Echoes of the Great Song

Chapter Nineteen

As Ro left the room the lanterns died down once more. Sofarita closed her eyes and freed her spirit, flying high over the ocean. Such was the speed of her flight that she chased down the setting sun, watching it appear to rise majestically from the west. As a simple villager she had assumed the earth to be a vast flat plate, the sun slowly revolving around it. She had been surprised and delighted to discover its true shape and its place in the heavens. Now she experienced another delight. The western continent was bathed in sunshine while the eastern lands were covered by a cloak of darkness. She had moved from midnight to mid-afternoon in the space of a few heartbeats.

The land below her was rugged and mountainous, the valleys lush and green, the rivers huge and sparkling.

To the north she could see yet more mountains, snow-covered and ancient. South she flew, over mountains and hills and vast plains. Far below her she saw what appeared to be a colossal brown snake gliding slowly over the grassland. Dropping lower she realized she was gazing at a massive herd of shaggy brown animals moving along the line of a river. There were too many to count, and the herd stretched back for miles.

On she flew, soaring above forests of tall trees, and glittering lakes fed by rushing water from the melting snows of the mountains.

The first people she saw were living by a lake, their few dwellings created from hides stretched over poles.

Several children were playing by the water's edge, while four women were stretching out hides and scraping the grease from them with sharp stones. There were no men to be seen, and Sofarita decided they must be hunting.

As she flew further south she came across larger camps. As she hovered over one that stretched on both sides of a wide river she felt a prickling sensation, as if someone had reached out and touched her.

Surprised — and a little fearful — she sped away.

Sixty miles further on she saw vultures below her, feeding. Others circled in the sky. She dropped towards the earth and saw hundreds of human bodies sprawled in death. The vultures had torn at them, but she saw several that the birds had not yet violated. Each had its ribs splayed open, the hearts torn from the chests.

Anger touched her then, and she rose into the air. To the south she saw another Almec army, camped beyond a small wood. There were some 500 warriors, each armed with fire-clubs and short swords. And away to the left were a score of krals, sitting in a circle around a fire. A hundred prisoners, roped and tied, sat forlornly in the open.

On she flew until she reached a towering escarpment, like a wall stretching across the land. Two hundred feet high and sheer, it seemed eerily out of place. At its base a forest grew. Sofarita glanced down and saw that hundreds of trees had been crushed there, as if the whole escarpment had dropped down onto the forest like a hammer from Heaven.

This was the land of the Almecs.

Higher now she flew, over cities of alien stone, built with craft and cunning, with canals and wide avenues, teeming with people. There was evidence of earthquake damage in all of the cities. Many buildings showed jagged cracks, others had crumbled. One canal was completely dry, its walls collapsed. The further west she flew, the greater the damage. At the farthest western edge of this new land she came upon the remains of a city.

It had been spectacularly ruined, the earth rising sharply, the buildings that remained jutting from the earth at an incredible angle. Most had been torn away, the ruins scattering the slope below. Sofarita scanned the area. It was as if a giant hand had grabbed this 100-mile section and wrenched it upwards. Moving west again she saw the reason.

The transported lands of the Almecs had appeared mostly above a vast, flat plain. The impact had caused the earthquake damage she had seen to the east. But here there was no escarpment. This small section of land had descended upon a range of mountains, which had thrust up through the invading earth like spear points. The death toll among the Almecs must have been enormous.

Sofarita flew back towards the east. The Almec capital loomed in the distance, and in the light of the setting sun she could see the gleaming golden ziggurat that housed the Crystal Queen.

The Crystal Queen!

The title surprised her. From where had it come? She had told Questor Ro that the golden ziggurat was somehow alive, but now she knew instinctively that it contained the…soul?…of a woman. Once again she felt the sensation of someone reaching out to her but, unlike the almost gentle whisper of movement she had felt above the tribal encampment, this was harsh and chillingly malevolent.

'Who are you?' The voice was sweet and compelling, but beneath its tone Sofarita felt raw and terrible power.

She fled instantly, flying faster than ever before, hurtling towards the night-dark lands of the east.

Back in her body she gestured towards the fireplace.

