T am not an Avatar,’ said the young man, calmly.
‘And yet you have mastered their magic?’
‘I have. And it is not magic.’
Rzak leaned forward and picked up the king’s empty goblet, then he drained his own. In one sudden move he tossed both goblets towards the young man. Instinctively his hands swept out and he caught both goblets cleanly.
‘You are an Avatar,’ said Rzak Xhen. ‘Why deny it?’
‘You are wrong. My father was an Avatar. My mother was Vagar. They tried to run away together. But they were caught. My mother was returned to her home that day as an old woman, bent and crippled. My father was crystal-drawn – murdered.’
‘Not an unusual tale,’ said Rzak. ‘Save that you survived. I thought all offspring of such unions were despatched.’
‘My brother was … as you say … despatched. But we were twins. My mother told me that I had a fever the day before the soldiers came. I was in the house of a medicine woman. When the soldiers took her they took mv brother with them. I survived. My mother raised me
for four years – then old age and decrepitude took her. She was twenty-one.’
‘And because of three deaths you are willing to sacrifice five cities?’
‘Yes,’ said the young man. ‘To see an end to tyranny.’
Rzak masked the smile he felt. How short-sighted were the young. Did this hate-filled Vagar truly believe that by helping Judon to absolute power he would see an end to tyranny? What did it matter whose boot was upon your neck, Avatar or Patiakes? It was still a boot. ‘Show me the magic gem,’ he said, holding out his hand. The young man dropped it into his outstretched palm. Curling his hand into a fist he felt the sharpness of the crystal against his skin. But nothing else. ‘Where is the magic?’ he asked.
‘In here,’ said the young man, tapping his own temple. ‘Such crystals can be purchased in any marketplace. Once fed with power only those with Avatar blood can use them.’
Judon struggled to his feet. From behind the cushions he lifted a silver mirror, which he tossed to Rzak. Rzak looked at his reflection. There were dark streaks in his beard. He chuckled. ‘Take another ten years away and you shall have my five thousand,’ he said.
Viruk sat by the roadside and examined the petals of a small white flower edged with blue. He didn’t recognize it, but found its beauty exquisite. There were clusters of the plant on both sides of the road, and a heady scent filled the air. The grey horse tethered by the trees let out a whinny and stamped his foot. Viruk rose and stretched, then strolled across to the stallion. ‘Impatience is not to be encouraged,’ he said. ‘Not in men or horses. I don’t much like sitting here either, but this is the road back to Patiakes land and some time or other the fat king will travel along it. Now let us have no more shows of petulance, or I shall prick out one of your eyes and tell the General you caught it on a thorn.’
The horse tilted its head and stared at the smiling man. Then, stretching its neck, it nuzzled against his chest. ‘Stupid beast,’ said Viruk, reaching up and scratching its ears. ‘Is it possible that you like a man who threatens to mutilate you? I thought animals had a sixth sense for danger.’ The stallion’s ears came up and he swung away, looking back towards the east. Viruk untied the tether and stepped into the saddle. ‘There now, the wait is nearly over,’ he said. ‘Then we can ride back and enjoy a fine rest.’
Touching his heels to the white flanks he rode out through the flowers and sat waiting in the centre of the road.
The chariot appeared over the crest of a hill, two riders flanking it, a third bringing up the rear. The fat king was sitting on a velvet-covered seat, his driver urging the two black horses on. They were breathing heavily. ‘See how lucky you are,’ Viruk told the stallion. ‘But for an accident of birth you too might have been pulling that mammoth around the desert. There’s a fine prospect, eh?’