The horse nicked its ears back as the man spoke, but made no other movement. ‘I like you,’ said Viruk. ‘You’re not much of a conversationalist, but you are a fine listener.’
The two riders galloped their horses forward, dragging them to a stop just in front of Viruk. The Avatar lifted his leg over the pommel of his saddle and leaned his elbow on his knee. ‘Good afternoon, peasants,’ he said.
The lead rider, a wide-shouldered swordsman wearing a burnished helm of bronze, reddened, and laid his hand on his sword hilt. Viruk smiled at him, a bright engaging smile.
‘Much as I would like to shed some of your neanderthal blood I have been told to ensure there are witnesses to my conversation with your king. So you would be best advised to leave that pig-sticker in its scabbard.’
‘What do you want here, Avatar?’ said the man, his voice deep, his eyes angry.
‘From you, turd-breath? Nothing at all. I need to speak to the waddling pig you serve.’
The bronze sword hissed from its sheath as the rider spurred his horse forward. Viruk’s arm lifted, then snapped forward. A small throwing knife flashed through the air, slamming into the rider’s throat and pitching him from the saddle. He hit the ground hard, struggled to rise, then slumped back. Viruk glanced at the second rider and smiled. ‘I don’t know what the world is coming to,’ he said, his voice light and tinged with regret. ‘You try to be pleasant. You make it as clear as rainwater what your intentions are. And what do you find? Violence and unpleasantness. I do hope we do not find ourselves in a similar misunderstanding.’ The man glanced nervously back towards the chariot, awaiting orders. Judon of the Patiakes heaved himself to his feet. ‘How dare you accost me in this manner?’ he bellowed.
Viruk steered the stallion forward until he was alongside the king. ‘The Questor General bade me come to you and convince you of the error of your ways. War is such an unpleasant business. You sub-humans dress up in your battle finery and we Avatars shoot you down like dogs. There is no sport in it. You understand? It is all so boring.’
‘I have no intention of declaring war,’ said Judon. ‘There has been a grave misunderstanding. The Avatars are my friends.’
Viruk raised his hand, his expression one of mild distaste. ‘Please do not use the word friends. It suggests an equality that does not exist. You are servants. Your ingratitude is baffling.’ He shook his head. ‘What were you before we came among you? Little more than animals, grubbing around in the Luan mud. We taught you to build, to irrigate your lands. To store your surplus. We have given you laws. We have raised you like children and you repay us with petty wars and raids. It really is galling.’
‘As I said, there is no war,’ Judon told him. ‘What is your name?’
‘I am Viruk.’
‘Well, Viruk, rest assured I shall be reporting this incident to the Questor General. I am not accustomed to watching my men murdered.’
‘Oh, I shall report it myself upon my return. The only question is, what course of action to take.’
‘Action?’ queried Judon.
‘You see, here is my problem: the Questor General says you are planning a war. You say you are not. Do I ride back to him and tell him he has made a mistake? I think not. Difficult, isn’t it?’
‘All men make mistakes,’ said Judon, forcing a smile. ‘I’m sure the General understands that. You can assure him of my goodwill towards your people.’
Viruk was about to reply when he saw the king’s glance flick to his left. Instinctively Viruk swayed in the saddle. The knife hurled by the rider behind him sliced the air and flew on to clatter to the ground. ‘Now that wasn’t friendly,’ said Viruk, drawing his sword. The third rider drew his own blade and heeled his horse forward. Viruk ducked under a sweeping cut and slashed the flat of his blade to the man’s temple, dislodging his bronze helm and hurling him from the saddle. The knife-thrower charged him, this time a sword in his hand. Viruk parried a thrust, leaned across his saddle, grabbing the man by his cloak and dragging him from his horse. The rider landed heavily but struggled to his feet. The flat of Viruk’s sabre sent him sprawling.