ECHOES OF THE GREAT SONG by David A. Gemmell

Beyond the walking men the single Blue-hair was still out on the ice. He was holding a small box from which dangled bright, shining wires. It seemed to Karesh Var that lanterns had been set upon the glacier, and they were

shining brightly, and he could hear a distant hum, like a swarm of bees.

The taller of the two men had halted some twenty paces from the riders. The second man sat down upon a rock, and began to sharpen his axe with a whetstone.

The tall man drew his sword and lowered the point to touch the frosted dirt of the plain. Then, walking across the path of the riders, he steadily cut a narrow line in the earth. This done he sheathed his sword and took up the ornate bow of gold.

Karesh Var was an appreciative man. He had never envied his fellow hunters, even in the days when, as a young man, he could not match their skills. Instead he had watched them, learned from them. Now he appreciated the talents of the man before him. Faced with twenty fighters he had made no overt threat, and yet, with one simple action, had stated his intentions. He had drawn a line, created a border. The message was clear. Anyone who crossed it would face grim retribution. Karesh Var was a proud man, but not overly arrogant. He had nothing to prove to anyone. Some of his more reckless companions would have charged at the man, and he could sense the growing anger in the riders around him. Karesh Var sat his pony in silence, studying the two men. They seemed at ease, not at all nervous. Possible answers came to him. Firstly there might be warriors hidden close by who would rush out and attack if the nomads advanced. Karesh Var scanned the plain. Unless they had dug themselves holes in the tundra no such force could be seen. Secondly the men might be stupid, or unaware that the nomads hated the Blue-hair. They did not look stupid, and the line in the earth was a clever move. This left only one conclusion. They were at ease because they had no fear. They knew their weaponry could destroy the riders. Karesh Var smiled as a last alternative occurred to him. Perhaps they wanted the nomads to believe they were all-powerful. Perhaps it was all a bluff.

Karesh Var dismounted and walked to the line in the earth. Then he looked across at the tall man and opened his hands. The tall man’s expression did not change, but he beckoned Karesh Var forward. The stocky warrior left his seat upon the rock and stood close by, axe in hand.

‘Why do you come here?’ asked Karesh Var.

‘Because we choose to,’ said the tall man. His voice was deep. Karesh Var held to the man’s dark gaze, and saw no give there. His eyes scanned the face. It was strong, the answering gaze direct and unafraid. The man was a fighter. Karesh Var could see that in every line.

‘You are on my land,’ said Karesh Var, keeping his tone even, still trying to read the man opposite.

The man smiled. ‘Nomads do not own land. They move where they will, and settle where they choose. So it has always been. You take your tents and follow the tuskers. You own only what right of arms wins for you. Were I to kill you I would own your tent, your women, and your ponies.’

Karesh Var was impressed. Not only by the man’s knowledge, but by his calm. There had still been no threats. And the bow he held was not strung.

He decided to draw him out. ‘What was the purpose of the line in the earth?’ he asked.

‘Death is permanent,’ replied the warrior. ‘Unnecessary violence is abhorrent to me. Yesterday you made a kill, and the meat will feed your people. Yesterday was a victory over starvation and death. It would be wise to return to your tents to celebrate yesterday. For there can be no celebration found in today’s possibilities.’

‘You think not? Perhaps I see it differently.’

The man shook his head. ‘No, for you are a wise man. A fool would have led his men in a charge, and they would have died.’ He spoke in a voice loud enough to be heard by the riders.