Echoes of the Great Song

Chapter Six

Viruk lay very still, watching the riders as they moved, out into the valley. There were thirty in the raiding group, and five wagons were being hauled slowly behind them. The wagons' wheels were cutting deep grooves on the dirt road. The raiders have done well, thought Viruk. His pale grey gaze fastened on the lead rider. He wore a bright red cloak, with a brooch of yellow gold in the shape of a sunburst at the neck. His clothes were of gaudily dyed wool, and he wore loose-fitting leggings and wooden shoes. His beard had been covered in red wax and jutted from his chin like a blood-covered tongue, which identified him clearly as a nobleman of the Mud People. Viruk smiled. The full tribal name was Erek-jhip-zhonad, which Viruk — and most Avatars — found impossible to pronounce, and, in translation, the People of the Stars — too pompous to consider. Hence the derogatory title bestowed by the Council.

The leader's men were dressed more simply, boasting no golden brooches. They wore breastplates of stiffened leather and carried long spears. Their hair was caked in a mixture of red clay and wax, giving the impression of poorly designed helmets of pottery.

Viruk glanced to his right. Outnumbered three to one, the ten Vagar archers awaited his command. To a man they all looked terrified. Viruk gave a tight smile and hefted his zhi-bow. It was black and unadorned, save for the two red crystals above the grip. Viruk had refashioned it himself. It seemed to him that the traditional zhi-bows were too complicated. Why have varying levels of power in the bolt? If a man was attacking you why merely knock him down and stun him, when you could rip out his chest and watch his blood spray out like a flower in bloom? Zhi-bows were meant to kill. And they did it beautifully.

The riders were closer now and well within range. But Viruk gave no orders to the hidden Vagar archers under his command. Equipped with only traditional bows and knives the men were sick with dread as the riders approached.

'Shoot when I do,' ordered Viruk. Then he rose to his feet and strolled down the hillside to meet the advancing raiders. He was a tall slender man, his long yellow hair dyed blue at the closely shaved temples, and he wore no armour, sporting only a shirt of light blue silk, black leather leggings and grey lizard-skin boots.

The lead rider, a burly man, his face tanned nut-brown, drew on his reins and waited for Viruk to approach.

His men hefted their spears and bunched alongside him, ready to charge.

'You have strayed from your lands, Mud-man,' said

Viruk, amiably. 'In doing so you have disobeyed the General's directive.'

The rider grinned. His front teeth were made of gold. 'Your power is failing, Avatar,' he said. 'You cannot enforce your directives. Now give me your zhi-bow and I will let you live. I will send you back to your general with a message from the king, my brother.'

'The king is your brother?' said Viruk, feigning surprise. 'I suppose that makes you an important man among your people. A man not to be taken lightly. I'll tell you what we'll do. I will send a message to the king, your brother.' His voice hardened, and his eyes grew more pale. 'The survivors among your band can deliver it.'

Lifting the bow he sent a bolt into the rider's chest. It exploded with a fearsome sound, spraying blood and shards of bone over the other men. Terrified horses reared, pitching their riders. Viruk's thin fingers danced upon the strings of light and four more bolts thundered into the milling riders. One man's arm was torn clear of his body.

Another's head fell to the ground and rolled towards Viruk. The Avatar warrior kept shooting. One rider spurred his horse into a charge. Viruk shot the horse in the head, stopping it dead in its tracks. The rider flew over the headless neck, landing heavily. He scrambled up, but an arrow took him through the neck and he pitched to the ground.

His Vagars had come from their hiding places now, and were sending a rain of shafts into the raiders. Within moments the massacre was over. The only living Mud People were the drivers of the five wagons. Viruk approached the terrified men, ordering them to climb down. They did so. The Avatar assembled them in a line.

Tossing his zhi-bow to a startled Vagar he approached the first of the drivers. Placing his left hand on the man's shoulder he leaned in close. 'Such violence is dreadful, don't you think?' he asked.

'Yes… dreadful,' agreed the man.

'Then you shouldn't have come,' said Viruk, brightly, ramming a dagger deep into the man's chest. The victim screamed and tried to drag himself back from his killer. But the blade pinned him. He died and sagged against Viruk. The Avatar patted the dead man's cheek. 'So nice to meet a man who doesn't outstay his welcome,' he said. Dragging the knife clear he let the body drop. The other prisoners fell to their knees, and began to beg for mercy.

'What I need,' said Viruk, 'is a man who can remember a message. Can any of you sub-humans do that, do you think?'

The men glanced at one another. One of them raised a hand. 'Good,' said Viruk. 'Follow me.' Swinging away he glanced at the Vagar sergeant. 'Kill the others,' he said.

The remaining raiders scrambled to their feet and started to run. Three of them were cut down instantly, but the fourth was dodging and weaving and running so fast that none of the archers could hit him. 'I don't know,' said Viruk, laying his hand on the trembling prisoner's shoulder. 'They are supposed to be highly trained archers. But do you think any of them could hit a cow's arse from five paces?' He shook his head. 'Wait here.'

Then he strolled back to the others, took up his zhi-bow and sent a light bolt through the man's back at almost 200 paces.

