Gemmell, David - Echoes of the Great Song

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Also by David Gemmell
The Drenai books
Legend
The King Beyond the Gate
Waylander
Quest for Lost Heroes
Waylander II: In the Realm of the Wolf
The First Chronicles of Druss the Legend
The Legend of Deathwalker
Winter Warriors
Hero in the Shadows
The Jon Shannow books
Wolf in Shadow
The Last Guardian
Bloodstone
The Stones of Power books
Ghost King
Last Sword of Power
Lion of Macedon
Dark Prince
The Hawk Queen books
Ironhand's Daughter
The Hawk Eternal
The Rigante books
Sword in the Storm
Midnight Falcon
Individual Titles
Knights of Dark Renown
Drenai Tales
Morning Star
Dark Moon
Echoes of the Great Song
ECHOES OF
THE GREAT SONG
David A. Gemmell
CORGI BOOKS
ECHOES OF THE GREAT SONG
A CORGI BOOK : 0 552 14255 7
Originally published in Great Britain by Bantam Press,
a division of Transworld Publishers Ltd
PRINTING HISTORY
Bantam Press edition published 1997
Corgi edition published 1998 Corgi edition reprinted 1998
Copyright © David A. Gemmell 1997
The right of David A. Gemmell to be identified as the author
of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77
and 78 of the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All of the characters in this book are fictitious,
and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
is purely coincidental.
Condition of Sale
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not,
by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or
otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other
than that in which it is published and without a similar
condition including this condition being imposed on the
subsequent purchaser.
Set in 10/12.5pt Sabon by
Hewer Text Composition Services, Edinburgh
Corgi Books are published by Transworld Publishers Ltd,
61-63 Uxbridge Road, London W5 5SA,
in Australia by Transworld Publishers (Australia) Pty Ltd,
15-25 Helles Avenue, Moorebank, NSW 2170,
and in New Zealand by Transworld Publishers (NZ) Ltd,
3 William Picketing Drive, Albany, Auckland.
Reproduced, printed and bound in Great Britain by Mackays of Chatham PLC, Chatham, Kent
Ebook:
Scan, OCR & preliminary proof by Casca
RTF Formatting & lit conversion by Wordsmith
Echoes of the Great Song is dedicated with grateful thanks to Richard Alien, who - back in the sixties -
showed me the way to popularity by breaking my arm. And to Peter Phillips, whose heroic appearance in another
time of great danger prevented even more fractures.
Acknowledgements
My thanks to my editor Liza Reeves, test readers Stella Graham and Edith Graham, my copy editor Beth
Humphries, and to Alan Fisher for his invaluable insights.
Contents
Chapter One........................................................................................................................................ 7
Chapter Two..................................................................................................................................... 13
Chapter Three ................................................................................................................................... 17
Chapter Four..................................................................................................................................... 21
Chapter Five ..................................................................................................................................... 24
Chapter Six....................................................................................................................................... 28
Chapter Seven .................................................................................................................................. 32
Chapter Eight.................................................................................................................................... 35
Chapter Nine .................................................................................................................................... 41
Chapter Ten ...................................................................................................................................... 46
Chapter Eleven ................................................................................................................................. 50
Chapter Twelve ................................................................................................................................54
Chapter Thirteen............................................................................................................................... 60
Chapter Fourteen .............................................................................................................................. 66
Chapter Fifteen................................................................................................................................. 72
Chapter Sixteen ................................................................................................................................78
Chapter Seventeen............................................................................................................................ 83
Chapter Eighteen .............................................................................................................................. 87
Chapter Nineteen.............................................................................................................................. 94
Chapter Twenty .............................................................................................................................. 101
Chapter Twenty-One ...................................................................................................................... 106
Chapter Twenty-Two ..................................................................................................................... 111
Chapter Twenty-Three ................................................................................................................... 118
Chapter Twenty-Four ..................................................................................................................... 128
Chapter Twenty-Five...................................................................................................................... 135
Chapter Twenty-Six ....................................................................................................................... 146
Chapter Twenty-Seven ................................................................................................................... 152
Epilogue ......................................................................................................................................... 156
Chapter One
And that was in the time before our time, when Tail-avar, the god of wisdom, travelled with Storro, Speaker
of Legends, and Touch the Moon, god of tribes, to steal power from the magic fang of the Frost Giant. With a
rope crafted from moonlight Tail-avar lassoed seven serpents of the sea. They drew his canoe across the Great
Water in less than a day. When Touch the Moon saw the beast they had come to find, he fell to the floor of the
canoe, and cried out to the Spirit of Heaven to grant them courage, for the Frost Giant was greater than
mountains, its white back tearing the sky. The breath from its mouth flowed for many leagues as a cold mist
across the water. Its claws were as long as the ribs of a whale, its teeth as sharp as betrayal.
