David Gemmell: Echoes of the Great Song

Talaban had never seen a kral, but witnesses told him of their speed and savagery. They were covered in white fur, like a snow bear, but their faces were almost human, though incredibly bestial. Three accounts described them as more than seven feet tall, with long upper arms. When they charged they dropped to all fours, and killed with talons and sharp teeth.

The last of the perils, but by no means the least, lay in the herds of tuskers, who roamed the forests to the east. Their shaggy hides protected them from the severity of the cold, and their tusks, some measuring more than ten feet, made them dangerous adversaries. Even sabre-tooths generally avoided the mammoths — unless they could isolate a stray.

The vast plain appeared empty. Talaban gestured to his sergeant, Methras, positioned on a hillside some 600 paces to the east. The man spread out his arms in a flat line, signalling nothing to report.

A movement out to sea caught Talaban's eye. At first he thought it was a ship, but then he saw the great back of a blue whale lift and dip, before the sea swallowed it once more. The mystic's words came back to him again.

And now he knew that, as the tidal wave engulfed Parapolis, a whale had crashed against the Monument's crown, ripping it away. He wondered if the little mystic had survived.

Down in the bay, sails furled, Serpent Seven was at anchor. Even here in this gentle bay the huge black ship looked unseaworthy, her decks too high, her draught too low. Talaban sighed. Drawing his black woollen cloak around him he strode down the hillside. Three Vagars, waiting for the ship's boat, were crouched in the shelter of several boulders. They were wearing coats of white fur, and boots of sheepskin. Even so their lips were blue with cold. Talaban knelt among them. 'Once there were vineyards here,' he said, 'and away to the north was a lake where the Avatar Prime had a palace. I swam in that lake as a child, and my shoulders were burned red by the sun.'

'The lake is ice now, lord,' said one of the Vagars, blowing into his hands. 'Everything is ice now.' His voice was toneless and he did not look up at Talaban.

'Two more days, and then we will sail back to the city,' Talaban told them.

His words did nothing to lift their spirits and he moved away from them down to the water's edge. Chunks of ice were floating along the shoreline. Raising his arm he signalled the ship. Instantly the silver longboat was lowered to the surface.

Swiftly, without oar or sail, it glided through the water and Talaban could see the hunched, hooded figure of Touchstone seated at the tiller. Talaban shivered once more. The cold was seeping into his bones now. The three Vagars hurried down to the water's edge as the boat neared, then waited until Talaban had stepped aboard before scrambling over the side.

'Them's cold rabbits,' said Touchstone, grinning, gesturing towards the shivering Vagars. Talaban smiled.

Touchstone pushed back his fur-lined hood, shaking free his black braids. 'Nomads are close,' he said, tapping his nose. 'I smell them.'

The three Vagars tensed, and Talaban saw the fear in their eyes. At least they've forgotten how cold they are, he thought.

'How close?' he asked Touchstone. 'Half a day. Twenty riders maybe. Hunting tuskers they are. They be close to here tomorrow. By dusk maybe.' 'And you can smell all this?' put in one of the Vagars. 'A good nose I have,' said Touchstone with a wink, stroking his long curved nose. He grinned at the man. 'You see. Tomorrow. Come dusk.'

Talaban raised his arm to signal the ship, and immediately the silver longboat began to glide backwards out into the bay. Touchstone pulled the tiller arm and the craft swung towards the waiting ship. Talaban's gaze focused on the black vessel, with its high prow, and long, raking lines. The newly added masts were an abomination, but sadly necessary in these days of fading power. Fifty years ago there were seventy or more warships, sailing the oceans, mapping new lands, keeping the peace of the Avatar Prime. Now there was one, Serpent Seven, its power chest almost empty, its beauty scarred by the clumsy wooden masts hammered into its deck. Where once it had cleaved through the sea like a giant dolphin, now it laboured like a sick whale, needing to keep close to the shoreline, wary of every wave that threatened to capsize it.

The silver boat drew alongside the huge vessel. Ropes were lowered. Touchstone tied two of them to the prow and stern. Talaban climbed the ladder to the central deck, responded to the salutes of three black-clad Vagar sailors, then strode on towards his cabin.

Once inside he doffed his cloak, unbuckled his sword belt and stood before the brazier of burning coal beneath the stern windows. Holding his hands to the heat he shivered with pleasure. Though he could tolerate it better than most men Talaban hated the cold. The quarter window was open, allowing fresh air into the cabin, and helping alleviate the stink of coal. Talaban gazed longingly at the crystal globes set into the wall. Once these had supplied either heat or light — indeed both if required — for the captain's cabin, but there was so little power left in the chest that Talaban did not dare activate them. Moving to his desk of polished oak he sat down, enjoying the luxury of the deep, padded chair.

Closing his eyes he thought again of the palace of the Avatar Prime, the burning sun, and the scent of nearby vineyards. Talaban had been happy there for a while, content to work on the maps he had so carefully charted the year before. It was the year that Questor Anu had been stripped of his rank. Talaban had been sent to question him, to decide if he posed a threat to the State.

The inquisition had taken place in Anu's home on the outskirts of the city. Anu, like all Avatars, eternally youthful, had welcomed him warmly, and they had sat in his garden in the company of a slack-jawed half-wit, who drooled and stared vacantly into space. The half-wit was an Avatar but, because of his condition, was not allowed blue hair or any other badge of rank. Talaban found his presence off-putting. It was made more disturbing by the contrast with Anu. He was a slender man of medium height, his features regular, his expression friendly. Yet there was about him an almost tangible radiance, a sense of unworldliness that was both compelling and unsettling. It was the kind of feeling Talaban experienced when climbing a mountain and looking out over the landscape of the world, a sense of awe and deep humility.

Anu smiled at Talaban's discomfiture. 'Why does he disturb you so?' he asked.

Talaban returned the smile, and decided upon a course of honesty. 'To be frank, sir, it is because I am here to decide your sanity. It seems curious to be doing so while in the presence of an idiot.'

'An interesting point for debate, Talaban. What is it that makes a man an idiot? Togen cannot dress himself, and if left to his own devices would probably starve to death. He does not understand politics, and if I sent him to market he would become lost before he reached the first shop. And yet, tell me, Talaban, upon which science is our civilization built?'

'Mathematics,' answered the officer.

'Indeed so. Now here is a riddle for you: Tell me the square root of 4,879,625?'

Before Talaban could even think of a method to supply the answer the half-wit spoke. He did not look up or change his expression. 'Two thousand two hundred and eight point nine eight seven three two four five four five.'

Anu clapped his hands. 'And the square root of that, Togen?'

Again the half-wit spoke instantly. 'Forty-point six nine nine eight.'

'How does he do that?' asked Talaban.

'I have no idea. But he has proved immensely useful to me these last six years. So, is he an idiot or a genius, Talaban?'