David Gemmell - Echoes of the Great Song

Sadau had never been inside the palace, and had only ever glimpsed the king from afar, riding the Swan Boat along the Luan at the time of the spring floods.

The soldiers said nothing as they walked. Sadau trudged along beside them, glancing up, every now and again, into the stern faces of his guards. 'I haven't done anything wrong,' he said. But they did not respond.

The Red Palace loomed before him. High columns of fluted sandstone skirted the building, which had been constructed of mud-bricks from the red clay of the upper Luan. There were no statues around the palace, though it was said that Ammon had commissioned two likenesses of himself from the city of Egaru and these had been covered with gold. Sadau was not thinking of statues, however, as the soldiers paused before the huge double doors of the main entrance.

Two of the king's guards marched down the steps to take charge of the little potter. They were burly men, dressed in tunics of black silk, over which they wore breastplates of bronze. Upon their heads were long, black conical caps of lacquered silk, emblazoned with a silver star.

Sadau was led up the steps and through the doors. Inside there were lanterns set in bronze brackets on the painted walls, and scores of servants moved purposefully around the great hall. Nobles lounged on couches, or sat on cushions, and the floor was covered with delicately fashioned rugs. At the far end of the hall was a golden throne flanked by two life-size golden statues, showing Ammon standing, arms folded across his chest, a stern expression on his androgynous face.

The royal guards pulled Sadau towards the empty throne then pushed him to his knees. He gazed up at the faces of the statues, seeking some sign of gentleness in the features.

A slim young man moved across the hall and sat down upon the throne. Sadau blinked and flicked his gaze back to the statues and then to the young man. There was no mistaking the resemblance. Sadau looked deep into the man's face. It was strangely beautiful. The eyelashes were darkened with lines of black ochre, the eyelids dusted with gold. The young man's hair was dark and long, the temples shaved close and stained with gold.

'You have a message for me?' he asked, his voice light. Sadau looked into his violet eyes and felt a shiver of fear.

'I was too frightened to deliver it, lord,' he said, his voice breaking.

'Deliver it now.'

Sadau closed his eyes. 'The Avatar said to tell you not to raid his lands again.'

'His exact words, potter. I require his exact words.'

Sadau felt a hot flush in his stomach and sickness rising in his throat. He swallowed hard. 'He said that if you raided his lands again he would ride into… into…'

'Go on.'

'… the hovel you call a palace and would rip out your entrails and make you eat them.'

To Sadau's surprise the king laughed, the sound rich and vibrant. He opened his eyes and blinked. The king rose from the throne and walked to where the potter was kneeling. 'And my brother's head?' he asked.

'I threw it into the Luan.'

'And what do you think should be your punishment, little man?' asked the king. He was so close now that Sadau could smell the jasmine perfume he wore.

'Please don't impale me, lord,' wailed Sadau. 'Kill me cleanly. I did not mean to cause offence.'

'Would you consider it justice if I removed your head and threw it into the Luan?' asked the king.

Sadau nodded dumbly. Anything was better than being impaled. 'Send for the headsman,' ordered the king.

They did not have long to wait and a huge man strode down the hall to stand alongside the potter. Sadau glanced round and saw that the man carried a huge cleaver with a curved edge. The potter began to tremble. 'Never delay a message to a king,' said Ammon. 'It is well known that kings have terrible tempers, and a great lust for blood. Now bend your neck.'

Sadau began to weep, but he leaned forward, exposing the nape of his neck to the headsman. The king gestured and the cleaver swept up. Sadau could see its shadow stretching out before him.

The blade swept down. Sadau squeezed shut his eyes. The cleaver flashed through the air, but the headsman halted the blade at the last moment, allowing the cold metal to lightly touch the back of Sadau's neck. The potter fainted and fell forward.

'Carry him back to his home,' said the young king, 'and when he wakes tell him to beware of secrets in the future. Secrets are like grain seeds. You can bury them deep, but they always seek the light.'

The first of the guards bowed low. 'As you command, lord. But might I ask a question?'

The king nodded. The guard cleared his throat. 'Why do you let him live?'

'Because I have the power,' said the king. 'You have other questions?'

'No, lord.'

'Good. When you have returned the potter to his home fetch Anwar. Bring him to my apartments.'

The soldier bowed. Then he and his comrade lifted the unconscious Sadau and carried him from the palace.

Anwar was teaching when the soldiers came. His six senior students were engaged in a complex building problem concerning weight and stress. Anwar had shown them designs for a building and they were working together to decide whether it was structurally sound. He knew they would decide it was not. It was at this point he would tell them it was a copy of the Museum building in Egaru. They would then have to recalculate their findings.

He enjoyed teaching and loved to see the minds of his students expand. The young were a constant wonder to him, with a seemingly limitless ability to make instinctive leaps of imagination. Their minds were not yet enclosed by the walls of tradition.

When the soldiers came Anwar felt a moment of irritation. Instructing the students to continue in his absence and write their conclusions upon their slates, he left the class. Throwing a cloak of red felt about his scrawny shoulders he walked ahead of the two soldiers and out into the sunlight beyond. The bright light made his old eyes weep. Squinting against the sunshine he moved on, away from the new university building. A chariot and driver awaited him. He clambered onto the platform. 'Not too fast,' he warned the driver. The man grinned, and flicked his whip above the heads of the two ponies.

The ride was mercifully short, and Anwar felt enormous relief as he stepped down before the mud-brick palace. He glanced up at it feeing, as always, a sense of distaste. It was clumsily constructed, ugly and square.

The architects had shown little imagination.

A royal guard took him through to Ammon's apartments. The king was lying face down on a table, his naked body being massaged by a young slave. Anwar stood silently in the doorway. Ammon raised himself on one elbow and grinned boyishly.

'Good to see you, my teacher,' he said.

'Always a privilege to be invited to your home, lord,' replied Anwar. Ammon dismissed the slave boy, draped a cloak of heavy blue silk about his slender shoulders and walked out into the gardens beyond. Flowering trees filled the air with a heady scent. The king stretched himself out on the grass, beckoning Anwar to join him.

'How is life at the university?' asked Ammon.

'It will be better next year,' answered Anwar. 'And the year after. Some of my pupils are now more expert than the teachers. I shall appoint some of them to the university staff.'

'Good. Knowledge is the key to the future,' said Ammon. 'I remember you taught me that.'

'You were a fine student, lord. Perhaps the best I ever knew.'

'Perhaps?' queried Ammon with a wide smile. 'One never uses the word perhaps to a king. You are not a diplomat, Anwar.'

'I fear not, lord.'

Ammon glanced round, caught the eye of a waiting servant and summoned him. 'Fetch cool drinks for myself and my guest,' he said. The man bowed low and ran back into the palace. The king lay back on the grass, the sunlight bringing a gleam to his oiled skin. 'One raiding party was wiped out by the Avatars,' he said.