Returning to the survivor he gave an engaging smile. 'Sorry to have kept you waiting.' The man was still wearing his sword. But he stood stock-still, his eyes fixed to Viruk's pale gaze. 'What are you staring at?' asked Viruk.

'Nothing, lord. I was… just… awaiting your orders.'

'Was he really the king's brother?'

'Indeed, lord.'

'Baffling. But then I suppose it doesn't take much to become royal among you sub-humans. Are you royal?'

'No, lord. I am a potter by trade.'

Viruk chuckled and draped his arm over the man's neck. 'It is always good to have a trade. Now, take your weapon,' he ordered him, 'and cut off the head of the king's brother. Then find yourself a horse and head for home.'

'His head, lord? The king's brother?'

'The king's dead brother,' Viruk corrected him. 'Yes, the head. And be careful not to damage that ridiculous beard.' He hesitated and stared down at the dead man. 'Why do they do that? What is the point of having a beard waxed so stiffly? I mean how does a man sleep with a beard like that?'

'I don't know, lord. Perhaps he sleeps on his back.'

'I expect that's it. Now, let us return to the task in hand. Cut off the head.'

'Yes, lord.' The man drew his sword and struck four blows to the neck of the corpse. Still the head did not fall clear.

'I hope you are a better potter than a swordsman,' said Viruk, drawing his dagger and kneeling to slice through the last tendons.

Rising he swung to the man. 'My name is Viruk. Can you remember that?'

'Yes, lord. Viruk.'

'Good. Tell the king that if there is one more incursion onto Avatar farmlands I will ride into the pitiful hovel he calls his palace and cut out his entrails. Then I will make him eat them. Be so kind as to repeat that back to me.'

The man did so. 'Splendid,' said Viruk, clapping him on the shoulder. 'Now pick up that head. I'm sure the king will be glad to get it back. It will be something to bury, at least.'

Walking back to the wagons he glanced into the back of the first. It was filled with sacks of grain. 'What is in the others?' he asked his sergeant.

'Mostly the same, lord. The last wagon contains some plunder. But it is worth little.'

'Well, take them back to the city.' Then he strolled out to one of the surviving horses and stepped into the saddle.

'Where are you going, lord?' asked his sergeant.

'Just for a ride, dear boy. I fancy there may be a few more raiders close by. Wouldn't want to see you brave lads attacked on the way back, would I?'

Gathering his zhi-bow the Avatar galloped his horse away to the east.

'He's a lunatic,' said the man standing beside the sergeant.

'Yes he is,' snapped the sergeant. 'But we're all alive. I'll settle for that.'

The prisoner rode up to the sergeant. 'Do I go now?' he asked.

'I should,' advised the sergeant. The captain can be very… changeable. He may decide he doesn't want the message sent. And then…' he gestured to the bodies.

Swinging his horse the Mud-man rode away.

Viruk felt energized in a way no crystal could ever supply. His body was vibrant with power, and the air he breathed tasted fresher and cleaner. Even the shoddy horse he now rode felt like a prime charger. Life was good today. Recalling with delight the expression on the leader's face as he loosed the first bolt, Viruk laughed aloud.

He wondered what the man had felt in that one dreadful moment when he knew that his life was about to end in an explosion of fire and pain. Did he know regret? Despair? Anger? Did he wonder why he had spent so long grooming that ludicrous wax beard? Probably not, thought Viruk. His expression had been one of disbelief. Even so, the short battle had been wonderfully invigorating.

He imagined the river king's face when the messenger arrived with his brother's head. The man would be furious. It was likely he would kill the messenger — especially when he heard the message. Viruk hoped not. He had taken an instant liking to the little potter.

Viruk's action would not find favour with the High Council. They would call it provocative. But he didn't care. All-out war with the tribes was becoming increasingly inevitable. Every Avatar warrior knew it. Just as they knew the outcome.

Without the zhi-bows the cities would fall within days. Viruk hefted his own bow, checking the power. It was low. Perhaps five bolts remained.

Viruk rode on, crossing the rich farmland, ignoring the burnt-out buildings. The raiders had cut a wide swathe through the valleys. With only fifty zhi-bows left in the city most of the garrison troops had been withdrawn, leaving the farmers helpless against raids. Viruk did not agree with the policy. It invited the Mud People and other tribes to enter the corn valleys, disrupting trade and causing shortages of food in the five cities.

But then Viruk had chosen not to be part of the policy-making team. He preferred life as a soldier-captain, free to ride the wild lands, fighting and killing. Now he almost regretted his decision. The Questors had given their short-sighted orders and Questor General Rael loyally saw them carried out. Rael should forget about tradition and strip the Questors of their power, thought Viruk.

But he wouldn't. Rael, for all his skills, was a prisoner to tradition, chained by a code of honour that had died with the tidal waves that destroyed the home world. He should have declared himself Avatar Prime. Then perhaps the outlook would have been less grim.

Viruk rode to the crest of a hill and looked down upon the walled village of Pacepta. The raiders had bypassed it to strike at lone farms, and Viruk, hungry now, decided to ride down and eat.

The guard above the gate looked frightened as he approached, but made no hostile move. 'What do you want?' he shouted down.