from the Morning Song of the Anajo
Alone on an icy hillside, the wind blowing cold across the glaciers, Talaban recalled the first time he had
heard the prophecy.
The Great Bear will descend from the skies and with his paw lash at the ocean. He will devour all the works
of Man. Then he will sleep for 10,000 years, and the breath of his sleep will be death.
The words had been spoken by a Vagar mystic; a ragged man in clothes of filthy fur, sitting on the lower
steps of the Great Temple. Thinking the man a beggar the young blue-haired Avatar officer had given him a
small silver coin. The mystic looked at it, turning it over and over in his grimy hand. His face was smeared with
dirt and sweat, and upon his neck was an inflamed boil. Had he been anywhere else in the city the Watch would
have arrested him, for no Outland beggars were allowed in the streets of Parapolis. But the Temple was the
acknowledged centre for the world's religions, and all were free to gather here. Vagars, tribesmen, nomads, all
journeyed to Parapolis. It was as much a political decision by the Avatars as a spiritual one. For the barbarians
returned to their homes and convinced their followers of the futility of revolt. Parapolis, with its gleaming towers
of gold, and its powerful magic, was a symbol of invincible might.
Talaban watched the fur-clad beggar examining the coin. The boil on his neck seemed ready to burst, and the
pain must have been great. Talaban offered to heal it for him. The man shook his head, the movement causing
him to wince against the agony of the inflammation. 'I need no healing, Avatar. The boil is a part of me, and it
will leave me when it is ready.' The mystic gazed down at the silver coin in his hand, then glanced up at the tall
blue-haired soldier. 'Your gift to me shows a generous spirit, Avatar,' he said. 'Look around you, and tell me
what you see.'
Talaban gazed at the colossal buildings at the centre of the capital. The Great Temple was a magnificent
edifice, roofed with gold sheeting and adorned with hundreds of beautifully wrought statues of marble depicting
scenes from a thousand years of Avatar history. The gilded Monument, a towering column of gold 200 feet high,
stood beside it. Everywhere he looked Talaban saw the glory that was the Avatar capital: awe-inspiring build-
ings, great arches, paved walkways. And beyond them, breathtakingly serene, dwarfing all the incredible works
of Avatar architecture, loomed the brooding presence of the White Pyramid. Three million blocks of stone, many
, of them weighing more than 200 tons, had been used to create this artificial mountain. And then the whole
edifice had been faced with white marble. For a moment Talaban was lost in the wonder of it all. Then he
remembered the question the ragged man had asked him. 'I see what you see,' he said. 'The greatest city ever
built.'
The mystic chuckled. 'You do not see what I see. You see what is. I see what will be.' He pointed to the
glittering Monument, rising like a spear towards the skies. It was a work of wonder, and golden spikes radiated
from the crown set upon it. The gold of the crown alone weighed almost a ton. 'The crown will fall when the
whale's body crashes against it,' he said.
'I have never seen a flying whale,' said Talaban, amiably.
'Nor will you,' agreed the mystic. Then he spoke of the Great Bear and its sleep of death.
Talaban was growing bored now. He smiled at the man and turned away. The mystic's voice followed him.
'The bear will be white. Gloriously white. Just like the pyramid. And you will be one of the few Avatars who
will gaze upon it and live. And when you do your hair will no longer be dyed blue. It will be dark. For you will
have learned humility, Avatar.'
An icy wind whispered across the snow-covered hills. Talaban's mind returned to the present. Pushing his
fingers through his night-dark hair, he lifted his fur-lined hood into place, and stared out over the glaciers.
