David Gemmell: Echoes of the Great Song

From the Evening Song of the Anajo

On the shores of the Luan work was underway clearing the bodies, for disease was an ever-present threat after a battle. Vagar and Avatar corpses were carried away for burial, while the Almecs, stripped of their clothing, were burned on huge pyres.

Three Vagar workmen had paused for a noon break. They walked down to the Luan and splashed their faces with cool water. One, a young carpenter named Leshan sat down and glanced towards the north. 'Another body there,' he said, pointing to a blackened corpse half out of the water.

'Leave it. I'm exhausted,' said another.

'I like to do what I'm paid for,' said Leshan, rising and walking across to the body. It was lying face down, the clothes singed, the shirt in tatters. The flesh beneath showed black and red burns. Leshan could not tell whether the corpse was Vagar or Almec. With an effort he rolled it onto its back. The man's chest was badly scarred and most of his hair had been burnt away, but his face was unmarked. Leshan knew him. Who did not? He was the deadliest and most hated of all the Avatars.

Viruk's eyes flickered open. They were pale, and grey and cold. Then he groaned.

'He's alive,' shouted Leshan.

'Of course I'm alive,' grunted the wounded man. 'I'm a god, you moron!' Viruk closed his eyes and gritted his teeth against the pain. Leshan's hand slid down to the knife at his belt. With one thrust he could destroy this man, plunging the blade deep into the heat-blistered neck.

He saw Viruk's eyes were open again, and that the Avatar was watching him. 'You deserve to die,' said Leshan.

Viruk grinned, and levered himself to one elbow. 'I don't know why you sub-humans cannot grasp simple realities,' he said. 'We don't get what we deserve, idiot. We get what we get. Now if you are going to stab me, do it. If not, call for a surgeon. I may be a god, but I am a god with a broken leg.'

Leshan shook his head and smiled. Viruk was in terrible pain, and at his mercy. Yet still he could hurl casual insults and defy death.

Who could kill such a man, he thought?

And when the last of the Frost Giants had been slam Virkokka grew bored. Then Storro, the Speaker of Legends, journeyed across the star-filled ocean of the night sky to the Stone City and told Virkokka of a great war brewing, of sorcerers and chieftains and armies hungry for blood. Virkokka laughed with relief as he heard this. And he took up his sword of fire, and went forth once more, to battle evil.

From the Evening Song of the Anajo