Free Echoes of the Great Song by David Gemmell Page A

the closely shaved temples, and he wore no armor, 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 toward 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 approachedthe 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 eyesfixed to Viruk’s pale gaze. “What are you staring at?” asked Viruk.
    “Nothing, lord. I was … just … awaiting your