There was a time when he had hated the ice. Hated it with every fibre of his being. Yet now he gazed upon
the cold and brittle beauty of the glaciers without rage. It surprised him that he could even appreciate the sunlight
creating pale colours upon the ghost white of the glacier flanks, the faint blue of the reflected sky, the gleam of
gold as the sun set.
So much was hidden beneath it, lost for ever. His childhood friends, his family, thousands of works of
literature and philosophy, all buried now. Along with his hopes and dreams. Yet despite what it had taken from
him, the ice had proved too powerful for his hatred; too huge and too cold for his fury.
And now, as his dark eyes scanned the white mountains, his heart felt a curious sense of kinship with the ice,
for his own feelings were now buried deep, as deep perhaps as Parapolis, which lay frozen beneath the belly of
the Great Ice Bear.
The tall warrior transferred his gaze to the small group of men working at the foot of the ice mountains. From
his vantage point on the hillside he could see them planting the golden probes, and setting up small pyramids
created from silver poles. Golden wires were being attached to the pyramids, linking them together. Talaban
could see the short, stocky figure of Questor Ro moving among the Vagars, issuing orders, barking out
commands. At this distance he could not hear him, but he could tell by the impatient gestures that Questor Ro
was putting the fear of death into his team. And the fear was very real. Questor Ro was one of the few Avatars
who still, routinely, sentenced his slaves to be flogged for minor infractions. The little man was powerful within
the Council, and it was by his influence that this expedition had been realized.
Would he be so powerful when they returned, Talaban wondered?
He had long since cast aside his optimism and considered the venture futile, but his orders were specific:
bring Questor Ro and his Vagar team to the ice, protect them, oversee the operation, and return within three
months.
It was the seventh team to attempt Communion in four years. Talaban had commanded three of the
expeditions. All had ended in failure and he had no expectation of greater success on this trip. The prevailing
opinion was that Communion was no longer possible. Questor Ro had argued against this, calling his colleagues
'pathetically defeatist'. His enemies, and there were many, had part-sponsored the current expedition. Their aim
was obvious: to see Questor Ro humbled. This did not seem to perturb the little man.
Turning from the ice Talaban scanned the barren plain, seeking signs of movement. Nomads still lived in the
mountains to the east. They were a savage and fierce people. With only twenty soldiers under his command
Talaban did not relish the thought of battle in this cold, lonely place.
These icy lands, once so wondrously fertile, were full of peril now. The nomads were only one of many
dangers. On the last expedition a pride of sabre-tooths had attacked a working party, killing three Vagars and
dragging off a fourth. Talaban had killed the beast as it mauled the Vagar. The victim had bled to death within
moments, the artery in his groin torn open. Then there were the krals. Not since the first expedition had they
been seen, but fear of them remained strong, and the descriptions of their ferocity had grown in the telling.
Talaban had never seen a kral, but witnesses told him of their speed and savagery. They were covered in white
fur, like a snow bear, but their faces were almost human, though incredibly bestial. Three accounts described
them as more than seven feet tall, with long upper arms. When they charged they dropped to all fours, and killed
with talons and sharp teeth.
The last of the perils, but by no means the least, lay in the herds of tuskers, who roamed the forests to the
east. Their shaggy hides protected them from the severity of the cold, and their tusks, some measuring more than
ten feet, made them dangerous adversaries. Even sabre-tooths generally avoided the mammoths - unless they
could isolate a stray.
The vast plain appeared empty. Talaban gestured to his sergeant, Methras, positioned on a hillside some 600
paces to the east. The man spread out his arms in a flat line, signalling nothing to report.
A movement out to sea caught Talaban's eye. At first he thought it was a ship, but then he saw the great back
of a blue whale lift and dip, before the sea swallowed it once more. The mystic's words came back to him again.
And now he knew that, as the tidal wave engulfed Parapolis, a whale had crashed against the Monument's crown,
ripping it away. He wondered if the little mystic had survived.
