Echoes of the Great Song (7 page)

Instantly light flared from the two crystal globes set into the wall. Talaban’s spirits soared. Blowing out the lantern he stepped into the corridor beyond, locking the door behind him. All along the corridor there was clean, bright light. Climbing the circular stair to the central deck Talaban leaned over the port rail.
Serpent Seven
was no longer bobbing in the bay. She sat, calm and proud, free of the pull of the sea.

Climbing to the upper deck he saw his sergeant, Methras, and a group of soldiers sitting by the port rail, staring up at the lights which had appeared all over the ship. The men were Vagars, and had never seen a
Serpent
under full power. Talaban summoned Methras to him. Methras bowed low. He was a tall slender warrior, fair-haired and balding. Despite the harsh race laws there was every indication that Methras had Avatar blood. Highly intelligent, he was the best Vagar sergeant Talaban had known. This alone would not have stirred Talaban’s suspicions, but the man was also fully ambidextrous and this was the one trait that separated the Avatar from the other races. All Avatars had this advantage, and the allied ability to work simultaneously with both hands on different tasks. Talaban had mentioned the sergeant’s skills to no one. To do so might have alerted the officers of the Council, and threatened the man’s life.

“What a fine sight, sir,” said Methras, pointing at the lights.

“Fine indeed,” agreed Talaban. “Fetch axes and saws
from the store room and rid this ship of those damned masts.”

“Masts, sir? Sails and all?”

“Sails and all,” said Talaban.

“Yes, sir,” said Methras dubiously.

“Fear not,” said Talaban, with a broad smile. “The
Serpent
will sail faster without them. And I promise you there will be no motion sickness upon the return journey.”

Talaban returned to his cabin. Touchstone was waiting for him there. The tribesman was sitting on the floor, his face tense, his eyes fearful. “What is wrong?” asked Talaban.

“Wrong? Nothing wrong,” said Touchstone. “I am well. Very strong.”

Talaban moved to his desk and sat down, gesturing for Touchstone to rise and sit in the chair opposite. The tribesman did so. “Speak,” said Talaban. “I can see you are concerned over something. Was it the death of the sailor?”

“No. It is demon lights. So bright,” admitted Touchstone. “No flame. Little suns in glass.” When the lights had first flared Touchstone had screamed—a fact he would admit to no one. He had been sitting on the floor, but had surged to his feet in a panic. He had run into the door, then wrenched it open, flinging himself into the corridor beyond—only to find that the globes there had also filled with light. His heart had thumped like a war drum and he had difficulty catching his breath. Then a sailor had come walking along the corridor, seemingly unconcerned by the demon light. He had grinned at Touchstone and moved past him.

Still trembling, the tribesman had returned to the cabin. Steeling himself he approached a globe, staring hard into it. This had made his head ache, and for a while almost blinded him. He had retreated to the rug
at the center of the room, squatting down and closing his eyes, awaiting the return of Talaban.

“There is nothing demonic about them, my friend. And you are quite right to call them little suns, for that is what they are. The power of the sun held in glass.”

“How you trap sun?” asked Touchstone, seeking to appear only mildly interested.

“Everything traps sunlight,” said Talaban. “Every living thing. We are all born of the power of the sun, every man, every plant. We hold the sunlight within us.” Touchstone looked sceptical. Talaban rose from his desk and moved to a shelf on the far wall. From it he took a jar of sugar. Opening the lid he reached inside and scooped out a handful of white granules. This he tossed into the coal brazier. Instantly flames roared up. “The sugar stores sunlight. The coals released it, and it reverted to energy. The coals themselves were once trees, and filled with sunlight. When we light them we free them to return to what they once were. Fire from the sun. You understand?”

Touchstone did not, but it seemed that he should and so he nodded, adopting what he hoped was an expression of enlightenment. Talaban fell silent. Touchstone felt he should say something wise. “So,” he said at last, “dead sailor was sunlight.”

“Exactly. The power chests store energy. They must be handled with great care, and certainly never touched by human flesh. The sailor inadvertently drew power from the chest, and it released the sunlight within him.”

“Why you need come to ice?” asked Touchstone. “If sun gives energy why not leave boxes in sunlight?”