Two chunks of wood rose from the log pile and settled in place upon the dying fire. As the flames sprang up Sofarita gazed down at her trembling hands. They were shining as if oiled. Lightly she stroked the skin of her knuckles. It was as smooth now as glazed pottery. She flexed her fingers. They felt stiff and sore.

'That is just the beginning,' came the voice in her mind. It was the same woman's voice, the tone cold and infinitely cruel. Sofarita shivered.

A vision danced into her mind. A young woman, white-haired and sleek, with large eyes of shimmering green. The face floated closer. Sofarita saw that the eyes were crystals, multi-faceted and gleaming. 'I am Almeia,' she said.

'You rule the Almecs. You are the Crystal Queen.'

'That is what they call me.'

'What do you want from me?'

'I want for nothing, child. I am eternal and complete. I had also thought myself unique. Imagine my surprise when I sensed you above my home, my resting place, my tomb. How does it feel, Sofarita, to possess such power, to roam the skies, and read the hearts of men?'

'Frightening,' said Sofarita.

'Frightening? Yes, I remember that feeling. But it passes. Everything passes. Except knowledge. It grows and it grows. Of course there is a price to pay — as you will see. Some might call it a terrible price. I used to think so.'

'What price?'

'Once I was like you, a creature of soft flesh and transient desires. And I recall how fine that felt, the grass beneath the feet, the scent of summer blooms in the air, the taste of wine upon the tongue. Most of all the feel of a man's warm body pressing upon the skin. All these things are lost to me now. As they will soon be lost to you.'

'What are you saying?' asked Sofarita, the beginnings of an awful fear rising in her belly.

'/ think you already sense the answer, Sofarita. There are certain humans who should never be touched by the healing crystals. Some — perhaps lucky, perhaps unlucky — become crystal-wed. They swiftly turn to glass, and they shatter and die. More rare are those who become crystal-joined. All the powers of the crystals are unleashed in them. And why? Because they are destined to become the ultimate crystal. Oh yes it is slow. And yes it is infinitely painful. First you notice — as you have already — a sheen to the skin, brows and cheekbones, knuckles and chin. That is only the beginning. Within a year you will scarce be able to move. Within two you will be paralysed, locked like a statue. Within five your body will no longer be discernible. It will twist and change.

Slowly, so slowly. By the twentieth year there will be little hint of humanity. After fifty years you will be merely a block of beautiful crystal. Within it you will survive for a little longer. Another hundred years perhaps. Unless fed, of course. Unless life washes over you in the richness of blood. As long as this is done you will remain, powerful and eternal. Is this what you desire?'

'No. I will not allow it. I will die first.'

Sofarita's mind was filled with pealing laughter, a sound metallic and artificial.'/ do believe I said the same thing,' Almeia told her. 'But I can help you, my dear.'

'Why would you do this?'

'Is the answer not obvious? What would be the advantage of having two crystal queens? Would you like my help?'

'You are evil,' said Sofarita. This I know. And evil is not to be trusted.'

'Such silly words are for smaller minds, Sofarita. Is the sun evil? Or the sea? Each kills, each gives life. That does not make them evil. Everything I do is for self-preservation. All creatures of flesh and blood understand this. I kill to live. As do you. Each mouthful of meat you devour comes from a living creature who would not have chosen to die for you. Are you evil, Sofarita?'

'I do not have children buried alive to feed me, nor do I tear the hearts from prisoners taken in war.'

'Ah, we are talking merely of scale, then. One lamb is food, ten lambs is a feast, a thousand lambs is gluttony.

What then creates evil, the deaths of a million lambs? And what is the difference between a man and a lamb?

Everything dies. Most men die uselessly. Those whose lives feed mine at least serve a purpose. In return I give my people prosperity, freedom from want and disease. My trusted councillors also gain eternal lives. They might argue that everything I do is for the general good.

'However, let us talk about what would be good for you. I can take away your powers, draw them into myself.

It will not harm me. And you would become a farm girl again, soft of flesh.'

Sofarita's spirit eyes looked deep into Almeia's green crystal orbs. 'How would you do this?' she asked.

'All you need to do is relax. You will be free to live your life as you choose.''