Viruk drew rein and hefted his zhi-bow. Then he rode closer. 'You have one more chance to ask that question properly,' he told the young man. 'If you do not I shall kill you.'

'A thousand pardons, sir,' said the youth. 'My eyes are not good. I did not see you were a… lord.'

'Open the gate, numbskull,' said Viruk. The youth shouted a command to someone beyond the walls and the thick timber gates were dragged open. Viruk rode through. The buildings here were squalid and there was no tavern. Riding to the largest of the nearby homes he stepped down from the saddle and moved to the front door, opening it and stepping inside. A large man was sitting at a long table, upon which a large bowl of soup was steaming gently. The man held a chunk of bread in his hand and was about to dip it into the soup as Viruk entered. The man's small eyes blinked rapidly as he saw the Avatar. He dropped the bread and rose, his chair falling back to the floor. An elderly woman was kneeling by a fire stirring a pot of soup with a wooden spoon.

She did not rise, but bowed from where she was.

'Welcome, lord,' said the man, forcing a smile.

'You have bread between your teeth,' chided Viruk, righting the chair and sitting at the table. 'Fetch me food,' he ordered the woman.

The man rushed away to the back of the house, returning with half a fresh-baked loaf and a dish of butter.

The woman ladled soup into a clay bowl and placed it before Viruk. Then both the Vagars stood in silence as the Avatar ate. Finally Viruk sat back. 'You have wine?' he asked.

'I will fetch some, lord,' said the old woman, hurrying from the house.

Viruk looked up at the large man. He was beardless and bald, and his stomach bulged over the length of rope holding up his canvas leggings.

'When did the raiders pass here?' he asked the man.

'Yesterday morning, lord.'

'They are dead now,' said Viruk. Leaning forward he took the last of the bread and dipped it into the remains of the soup. Finishing it he looked up at the man once more. 'I saw when I rode in you have only two wagons. Surely a supply village like this should have more?'

'Raiders took five of them, lord.'

'The wagons were outside the walls?'

The man's face paled. Viruk could see he was toying with the idea of a lie. He gave him a cold smile. All thoughts of fabrication vanished from the man's mind. 'No, lord. They demanded the wagons and we gave them.'

'Upon whose order?'

'Our headman, Shalik. He said that five wagons was a small price to pay for our lives.'

'Did he, indeed? Fetch him to me.'

'Yes, lord. He had the best interest of the villagers at heart, lord.'

'I'm sure that he did,' said Viruk amiably. 'Fetch him.'

The woman returned with a jug of wine. Viruk tasted it. It was cheap, young, and remarkably sour. Looking up at the woman he ordered her to wait outside.

The large man re-entered the building just as she was leaving. Behind him came an elderly man dressed in a full-length tunic of green wool. 'You are Shalik?' said Viruk.

'I am, lord,' he answered, offering a deep bow.

'Tell me about yourself.'

'Little to tell, lord. I have been headman now for seven years, appointed by the General.'

'You have a family?'

'Yes, lord. A wife, four sons, two daughters. We have recently been blessed with two grandchildren.'

'How nice,' said Viruk. 'Now, you gave away five of the General's wagons yesterday. Would you explain the thinking that led to this deed?'

'There were thirty raiders, lord. They could have sacked the village. Instead I negotiated with them. At first they wanted all the wagons, but I am a skilled negotiator. They settled for five.'

'And why do you think they needed these wagons?'

Shalik blinked and licked his thin lips. 'To… carry goods, lord?'

'Indeed. Without the wagons they could not have plundered farms and settlements. As a result of your negotiation they filled their wagons with the General's property. Because of your skill they felt empowered to slaughter the General's workforce. Not so?'

'I was protecting my village, lord.'

'Men make choices,' said Viruk, with a smile. 'Sometimes they are good choices, sometimes bad. You made a choice. It was a bad one. Now go home and cut your wrists. I will come by to examine your body before I leave. Go now.'

Shalik threw himself to his knees. 'Oh lord, I beg of you… spare me!'

The emotional display irritated Viruk, but he did not show it. 'You aided the enemy, man. The penalty for such a crime is your execution and the deaths of your entire family. Do this small thing, Shalik, and your family can go on with their lives, secure in the knowledge that you saved them. For, if you are not dead within the hour, I will come to your house and I will kill your wife, your four sons, your two daughters and your grandchildren.

Now be gone, before I regret my generosity.'

The large man led the weeping Shalik from the house. He returned moments later.

'You are now the headman,' said Viruk. 'What is your name?'

'Bekar, lord.'

'Well, Bekar, the next time raiders approach you will deny them any aid. Is that not so?'

'It will be as you command, lord.'

'Good. Is Shalik's house better than yours?'

'It is, lord. He is a rich man.'

'He is a dead man. His property is yours.'

'Thank you, lord.'

'Now send me one of the village whores. It has been a long day and I need the services of a woman.'

'There are no whores in the village, lord.'

Viruk stood and gave the man a broad smile. 'You could become one of the shortest-lived headmen in history, Bekar. Is that what you want?'

'No, lord. I will fetch a woman immediately.'