ECHOES OF THE GREAT SONG by David A. Gemmell

Within the hour Questor Ro had organized the wrap­ping and removal of the four remaining chests, three full, one empty. He had argued with Talaban about leaving the Serpent’s chest in place. Talaban had overruled him. ‘If the Questor General requires the ship to be disabled once more then I will have the chest removed,’ he said. ‘Until that time she remains empowered.’

The chests were carefully carried to a waiting wagon. Ro ordered the driver to proceed to the palace. The little Questor climbed to sit alongside the Vagar. He did not look back or wave as the wagon trundled out of sight.

Talaban assembled the crew, paid them, and ordered those taking shore leave to watch for the assembly lists pinned to the dock gates. ‘We may be leaving soon,’ he said. ‘It is vital you are ready.’

Leaving a skeleton crew, commanded by Methras, to protect the ship Talaban and Touchstone strode down the gangplank and onto the wharf. Moving through to the dock gates Talaban hired an open carriage to carry them to his home on Five Tree Hill. The house was situated close to ah orchard of cherry trees. It was not an imposing dwelling, boasting only nine rooms. Its walls were bare of ornament and stained white, its long sloping roof of red terracotta tiles. Slatted wooden shutters covered the windows, shielding the rooms from the worst of the sun.

Talaban climbed down from the carriage and paid the driver. The front door was open as he and Touchstone approached the building, and a middle-aged woman stepped from the doorway. She bowed to Talaban. ‘Everything is ready, lord,’ she said. ‘My husband saw the ship. He has aired your bedroom and prepared your bed. The water is heating for your bath, and there is food set in the couch room.’

‘Thank you,’ said Talaban, moving past her.

‘And a messenger arrived from the palace, lord. There is a meeting of the Council at dusk. You are required to attend. A carriage will call here.’ Talaban nodded and moved through to the couch room. It was on the western side of the building and a high white archway linked it to the gardens and the orchard beyond. The room, with its three large windows, was filled with light, the air perfumed by the scent of blooms from the garden, jasmine and rose, sweet-dew and honeysuckle.

Talaban pulled off his boots and sat down on a long couch. A man entered and bowed deeply. Setting down a pitcher of watered wine and two goblets on a nearby table he bowed again and left the room. Touchstone poured wine for his captain, but took none himself. Instead he moved to the long table and helped himself to the sweetmeats there. Fresh fruit, cold salted meats – ham, beef and pigeon – a variety of cheeses and a loaf of fresh-baked bread. ‘Good, this,’ said Touchstone.

The man and woman returned. Both bowed. ‘Your bath is ready, lord,’ she said. ‘Will you be requiring us further?’

‘No. My thanks to you,’ he said. Rising, he gave each of them two silver coins. They bowed again and left the house.

‘You don’t like see them die,’ said Touchstone.

‘What?’

‘Servants. You watch grow old. You sad then. I see your life. When we flew.’

Talaban nodded. It was true. His first servants in Egaru – a man and his wife – had been with him for twenty-five years. He had grown fond of them. When the wife became ill Talaban had healed her. Word got out and he was summoned to the Council. It was against the law for Avatars to use crystal magic on inferior races. Talaban had been ordered to dismiss them. Either that or watch the woman die. Since then he had hired temporary servants.

Touchstone was busily munching his way through the food. Talaban rose and stretched. ‘I am going to bathe,’ he said.

As he lay in the scented water he thought again of Chryssa, of her joy and how everything she saw seemed to fill her with wonder: sunshine on spring flowers, a white dove at dusk, the moon dancing fragmented on the night-dark sea.