ECHOES OF THE GREAT SONG by David A. Gemmell

The fat king stood open-mouthed as his men fell. Viruk turned to him. ‘Do you believe in the Great God?’ Viruk asked him conversationally.

Judon nodded.

‘As do I,’ said the Avatar. ‘Give him my best regards when you meet him.’

With that Viruk rode away. Judon stood watching him. At one hundred paces the Avatar turned. In his hand was a zhi-bow. Judon blinked, then jumped from the chariot and began to run.

The bolt struck him between the shoulderblades, lifting him from his feet. He landed face-first on the road, his clothes aflame around a huge hole in his back. Viruk rode back to where the warriors had regained their feet.

‘You really are the clumsiest opponents,’ he said. Turn­ing to the charioteer, a small man with thinning black hair, he spoke again. ‘I think the horses may enjoy the return journey now. I have rarely seen a man so fat.’

‘Yes, lord,’ said the charioteer nervously.

‘Don’t worry, little man. I was told to leave witnesses. You are quite safe.’

‘Thank you … lord.’

Viruk swung the grey and rode several paces. Then he turned in the saddle and asked one of the soldiers: ‘What are those little white and blue flowers called?’ The man glanced down at the blooms.

‘Sky stars,’ answered the soldier.

‘An odd name. I must look into it. Thank you.’

Heeling the grey into a run, he headed west towards Egaru.

Chapter Twelve

As the sun set, and the ship’s lights flickered into life, Methras began his rounds, moving first to the crew’s quarters on the lower deck. The high spirits that had accompanied the Serpent’s rebirth had faded now, as the sailors began to reconsider their careers. None of them were needed now that the masts had been cut away and hurled overboard. Talaban controlled the Serpent from the high cabin, and the mood of the sailors was low.

Methras entered the long room and found several of the men playing dice bones. ‘Soon be home,’ he said.

‘And then what?’ asked the first mate, a surly mariner who had sailed with the Serpent for the past seven years.

‘There will be roles for you all,’ said Methras. ‘This ship is equipped to carry four hundred people. Now that it is fully charged there will be many expeditions and good sailors like yourselves will always be needed.’

‘Easy for you to say, sergeant,’ said another man. ‘Always a need for soldiers.’

‘Would anyone like to make a wager?’ asked Methras. ‘I’ll bet a gold piece to a silver that all of you will be hired for the next voyage.’ The men looked at one another, but no-one took him up on his offer. ‘There,’ he said, ‘you are not as pessimistic as you pretend.’

‘Not at all,’ said the second speaker, a young Vagar on his first voyage. ‘We just know what a bad gambler you are and we all like you too much to take your money.’

Methras chuckled and moved through to the makeshift galley, checking the stoves and the pans and tasting the broth being prepared. It was good, but a little too thin for his taste.

‘We are short on meat supplies, sir,’ said the cook. ‘But there’s plenty of dried fruit left.’

Methras continued on through the galley and up to the central inner deck. Other sailors were already asleep here and he did not disturb them. He paused at the locked doors beneath the prow section and wondered once more just what was behind them. In six years they had never been opened.

Climbing the circular stairwell he emerged on the centre deck and saw the native, Touchstone, leaning on the guard rail. He liked the savage. The man had a wry sense of humour and a seeing eye.

‘Good evening,’ he said. Touchstone glanced up.

‘Not good,’ said Touchstone. ‘Bad visions.’

‘Are we in danger?’ asked Methras, well aware of the tribesman’s uncanny talents.

‘Not know. But dream was bad. Two moons in sky. Fire from mountains. Big seas.’

‘There is only one moon, Touchstone. There can only be one moon.’

The tribesman nodded. ‘This I know. But two moons will come. This I also know.’