Echoes of the Great Song (26 page)

As he sat down the Questor General signalled for Ro to speak. The little man tugged on his blue forked beard. “These are desperate times, my friends,” he began, still struggling to control his temper. “I have seen the enemy and he is powerful. Very powerful. Thirty ships are on their way here and others have already landed in the far south. Through Sofarita’s power we can observe them, listen to their plans perhaps, and outwit them. Without her we are blind to their ambitions. To talk of continuing Vagar subjugation at such a time is to miss the point entirely. When an avalanche threatens a house one does not wonder whether people will be available to clean the windows.”

The hawk-faced man raised his hand. “We recognize our cousin Niclin,” said the Questor General. Ro sat down.

“There is a major flaw in Questor Ro’s reasoning,” he said. “We do not know whether the newcomers represent an avalanche or a blessing. They are Avatars, like us. We could be at the dawn of a new age of greatness. Until they arrive, and state their intentions, we cannot judge them. What we do know is that they possessed a power source that enabled them to escape the cataclysm in their own world. Together our combined knowledge could create awesome possibilities for the future. But that is surely a secondary question.

“Here and now we are discussing the implications for our culture of a young Vagar woman possessed of powers we ourselves no longer enjoy. Caprishan is quite correct to point out the psychological effect that such a woman would have on the Vagars we rule.

“What future would we have if this woman did—in the unlikely event of a war against the newcomers—help us to victory? The Avatars would have been rescued by a member of an inferior species. Why then should they accept our domination? I agree with Caprishan. The woman should be crystal-drawn.”

Once more Ro leapt to his feet. “Questor General, I appeal to you! You have seen her power and the might of the enemy. This is a military matter and should not be decided by vote.”

Rael sat back and was silent for a moment. Then he too rose. “We rule,” he said, “through a mixture of fear and awe and selfishness. The Vagars know that we have mighty weapons and are almost immortal. They know also that to live in the five cities, under our control, means good food, high wages, and a standard of life unknown in the outer lands. Each of these three—fear, awe and self-interest—is vital to the other. But by far
the most important are the first two. The moment the Vagars cease to fear the Avatar they will rise against us and we will be swamped. If they see that one of their own has power in excess of ours they will no longer hold us in such awe. Then they will question why they should fear us.

“I accept what Questor Ro puts forward. The woman would be a powerful weapon for us. But I must agree with Councillors Caprishan and Niclin that, in our own best interests, she should be crystal-drawn forthwith.”

A cold anger settled on Sofarita. Returning to her body she opened her eyes. Her hands were trembling with suppressed fury. She felt the eyes of the guards upon her. Sofarita looked up. “I am leaving,” she said.

Rising smoothly she walked towards the door. One of the guards stepped into her path. It was the man who had pictured her naked and dreamed of bedding her. His hand closed on her arm. He screamed as his fingers wrenched back and snapped. Falling back from her he scrabbled for the knife in the bronze sheath at his side. Both his legs gave way, the bones of his thighs cracking and splitting. Sofarita walked on. The second guard ran at her. She swung and raised her hand. He stopped two feet short, as if slamming into a wall. “Not one of you Blue-hairs will ever touch me again,” she told him. He struggled to move forward.

At that moment the Council Chamber doors swung open and the Questor General ran out, closely followed by Ro and several other councillors. Sofarita stood her ground.

“You are fools,” she said. “I offered you my aid, and you sought to kill me. As Ro said you now face the greatest danger of your lives. The newcomers—the Almecs—will behave just as you do. Think of it, you stupid men! One came to you who had power. Did you
greet me with open arms and ask for friendship? No. You decided to destroy me. The Almecs will be exactly the same. You will say to them, ‘But we have power just like you.’ And they will see that it is true. And they will set out to destroy you. They will say, ‘Yes, they have power, but they are not Almecs.’ ” Sofarita looked into the eyes of the Questor General. “You know that I speak the truth. I read it in your thoughts. And you!” she said, stabbing a finger towards Niclin. “You sought to have me killed merely to annoy Questor Ro. You are doubly an idiot. Know this, I could kill you all. But I shall not. The Almecs will do that.” She swung again to Rael. “You spoke of awe and fear. I do not hold you in awe, and you should learn to
fear
me!”

