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 centre of power, traversing the ice. His heart sank, even as the thought came to him.
Krals, sabre-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.
‘How are you feeling, Questor?’ he asked.
‘I am well. Thank you for saving my life.’
‘May I sit?’ This, at least, was courteous, and Questor Ro gestured for him to take a chair. ‘I congratulate you, sir,’ said Talaban. ‘I did not have any faith in this venture, and you have proved me – and many others – wrong.’
‘A small success, captain. We lost one chest, and powered only four. But I thank you for your kind words. Did my Vagar team escape the eruption?’
‘Most were killed by the krals, but five escaped. They were concerned for your health. They believed you had been struck down by the beasts.’
‘And you apprised them of the real situation?’ asked Ro, mildly.
‘I did not. I merely told them you had fought the krals and suffered an injury, but that you would be well. It does no harm for the Vagars to see the rejuvenating powers of the Avatar.’
‘But your man Touchstone saw you strike me?’ ‘No, Touchstone was badly injured by a kral. Six ribs were broken and his lung pierced. He was only semi-conscious when I carried you to the boat. I can assure you, Questor, that no one observed me strike you.’
‘Well, it is of no consequence, Talaban,’ said Ro, forcing a smile.
‘I disagree, Questor. We are a minority people, and if the Vagars, or other tribes, witness us at odds with one another it would create an impression of weakness. I regret deeply the action I took but, as the alternative was to let you die, I felt I had no choice. However, on the more positive side, despite the loss of our equipment, the Vagars did witness you and me fighting the krals. They will carry the tale back to the cities, and further enhance the myth of Avatar superiority.’
‘Myth? Why do you say myth?’
Talaban smiled. ‘We are merely men, Questor. No more than that. But we need the myth in order to rule.’
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