Down in the bay, sails furled, Serpent Seven was at anchor. Even here in this gentle bay the huge black ship
looked unseaworthy, her decks too high, her draught too low. Talaban sighed. Drawing his black woollen cloak
around him he strode down the hillside. Three Vagars, waiting for the ship's boat, were crouched in the shelter of
several boulders. They were wearing coats of white fur, and boots of sheepskin. Even so their lips were blue with
cold. Talaban knelt among them. 'Once there were vineyards here,' he said, 'and away to the north was a lake
where the Avatar Prime had a palace. I swam in that lake as a child, and my shoulders were burned red by the
sun.'
'The lake is ice now, lord,' said one of the Vagars, blowing into his hands. 'Everything is ice now.' His voice
was toneless and he did not look up at Talaban.
'Two more days, and then we will sail back to the city,' Talaban told them.
His words did nothing to lift their spirits and he moved away from them down to the water's edge. Chunks of
ice were floating along the shoreline. Raising his arm he signalled the ship. Instantly the silver longboat was
lowered to the surface.
Swiftly, without oar or sail, it glided through the water and Talaban could see the hunched, hooded figure of
Touchstone seated at the tiller. Talaban shivered once more. The cold was seeping into his bones now. The three
Vagars hurried down to the water's edge as the boat neared, then waited until Talaban had stepped aboard before
scrambling over the side.
'Them's cold rabbits,' said Touchstone, grinning, gesturing towards the shivering Vagars. Talaban smiled.
Touchstone pushed back his fur-lined hood, shaking free his black braids. 'Nomads are close,' he said, tapping
his nose. 'I smell them.'
The three Vagars tensed, and Talaban saw the fear in their eyes. At least they've forgotten how cold they are,
he thought.
'How close?' he asked Touchstone. 'Half a day. Twenty riders maybe. Hunting tuskers they are. They be close
to here tomorrow. By dusk maybe.' 'And you can smell all this?' put in one of the Vagars. 'A good nose I have,'
said Touchstone with a wink, stroking his long curved nose. He grinned at the man. 'You see. Tomorrow. Come
dusk.'
Talaban raised his arm to signal the ship, and immediately the silver longboat began to glide backwards out
into the bay. Touchstone pulled the tiller arm and the craft swung towards the waiting ship. Talaban's gaze
focused on the black vessel, with its high prow, and long, raking lines. The newly added masts were an
abomination, but sadly necessary in these days of fading power. Fifty years ago there were seventy or more
warships, sailing the oceans, mapping new lands, keeping the peace of the Avatar Prime. Now there was one,
Serpent Seven, its power chest almost empty, its beauty scarred by the clumsy wooden masts hammered into its
deck. Where once it had cleaved through the sea like a giant dolphin, now it laboured like a sick whale, needing
to keep close to the shoreline, wary of every wave that threatened to capsize it.
The silver boat drew alongside the huge vessel. Ropes were lowered. Touchstone tied two of them to the
prow and stern. Talaban climbed the ladder to the central deck, responded to the salutes of three black-clad
Vagar sailors, then strode on towards his cabin.
Once inside he doffed his cloak, unbuckled his sword belt and stood before the brazier of burning coal
beneath the stern windows. Holding his hands to the heat he shivered with pleasure. Though he could tolerate it
better than most men Talaban hated the cold. The quarter window was open, allowing fresh air into the cabin,
and helping alleviate the stink of coal. Talaban gazed longingly at the crystal globes set into the wall. Once these
had supplied either heat or light - indeed both if required - for the captain's cabin, but there was so little power
left in the chest that Talaban did not dare activate them. Moving to his desk of polished oak he sat down,
enjoying the luxury of the deep, padded chair.
Closing his eyes he thought again of the palace of the Avatar Prime, the burning sun, and the scent of nearby
vineyards. Talaban had been happy there for a while, content to work on the maps he had so carefully charted the
year before. It was the year that Questor Anu had been stripped of his rank. Talaban had been sent to question
him, to decide if he posed a threat to the State.
