Free Echoes of the Great Song by David Gemmell Page A

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