“It is not quite that simple. Your axe is made of iron, fastened to a wooden haft. At some time in the past the wood was merely timber, the iron a lump of metal. Then an armorer was given the wood and the iron, and he fashioned them into an axe. In the same way the sunlight
was—in effect—refashioned by the White Pyramid into something we could store in the chests. The pyramid radiated that power to all corners of the empire, so that wherever there were Avatar cities their chests could be replenished.”

“How long this new power last?” asked Touchstone.

“If the chest remains in the ship, five years at the very least,” said Talaban.

“Maybe you become gods again,” said Touchstone.

“Maybe we will,” agreed Talaban. “But I hope not.”

On the morning of the third day a blizzard raged over the bay. Four chests had been recharged, but the process was becoming ever more slow—a phenomenon Questor Ro did not wish to examine. He feared he already knew the answer. One of his teams was still on the ice, seeking to recharge the fifth chest. Swirling snow and icy winds made their work increasingly difficult. Talaban, his zhi-bow recharged, stood with them. Touchstone moved alongside him.

“Air is bad,” he shouted above the howling wind. “Must leave here. Now!”

“It is cold,” Talaban agreed.

“Not cold. Bad. Death is coming.” Talaban knew the tribesman’s uncanny talents were rarely wrong. Ducking his head against the wind, he struggled across to where Questor Ro was kneeling by a flickering pyramid. “Back to the ship!” shouted Talaban. Questor Ro glanced up. He wanted to argue, but he knew Talaban was right. The weather was making Communion almost impossible to maintain. He nodded and began to unloop the gold wire from around the pyramid’s base. Touchstone loosened his fur-lined robe and drew his axe from his belt, his green eyes squinting as he tried to see through the swirling snow.

A Vagar, working some 20 paces away, suddenly screamed and staggered to his left. Blood was pumping from a huge wound where his left arm had been. He lurched to his right, and then it seemed to Touchstone that the snow reared up and covered him. Touchstone hefted his axe and began to back away towards Talaban.

A huge form reared up at Touchstone. It was white, with long arms and a gray face. Touchstone saw sharp fangs in its maw, and terrible talons on the ends of its fingers. The tribesman threw himself to his left, hitting the snow with his shoulder and rolling to his feet. The beast was fast and bore down upon him again. A bolt of light struck it in the white fur of its chest. There was a flash and a huge hole opened in the beast, spraying blood and bone to the snow. More krals came running through the blizzard. Touchstone spun and sprinted back to where Talaban was standing calmly sending bolt after bolt into the beasts.

The panicking Vagars were running in all directions. Questor Ro drew his golden scepter and stepped up alongside Talaban. Touchstone glanced at him. The little man showed no fear. Touchstone’s respect for him rose a little.

Three of the beasts charged forward. Talaban shot the first, the bolt hurling the creature back through the air. The second was almost upon him but Touchstone threw himself at it, ducking under the sweep of a taloned arm and hammering his axe into the beast’s face. The blade sank deep. The kral staggered, then sent a crushing blow to the tribesman’s side. His axe wrenched from his hand, Touchstone flew through the air, landing heavily.

Talaban shot the creature just as the third beast reared over him, but Questor Ro thrust forward his
scepter, straight into its belly. Blue flame blossomed around the kral and its huge grey head exploded, fire bursting up from its shaggy neck.

Down by the waterside four of the creatures were slashing their talons into the bodies of dead Vagars. Talaban shot the first two. The others hooked their talons into two corpses, dragging them into the sea before disappearing below the water.

Touchstone struggled to his feet. His shirt was blood-drenched and he felt dizzy and faint. Stumbling to Talaban and Questor Ro he dragged his axe from the head of the dead kral.

The ground moved beneath his feet and he almost fell. At first he thought it was merely dizziness that had thrown him, but then he saw that Questor Ro had also stumbled.

“Get … to ship … or all die,” he told Talaban. “Pillar of fire coming. Kill all.”

Talaban helped him down to the water’s edge. Only five Vagars remained alive. Talaban ordered them into the longboat, then helped Touchstone over the side. “Got to be fast,” said Touchstone.

