Echoes of the Great Song (46 page)

“Do you hate me?” he asked her.

“This is not a day for hate,” she said. “This is a day for regret.”

Drawing his sword he gave a cold smile and walked back down the rampart steps to stand with the men there.

Out on the battlefield the Almecs had seen Rael’s troop moving across the hills and a column of soldiers marched out to intercept them.

Mejana was weary. She had spent the night helping to search for survivors in the ruined Library. They had found two people alive. One died as she was being lifted clear, the other had lost both legs and bled to death as they lifted the roof beam that had crushed her. The rescuers had removed scores of corpses.

Through that long night Mejana found her hatred of the Avatar evaporating. Whatever revenge she had planned seemed small and petty compared to the grand tragedy all around her. And she had wept when they discovered the children, their tiny bodies broken by falling rocks, their lives extinguished by fire and death from the skies.

But the last of her hate had vanished as she saw Rael holding the broken body of the wife he loved.

Yes, the Avatars had been evil, and the Great God had punished them. It was not for Mejana to harbor further thoughts of revenge.

Rael had come to her before the last ride. He had stood silently for a moment, then he had offered his hand. She took it. “I wish you well,” he said. “You Vagars are now the guardians of the twin cities. You will write the histories. It may be that you cannot speak well of us and our rule, but I urge you to remember the manner of our passing.”

“You do not have to do this, Rael,” she said.

He shrugged. “I do if we want to win.”

He had turned away then and mounted a huge gray war-horse.

Pulling her cloak tightly about her she transferred her gaze to the distant hills. The Avatars had formed into a fighting wedge, like a great silver spearhead.

Then they charged.

Rael had not looked back once since he left the city. In all his long life, he realized, he had spent too long doing just that, staring back into the past, fighting a vain battle to keep it alive. The city would survive or it would not. It was no longer his duty to guarantee its future.

Sofarita had come to him and told him exactly where the Almec supplies were based, and how strong the defenses around them. The chances of the Avatars fighting their way through were slim. But Rael no longer cared. Mirani was dead, his dreams buried with her. If his death could cause the fall of the Almecs it would be a small price to pay.

There was no need now to give orders. Every man riding with him knew the objective, and knew further
that this was to be the last ride of the Avatars. No one spoke, each lost in his own thoughts, remembering families and loved ones.

Rael led his silver-clad riders up the eastern slope. To his left he could see a regiment of Almecs moving to intercept. “Fighting wedge!” he yelled, galloping forward to create the spear point. His riders closed in around and behind him.

“Forward!” he bellowed. Pulling down his visor he urged his grey war-horse, Pakal, into a run. Rael’s zhi-bow was in his hands and he sent a bolt flashing into the advancing Almec foot soldiers. They were still just out of range of the fire-clubs and the Avatars unleashed a deadly volley of light bolts into the massed infantry. Scores of men were hurled from their feet. The horses were at full gallop now, the thunder of hooves filling the air. Again and again the zhi-bows loosed their deadly shafts, and a gaping hole showed in the ranks of the Almecs. Yet they did not break. The fire-clubs came up—and thundered. Lead shot smashed into the advancing horsemen. Twelve horses went down, ten more were hit, but kept on running. Rael was leading a charmed life at the point of the wedge as shots hissed by him.

Just behind him Cation’s horse tumbled, throwing the officer to the ground. He rolled to his knees and calmly sent bolt after bolt into the defensive line. A shot took him in the cheekbone, smashing up into his left eye socket and into the brain.

Still the charge continued.

The lead riders struck the line. The Almecs scattered before them. Shots were more sporadic now as the Avatars clove on, shooting as they rode. Rael was hit in the shoulder and hip. He swayed in the saddle, but did not fall. Another murderous volley struck the Avatar left flank, and a score more horses fell.

Rael rode on, shooting to left and right. Beside him now Goray’s horse was shot in the head. As it fell Goray leapt from the saddle, killing four Almecs before they struck him down with swords and daggers.

The Avatars had advanced more than a hundred yards into the mass of the enemy.

