David Gemmell - Echoes of the Great Song

Viruk noted the captain's hesitation as the question was put. 'Surely,' said Talaban, 'that would be better asked of the Questor himself. But I would be interested to know the origin of this… bizarre tale'.

'A seaman from your vessel told it to his friends in an ale house,' said Niclin. 'Happily he was speaking loud enough to be heard by an officer of the Watch. He was arrested, questioned and crystal-drawn at dusk. Other members of the crew are now under interrogation. If necessary they will all be crystal-drawn.'

'I think I prefer the word murdered,' said Talaban, coldly. 'And that is not going to happen. They will be released instantly.'

'That is not your decision,' said Niclin. The councillor's face was reddening. Viruk smiled. The man was struggling to hold his temper.

'No, the decision is mine,' said Rael firmly. 'Does anyone else have anything to add?'

'Surely, Questor General,' said fat Caprishan, 'we should ask Questor Ro to confirm or deny the veracity of the tale. If it is true then all the Vagar crew should be crystal-drawn forthwith.'

'The point is well made, cousin, and I thank you for it,' said Rael. He turned towards Ro, gesturing for him to speak.

Questor Ro was silent for a moment, then he glanced at Talaban. 'The captain saved my life upon the ice.

Without him I would have been dead. That, I think you will find, is what it says in my report. I have nothing to add.'

'Let the sailors be freed,' said Rael. 'Now, let us move on. Most of you will know by now of the timely demise of Judon of the Patiakes. I believe his death has averted any immediate threat of revolt. But we are facing other problems from within. There is a group within the five cities calling themselves Pajists. They were responsible for the death of Questor Baliel and are also believed to be behind the attacks on prominent Vagar citizens who show great loyalty to our rule. We are currently hunting down the leaders, but be advised, my friends, we are in great danger. I want no councillor to travel the city without guards, and a greater security must be maintained in our homes and our places of work. I myself questioned three men. Even under torture they would not divulge the names of their leaders. But we did learn that the attacks would escalate.'

'How is this group financed?' asked Caprishan. 'Do we know?'

'Not yet,' said Rael, 'but it is safe to assume they are receiving aid from the Erek-jhip-zhonad.'

'You want me to kill their king?' asked Viruk.

'Not yet, cousin. We have enough enemies for now. At this stage we must be careful. Attacks upon Avatars must not succeed. We rule a hostile population. Once they begin to perceive us not as lords but as targets…' He did not finish the sentence.

'These people must be found — and quickly,' said Niclin.

'They will be,' Rael promised. 'We are currently hunting a tribesman we believe is a courier. He is a very old white-haired man, and he travels with a young golden-haired child. Our information is that he brings instructions to the group, as well as gold to finance them. He poses as a merchant and our agents are scouring the city for him. When we find him we will find the leaders.'

'What kind of merchant?' asked Viruk, his good humour evaporating. He knew the answer before Rael spoke.

'He peddles wine, I understand,' said the Questor General.

First instincts, thought Viruk, are always the best. I should have cut the old man's throat. He sighed. The day was blighted now and nothing would rescue it. He leaned back in his chair, trying to look interested as the talk turned to tax revenue and collection. He glanced across at Talaban. Was he enjoying the meeting, he wondered?

Or was he as bored as Viruk himself?

There was no way to tell. Talaban's dark features were impassive, his concentration fixed on the speaker.

Viruk's gaze drifted to Caprishan, who was explaining the problems of gathering tribal duties. His many chins wobbled as he spoke, and sweat was trickling down his face. Viruk watched a rivulet reach the chins then flow along one of the creases. He stifled a yawn.

By the time the meeting ended he would cheerfully have strangled everyone present. Rael offered them all refreshments, but Viruk declined and left the palace, setting off on foot for his home. It was more than a mile, but the night was pleasantly fresh, the air cool on his face. Unlike the others, he hoped the new Avatars would prove hostile. Perhaps then he would find enemies worthy of his talents.

He had enjoyed killing the fat king, watching the zhi-bolt explode into his back, spraying blood and bone across the pretty flowers. Ah yes, he thought, the flowers. What did they say the name was…? Star petals? Star blooms? No. Sky stars. That was it. Delightful plants. He could still remember the scent, delicate and light.

Tomorrow he would tell Kale about them and have them planted close to his bedroom window.

Viruk strolled on along the wide avenue then cut to the right along the narrow Street of Sawyers. No one was working at this hour, but he could still make out the musty smell of the fresh cut timbers. The street was dark and Viruk's foot squelched down on a pile of horse dung. A foul stench filled the air. Viruk was about to scrape the sole of his boot when he heard a whisper of movement from behind. He spun on his heel. Moonlight glinted on a knife blade. Blocking the blow with his forearm he slammed his fist into his attacker's jaw. The knifeman stumbled and fell. Viruk leapt to his right as a second attacker materialized from a nearby alley. This one held a sword. Viruk backed away. 'Have you mistaken me for someone else?' he asked, his voice, as always, amiable.

'We know who you are,' said the swordsman, advancing slowly. He was dressed in dark clothing and a scarf was drawn about the lower half of his face. The knifeman was on his feet now, moving crab-like to Viruk's right.

'You are Viruk the Killer,' continued the swordsman. 'Viruk the Insane.'

'Insane? That is very rude,' Viruk told him. 'I think I shall kill you with your own sword.'

The knifeman hurled himself forward. Viruk stepped in to meet him, swaying aside from a clumsy lunge and hammering his elbow into the man's face. With a strangled cry the man staggered back. The swordsman sent a vicious cut towards Viruk's head. The Avatar ducked under it, then launched himself in a flying dive, his shoulder thudding into the man's belly and pitching him from his feet. They hit the ground hard. Viruk reared up and struck the swordsman three times in the face, then grabbed his hair and slammed his head against the road twice. The swordsman groaned. Viruk pushed himself to his feet, and wrenched the sword from the man's hand.

'Pitiful,' said Viruk. Truly pitiful.'

Spinning he sent the blade slashing through the air — and into the neck of the knifeman, who was creeping up behind him. The blade sliced through skin and tendon, smashing the vertebrae and slicing through both jugular veins. The man's head flopped to the right and his legs buckled.

The swordsman had struggled to his knees. 'No!' he cried, as his friend died.

'No?' queried Viruk. 'The time for saying no was before you attempted this ridiculous assault. I wouldn't mind — save for the fact that you knew who I was. You have no idea how insulting that is. I mean, two of you!'

Crouching down before the kneeling man he reached out and dragged the scarf clear. The face he saw was young, barely out of his teens. 'I take it you are Pajists,' said Viruk.

The youngster nodded, then a gleam came into his eyes. 'Yes. And proud to die for the cause. I may not have been good enough to kill you — but one day someone will. Kill you and all your foul kind.'

'Perhaps,' agreed Viruk. 'Now why don't you tell me the names of those who sent you?'