She lies, came another voice. She means for you to die!

Sofarita lay back in the chair, her mind sleepy, her limbs relaxed.

She is already doing it! Push her out, woman. Your life is at risk!

Sofarita blinked and tried to sit up. She felt weak and nauseous. The floating face before her was all eyes now, huge, and green and luminous. Anger flared within her, roaring up like a tidal wave. The image of Almeia flickered — and was gone.

Sofarita shivered. You must beware, said the voice. She will attack again. You are her mortal enemy. She will not rest until you are slain.

'Who are you?'

Another face flickered into her mind. A middle-aged man with leathery skin and deep-set dark eyes. He wore a beaded headband over his black and grey braided hair. Two eagle's feathers were embedded in the band.

'lam the One-Eyed-Fox,' he said, 'shaman to the Anajo, the First People. I tried to reach you when you flew over my village.'

'I remember. Did you hear all that she said to me?'

'Most of her words.'

'Was it true? Am I doomed to become like her, a block of crystal?'

When he spoke there was sadness in his voice. 7 am not strong enough to fight her, only to hide from her. Yet I sense the truth in those words. What she spoke of did indeed happen to her hundreds of years ago. I have walked the Grey Road and have seen this. Once she was gentle and caring, and used her power to heal. Now she demands thousands of sacrifices. Her need for blood and death is insatiable.'

'Then I shall destroy her before I die.'

'Someone must destroy her before we all die,' he said. 'Where is Talaban?'

'I do not know the name. Is he an Avatar?'

'He is the captain of the black ship. He will know where the last battle must be fought.'

'And where is that?' asked Sofarita.

'I do not know yet. But Talaban will when the time comes. He and Touch-the-Moon will stand upon the mountain, like lanterns against the dark.'

His voice faded away — and Sofarita was alone.

Alone and dying! There had been so many small plans in her young life. To find love and to raise a family.

To build a home in the mountains, near a waterfall, and to have a flower garden. Tiny dreams that had comforted her in the first year of widowhood. She had, after a fashion, loved her husband. Veris was a good man, but twenty years older than Sofarita. Her father had made the match because Veris owned land abutting his. The bridal price was two meadows. Sofarita had made no objection. She had known Veris all her life. He was a kind man, given to laughter. His lovemaking had been gentle and Sofarita knew she could be content with this man.

On the last morning of his life, eleven weeks after the wedding, he had kissed her cheek and left for the fields.

As he reached the doorway he paused, then turned back and hugged her.

'You have made me happy for the first time in my life,' he said.

They were the last words he ever spoke to her.

A month after he died she developed a chill, which deepened into a painful hacking cough. The weight dropped from her and her strength was failing. She was, at that time, almost resigned to death.

Not so now.

The Avatar's magic stone had rekindled all her hopes and dreams, and it felt so cruel to have them dashed in this terrible way. Village life was generally too pragmatic for the subtleties of irony. But she understood it now.

Possessed of remarkable powers, and an ability to heal any wound or disease, she could not save her own life.

Viruk, it seemed, had not saved her at all, merely set her on another road to extinction.

She had told the shaman she would help destroy Almeia before death could snatch her soul. But the words had been spoken in sudden anger and now she felt the weight of despair descend upon her.

I have done nothing with my life, she thought. Nothing worthwhile.

Then do it now, she told herself. Help to defeat the Almecs.

Talaban!

Who was he? The thought cut through her despair.

Closing her eyes she let her spirit soar over the city. Fires were still burning down by the docks and across the estuary in Pagaru. Sofarita flew on to the harbour and saw the black ship nestling against the wharf.

Dropping down she sank beneath the decks, searching for the captain's quarters. She entered many cabins, but they all seemed small and cramped. At last she moved towards the stern and entered a larger room. A man was seated at a desk. Like all Avatars he looked young, his face square-cut and handsome, his hair almost black, but dyed blue at the shorn temples. There was a hardness to his features, but no sign of cruelty. He was talking to a Vagar — no, she realized, not a Vagar. The man was a tribesman of some kind. His dark hair was braided and he wore a black vest adorned with white bone.

She opened the ears of her spirit. The tribesman was speaking.