Rael cast a swift glance back towards Egaru. The gates were open and Vagar soldiers were streaming out over the flooded fields, followed by a swarming mass of militia men.

Something struck Rael in the side of the head. He toppled from the saddle. Three Almecs ran at him. The great grey, Pakal, reared up over them, lashing out with his hooves. Two men fell. Rael rolled to his feet. He was still holding his zhi-bow. His fingers flickered on the light strings. One after another six bolts flashed into the Almec line, blasting men from their feet. Rael grabbed at the saddle pommel and got his foot into the stirrup. A lead ball smashed into his helm, tearing it from his head. A second shot struck his face, snapping back his head. In agony now he hauled himself into the saddle and fired four more bolts. Some of his riders were milling around him, but at least thirty more had continued their charge deep into the enemy ranks. Rael spurred the grey after them, shooting as he rode. There was no need to aim now. The enemy was all around him.

A man rushed forward, thrusting his fire-club up at Rael. The explosion was deafening. Smoke and flame belched out, the shot punching a hole through Rael’s armor and ripping into his belly. His zhi-bow spent, he hurled it aside and drew his saber, slashing it down into the man’s head. The Almec jumped back, his face streaming blood. A fusillade of shots tore into Pakal. The great horse reared and fell. Rael struggled to rise. Two shots spun him and he fell onto his back.

The noise of the battle receded from him. Struggling
to his knees he tried to focus. But all he could see was a distant bright light at the end of a long dark tunnel. The light beckoned him and he recalled a time when he had, as a child, been lost in a forest. Night had come on swiftly and Rael had blundered through the trees in growing panic. Then he saw a golden light, like a candle in the distance. It was the lantern-lit window of a crofter’s cottage. His young heart had soared then, for the light meant safety and life.

It was soaring now—and his spirit soared with it.

From the rear of his force Cas-Coatl watched the last ride of the Avatars with a sense of foreboding and deep regret. He had been honest with Rael. Cas-Coatl sincerely wished for union with the Avatar. He felt a kinship with them and, in a strange way, wished that he too could be a part of that glorious death ride.

But Almeia had come to him last night and told him of the reality of Anu’s pyramid, and of the decision by Rael to fight to the last. She had ordered the destruction of the Great Library and with it the annihilation of the Avatar families. As always, Cas-Coatl had obeyed.

Now he watched as the Avatars thundered on. Half their force down, their leader dead, the riders were hurtling towards the hidden trip wires and spiked trenches prepared by his men under cover of darkness. It would be an ignoble end to such a valiant effort, but Cas-Coatl could not allow the destruction of his powder supplies. Without powder the mortar tubes and guns of his men would be useless.

The huge emerald on his belt began to vibrate. Touching his hand to it he heard the voice of Almeia. “Your men have almost broken through the mist. Go and join them. Take Anu alive. What he has done, he can undo. He knows the Music.”

Cas-Coatl transferred his gaze to the battlefield. The
front lines were under heavy attack from the Vagars and city dwellers, the Avatars were still riding hard, and inflicting murderous losses on his troops. “We could still lose here, my lady,” he said.

“We are lost anyway if Anu completes his pyramid. The woman Sofarita is drawing on my power. Our defenses are weak. Anu must be taken. Go now!”

Cas-Coatl turned to his aide. “Maintain our position here, and when the Avatars are all dead lead a counterattack from the left flank. The city should be ours by nightfall.” The man saluted and Cas-Coatl threw one last glance at the charging Avatars, then made his way down the slope to where the three golden ships were anchored.

As he moved away he realized he was glad to be avoiding the moment the charge ended, as the horses struck the trip wires, their riders hurled into the sharpened spikes dug into the hillside.

When Rael fell Viruk took up the point. Intoxicated by battle fury he was in ecstasy. Niclin rode to his left, the surviving thirty Avatars closing up in formation behind. As he rode, bolts flashing from his zhi-bow, Viruk saw the concentrated mass of bronze fire tubes to his left. Forgetting the mission he angled his mount toward them. The Avatars followed him. “The supplies!” shouted Niclin. “We must get to the supplies!”

