David Gemmell - Echoes of the Great Song

'What in Heaven's name have you done to your hair?' asked the king, staring at the red mud which caked Viruk's head.

'It's a disguise,' said Viruk. 'I was trying to look like one of your people. It didn't work too well, did it?'

'We don't actually use river mud, Viruk. The clay is mixed with various colours, perfumed, and then applied by a skilled barber.' He stepped in close and peered at the matted mess. 'And we usually remove the ants… and the cattle droppings.'

'Perhaps I'll start a new fashion,' said Viruk cheerfully. 'Who is this?' he asked, nodding towards Anwar.

'My First Councillor, Anwar. The other man is—'

'I know who he is,' said Viruk with a chuckle. 'How are you, potter? How come you're still alive?'

'I don't know, lord,' wailed Sadau. 'It is a mystery to me.'

'Probably born under a lucky star like me. Well, come on, man, get on your feet. We've a long way to go.'

'And where, pray, do you think we are going?' asked Ammon.

'Back to Egaru. The Questor General ordered me to bring you there safely. He also told me that the Avatars are to offer you every assistance against the newcomers.'

'I will march with my own army,' said Ammon.

'Wait, sire,' said Anwar. 'It might be best to change our plans. I can go to the army, and bring them to Egaru. It would be a great weight taken from me if I knew you were already safe there.'

'Safe with the Avatars? Now there is a novel thought.'

'You know the old saying, sire? The enemy of my enemy must therefore be my friend? It could not be more true. The Avatar have many weapons and their cities are strong. Once your people know that you still live they will flock to your battle standard — wherever it is raised.'

'Very well,' said Ammon. 'I accept your offer, Viruk. I take it you have horses close by?'

'No.'

'It will be a long walk.'

'Ah, but it will be made in the very best of company,' said Viruk, hauling the little potter upright and clapping him on the shoulder. 'Isn't that right, Sadau?'

'Anything you say, lord.'

Viruk moved to the dead Almecs and hefted one of the fire-clubs. He spent several minutes trying to understand its mechanisms, then hurled it to one side. 'Ugly weapons,' he said. 'Noisy — and the smoke smells worse than a pig fart.'

'We obviously move in different circles,' said Ammon. 'I cannot say I have ever seen a pig's backside.

However, I will take your word for it.'

Viruk laughed aloud, with genuine good humour. 'Can it be,' he asked, 'that you dislike me? Surely not.'

'You are no more than an assassin, Viruk. A man in love with death, I think.'

'Your point being?'

'Putting it simply? I despise you and all you fail to stand for. Is that clear enough?'

'You'll change your mind when you get to know me better. Now let us be moving. My zhi-bow has no more bolts. I do not relish the thought of tackling a kral with only a dagger.'

As they reached the mist barrier Talaban bade farewell to Caprishan and the supply column and led his fifty riders further north-east. He glanced at the young man riding alongside him. The rider was clad in expensive riding clothes, his tan jerkin crafted from the finest of skins and decorated along the shoulder seams with black pearls. His knee-length riding boots were also of fine leather, each adorned with a silver band at the ankle. He had spoken little since they had left Egaru and then only to answer direct questions.

Up ahead Touchstone was riding scout, and the column moved slowly, seeking to raise as little dust as possible.

The Questor General's orders had been specific. 'Harass the enemy. It is time they learned the cost of invasion. Hit them hard, then move. Do not engage in any pitched battles. Strike like the hawk, then ride.'

Talaban had passed the captaincy of the Serpent to Methras, the exchange of power witnessed by Mejana and Rael. The young sergeant had accepted his new role with quiet dignity and Talaban had felt a surge of pride.

He was not as happy with his own appointment. He would have preferred to have chosen his own men, but with power being shared now he had also been forced to accept a compromise. Twenty Avatar archers and thirty Vagar warriors, led by the inexperienced young man who rode now beside him.

Talaban knew little about him — save that he was a merchant, the grandson of Mejana, and he was said to know well the lands into which they rode.

'How far is the first settlement?' asked Talaban.

'Around four miles,' the young man answered. He seemed nervous and on edge.

'Touchstone is a fine scout. There will be no ambush, Pendar.'

'I am not afraid,' said Pendar, his tone defensive. That the Vagar disliked him was obvious, and, Talaban realized, wholly natural. But the Avatar hoped that when they came into contact with the enemy Pendar would have the intelligence to put his hatred aside. Until then there was little point in trying to make a friend of the man.

Urging his horse into a run Talaban moved ahead of the column. The land was becoming more ridged.

Towering cliffs of red stone reared to their left and they were approaching the wide Gen-el Pass. Touchstone had reined in his pony and was staring ahead. He glanced back as Talaban rode alongside.

'What have you seen?' asked the Avatar.

'Nothing. But enemy there.'

'How can you be sure?'

'Someone watches. I know this. I feel his eyes.'

Talaban scanned the pass. The sun was high and there was no movement to be seen. Not a bird flew, and even the breeze had dropped.

Talaban swung his mount and rode back to his Avatars, calling the sergeant aside. Goray was a large man, his short-cropped hair dark, his trimmed trident beard dyed blue. He was a veteran of many tribal wars and was one of the older Avatars, well over three hundred. For sixty years he had been an officer of high rank, but had retired from the army twelve years before to spend more time studying the stars. He had not been best pleased when the Questor General summoned him and other retired Avatars to return to the army. 'The enemy is in the pass,'

Talaban told him.

'I would expect so, captain. What is your plan?'

'Have you ridden this pass?'

'Not in seventy years.'

'What do you make of the Vagar?'

'He is untried and his men are wary of him. There is too much of the woman showing in him.'

'His sexuality is immaterial to me.'

'And to me,' said Goray equably. 'But that is not what I meant. I am talking about perceptions. Not what it is — but what shows. His men are afraid. In war soldiers look to their leaders as wells of courage or inspiration. They drink from those wells. I fear that, for many of his soldiers, he is a figure of fun, someone to mock. This worries me.'

'I accept that,' said Talaban. 'But I asked what you made of him.'

'He needs a victory, something to give him confidence in himself — and to inspire his men.'

Talaban rode back to the column where he called Pendar aside. 'Touchstone believes there is a force waiting for us in the pass. Is there another way forward?'

Pendar was silent for a moment. 'We could swing north, but that would bring us in close to Morak, Ammon's capital. It would also add three days to our journey both ways. And, since we are carrying supplies for only ten days, it would limit our opportunities to harass the Almecs. Can we not fight them here?'

Talaban ignored the question and stepped down from the saddle, gesturing Pendar to follow him. Moving to an area of bare, dry earth he knelt down. 'Sketch me the pass,' he said. He watched as Pendar drew his dagger and began to cut a series of lines.

'Once into the mouth of the pass it bends to the right and then undulates. The walls are sheer for the first four hundred yards. After that the pass narrows for a way — perhaps another five hundred yards. There have been many rock falls, and there are hundreds of hiding places among the boulders. After that it becomes sheer again.'