes. 'He is a fine soldier. We could have found none better to oversee the defence of the cities.'

'But?' she said.

'But he has nothing to fight for. If he wins, he loses. You understand?'

'The day of the Avatar is over,' she said. 'I would do nothing to change that, even if I could.'

'I understand that,' Ro told her. That is not the point I am making. No matter what is done with the militia, or new Vagars drawn into the army, the fighting spearhead of the war will be the Avatar soldiers, with their zhi-bows. Men fight best who fight for causes. As matters now stand, why should Rael not gather the few hundred Avatars left, take control of the Serpent, and sail to a far land to rebuild?'

Mejana considered the question, and its ramifications. If such an event were to take place Egaru and Pagaru would certainly fall to the Almecs.

'I have nothing to offer them,' said Mejana, at last.

'You could make it clear that there will be no retribution against my people should the war be won.'

'Such an offer would be a lie,' she admitted. 'Hatred of the Avatar is so deeply ingrained that it would manifest itself very swiftly.'

'I know,' said Ro, sadly. 'And so does Rael.'

'What then can I do?'

Ro did not reply. He had sown the seed and could do no more.

The day had been exhausting, but by dusk the beginnings of organization could be seen. Twenty district commanders had been appointed and ten further training areas identified. The long lines of recruits had thinned and a sense of order was beginning to prevail.

An hour before midnight Ro had returned to his home, dismissed his servants, and requested that Sempes wait for the arrival of the Lady Sofarita. Ro himself had taken a long bath and retired to his bed.

Sleep would not come. His mind was in a whir. He thought of his lost wife and children, his years of work and study, his meeting with Sofarita, and the emotions that meeting had unleashed — emotions that would never be fulfilled. At first he had entertained hopes for the deepening of their relationship, but then he had seen how she looked at Talaban. How could he hope to compete with him? Talaban was tall and handsome. Such physical considerations should have had little to do with genuine love. But the reality was far different, Ro knew.

He climbed from his bed and filled a goblet with cool water. His door was open, and he felt a chill breeze.

His gaze flicked to the open window. No draught was coming from there and the curtains were not moving.

Walking to the door he stepped into the hallway. Immediately he began to tremble with cold.

This was ridiculous! Running back into his room he threw a woollen cloak around his shoulders and returned to the hall. It was dark, and yet he could see a faint blue light coming from Sofarita's room. Was she working some magic? Would he disturb her if he ventured in? He shivered. Then walked along the hallway. The door was open. Thick ice had formed on the walls and swirling snow filled the room. Ro stepped inside.

Sofarita was lying in bed, snow and ice covering her face.

Ro ran to her side. As he did so he caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye. Swinging round he saw — just for a moment — the transparent figure of a young woman, white-haired and ghostly, with eyes of cold green. Then she was gone. Dragging back the covers Ro pushed his arms under Sofarita's limp body and, with a grunt of effort, lifted her clear of the frozen bed. Staggering out into the hallway he carried her to his own room. Her skin was icy cold, her lips blue. There was no time to light a fire. Ro laid her on the bed and tore off her frozen clothes. Covering her with a blanket he threw off his cloak and night-shirt and slipped in beside her, drawing her to him, allowing the warmth of his body to raise her temperature. Gently he rubbed at the cold flesh of her arms.

For a time he felt sure he would fail and that she would die in his arms. But then a soft moan escaped from her lips. Ro hugged her close, feeling the warmth seeping back into her body.

Sofarita's eyelids flickered. 'She… tried to… kill me,' she whispered.

'You are safe now,' Ro told her. 'Safe with me.' She gave a weak smile and snuggled in closer. Then she slept.

Ro drew the blanket over her shoulder. She was warmer now, and he could feel the heat beginning to radiate from her flesh. Ro became acutely aware of her thigh pressed close to his own. He lay back and closed his eyes.

Sadness touched him, for he was now where he had dreamed of being, alongside the naked Sofarita, her arms around him. And yet he sensed there would never be another moment like this, never the physical closeness, the intimacy, the sheer joy of togetherness. Ro wanted it to last, and he lay without moving, holding to every memorable sweet and fleeting second.

