Echoes of the Great Song (36 page)

“Do you look the part, my dear?” he asked himself. “I am afraid the answer has to be no. One cannot make silk look like sackcloth. But it will have to do.”

There had to be a way to communicate with him, thought Sofarita.

She was crystal-joined and powerful. It was inconceivable that she could not touch this man. Joined to crystal! That could be it, she thought. He was wearing a belt pouch. Sofarita reached inside it. There were two crystals there. She concentrated on them. They began to vibrate. Viruk felt the movement and, puzzled, drew them out. Sofarita’s spirit hand rested on the first of the green crystals.

“Can you hear me, Viruk?” she said. He swung round. “Speak to me,” she urged him.

“I can’t see you. Are you a voice of the Source?”

“Yes,” she said, thinking that he would react better to that thought than if she announced herself as the village girl he had bedded.

“I usually hear a man’s voice,” he said. “Still, who do you want me to kill?”

“You must find Ammon. Rael needs him.”

“I already know that,” he said. “I am heading for the city now. Of course the task is a little difficult since I don’t know what he looks like and if he escaped he’s probably in disguise. Are you an angel of death?”

“No, I have been assigned to protect you,” she said.

“Oh, that’s nice. Protect me from what, exactly? I didn’t notice you warn me when the krals were close by.”

“You needed no help there. Wait here. I shall return soon.”

Detaching herself from him she sped back to Egaru. Ro and Touchstone were waiting quietly in the garden room. She opened her eyes. “Have you ever seen Ammon?” she asked Ro.

“Yes. Tall man, womanly. Beautiful face.” Rising from the couch Sofarita crossed the room and took his hand.

“Show me! Think of him!”

Ro did so. Without another word she returned to the couch and freed her spirit. Using the same technique as she had in finding Viruk she flew east, coming at last to a series of cliffs. In a cave on the eastern slope she found three men: one old, one frightened, and one standing guard in the cave mouth. He was tall and, as Ro had described, had a face of exquisite beauty, with deep violet eyes. Rising into the air she returned to where Viruk sat by the river’s edge. He was hurling flat pebbles out over the water, watching them skim.

“Ammon is some twelve miles southeast of here. He
is travelling with a bearded old man and one other. Close your eyes.” Viruk did so. Sofarita filled his mind with a picture of the three. He cried out and clapped his hands.

“The little potter,” he said. “Well, well! I almost killed him, you know. Of course you know. You were there. Are you sure there’s nobody you want killed?”

“No one,” she said.

“How strange. Usually when the Source speaks to me he asks for deaths.”

“Not this time. Go and find Ammon.”

“Can you take human form?”

“No,” she said.

“That’s a shame. I could really use a woman. I get very edgy after a battle. Do I have time to find one?”

“No! Now go and do your duty.”

She pulled back from him and returned to Egaru.

She opened her eyes and breathed out a long sigh. “Viruk is completely insane,” she said.

“Yes,” agreed Ro. “All Avatars know that.”

“How has he survived so long?”

“He’s rather good at what he does,” said Ro.

Ammon stood in the mouth of the cave, staring out over the golden cliffs and the distant, shimmering Luan. That morning the three of them had crept along a dry watercourse to the southern wall. They were moving slowly and with great care when they heard the sound of marching feet. Crouching down against the crumbling dirt they had listened as prisoners were brought out onto the flat ground above them. Sadau’s bladder had released and the little man pushed his face into the dirt in embarrassment. Shots rang out. People screamed in agony. For an hour or more the killing continued. Ammon could not see the horror but the sound would
haunt him for the rest of his life. He heard children wailing and begging, women pleading for the lives of their young. None were spared. Eventually the soldiers marched away. Ammon pushed himself to his feet and peered over the lip of the watercourse. Bodies lay everywhere, dead eyes staring up at the sun. His gaze flickered over them. And stopped. Some 20 feet away was the woman who had come to Sadau’s home the night before. Her children lay close by, as did the toddler Am mon had rescued. All the victims had their chests ripped open.

Ammon forced himself to look at all the faces, determined that he would never forget any part of this dreadful slaughter.

Then he dropped down to where the others waited. “I should have stayed at home,” whimpered Sadau.