'Bad visions I have. Suryet needs me. The People suffer.'

'I want to help you, Touchstone. You know I speak the truth. But my people are also suffering, and until the Questor General gives us permission I cannot sail the Serpent to the west.'

'This I know,' said the tribesman sadly. He was about to speak again when suddenly he turned and looked straight at Sofarita. 'Who you be?' he asked her.

At first she was too shocked to reply. Talaban cut in. 'Who are you talking to?'

'Beautiful woman. Spirit.'

'/ am Sofarita,' she said. 'And you are Touch-the-Moon.'

'That is name I won. Not to be spoken by strangers. You may call me Touchstone.'

'Then I shall. How is it that you can see me?'

'I see many things. Are you dead?'

'Not yet.' She glanced at Talaban, who was sitting quietly, watching the tribesman intently. 'He will think you have lost your senses.'

'You wait for me,' he said. 'Not easy speak in this tongue.'

As she watched him he closed his eyes. A glow began around his head and chest, flickering from red to purple. Then he rose from his body. 'Now we can speak freely, you and I, in the language of spirit,' he said.

'Where are you from, Beautiful One?'

'I live in the city,' she told him. 'The One-Eyed-Fox spoke to me. He told me to find Talaban, and that he alone will know where the last battle is to be fought.'

'He doesn't know yet.' He gazed back at the silent captain. 'He is a good man, that one. The best of them.'

'There is a sadness about him.'

'He lost his love, and the flames of his heart burn low. Are you wed?'

'No.'

'You could blow upon the flames.'

'You seek to match me to a man I have not met. You are very forward, Touchstone.'

He smiled. 'You tell me where to find you and I shall bring him to you — even if I have to club him over the head and carry him.'

'I am at the house ofQuestor Ro. Bring him tomorrow. At dusk: She watched as the tribesman's spirit settled back into his body. His eyes opened.

'And where is the beautiful woman now?' asked Talaban, with a smile.

'She wait. We see her tomorrow. You like her, maybe.'

The smile suddenly left Talaban's face. 'She is the woman the Council sentenced to death. The Vagar with magical powers.'

'Maybe,' agreed Touchstone.

'Is she still here?'

Touchstone turned and gazed at Sofarita. 'No, captain. She gone now.'

'What did you make of her? And I'm not interested in beauty. Is she a danger to my people?'

'How I know this?' responded Touchstone. 'But she speak with One-Eyed-Fox. He say she fight Almecs. You think it right to kill her?'

'No I do not. But it puts me in a difficult position. I am a servant of the Council, and it would be my duty to report a meeting with anyone declared as an enemy of the Avatar.'

'Talk first. Report later,' said Touchstone.

Talaban sighed. 'Do you trust her?'

'Good woman,' said Touchstone.

'Then I shall trust you. We will speak with her.'

'Wear pretty clothes,' advised Touchstone. Talaban laughed, the sound rich and almost musical. Sofarita was amazed at the change the laughter wrought in him. Gone was the hardness, replaced by a boyish warmth which radiated harmony.

And yet somehow it filled her with the knowledge of her own impending doom. Rising through the decks she flew back to her body.

As was usual following flight she awoke refreshed, her body rested. She stretched and rose from the chair. A shadow crossed the doorway opposite and she thought Questor Ro must be awake. Then a second shadow flitted across the opening. Sofarita felt a charge in the air, a prickling sensation that made her fearful. Moving swiftly and silently across the room she stepped out into the darkened hallway just in time to see a figure move from the top of the stairs and into the corridor beyond. Reaching out she felt the emotions of the man above. He was thinking of knives, and blood and death. The death of a hated Avatar.

Questor Ro!

Sofarita ran up the stairs. The door to Questor Ro's room was open. She moved inside. Two men were there.

Both wore black scarves about their faces and both carried knives. One was approaching the bed in which the little man was asleep. The knife came up — and slashed down. Sofarita made a sudden gesture with her right hand. The blade stopped inches short of the sleeping man — to the obvious astonishment of the attacker. The second man saw her and swung towards her. His knife dropped from his fingers, clattering on the stone-tiled floor. Questor Ro awoke with a start. The first knifeman tried to stab him again. This time the knife flew from his fingers to the ceiling, where it lay flat, as if upon the floor.

