David Gemmell: Echoes of the Great Song

'Him's ready now,' said Touchstone. Questor Ro had heard nothing, but the savage opened the door. He stood back as Questor Ro entered — which was at least something!

Ro stepped inside. Talaban was sitting at his desk, but he rose as the Questor entered. He moved round the desk to greet his guest. Like most of the warrior caste Talaban's movements were graceful, always in balance.

The soldier towered over the short stocky mage. The two men opened hands in the Avatar greeting. Questor Ro bowed, halting the movement a few inches short of the required angle. Not enough to be insulting, but sufficient to show Talaban he was displeased. If the warrior noticed the discourtesy he did not show it, but returned the bow smoothly, offering the perfect angle.

'How is your work progressing?' asked Talaban. Questor Ro cast a glance at Touchstone, who had sat down on the floor by the door.

'It is not seemly to discuss such matters before inferiors,' said Questor Ro. His slender hand tugged at the twin forks of his blue beard, signalling his rising irritation.

Talaban said nothing, but Touchstone rose and silently left the room. 'Be seated, Questor,' said Talaban, returning to his chair.

Ro glanced at a guttering lantern, then transferred his gaze to the cold crystal globes set into the wall. 'I once journeyed to the western lands in one of these vessels,' he said, sadly. 'They were impressive then. No storm could touch them.'

'Times change, Questor. Now how is your work progressing?'

'I expect better results by tomorrow,' said Ro. 'Our probes need adjustments — minor adjustments,' he added swiftly, seeing the concern on Talaban's face. 'We are not entirely aligned.'

'Nomads will be in this area tomorrow,' said Talaban. 'We do not have much time.'. 'Surely that is why we brought soldiers,' said Ro.

'Indeed it is, Questor. We have no Avatar soldiers. If the nomads come in strength we will be outnumbered ten to one. My Vagars are armed with conventional weapons only. They will not withstand a heavy assault.'

'Of course they won't,' snapped Ro. 'I said at the start that we needed Avatars. On an expedition as important as this it is hard to credit that it could have been refused. Surely the empire would not have been weakened by allowing us true men and zhi-bows?'

'This was not intended to be a war party, Questor. The General was specific about that. Any complaints you have should be taken up with him upon our return. However, since we are speaking frankly, you should be aware there are fewer than fifty zhi-bows still in operation.'

'Fifty? That is a disgrace,' stormed Ro. 'Why only last year the General assured the Assembly there were over three hundred such weapons.'

Talaban leaned back in his chair. 'Questor Ro, I am aware of your great skills, and I know you spend much of your time in research. But surely the eastern revolt did not entirely escape your attention. Six thousand tribesmen? The zhi-bows swung the battle, but most were exhausted. We did not have the power to feed them. Hence this expedition.'

Questor Ro absorbed the information. 'It did not escape my attention, as you put it, captain. Few events escape my attention. However it seems a criminal waste of resources to allow our main defensive weapon to be exhausted by one petty revolt.'

'With respect, you are not a soldier, sir. Without the bows we would have been overrun in the east. That would have encouraged the other tribes to join in the revolt. The cities would have fallen.' Questor Ro was about to argue, but Talaban raised his hand. 'Enough of this, sir, for it is now history. Our task is to replenish the energies of the chests. Can it be done?'

'I need two days, captain. I believe Communion is near.'

Talaban fell silent. 'Do not tell me what you believe,' he said, at last. 'Tell me what you know.'

The man is insufferable, thought Ro. He took a deep breath, calming himself. 'Some of the rods have picked up faint emanations. I believe… I know… that with adjustment I can hone them to the pyramid. Once I have done so we will draw on the power and feed the chests.'

Talaban's dark eyes fixed to Ro's gaze. 'Be sure, sir, for I will have to risk the lives of my men and the security of this vessel. Be very sure.'

'Only these facts in life are sure, captain: the sun rises and sets and lesser beings die. Give me two days and we will power the six chests.'

Talaban looked long and hard at the smaller man. He did not like him, and had no reason to trust him. And yet… The power of one full chest would recharge every zhi-bow in the city and keep them charged for up to five years. The dragon would breathe fire again.

'You will have your two days,' he said. 'But get your men back to the ice tonight. They can work under lanterns.'

Talaban stood on the balcony deck behind his cabin and watched the Vagar team scurrying about on the ice.

The bald blue-bearded figure of Questor Ro moved among them. 'Make me smile, him,' said Touchstone.

Talaban considered the comment.

'He's a man from a lost time,' he said, at last. 'I both admire and pity him.'

'He faces the wrong way,' said Touchstone. Talaban smiled.

'For him the past is golden, the future barren. What else can he do but strive to recreate what is gone?'

'He could live. Now. Read the stars. Sire small sons.'

'How old are you, Touchstone?'

'I took breath when the red wolf ate the moon. Twenty-four summers back.'

'Questor Ro was more than four hundred summers old by then. And he had lived all those centuries in Parapolis, the greatest city ever built. He was part of an empire three thousand years old. Ships like these sailed the oceans without need of wind. No grotesque masts, no bulging sacks of filthy coal. And then, one day, the sun rose in the west, and the seas rushed up to greet it. Parapolis was engulfed, the people swept away. Those that survived, like Questor Ro and myself, journeyed back to Parapolis. But the stars had changed, the earth had tilted, and it was bitter cold. All the trees had died — frozen in a single night. In one day the invincible cities of the Avatar had perished. And every day since the land is buried further beneath the ice. One mathematician calculated that 90,000 tons of fresh ice a day gathers over the old empire.'

'You want big truth?' asked Touchstone. 'Avatar anger Great God. He struck you down.'

Talaban shrugged. 'I do not believe in gods. Unless I am one, of course,' he added with a smile. 'But I was talking of Questor Ro. He is older than I. For three hundred and fifty years he lived among great wonders. No disease. No death. That is why he cannot let them go. Perhaps it is why none of us can let them go.'

'No death, no life,' said Touchstone. 'We need it.' Talaban knew what he meant. Man was part of the seasons, the youth of spring, the strength of summer, the ageing wisdom of autumn, and the cold departure of winter.

Hearts beating to the rhythm of nature. 'Easy to say when you are mortal,' said Talaban. 'You have blue hair like him, once?' asked Touchstone. 'Yes. It separates us from ordinary mortals.' 'You are not gods,' said Touchstone.

'Gods need no golden rods. And why you sire no sons?'

Talaban said nothing. Stepping forward he leaned on the rail. Several more lanterns had been lit on the ice.

'What you do about the nomads?' 'I will talk to them,' said Talaban. 'Pah, talk! Them's fierce men. They fight. They kill. No time for talk, I think.'

'I will speak in a language they understand.' Touchstone bared his teeth in a wide grin. Talaban returned to the cabin. Touchstone followed him, pulling closed the door. 'I'll be with you when you talk,' he said. 'But now I sleep.'

Alone once more Talaban moved to a long wooden chest by the wall. Inside, wrapped in black velvet, was an ornate weapon, golden in colour, and shaped like a hunting bow. Gems of many colours adorned the grip.