Viruk ignored him—and in doing so unwittingly turned the charge away from the hidden wires and trenches. Almecs were scattering before them now and Viruk took aim at a barrel resting near the base of the closest fire tube some 60 yards ahead. The zhi-bolt
flashed into it. The barrel exploded in a rush of flame and smoke, igniting two others close by. The resulting blast lifted the bronze weapon high into the air. It landed on a second tube, tearing it from its base. The Almecs around the weapons fled as the Avatars bore down upon them. There were more than 50 fire tubes clustered together. Viruk and his riders sent a volley of bolts into the barrels around them.

A series of blasts followed. Smoke and fire belched up towards the skies and a thick grey fog seeped out across the battlefield.

Niclin rode in close to Viruk. “The supplies, you fool!” he shouted. “We must destroy the black dust!” Kicking his horse into a run Viruk swerved toward the hills once more. A company of Almec soldiers ran into position. Their fire-clubs boomed and a dozen Avatars went down.

Viruk urged his tired horse up the hill, Niclin and the sixteen survivors behind him.

Once over the crest he saw the enemy base camp, their supplies covered by sheets of canvas.

Spread out in a half-circle, protecting the camp, were a hundred krals.

Viruk did not hesitate. Spurring his mount he galloped down the hill.

On open ground now the Avatars spread out. Behind them Almec soldiers had run to the crest and were shooting down the slope. Five horses were hit in the first volley, the riders pitched from the saddles. Seven went down in the next. The six remaining riders bore down on the krals.

The huge beasts ran at the Avatars. “Flanking run, left and right!” bellowed Viruk. Niclin dragged his horse to the right. A single Avatar followed him. Three more riders broke to the left. The krals split into two groups to cut them off.

Viruk charged at the gap opening in the center.

Three krals lumbered back to block the opening. Viruk shot two and leapt his horse at the third. The kral’s talons flashed out, tearing open the gelding’s throat. The horse fell. Viruk rolled clear—and sent a bolt into the face of the kral.

More of the beasts were moving towards him now. Spinning on his heel he began to run for the camp some 300 yards distant.

More than a dozen soldiers moved from hiding places at the camp’s perimeter. Viruk hurled himself to his right as shots rang out. He was not quite fast enough and a lead ball tore into his thigh.

Rolling onto his back he saw the krals were almost upon him. Surging to his feet he shot three of them. Then he heard hoof beats. Swinging to his right he saw Niclin galloping towards him.

Another volley of shots boomed. Niclin was smashed back, his body toppling from the saddle. Viruk ran to intercept the panicked horse, grabbing the pommel of the saddle as the gelding ran by. Viruk vaulted to the saddle and ran the horse at the Almec soldiers. Most were struggling to reload. Two fired their weapons. One shot missed, but the second took Viruk high in the chest.

The horse galloped into the camp. Viruk steered it past the supplies and on to the river wall. Here he dismounted and scrambled up to the steep slope. The krals were close behind. Dropping to his knees Viruk waited calmly for the beasts to reach the foot of the slope. He had known, as had all the Avatars, that he would die today, and he found himself thinking of his garden. He smiled as he pictured the surprise on Kale’s face when he discovered that Viruk’s house, grounds and wealth had all been willed to him.

He hoped he would make a home there for the little potter.

Then he took aim. And sent a bolt of lightning into the hundreds of barrels clustered below.

The explosion was colossal and a gigantic pillar of fire blasted into the sky. Viruk was lifted from the top of the river wall, his body hurled high into the sky.

Such was the noise that for a moment all fighting on the battlefield ceased, as men looked up at the billowing smoke, swirling higher and higher. The disciplined Almecs reacted better, shaking off their shock and sending a volley into the massed stunned ranks of the Vagars.

Once more the Vagars hurled themselves at the Almec line. At the center Pendar urged his soldiers forward. He was bleeding from a cut on the brow, but he felt no pain. The few lessons Talaban had given him in the art of sword play had kept him alive, and he had already killed two Almecs. His soldiers swept around him, giving him a short breathing space. He glanced left and right. The Vagars outnumbered the Almecs by at least three to one, but they were mostly untrained and the defensive line was holding.