ECHOES OF THE GREAT SONG by David A. Gemmell

‘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.