The guard with the broken bones cried out. His legs were twisted grotesquely and one thigh bone had pierced the flesh. Blood had stained his leggings and was flowing to the lush green rug beneath him. Sofarita turned her back upon the silent councillors and strode out of the hall.

Rael was the first to react. Crossing the anteroom floor he ran up a flight of stairs and along a wide gallery. At the far end he threw open the door and emerged onto the parapet above the roof. An Avatar archer stood guard there. “Give me your bow!” ordered Rael, snatching the weapon from the surprised man.

Focusing his concentration, Rael linked to the weapon. Strings of flickering light appeared and he moved to the edge of the parapet. The woman in the white gown emerged onto the wide avenue below, a slender tiny figure. Extending the bow arm, he took aim.

“Don’t do it, Rael!” shouted Questor Ro, emerging on the rooftop.

Momentarily Rael froze, but then took aim again. At
that moment the woman slipped into the crowd beyond and was lost to his sight.

The Questor General swung towards Ro. “Do you have any understanding of what she represents?” he said, fighting to keep the anger from his voice.

“A chance of survival,” snapped Ro. “She is right, and you know it. The Almecs will not want peace. They are coming for conquest. You don’t send thirty warships in order to establish ambassadors.”

“I am not talking about the Almecs, Ro. Can you not see what she is? What she is becoming?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“She is crystal-joined, Ro.”

The words hung in the air. Ro blinked. “That is not possible. The odds—”

“One in a hundred million,” interrupted Rael. “I know the odds. Her power will grow daily, because she is drawing it from every crystal in the city. Now do you understand?”

“You could be wrong, Rael,” said Ro.

“I pray that I am.”

Agents were sent throughout the city seeking sign of Sofarita, and well-known informers were told that a huge reward was on offer to anyone who could discover her whereabouts. The councillors, together with armed guards to prevent attacks by Pajists, returned to their fortified homes. Rael and Ro stayed at the council building.

A fierce storm lashed at the city throughout most of the night, lightning blazing above the Luan estuary. The shutters rattled against the window frames in the high room above the Council Chamber as Rael paced back and forth. Ro had never seen the Questor General this unsettled.

“I made a mistake,” said Rael at last. “I hope it will
not prove fatal.” Ro said nothing. He was thinking of the dark-haired Vagar woman, and struggling to understand his volatile emotions. He did not disagree with Rael concerning the need for fear among the subject races—indeed he had spent the greater part of his life extolling the virtues of such a policy. But this time … All he could see was the way she tilted her head when she spoke, and how the tawny flecks of her eyes caught the light.

“We should concentrate on the newcomers—the Almecs,” he said.

“She was right,” said Rael. “They will not come in peace, and they will certainly not treat us as brothers. How did we become so arrogant, Ro?”

“It is the nature of rulers,” said the little man. “We flick our fingers and lesser men come running. They bow and scrape, and thus reinforce our belief in our superiority. It is a game we all play, Avatar and Vagar.”

“Are you well, my friend?” asked Rael, moving to sit opposite the Questor. “This does not sound like you.”

Ro sighed. “I have learned so much today. It makes the last hundred years seem a waste of life. I cannot believe the events of this evening. A young woman with amazing talents was prepared to help us and we condemned her to death for it. What is worse, had Niclin brought her to the Council I too would have called for her life. What petty men we have become.”

“I regret it also, Ro,” said Rael. “But we must put it aside. The golden ships will be here with the dawn. And we must make plans, and issue orders.”

The two men talked through most of the night, then Rael sent for his most trusted officers and dispatched them to gather their troops.

By the dawn the storm had swept inland and the sea was calm, the horizon clear, the sky a glorious blue.
Rael, Ro and all the other senior councillors gathered at the harbor to await the arrival of the Almecs. Avatar soldiers closed off the area, and the wharf was silent as the city leaders stood waiting.

