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 armourer 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 grey 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 sceptre 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.
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