ECHOES OF THE GREAT SONG by David A. Gemmell

‘Forjal saw him walking to the meeting. He was unarmed. If I had acted

‘But you did not,’ said Boru harshly. ‘Did Forjal talk before he died?’

‘Yes, but he only told Viruk that someone would kill him. He refused to say who sent him. But what if they find the bodies? Forjal worked for me. I could be implicated.’

‘Stop your whining, man! They will find the bodies, but not the heads. They are in a weighted sack, which I hurled from the dock. But understand this, Baj, there must be no further acts of individual violence. Everything must be planned. You and Forjal risked everything by one act of indescribable stupidity. Now he and the other fool are dead. And, were it left to me, I would cut your throat now. But you are to be given another chance. From now on you will follow orders. You will take no precipitate action. Do you understand this?’

Baj nodded. ‘I am sorry.’

‘Apologize to the spirits of Forjal and his friend.’

Sofarita opened her eyes. The bedroom was dark, lit only by a shaft of moonlight coming through the small window. She felt incredibly rested, though she could not have been asleep for more than an hour. She had blown out the lanterns before climbing into bed, and she had no means now of lighting them.

Even as the thought occurred to her, one of the lanterns flickered into life and a gentle glow filled the room. Sofarita

sat up. Looking across at the second lantern she pictured it alight.

The wick flamed instantly. Sofarita leaned back on the pillow. There was no panic now.

For this had to be a dream. Settling down and pulling the blankets around her she slept again.

Chapter Fifteen

The home of Methras was on the eastern outskirts of the city, close to the lumber yards, and closer still to a slaughterhouse, built two years ago on the old meadow. A hundred years ago the area had been highly popular with well-to-do Vagars, men who were not yet rich but who were climbing through the ranks of the merchant classes. Now it was run-down and shabby, though some of the older homes were well built, and occasionally fronted with marble.

Methras had walked the four miles from the wharf and, as he opened the small gate that led to the rear garden, he saw two horses tethered in the shade behind the house. He was tired and in no mood for company as he strolled along the garden path. A figure in a dress of sky-blue satin stepped into the garden. She saw him and ran to meet him. In her late forties, his mother was still a handsome woman, though her once-trim figure had thickened a little and there was now grey in her golden hair. She kissed his cheek. ‘Welcome home, my son,’ she said, taking his arm and leading him inside.

‘Who is here?’ he asked her.

‘An old friend of yours, come to greet you upon your return,’ she told him. ‘And his uncle from beyond the Luan.’

Pausing in the kitchen he poured a long, cool drink of water from a pottery jug and drained it. Then he turned to his mother and smiled. ‘It is good to see you. You are looking well. Is that a new dress?’ With a wide smile she stepped back from him, and twirled. The heavy satin of the dress lifted briefly as she spun.

‘Do you like it?’

‘It is very becoming. Does this mean you are in love again?’

‘Don’t be sarcastic,’ she scolded him gently. ‘You think I am too old for love?’

‘You don’t look a day over twenty-five,’ he assured her. ‘Who is this lucky man?’

‘He is a merchant, recently arrived from Pagaru. He is a fine man. Very witty and entertaining.’

‘How old?’

‘Fifty – or so he says. I think he’s closer to sixty. But he’s a fine figure of a man.’

‘He would have to be,’ said Methras. ‘Now tell me who is here?’

‘Don’t you want to be surprised?’

‘I don’t like surprises.’

‘You used to,’ she said. ‘I remember when you were very young …”