David Gemmell - Echoes of the Great Song

Karesh Var was an appreciative man. He had never envied his fellow hunters, even in the days when, as a young man, he could not match their skills. Instead he had watched them, learned from them. Now he appreciated the talents of the man before him. Faced with twenty fighters he had made no overt threat, and yet, with one simple action, had stated his intentions. He had drawn a line, created a border. The message was clear.

Anyone who crossed it would face grim retribution. Karesh Var was a proud man, but not overly arrogant. He had nothing to prove to anyone. Some of his more reckless companions would have charged at the man, and he could sense the growing anger in the riders around him. Karesh Var sat his pony in silence, studying the two men. They seemed at ease, not at all nervous. Possible answers came to him. Firstly there might be warriors hidden close by who would rush out and attack if the nomads advanced. Karesh Var scanned the plain. Unless they had dug themselves holes in the tundra no such force could be seen. Secondly the men might be stupid, or unaware that the nomads hated the Blue-hair. They did not look stupid, and the line in the earth was a clever move. This left only one conclusion. They were at ease because they had no fear. They knew their weaponry could destroy the riders. Karesh Var smiled as a last alternative occurred to him. Perhaps they wanted the nomads to believe they were all-powerful. Perhaps it was all a bluff.

Karesh Var dismounted and walked to the line in the earth. Then he looked across at the tall man and opened his hands. The tall man's expression did not change, but he beckoned Karesh Var forward. The stocky warrior left his seat upon the rock and stood close by, axe in hand.

'Why do you come here?' asked Karesh Var.

'Because we choose to,' said the tall man. His voice was deep. Karesh Var held to the man's dark gaze, and saw no give there. His eyes scanned the face. It was strong, the answering gaze direct and unafraid. The man was a fighter. Karesh Var could see that in every line.

'You are on my land,' said Karesh Var, keeping his tone even, still trying to read the man opposite.

The man smiled. 'Nomads do not own land. They move where they will, and settle where they choose. So it has always been. You take your tents and follow the tuskers. You own only what right of arms wins for you.

Were I to kill you I would own your tent, your women, and your ponies.'

Karesh Var was impressed. Not only by the man's knowledge, but by his calm. There had still been no threats. And the bow he held was not strung.

He decided to draw him out. 'What was the purpose of the line in the earth?' he asked.

'Death is permanent,' replied the warrior. 'Unnecessary violence is abhorrent to me. Yesterday you made a kill, and the meat will feed your people. Yesterday was a victory over starvation and death. It would be wise to return to your tents to celebrate yesterday. For there can be no celebration found in today's possibilities.'

'You think not? Perhaps I see it differently.'

The man shook his head. 'No, for you are a wise man. A fool would have led his men in a charge, and they would have died.' He spoke in a voice loud enough to be heard by the riders.

'You believe you can kill me and all my men?' Now it was said, and Karesh Var found tension rising within him. His hand had remained close to his hunting knife, and he was poised for battle.

'Of course,' said the man. His thumb touched a jewel on the grip of his bow. Instantly four strings of dancing light flickered into being. Karesh Var was impressed. He had heard of the terrible weapons of the Blue-hair, the bows that loosed lightning.

'An interesting weapon,' observed Karesh Var, his hand now resting on the bone hilt of his knife.

'It is time for choices, nomad,' said the man. 'For I am growing cold.' His voice had hardened.

'Indeed it is, stranger,' said Karesh Var, dropping his voice and stepping in closer to the warrior. 'However, you seem to be a man of some wisdom, so answer me this: if a war leader brings his men on a raid, and then leaves with nothing to show for it, how then can he remain a leader? It might be better for such a man to risk death in order to save face. Is this not so?'

'It is a sad truth,' admitted the man. 'You killed a mammoth yesterday. How long were its tusks?'

'Seven feet.'

'My people also use ivory for ornaments. I will offer thirty silver pieces for the tusks. By my reckoning that is twice what you and your people would receive from trade merchants for your trinkets and brooches.'

Karesh Var relaxed and gave a broad smile. Sharing out the silver would placate his men. 'Agreed,' he said, 'on one condition.'

'That being?'

'Though we have heard of them, neither myself nor any of my men have seen weapons like the one you are carrying. Perhaps you would give us a demonstration.'

The warrior smiled and Karesh Var knew he understood. His men would need some sign of the power they were facing, in order for the silver to fully placate them. The warrior took a step backwards, spun to his right and lifted the bow. The fingers of his right hand stroked the first string. A bolt of white light flashed from the bow, striking a rock some thirty paces to the east. The rock exploded, sending a shower of dust and fragments into the air.

'Most impressive,' said Karesh Var. 'I will send two of my men back for the tusks.'

Questor Ro saw the nomads arrive, and watched as Talaban and Touchstone strode out to greet them. Then he transferred his attention to the pyramids. He had more important matters to consider. Nomads came under Talaban's area of expertise, and Questor Ro wasted no energy considering them. Instead his mind returned to the problem of Communion. The second chest was almost full, the humming subsiding now. But it had taken almost seven hours. This was more than worrying, since the first chest had taken only three. Even allowing for the fact that some residual energy was left in the first chest — since it was the power source for the Serpent — such a time discrepancy was cause for alarm.

The White Pyramid had been buried below the ice for more than seventy years. Could its powers be fading already? That was a possibility rich with terrible implications, and Ro was not yet ready to consider such a calamity. Perhaps, he thought, the second chest, having been empty for so long, had developed a fault. He did not know. And this galled him.

He glanced back to see the silver longboat returning, carrying the third chest. It was also empty of power and could be handled without fear of harm. When the six Vagars carried it to the site he handed the box to the first then, placing the wooden thimbles over his fingers and thumbs, removed the gold wires from the second chest, applying them to the third. As before he carefully slid the poles through the golden rings and stood back as the Vagars lifted the second chest, carrying it to the longboat.

Questor Ro climbed into the silver boat and returned to the ship with the Vagars. Ropes were lowered and tied to each end of the poles. Then sailors began to hoist the chest to the centre deck. Questor Ro scrambled up a rope ladder to stand alongside the sailors. 'Careful now,' he warned them. 'Keep well back.'

The chest cleared the deck rail and a black-clad sailor tugged on the pulley arm. The chest swung over the deck. One of the poles slipped and the chest lurched. Instinctively a sailor stepped forward and threw up his arms to stop the chest sliding clear. As his hands touched the black wood there came a tremendous flash of light and heat. Blue flames flickered over the man and fire exploded from within his body, bursts of flame erupting through his eye sockets. The sailors holding the ropes leapt back as the heat seared them. The chest fell to the deck, landing on one side. The burning man had made no sound, and his blackened body fell across the chest.