“I do not think so,” said Ammon. “Come, let us move on.”

The watercourse had once flowed under the southern wall, joining a tributary to the Luan. The three men moved out into the shadow of the outer wall. The land here was open, with little cover. If there were sentries upon the parapets the fleeing men would be seen as soon as they moved out. Remaining where they were throughout the day they crept away under cover of darkness.

Now, as he stood in the cave mouth, Ammon was still fighting for calm. His immediate desire was to find his army and march back to the city, bringing bloody retribution to the killers. But he knew that his men, though well trained, could not stand against the fire-clubs of the enemy. The need for revenge was immense and he struggled with it. Now was a time for cool thinking, he knew.

Anwar approached him. “You are very quiet, my king.”

“I was thinking. They killed my people like cattle. I must find a way to make them pay.”

The old man looked close to exhaustion. His face was grey with fatigue. “Marshal your thoughts, sire, and remember my teachings. What is the first rule?”

“Establish priorities,” answered Ammon, with a smile.

“Good. What is the first priority?”

“Escape.”

“And the next.”

“Become strong. Find the army. Then establish a new chain of command. Summon the tribal chieftains, and create a force to win back my kingdom.”

“Each in its turn, my lord. Concentrate on one problem at a time. Give it your full attention. There is a time for emotion, a time for action. But always there must be
thought
. What have we learned about the enemy?”

“They are deadly, and they are evil,” said Ammon, instantly.

“More than that.”

Ammon considered the question, but could find no answer. “You must tell me, councillor.”

“They have not come for conquest, lord, but for slaughter. Had they wished to subdue the city they would have established curfews, brought in city leaders and put in place new laws. Instead they are simply murdering the inhabitants. For what reason I do not know. But death is their prime consideration. The question is, have they only attacked us? Or have other peoples suffered? Have they, for example, attacked the Avatars? Are their cities conquered? Before we can make any plan of action we need to know the scale of the invasion.”

Ammon nodded. “You are right, but these are questions for another day. You talk of establishing priorities,
Anwar. The first priority for you is rest. Eat some of that bread, then sleep.”

“We must get farther away, lord,” objected the old man.

“And we will. But only after you have slept.”

Anwar sighed, then smiled. “I must confess that I am weary,” he said. He shuffled to the back of the cave and lay down.

Ammon glanced up at the sky. “I have never been entirely convinced of the existence of a supreme being,” he whispered. “But now would be a good time to convince me.”

“Would you like some bread, lord?” asked the little potter, moving alongside the king.

Ammon tore off a chunk and sat down, indicating that Sadau should sit beside him. The potter did so. “The woman you brought to your home, what was her name?”

“Rula, lord.”

“Do you believe in the Great God?”

“Of course.”

“Then say a prayer for her. She and her children were among those murdered as we hid.”

Sadau’s face crumpled, and tears fell from his eyes. “I am sorry, little man,” said Ammon. “But it does seem I have saved your life again. Had you remained in your home you would have died with them.”

“Why would anyone want to kill children?” asked Sadau. “What did they gain from such a … such a crime?”

“I cannot answer that. But I will do all that I can to avenge them.”

“It won’t bring them back, will it?” said Sadau, moving away to the rear of the cave.

“No, it won’t,” said Ammon, softly.

•  •  •

Ammon was asleep, his dreams dark and bitter. He awoke with a start and sat up. The cave was dark now, but some noise had stirred him. Anwar was still sleeping, as was the potter. The king turned toward the cave mouth—and froze. Silhouetted in the entrance stood a monstrous shape. Almost eight feet tall and covered with pale grey fur, which shone like silver in the moonlight, was one of the beasts he had seen back in the city. Ammon slowly pushed himself to his feet. The creature’s face was hairless and pink, its eyes round and vaguely human. The mouth was open, showing huge fangs. It made no move to approach. It was wearing cross belts of black leather, from which hung two clubs of pitted iron. Ammon did not move. On the beast’s shoulder, tucked under the cross belt, was a golden scarf. Ammon recognized it. It was one he himself had worn only two days before.