Talaban lay still in the darkness, his hands lashed behind him, his head pounding from the blows he had taken. He could taste blood from a gash inside his mouth. Why he was alive he did not know. They had been riding for the rendezvous point with the Serpent when they had come across a hunting party of Almecs. Pendar, heady with the success of the last few days, had led his men in a wild charge. Talaban had galloped after them, shouting for them to turn back.

A larger force was hidden in the undergrowth and a vicious volley of shots ripped into the Vagars. Ten men were hurled from their saddles and the charge faltered. 'Get back to the river!' bellowed Talaban. The survivors needed no second order. Wheeling their horses they had thundered back towards the Luan. Talaban swung on his reins. At that moment two Almecs came running from cover. One loosed his fire-club, the shot taking Taiaban's mount in the skull. The horse tumbled forward. Talaban was hurled over its dipping head. Landing awkwardly he struggled to rise. Something struck him a wicked blow to the side of the head and he had opened his eyes to find himself tied hand and foot and travelling in the back of a wagon.

They had brought him to a deserted village and had thrown him into an empty grain store.

There were no windows and the Avatar did not know if it was day or night. Occasionally he lapsed into unconsciousness. Each time he woke he felt nauseous and cold.

The door was pulled open. Two men moved into the store, took Talaban by the arms and dragged him out onto open ground. Two other men stood waiting. One, dressed in breastplate of shining gold and a helm adorned with golden feathers, had a face which shimmered in the moonlight, like glass. The other was a hunchback holding a golden rod, topped with a circle. Talaban was hauled before them, then kicked savagely in the back of the knees, causing him to tumble to the earth. Someone grabbed his hair and dragged him to his knees.

'You have been troublesome, Avatar,' said the man with the glass face. 'But no more troublesome than a bee sting. Tomorrow I begin my march on your cities. We know much about your defences and the plans of your leaders. You, however, will tell me more.'

'You will learn nothing from me,' said Talaban.

'On the contrary. Everything you have ever known will be divulged to my servant. He has a particular skill — as you will discover.' He turned to the hunchback. 'Drain him,' he said.

The hunchback tucked the golden rod into his belt and moved alongside the prisoner. His hands clasped Taiaban's head, his fingers pressing into the temples. Fire lanced through the Avatar. It was as if a snake had entered his ear and was eating his way through the flesh of his brain. Talaban honed his concentration, moving into the first of the rituals, seeking a defence against the probing snake. The movement inside his head slowed.

He threw up a mental wall, created from darkness. The snake's fangs ripped at it, shredding it like rotten silk.

Talaban retreated, holding to his identity. The snake advanced. Talaban moved into the Second Ritual, then the Third. Utterly focused now he let the snake advance.

Then he counterattacked, driving his spirit into the snake like a spear. Instantly images began to form. A childhood spent in isolation and fear, bullied, beaten, mocked. Sold by his parents to a group of beggars, who used his deformity to earn coin. They scratched his skin and smeared it with animal excrement, causing terrible sores that made the hunchbacked child ever more grotesque and therefore more valuable.

The snake tried to draw back, but Talaban had him now.

He saw the hunchback's childhood, his adolescence, and his training by Cas-Coatl. Crystal-fed, he had developed amazing talents to read the minds of others. Suddenly the hunchback had power and he used it mercilessly for more than 300 years.

Talaban saw it all, and through the hunchback's thoughts relived the magical flight from their own doomed world, saw the magic used to achieve it.

Almeia, the glorious goddess, the Crystal Queen.

And, in one sudden, brilliant flash, he saw why Almeia needed so many deaths.

The snake was struggling now, desperate to pull clear.

'Your life has been sad,' Talaban told him. 'Your youth saw you abused and hurt, your manhood saw you abuse and hurt others. I pity you.''

The snake ceased its struggle. '/ am what men made me,' said the hunchback.

'May your next life be a happy one,' Talaban told him.

Moving into the Fourth Ritual Talaban severed the head of the snake.

The hunchback fell dead to the ground. Talaban swayed but remained upright on his knees.

Cas-Coatl knelt beside his fallen servant. 'How did you kill him?' he asked, conversationally.

