David Gemmell - Echoes of the Great Song

'Be careful now,' said Questor Ro. 'Your lives depend upon it.' Alongside the chest were two wooden poles, each eight feet long. With great care Questor Ro slid the poles through the golden rings. With this accomplished the four Vagars hefted the poles, lifting the chest clear of the snow. Questor Ro led them to a clearing at the centre of the six glowing pyramids.

His heart was beating fast now. Ordering them to lay the chest on the ground, Questor Ro covered his fingertips with wooden thimbles and took up a length of golden wire. Taking a deep breath he approached the chest.

'Lord!' called out one of the Vagars. Ro was annoyed and swung towards the man.

'What?' he shouted.

'Your boots, lord. You are not protected.'

Questor Ro glanced down. In his excitement he had forgotten to slip on the wooden overshoes. 'Give me yours,' he snapped at the man who had saved his life. The overshoes were far too large, and Ro was forced to slide his feet forward, rather than walk. He flashed a warning glare at the Vagars. No-one smiled. Kneeling by the engraved chest Ro looped the golden wire over two bronze spheres on its front. The other ends he attached to the first of the pyramids. A low humming noise began to emanate from the chest.

Questor Ro raised his hands to the heavens. 'We have Communion,' he said.

'Praise be!' chorused the Vagars loyally. Ro knew they did not care. All they wanted was to be free of the ice, safe and warm in their cabins on the Serpent. It did not matter. This was what he had promised the Council. This is what he had fought for, risked humiliation for.

He had achieved Communion with the White Pyramid, buried now in an eternally frozen city. The line of power had been caught and held, drawn through the gold rods, swirling along the golden wires, and feeding the tiny diamonds that filled the silver poles of the pyramids. Here it was changed by the gems, filtered and re-energized to flow into the chest, the power stored in the mica, gold and crystal interior.

Removing the thimbles he dropped them into his pocket then pulled clear the white lace glove, which he lifted to his lips and kissed. Tears formed in his eyes, but he blinked them away. Such displays of emotion were not seemly in the company of Vagars. As if in cosmic punishment for his mistake, one of the pyramids flickered, the light fading. The humming from the chest was subsiding.

Fighting down his panic Questor Ro kicked off the overshoes and ran to the man holding the mobile receiver.

'Move a little to the right,' he said, trying to keep his voice calm. 'Gently now! Seek the line!' The man edged to the right. Once more the pyramid glowed and the humming began. 'Watch the pyramids closely,' he told him. 'If the light begins to fail try to find it again.'

'Yes, lord. I am very cold, lord.'

'We are all very cold,' snapped Questor Ro, moving away. His assistant Onquer was lying on the ice. Questor Ro nudged him with his boot. 'This is no time to be sleeping,' he said. 'On your feet!' Onquer did not move.

Questor Ro knelt alongside him. Onquer's face was grey. 'Stupid man,' whispered Questor Ro. Summoning two Vagars he ordered them to carry Onquer to the silver longboat. 'When you get him back to the ship remove his clothes and gently warm the body. Massage him with warm oils.'

'Yes, lord,' they said in unison. Both were glad to be leaving the ice.

For an hour the chest continued to hum, showing no sign of full recharge. Weariness had long since returned to Questor Ro, but he could not yet go back to the ship. The box-holder stumbled, then righted himself. For a moment only the lights flickered on the pyramids. Questor Ro trudged over to the man and relieved him of the box. 'Go back to the ship,' he said. 'You are useless here.'

'Thank you, lord,' said the man.

Questor Ro stood with the box in his hands, feeling the gentle vibration of Communion. Some sixty miles away, buried beneath the ice, the Great Pyramid was even more closely linked to him now. And less than a mile from the pyramid was his home, and the icy, unmarked grave of his beloved wife Tanya and his children.

Questor Ro sighed.

'If I could I would have died with you,' he whispered.

Karesh Var heeled his pony into a run and led his men out onto the plain. Far ahead he could see the outline of the black ship against the white ice and just make out the tiny insect figures upon the glacier itself. Why did they keep returning to the ice? What were they looking for? he wondered, as his pony steadily closed the distance between his riders and the coast.

Two years ago just such a ship had moored in the bay. Karesh Var and one hundred men had arrived as it raised its anchor and set sail towards the north. All the nomads found on the ice were holes, as if made by tent pegs. Nothing else. He and his men had dug around for a while. But there was nothing to find. It was perplexing.

As he neared the coast he slowed his pony, raising an arm for the twenty riders to follow his lead. Karesh Var's keen dark eyes scanned the ice. Only one Blue-hair could he see, a small figure with a forked blue beard.

The others were ordinary men. Karesh Var was nervous. Legends told of the great weapons of the Blue-hair, bows that sent bolts of light into the enemy, opening great blackened holes in the chests of warriors, bursting asunder breastplates of bronze. They spoke of black swords that shimmered with lightning, swords that could cut through metal as a wire slides through cheese. Karesh Var had no wish to tackle a foe armed in such a manner.

And yet, and here was the quandary, his young men were fighters. Indeed they loved to fight. They were, he had decided long since, men with little imagination.

'We would ride into Hell for you, Karesh,' young Jiang had told him once. He had smiled and patted the boy's shoulder. The young were made for such futile gestures, for they believed in immortality. They were convinced — just as he was once convinced — that the power that flowed through their veins would flow for ever. They gloried in their strength, and even mocked older men who could no longer ride as hard, or hunt as well as they. As if those men had chosen to grow old, or in some way had allowed age and infirmity to overtake them.

The young riders who followed Karesh Var wanted to attack the Blue-hairs, to destroy them and thus earn glory back in the village. Karesh Var would also like to destroy them, for had they not brought the world to calamity? Were they not the bringers of ice and fire? Even so he had no wish to lead his men into a battle that would end with the slaughter of his riders.

With these sombre thoughts in mind he saw two men walking towards the riders. Neither were Blue-hairs.

Karesh Var drew rein and waited for them. One was tall, his long dark hair tied back in a ponytail. He wore no armour, but a short sword was belted at his side and he carried in his left hand an ornate golden bow. Karesh Var narrowed his eyes. The man was carrying no quiver of arrows. He transferred his gaze to the second warrior.

This one was shorter and stockier and held a small single-bladed axe in his right hand.

Beyond the walking men the single Blue-hair was still out on the ice. He was holding a small box from which dangled bright, shining wires. It seemed to Karesh Var that lanterns had been set upon the glacier, and they were shining brightly, and he could hear a distant hum, like a swarm of bees.

The taller of the two men had halted some twenty paces from the riders. The second man sat down upon a rock, and began to sharpen his axe with a whetstone.

The tall man drew his sword and lowered the point to touch the frosted dirt of the plain. Then, walking across the path of the riders, he steadily cut a narrow line in the earth. This done he sheathed his sword and took up the ornate bow of gold.