The first of the golden ships hove into view minutes after the sun had cleared the eastern mountains. Even at this distance they could see the awesome size of the vessel. Rael and Ro had already seen it, thanks to the newborn talents of Sofarita. But those who had not felt the beginnings of fear. Niclin’s cold eyes narrowed. Fat Caprishan began to sweat. The huge ship gleamed in the morning light as it clove the water. Other vessels followed, spread in a long fighting line. Rael counted them. Twenty-four. As they neared the coast the fleet separated, eight ships moving slowly down the estuary between the two cities of Egaru and Pagaru. Eight more sailed to the south. The last eight came to a serene halt just outside the harbor and the lead ship smoothly approached the waiting men, swinging at the last moment, then nestling alongside the stone wharf. The ship was colossal, rearing high above the wharf. A ten-foot section of the upper hull detached itself, dropping slowly to the stone, forming a wide curved gangplank.

A tall man, red-skinned and wearing a breastplate created from bands of gold, strode into view. Upon his head was an ornate helm adorned with golden feathers, and gold circlets graced his wrists, biceps and neck. He wore a kilt of gold-embossed red leather and a wide belt, the buckle of which was fashioned around a huge triangular emerald.

But it was his face that caught the attention of the waiting group. Not just for the skin color of burnished copper, but for his features which shone strangely in the bright sunlight. It was as if his face was coated with grease. The man walked slowly down the gangplank, pausing to stare around him. He carried no weapon and
seemed at ease. Halfway down he raised his arm. Instantly twenty other gangplanks dropped to the stone. Warriors clad in black armor and helms began to march down them. They were carrying what appeared to be thick black clubs around three feet long.

At that moment fifty Avatar soldiers, armed with zhi-bows, stepped into sight from the buildings and alleyways close by, their iron breastplates shining like silver, their white cloaks flickering in the breeze. Once more the leader raised his hand. His warriors halted, and stood silently on the gangplanks.

The leader strode down to where Rael waited. His face shocked the Avatars. His eyebrows, cheekbones and chin appeared to be made of glass, giving an inhuman cast to his features. “Welcome to Egaru,” said the Questor General smoothly. “We have awaited your arrival with great interest. Will you join us for breakfast?”

“With my men?” replied the leader, his voice cold.

“I think not,” Rael told him with a smile. “The people we rule are very fearful. It would be better if they saw you and I walking together back to the council building in friendship. The sight of so many soldiers might unnerve them.”

“As you wish. I shall bring only my aides.”

“They will be welcome,” said Rael.

With an imperious flick of his hand the leader signalled the ship. The Almec soldiers swung and climbed back inside the golden vessel. All but one of the gangplanks were raised. Three officers strode down the last, then this too closed.

The officers were also copper-skinned, but their features were human, their eyes dark brown, their faces sharp. There was a coldness about them, an arrogance in their movements.

Rael led them to a waiting carriage which took them
through the city to the council building. Rael rode with them, but there was no conversation, nor did the newcomers appear interested in their surroundings. They sat very quietly, their faces impassive.

Once inside the Council Chamber Rael bade them sit down. They refused offers of food or drink and sat waiting for Rael to speak. The other councillors had filed in and taken their places. Rael rose. “First let me introduce myself,” he said. “I am Rael, Questor General of the Avatar Empire. These men seated here are the senior councillors. May I welcome you to our lands and congratulate you on the manner in which the Almecs escaped the cataclysm in your own world.”

The Almec leader spoke from his seat. “I am Cas-Coatl, Lord of the Third Sector. I appreciate the warm words with which you greet us. It is my hope that unity can be established without destruction and bloodshed, and the transition of power completed without discord.”

His words were met by a stunned silence. Rael struggled for inner calm. “And what do you offer the Avatars?” he asked.

Cas-Coatl’s expression did not change. “Life,” he said, simply.

“Life we already have,” Rael pointed out.

“There is little point in discussion,” said Cas-Coatl. “You were preeminent. Now you are not. You were powerful. Now you are weak. The Almecs are strong. The strong rule. Do you see a flaw in the logic?”

“Perhaps you underestimate us, Cas-Coatl,” said Rael, softly.

“Your cities have few defenses, your army is less than seventeen hundred men—fifteen hundred formed from an inferior slave race. We shall leave now and give you two hours to make your decision.” He held out his hand. The first officer to his left handed him a folded
cloth of bright green. This he laid upon the table. “If you decide wisely have this flag flown from the highest building at the wharf. I shall bring in my ships and we will discuss further the transition. You may then retire to your homes and live out your lives as you wish. If not … We will land anyway and march our soldiers through the rubble that remains.”