The king had heard of dogs belonging to men in the northern tribes who could track down fugitives by scenting a cloth worn by them. But this was no dog.

The creature stood still, its round eyes glittering. But it made no hostile move. Ammon nudged the sleeping Anwar with the toe of his boot. The old man grunted and woke. He saw the beast and lay very still. Soldiers would be following the creature, Ammon knew, and the knowledge filled him with a sick sense of despair. Anwar had been right. They should have pushed on. Now, perhaps, there would be no opportunity for revenge against these wanton killers. The potter awoke—and screamed. The sound was shrill within the cave and Ammon jumped. The beast still did not move.

“It is well trained, at least,” said the king, fighting to keep his voice calm. Sadau threw himself on his face, covering his head with his arms. Anwar sighed and climbed to his feet.

“This does not bode well, sire,” he said, unsuccessfully trying to sound as calm as the king.

From beyond the kral came the sound of men climbing the rock path. The beast faded back into the night and four men entered the cave. The first was dressed in a gold breastplate, a feather-decorated helm upon his head. The others were merely common soldiers carrying fire-clubs.

“You would be Ammon,” said the officer, approaching the king.

“Indeed so.”

“They said you looked like a woman. They were right.”

The officer lifted a small sack from his shoulder and laid it on the cave floor. As he did so the drawstrings came partly undone and half a dozen green crystals tumbled to the ground. Turning to the soldiers, the officer said, “Well, what are you waiting for? Kill them!”

“A moment of your time,” said Ammon conversationally.

The man glanced at him, surprised by the apparent lack of concern in the victim.

“Make it quick,” he said. “I am cold and looking forward to a hot meal.”

“Before I die I would be interested to know your purpose in my lands. As I escaped the city this morning I could not help but observe the mass executions taking place. Is it merely that you love slaughter, or is there a reason for your actions?”

“The finest reason in the world,” said the officer. “We feed the goddess. When you are dead I will open your chest and pour in these crystals. They will absorb what remains of your life force. The goddess will draw it into herself—and you with it. Then you will know glory and everlasting life. You will become a part of the greatness of the Almec people.”

“I see,” said the king. “So it is your intention then to kill everyone in my lands?”

“The goddess is very hungry,” said the officer. “In saving our race she exhausted herself. Now do you have other questions, or may we proceed?”

“I have one,” said Ammon. “Do you have other armies here?”

“Many armies,” said the officer.

“Have you attacked the Avatars?”

“The Blue-haired ones? Yes. Their cities will fall, as did yours. No one can withstand the armies of the goddess.”

“Well,” said Ammon, with a smile, “they are the only questions I have. So, let us get on with it.” While speaking he moved in closer to the officer. Before the man realized he was in danger Ammon sprang forward, wrenched the officer’s golden dagger from his belt, curled an arm around the man’s neck and pressed the point of the blade under his chin. “Now,” said the king, “I think we should renegotiate our position.”

“You don’t understand,” said the officer, as if speaking to a child. “This will avail you nothing. My men will simply shoot me, and take my life force for the queen. Then my life eternal will begin earlier than I had thought.”

Ignoring him, but keeping the knife in place, Ammon looked at the soldiers. The three men had aimed their fire-clubs at the officer. “Put down the weapons, or he dies,” Ammon told them. Before they could answer, the officer thrust his neck down onto the dagger. The blade pierced his jugular. Bright blood spouted over Ammon’s hand. The officer spasmed. Ammon pulled the dagger clear and held the man’s body as a shield.

At that moment there was a great roar from outside the cave—then a blinding burst of light. Blood, fur and
bone sprayed across the entrance. Startled, the soldiers swung away. A dark-clad figure leapt into view and dived into the cave. The fire-clubs exploded. The dark figure lifted a zhi-bow. Two bolts flew from it. Two soldiers died horribly. The third threw down his fire-club, drew a sword and ran at the archer. Dropping his bow the warrior leapt to meet him, drawing a thin-bladed dagger from its sheath. The sword slashed down. The warrior swayed aside and rammed his dagger into the Almec’s right eye. As the body fell the warrior dragged his knife clear and wiped the blade on the Almec’s tunic. “I am Viruk,” he said with a wide smile.