David Gemmell - Echoes of the Great Song

The lead rider, a burly man, his face tanned nut-brown, drew on his reins and waited for Viruk to approach.

His men hefted their spears and bunched alongside him, ready to charge.

'You have strayed from your lands, Mud-man,' said

Viruk, amiably. 'In doing so you have disobeyed the General's directive.'

The rider grinned. His front teeth were made of gold. 'Your power is failing, Avatar,' he said. 'You cannot enforce your directives. Now give me your zhi-bow and I will let you live. I will send you back to your general with a message from the king, my brother.'

'The king is your brother?' said Viruk, feigning surprise. 'I suppose that makes you an important man among your people. A man not to be taken lightly. I'll tell you what we'll do. I will send a message to the king, your brother.' His voice hardened, and his eyes grew more pale. 'The survivors among your band can deliver it.'

Lifting the bow he sent a bolt into the rider's chest. It exploded with a fearsome sound, spraying blood and shards of bone over the other men. Terrified horses reared, pitching their riders. Viruk's thin fingers danced upon the strings of light and four more bolts thundered into the milling riders. One man's arm was torn clear of his body.

Another's head fell to the ground and rolled towards Viruk. The Avatar warrior kept shooting. One rider spurred his horse into a charge. Viruk shot the horse in the head, stopping it dead in its tracks. The rider flew over the headless neck, landing heavily. He scrambled up, but an arrow took him through the neck and he pitched to the ground.

His Vagars had come from their hiding places now, and were sending a rain of shafts into the raiders. Within moments the massacre was over. The only living Mud People were the drivers of the five wagons. Viruk approached the terrified men, ordering them to climb down. They did so. The Avatar assembled them in a line.

Tossing his zhi-bow to a startled Vagar he approached the first of the drivers. Placing his left hand on the man's shoulder he leaned in close. 'Such violence is dreadful, don't you think?' he asked.

'Yes… dreadful,' agreed the man.

'Then you shouldn't have come,' said Viruk, brightly, ramming a dagger deep into the man's chest. The victim screamed and tried to drag himself back from his killer. But the blade pinned him. He died and sagged against Viruk. The Avatar patted the dead man's cheek. 'So nice to meet a man who doesn't outstay his welcome,' he said. Dragging the knife clear he let the body drop. The other prisoners fell to their knees, and began to beg for mercy.

'What I need,' said Viruk, 'is a man who can remember a message. Can any of you sub-humans do that, do you think?'

The men glanced at one another. One of them raised a hand. 'Good,' said Viruk. 'Follow me.' Swinging away he glanced at the Vagar sergeant. 'Kill the others,' he said.

The remaining raiders scrambled to their feet and started to run. Three of them were cut down instantly, but the fourth was dodging and weaving and running so fast that none of the archers could hit him. 'I don't know,' said Viruk, laying his hand on the trembling prisoner's shoulder. 'They are supposed to be highly trained archers. But do you think any of them could hit a cow's arse from five paces?' He shook his head. 'Wait here.'

Then he strolled back to the others, took up his zhi-bow and sent a light bolt through the man's back at almost 200 paces.

Returning to the survivor he gave an engaging smile. 'Sorry to have kept you waiting.' The man was still wearing his sword. But he stood stock-still, his eyes fixed to Viruk's pale gaze. 'What are you staring at?' asked Viruk.

'Nothing, lord. I was… just… awaiting your orders.'

'Was he really the king's brother?'

'Indeed, lord.'

'Baffling. But then I suppose it doesn't take much to become royal among you sub-humans. Are you royal?'

'No, lord. I am a potter by trade.'

Viruk chuckled and draped his arm over the man's neck. 'It is always good to have a trade. Now, take your weapon,' he ordered him, 'and cut off the head of the king's brother. Then find yourself a horse and head for home.'

'His head, lord? The king's brother?'

'The king's dead brother,' Viruk corrected him. 'Yes, the head. And be careful not to damage that ridiculous beard.' He hesitated and stared down at the dead man. 'Why do they do that? What is the point of having a beard waxed so stiffly? I mean how does a man sleep with a beard like that?'

'I don't know, lord. Perhaps he sleeps on his back.'

'I expect that's it. Now, let us return to the task in hand. Cut off the head.'

'Yes, lord.' The man drew his sword and struck four blows to the neck of the corpse. Still the head did not fall clear.

'I hope you are a better potter than a swordsman,' said Viruk, drawing his dagger and kneeling to slice through the last tendons.

Rising he swung to the man. 'My name is Viruk. Can you remember that?'

'Yes, lord. Viruk.'

'Good. Tell the king that if there is one more incursion onto Avatar farmlands I will ride into the pitiful hovel he calls his palace and cut out his entrails. Then I will make him eat them. Be so kind as to repeat that back to me.'

The man did so. 'Splendid,' said Viruk, clapping him on the shoulder. 'Now pick up that head. I'm sure the king will be glad to get it back. It will be something to bury, at least.'

Walking back to the wagons he glanced into the back of the first. It was filled with sacks of grain. 'What is in the others?' he asked his sergeant.

'Mostly the same, lord. The last wagon contains some plunder. But it is worth little.'

'Well, take them back to the city.' Then he strolled out to one of the surviving horses and stepped into the saddle.

'Where are you going, lord?' asked his sergeant.

'Just for a ride, dear boy. I fancy there may be a few more raiders close by. Wouldn't want to see you brave lads attacked on the way back, would I?'

Gathering his zhi-bow the Avatar galloped his horse away to the east.

'He's a lunatic,' said the man standing beside the sergeant.

'Yes he is,' snapped the sergeant. 'But we're all alive. I'll settle for that.'

The prisoner rode up to the sergeant. 'Do I go now?' he asked.

'I should,' advised the sergeant. The captain can be very… changeable. He may decide he doesn't want the message sent. And then…' he gestured to the bodies.

Swinging his horse the Mud-man rode away.

Viruk felt energized in a way no crystal could ever supply. His body was vibrant with power, and the air he breathed tasted fresher and cleaner. Even the shoddy horse he now rode felt like a prime charger. Life was good today. Recalling with delight the expression on the leader's face as he loosed the first bolt, Viruk laughed aloud.

He wondered what the man had felt in that one dreadful moment when he knew that his life was about to end in an explosion of fire and pain. Did he know regret? Despair? Anger? Did he wonder why he had spent so long grooming that ludicrous wax beard? Probably not, thought Viruk. His expression had been one of disbelief. Even so, the short battle had been wonderfully invigorating.

He imagined the river king's face when the messenger arrived with his brother's head. The man would be furious. It was likely he would kill the messenger — especially when he heard the message. Viruk hoped not. He had taken an instant liking to the little potter.

Viruk's action would not find favour with the High Council. They would call it provocative. But he didn't care. All-out war with the tribes was becoming increasingly inevitable. Every Avatar warrior knew it. Just as they knew the outcome.

Without the zhi-bows the cities would fall within days. Viruk hefted his own bow, checking the power. It was low. Perhaps five bolts remained.