Talaban tossed his zhi-bow into the boat then glanced back to where Questor Ro was still trying to dismantle the wire from the pyramids. He ran back to the little man. “There is no time, Questor,” he shouted. Ro ignored him. The ground heaved beneath them, throwing Talaban to the ice. Rising he moved behind Questor Ro, grabbing the man by his fur cloak and dragging him back. Instinctively Ro brought up his scepter. Talaban blocked it with his left arm then slammed a right cross to the man’s chin. Ro slumped to the ice. Talaban hauled him up, throwing him over his shoulder. Then he gathered the scepter and made his way to the boat.

It glided across the bay. Still panic-stricken, the Vagars
scrambled up the rope ladder ahead of Talaban. Touchstone followed, moving slowly and painfully. Talaban tied ropes fore and aft then, carrying Questor Ro, hauled himself up over the central deck. Dumping the little man on the floor he ordered the waiting sailors to weight anchor and climbed to the upper deck and the control cabin.

Placing his hand on the triangular gold plate set into the dark wood he twisted it to the left. Below the plate were seven symbols. A dull rumbling sounded from the glacier. Talaban did not look back at it. He lightly pressed the five symbols that controlled the lock and the door opened. Without pausing to close the door Talaban moved to a long black cabinet against the far wall. This too had a golden triangle, and Talaban opened it, his fingers flicking swiftly over the symbols within. The door opened. Inside was a long shelf covered by a glittering sheet of mica, with seven indentations. A velvet bag had been laid upon it. Talaban opened the bag, tipping the seven crystals within it to the mica.

A huge explosion came from the ice. Talaban glanced up. A colossal pillar of fire had erupted from the glacier, hurling massive chunks of ice into the air. Calmly he picked up a crystal and placed it in the third indentation on the mica. Instantly a faint blue light flowed around the ship. A boulder-sized lump of ice hurtled toward the deck, struck the blue light and bounced away. Talaban added two more crystals, replaced the others in the bag, then closed the lid. Red lava erupted from below the ice and the air became thick with steam. Molten rock struck the blue light and rolled down into the sea, like wine poured over the outside of a glass goblet. Talaban moved back to a large bronze wheel and spun it.

The
Serpent
glided through the lava storm untouched, as ice and fire rained down upon the sea around it.

•  •  •

Questor Ro stood on the small port deck of his cabin watching the fire raging upon the distant glaciers. His jaw ached from where Talaban had struck him, but this was not the time to think of revenge. That could come later. All he could think of now were the six silver pyramids filled with precious gems, and the gold rods that drew on the power. Ro had paid for these himself, and they had cost him almost half his not inconsiderable fortune.

Also there was the loss of the fifth chest. No one in the new empire could fashion them now, for the source of the special mica, found far across the western ocean, was closed to them.

A huge spume of fire roared towards the sky and a thunderous explosion followed it. Ro moved back inside, closing the deck door and slumping down into his chair. He had succeeded beyond the wildest dreams of his enemies, but for him there was only a sick despair.

What good were four chests if they could never be replenished? Their power would merely stave off the inevitable for a little while longer.

Ro rubbed his jaw, then poured a drink into a beautifully cut crystal goblet. Ro stared at it. The crystal was clear and clean, and he saw his reflection in a score of the facets. Idly he tugged at his forked blue beard, then drained the liquor. Ro was not a drinker, and the fiery spirit surged through him with raw power.

Resting his head on the high-backed chair he tried to plan a further expedition. In future they would have to journey closer to the center of power, traversing the ice. His heart sank, even as the thought came to him.

Krals, saber-tooths and nomads would make such a journey almost impossible.

Added to which, and this was the real reason for his despair, he knew now that the power of the White Pyramid
was fading. Shielded from the sun it could no longer replenish its own energy, let alone power fresh chests.

Ro was tempted to refill his goblet, but he did not. Instead he turned his mind to the problem of Talaban. There was little doubt that the captain had saved his life back on the ice. But this could not outweigh the fact that he had struck a Questor, in full view of the Vagar team and the savage Touchstone. Perhaps even some of the sailors had seen it.

Had it just been the Vagars Ro could have sentenced them to death. But Talaban would never allow such a fate for Touchstone. It was a thorny problem.

He was considering the possibilities for revenge when Talaban arrived. The captain entered without knocking, which was his right but nevertheless galling.