ECHOES OF THE GREAT SONG by David A. Gemmell

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good. Now make your report about the raiders – and leave nothing out.’

Viruk did so, down to ordering the death of the headman. When he had concluded, Rael walked around the desk and sat back upon it, directly in front of the officer.

‘I have had a complaint that you raped a village woman.’

T’d hardly call it rape. I was tired and somewhat tense so I sent for one of the village whores. The new headman, Bekar, had her brought to me.’

‘The race laws are specific, Viruk,’ said Rael. ‘There is to be no cohabiting with lesser orders. You know this perfectly well.’

‘I know she was soft and sweet and yielding. But it is not as if I married her. I merely rode her for a while.’

‘The Council will call for your censure and – if she falls pregnant – her death.’

‘I have been censured before. It is not a problem.’

Rael took a deep breath. ‘It is not a problem because I protect you. But does it not concern you that every time you yield to your desires a Vagar woman risks death for them?’

‘Why should it concern me? Vagars die all the time.’

Rael shook his head. ‘There is no point to this discussion. Go and deal with Judon. And make sure there are live witnesses.’

Touchstone’s recovery was not swift. Talaban’s crystal had healed his broken ribs, and he had offered to do the same for the wounds caused by the talons of the kral, but Touchstone refused. The scars were those of battle, and thus to be treasured, as indeed was the pain of the wounds, for this pain showed that his enemy had been powerful, and he had stood against it. Admittedly he had not killed the beast, but he had faced it. Suryet would be proud of him.

‘How are you feeling?’ Talaban asked him on the morning of the fourth day.

‘Good. Strong,’ lied Touchstone. He had a rising fever and one of the scars was weeping pus.

‘Show me the wounds.’

‘They heal quick.’

‘Show me anyway.’ With a grunt of pain Touchstone lifted his shirt. T shall remove the infection,’ said Talaban.

‘But do not be concerned. The scars will remain.’ Lightly he touched the crystal to the angry wound. Touchstone felt the inflammation die away.

‘Strong magic,’ said Touchstone.

‘Not magic at all, my friend. A long time ago we discovered a link between such crystals and health. We merely refined it and found a way to increase the power through the strength of our minds.’

‘Long ago,’ said Touchstone. ‘Always long ago.’

Tucking his shirt into his leggings he moved across the small cabin and poured himself a cup of water. ‘The meaning of your words is lost on me,’ said Talaban.

‘Everything long ago. Magic tower. Long ago. Ships of wonder. Long ago. What you achieve now?

Talaban looked thoughtful and did not speak for a moment. ‘Now we survive,’ he said finally. ‘The last of our great men of learning chose to age and die. There is no-one now who understands the mysteries of the past. I don’t know why.’

‘You not survive, captain. Your day almost gone. Sunset. You come with me. West. Find new home. Teach my people magic stones.’

Talaban rose. ‘You rest today,’ he said. Then he left.

After he had gone Touchstone ate a little dried meat then left the cabin and climbed to the middle deck. Here he leaned upon the rail, watching the dolphins racing along­side the ship. He had always enjoyed the antics of the Osnu, the people of the sea. Sometimes back home when he had swum out into the warm waters of the bay they had sur­faced alongside him, leaping and diving, always friendly.

‘Strange creatures,’ said the Vagar sergeant Methras, moving alongside him. Touchstone glanced up at the tall balding soldier. He liked Methras, sensing in the man a striking loneliness that matched his own.

‘Not strange,’ he said. ‘Magic are the Osnu. Great healers.’

‘A fish that heals? Hard to believe.’

‘These eyes see it,’ said Touchstone. ‘Child born, grow, no talk. Sit. Stare. Shaman he call the Osnu. They came.’