'What is happening?' shouted Ro. 'How dare you…?'

'All is well, Questor,' said Sofarita. 'These men are Pajists. But they will not harm you.' Ro glanced up at the knife hovering on the ceiling.

'They came to kill me,' he said. 'I shall summon the Watch.'

'No,' said Sofarita. 'They will return to the man who sent them. He will convey a message to the leader of the Pajists. I shall visit with that leader tomorrow at noon. You,' she said, pointing to the man by the bed, 'hold out your hand.' Slowly he did so. The knife floated slowly down from the ceiling, settling gently into his palm.

'Leave now, and deliver my message. Say also that there are to be no more attacks.'

The second man scooped up his knife and both assassins edged around Sofarita and out of the room. She heard them run down the stairs.

'You know the leader of the Pajists?' asked Ro.

'I do now,' she said.

'Why did you let them go? We could have arrested them all.'

'To what purpose, Questor? This is not a time for revenge, but for reconciliation. The Pajists have contacts among the tribes. Most notably with the Erek-jhip-zhonad. You will need all their support to prevent the Almecs from domination.'

Ro shivered. 'Suddenly I am no longer tired,' he said. 'I thank the Source you were here.'

The house was an old one, built a century ago for an Avatar family. It was three-storeyed, and dressed with blue-veined white marble. Landscaped gardens flowed around the old house and a stream had been diverted to ripple over terraces adorned with blocks of white stone and multi-coloured pebbles. Flowering trees grew everywhere and the air was heavy with the scent of jasmine.

Mejana sat on a wooden bench, her large frame wrapped in a pale blue shawl over an elegant, though voluminous, white gown. Gold bands glittered on her wrists, gold rings shone on every finger, and she wore a gold torque upon her neck. Beside her sat Boru, the agent of Ammon.

'You cannot stay here, Mejana. She will bring Avatar soldiers.'

'Where would I go?' replied the middle-aged woman. 'And, besides, had she wished me to be captured she would have held my men captive. No. I will see her.'

'I cannot be here when she comes,' said Boru, glancing up at the sky. The sun was nearing noon. The burly man rose and leaned in to kiss the fat woman's cheek. As he did so he produced a dagger from behind his back and plunged it into her chest. She gasped and fell back. 'I am sorry, lady,' he told her. 'But I cannot risk your capture.' Dragging his knife clear and wiping it clean on the dying woman's shawl, he strode from the garden.

Mejana slid sideways, then fell from the bench. She was lying on her back now and looking up at the clear blue sky. Three gulls flew high overhead, and she watched them bank and head back over the sea. There was little pain from the wound, but she felt her mind swimming, losing focus.

She had always known that once she took on the might of the Avatar her life would be at risk. But she had never dreamed the death blow would come from an ally. In that moment she knew with certainty that the Erek-jhip-zhonad were never truly allies. I have been used, she thought, sadly. Images crowded her mind, vying for attention. Her grandson Pendar, her nephew Baj, her daughter Lari. So beautiful. Lari had been crystal-drawn twenty-two years ago for the crime of loving an Avatar. One of her twins had also been killed. Pendar had escaped that fate, for he had been ill and was in the house of a neighbour. The Avatars had not killed Lari but they had robbed her of youth and middle age, releasing her the same day as a withered crone. That had been hard. So hard. So savagely against what nature intended. Mejana had been in her late thirties, still attractive and supple. Now she nursed her aged, almost senile, daughter. Mejana had used her considerable wealth to try to buy back those lost years, She had bribed officials, sent gifts, petitioned the Questor General. She had begged and pleaded for Lari to be given a second chance at life. Then Lari died.

Mejana groaned. Now there was pain. The wound in her chest was hot and prickly and deep inside Mejana could feel blood filling her lungs. Breathing was becoming increasingly difficult. Lying very still she thought again of Lari. After the funeral Mejana had been inconsolable. For days she sat in her house, organizing no parties for rich Vagars, arranging no orgies. Her girls had come to her, beseeching her to allow them to work.