Talaban looked up. 'In the same way you would have, Cas-Coatl,' he said.

'Ah, I see. You Avatars are truly similar to my people. Unfortunately for you this means I must resort to torture.' He swung to the two guards. 'Lock him away and send for Lan-Roas. Tell him to bring all his… tools.'

The guards took Talaban by his arms and lifted him. 'Torture will gain you nothing, Almec,' said the Avatar.

'I suspect you are right,' agreed Cas-Coatl. 'Sadly we will have to find out. Lan-Roas is very skilled. He will begin by burning out your right eye, then cutting the fingers from your right hand. Then the hand itself. And that, my friend, will be merely the beginning. You will be amazed at what levels of pain he can inspire in his victims.'

Talaban said nothing as he was taken away and then thrown to the ground inside the grain store. The door slammed shut, leaving him once more in total darkness. With an effort he rolled to his knees, then began to work at the binding on his wrists, tugging and twisting. The leather thongs did not give. Pushing himself to his feet he began to walk carefully until he reached a wall. Turning his back to it he inched his way along it, feeling for any rough edges against which he could saw through the bindings. There was nothing.

How long did he have before the torturer arrived to maim him?

Put such thoughts from your mind, he told himself sternly.

Moving along the wall he reached the doorway. The timbers had been set back into the stone, and once more he found no straight edges with which to work. Lastly he began to move across the floor, slowly sweeping his foot, seeking any piece of stone that might be lying close by. Again there was nothing. Despair touched him with an icy finger. Setting off once more he moved with even more care. His foot scraped against a small object.

Sitting down he reached out, the tips of his fingers brushing the dirt floor. At first he could not locate the object, but then his fingers touched something hard. It was flat and irregular in shape, no more than an inch across.

Lifting it carefully he ran his thumb across it. It was a piece of broken pottery.

The edge was sharp.

With great care he lifted it back towards the thongs, and began to saw at the bindings. After some minutes he managed to get his finger.against the leather. He had made almost no impression upon it. This could take hours, he knew.

And he did not have hours to spare.

Moving back to the door he managed to wedge the shard into a crack. Then he pressed the edge into his left wrist above the bindings. The skin parted and blood began to flow, wetting the dry leather. He let the flow continue for some minutes until he could feel it dripping over his fingers and dropping to the floor. Then he bunched his muscles and pulled with all his strength.

The bindings held. Taking three quick breaths he tried again. This time there was a little movement.

Steadying himself he twisted his left wrist, and pulled again from a slightly different angle. The bindings stretched a fraction more.

He could hear footsteps approaching. The sound gave him renewed strength and he dragged back on the thongs. The skin of his wrists was torn further open as he did so, further drenching the leather. As the footsteps reached the door the thongs parted. Talaban staggered, then lurched towards the opening.

He heard the bar being raised, then the door swung in. A tall man entered. He was carrying a shoulder sack and in his hand was a small saw. He froze as he saw Talaban waiting for him. The Avatar leapt, his right hand sweeping forward, fingers extended. The points of the fingers slammed into the man's throat, smashing the bones beneath. He fell back against the wall, gurgling and struggling for breath that would never come again. Talaban pushed past him. Three guards stood beyond the doorway.

There was no way he could defeat them all.

At that moment a dark figure leapt from the low roof. The small bright hand-axe sliced through the throat of the first guard. Talaban sprang at the second, sending a left hook that exploded against his chin. The third guard drew his sword and lunged at the Avatar. The blade took Talaban under the left ribs, ripping away the flesh.

Talaban grabbed the sword arm, hauling the Almec forward — straight into Talaban's rising left elbow. The man half fell. As he righted himself Touchstone's axe buried itself in his skull.

'Better move quick,' said Touchstone. 'Horses beyond village.'

A cry went up behind them. Talaban swung and saw Cas-Coatl and a dozen men running across the square.

'Now be good time!' said Touchstone. The tribesman sprinted off. Talaban began to run after him. By the time the Avatar reached the outskirts of the village Touchstone was far ahead, disappearing down into a shallow dry gully. Talaban was close to exhaustion and could run no further.

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.