Slowly her grief turned to anger, then to hot rage, and finally to a cold impenetrable fury. The Avatars were the enemy, and Mejana knew she would devote the rest of her life to bringing them down. Once arrived, the thought stayed with her. She brought in builders to work on the house. The twenty rooms used by her entertainers were made a little smaller, creating narrow gaps between the walls, and spy holes were set along them. Now when the rich men and women arrived for their pleasure they could be observed and heard. Her entertainers, both male and female, were urged to get their clients to talk about themselves. 'It will make them relax,' she said. 'Everyone loves talking about themselves and what they do. They will enjoy your company all the more, and will pay you even more handsomely.'

Once the house had reopened Mejana took to creeping down the hidden gaps, listening and noting. Day by day, week by week, Mejana gathered information. Infinitely patient she wrote everything in a huge ledger. For two years she did nothing more than gather information. Then she contacted the ambassador to the Erek-jhip-zhonad. His name was Anwar, and he was a trusted adviser to the old king. She gave him information concerning troop movements near the borders and kept him apprised of regiment strengths. Closing her house she wintered in Morak, the Erek-jhip-zhonad capital. Anwar taught her many things — ciphers and codes — and schooled her in the arts of information retrieval.

'It is unlikely, in the immediate future,' said Anwar one day, 'that the Avatar will be overthrown by an outside force. The seeds of destruction must be sown from within. There are hundreds of thousands of Vagars. If they should rise, not all the power of the Avatar can stop them.'

Mejana returned to Egaru with a new brief: to recruit and train an army of freedom fighters from within the cities. A secret army that would, one day, take control. Slowly, over the next ten years, she built such a force.

And now the Pajists had sympathizers in every aspect of government, including the Vagar army. Mejana's work was perilous. Mostly she stayed in the background, using others to relay information or to seek sympathizers.

But on three occasions in the last four years agents of the Erek-jhip-zhonad had been arrested and crystal-drawn.

Each of them could have betrayed her. None did.

When the old king died and his son Ammon succeeded him Mejana had wondered what level of support she would continue to receive. Anwar, old now but still possessed of great cunning, was promoted to First Councillor, and with increased funding the Pajists grew in strength.

Earlier this year Mejana had authorized a daring plan.

Attacks were made on prominent Vagars who supported the Avatar regime. Three were killed, one paralysed when he tried to flee and fell from his balcony. Now the work of the Pajists became an open secret. Wherever people gathered they would talk about the attacks and what they meant. Through this Mejana's agents were able to gather more information and recruit still more fighters to the cause.

But the most important breakthrough came when Mejana ordered the kidnapping of Questor Baliel. The youngest of the Avatar High Council, Baliel was considered by Mejana to be less than courageous. He had attended private orgies at her home and she had observed him closely. He was filled with petty ambitions and believed his lack of political success could be laid at the door of those envious of his wit and intelligence. Like most stupid people he regarded himself highly, and when faced with superior men branded them 'intellectual' or 'lacking in common sense'.

Four Pajists had grabbed him as he left the house. Throwing a grain sack over his head they had beaten him unconscious and carried him to a warehouse close to the dock. Here Mejana had visited him. The Avatar was locked in a dark and windowless cellar. When Mejana entered he had thrown himself at her feet, begging her to help him.

'I am surprised and saddened to find you like this, lord,' she said. 'The evil men who have captured you have asked me — as a friend of yours — to tell you their demands.'

'Demands?' he said, from his knees. 'I will pay them anything. Anything!'

'They do not require money, lord. They require information.'

'What information?'

'They told me to tell you that you must teach the Six Rituals to a young man. They want a Vagar to learn to use the crystals.'

'Sweet Heaven! I can't do that. No Vagar could master the art. Please help me, Mejana.'

'I can do nothing, lord. They have me locked in a cell close by. They say they will kill me if you do not obey them. And they will certainly kill you.'

'Kill me? I cannot die. Oh Mejana, what must I do?'

Crouching down beside the whimpering man she stroked his long blue hair. 'If, as you say, no Vagar can learn the rituals, then what harm is there in teaching them? It will keep you alive. And they have promised to move you to a better room, with lanterns and good food. Also,' she said, dropping her voice to a whisper, 'they have promised that I can go free. Once I am clear of them I can alert the Watch and you will be rescued.'

'Yes. Yes, that is the answer. I will teach them. You must get a message to Rael. He will know what to do.'

'It will be as you say, lord,' she told him.

For three weeks Baliel taught Pendar the Rituals. At first the young man made little progress, but on the twenty-seventh day he managed to revive a dying flower, bringing it back to full bloom. After this, progress was swift.

Outside, in the city, the Avatars were searching for the missing Questor.

One morning Viruk arrived at the house. Mejana had heard of him. And what she had heard was not encouraging. He was ruthless and cruel, his malice disguised by a great physical charm and charisma.

As he was ushered into the room by a frightened serving girl Mejana rose. 'You do my house great honour, lord,' she said. 'However, I cannot accommodate you for, as you know, the race laws are very harsh.'

He smiled. 'My dear lady, let us not play games. The services of your entertainers are offered to any with the gold to purchase them. And that includes some of my Avatar colleagues. So let us not flirt with one another. Tell me the last time you saw Questor Baliel.'

'My clients always respect the fact that I keep their confidences, lord,' she said. 'My house would not be filled were it known that I was loose-tongued.'

'Oh very well,' he said, sorrowfully. Drawing his dagger he moved towards her. 'I shall cut the left breast from your body, you fat cow, and then we shall speak without games.'

'Three weeks ago,' she said. 'He came three weeks ago.'

Viruk did not sheath his dagger. 'What time did he leave?'

'With your permission, lord, I would have to ask the… entertainer who kept him company. I do not always see my friends leave.'

'Then do so.'

Mejana walked to the door and called out a young man's name. Within moments he entered the room, and, seeing Viruk, bowed deeply. Mejana asked him about Baliel, and the time of his departure. The young man replied that it was just after midnight.

'Did you walk with him to the door?' asked Viruk.

'No, lord. I fell asleep.'

Viruk asked the man's name and his address and then allowed him to leave. 'I trust,' said Mejana, 'you will not tell the noble Questor that we spoke of him. He is a very good client, and honours us with his presence.'

'I doubt he will be honouring you again,' said Viruk. 'Who would know of his trysts here?'

'He visits on the same two days every week, lord. I know

this, as do all my entertainers. He has a carriage waiting for him at the end of the Avenue, a walk of perhaps a half-mile. His driver would know, as would any who saw him leave. Has something happened to him?'

'I expect so,' said Viruk cheerfully. 'He was a windbag and a blowhard. He will not be missed. Even so, the man was an Avatar, and therefore the investigation will continue. By the way, how much did he pay for his pleasures?'

'Five gold pieces, lord.'

'You must miss him greatly.'

'I do not like to lose customers. I thought he had moved to one of the other cities. I know he has a house in Boria. Perhaps he has gone there.'

'No one has seen him since he came to your brothel. Did you speak to him on that last night?'

'Yes, lord.'

'How did he seem?'

'He was always happy here, lord. I sincerely hope he will be again.'

Viruk stared at her for a moment. She felt the intensity of his pale gaze and found that her heart was beating in panic. 'I shall question the boy he slept with tomorrow. Send him to the Officers' Building on Military Square.

Have him ask for me.'

'I will, lord. But I promise you he is a good lad and would not wish any harm on the Questor. He is very fond of him.'

Then he has nothing to fear.'

The following day the boy was crystal-drawn to death.

Mejana groaned as the pain flared once more. She could not move now and her eyelids were growing heavy.

Death was whispering to her like a trusted lover.

On the news that the boy was dead she had walked to the warehouse and, with the aid of two strong men, had up-ended Baliel into a barrel of salt water. She had stood and watched as his legs thrashed around, the bubbles rising from his tortured lungs. The body was later thrown from the wharf.

She heard movement in the garden. A hand touched her. Heat roared through her chest and she cried out.

'Be still, Mejana, and let me heal you.'

She opened her eyes and saw the village girl she had taken to the inn. 'I am beyond healing,' she said.

The girl smiled. 'I do not think so.'