The inquisition had taken place in Anu's home on the outskirts of the city. Anu, like all Avatars, eternally
youthful, had welcomed him warmly, and they had sat in his garden in the company of a slack-jawed half-wit,
who drooled and stared vacantly into space. The half-wit was an Avatar but, because of his condition, was not
allowed blue hair or any other badge of rank. Talaban found his presence off-putting. It was made more
disturbing by the contrast with Anu. He was a slender man of medium height, his features regular, his expression
friendly. Yet there was about him an almost tangible radiance, a sense of unworldliness that was both compelling
and unsettling. It was the kind of feeling Talaban experienced when climbing a mountain and looking out over
the landscape of the world, a sense of awe and deep humility.
Anu smiled at Talaban's discomfiture. 'Why does he disturb you so?' he asked.
Talaban returned the smile, and decided upon a course of honesty. 'To be frank, sir, it is because I am here to
decide your sanity. It seems curious to be doing so while in the presence of an idiot.'
'An interesting point for debate, Talaban. What is it that makes a man an idiot? Togen cannot dress himself,
and if left to his own devices would probably starve to death. He does not understand politics, and if I sent him
to market he would become lost before he reached the first shop. And yet, tell me, Talaban, upon which science
is our civilization built?'
'Mathematics,' answered the officer.
'Indeed so. Now here is a riddle for you: Tell me the square root of 4,879,625?'
Before Talaban could even think of a method to supply the answer the half-wit spoke. He did not look up or
change his expression. 'Two thousand two hundred and eight point nine eight seven three two four five four five.'
Anu clapped his hands. 'And the square root of that, Togen?'
Again the half-wit spoke instantly. 'Forty-point six nine nine eight.'
'How does he do that?' asked Talaban.
'I have no idea. But he has proved immensely useful to me these last six years. So, is he an idiot or a genius,
Talaban?'
'Apparently he is both. So let us put the question of his sanity aside and examine yours.'
'As you will.'
'You are preaching heresy, Questor. How do you justify your actions?'
'My actions require no justification. But let us return to mathematics. I have studied the science for almost
eight hundred years. Through it I have helped the Avatar to achieve greatness through architecture, travel and
commerce.'
'No one is disputing that, Questor. I have used your star maps myself on my journeys. But that is not the point
at issue.'
'It is the very point. We have a thousand years of history behind us, Talaban. But what is before us?
Catastrophe awaits. Based upon my studies I have concluded that the earth itself passes through a series of
regular cataclysms. During such times the earth rolls, falls if you like. I have studied ancient records. Such an
event almost certainly took place about eleven thousand years ago. It is my belief it will happen again some time
in the next two years. With the help of Togen I shall narrow down that estimate. But we must prepare for the end
of all we know - indeed of much that we love. Within a few years this little garden will be buried beneath a
mountain of ice. If we do not make preparations then the civilization we have brought to this planet will pass
from memory.'
'I have heard of your predictions, sir. Such is your reputation that even Vagar mystics are now predicting the
end of all things.'
Anu shook his head. 'Now it is you who are missing the point. Those same mystics were prophesying the
cataclysm long before I began my calculations. Indeed, it was my fascination with them that led me to apply my
knowledge and expertise to the question.'
'But they go against prevailing wisdom, sir - and worse - against the views of the Avatar Prime himself. Can
you not accept that you might be wrong?'
'I am not wrong, Talaban,' he answered, sadly. 'I would give all that I possess - my life itself - if it could be
so. And I know what must happen. The sun will rise in the west, the seas will tip from their bowls, and not one
stone will be left upon another.' The Questor sighed, then gave a sad smile. 'The Avatar Prime will either have
me killed or declare me outcast. If it is the latter I will be stripped of my grants, my annuities, and my position.
Even so I will continue to preach what you call heresy. I will take as many of our people as will travel with me
and head north - far north. We have outlying settlements, and with the help of the Source, we shall survive the
catastrophe. Whether there will be enough of us to rebuild our civilization I do not know.'
Talaban had reported the conversation to the Council.
Some called for Anu's death, but Talaban spoke against such a course. The argument was fierce and raged on
for several hours. Questor Ro had been vehement in his calls for death, and such was the recommendation to the
Avatar Prime. Happily he overruled the judgment and instead declared Anu stateless. His property was
confiscated and he could no longer walk the streets of Parapolis. The former Questor had removed himself to the
temple grounds, where he survived on gifts of food and clothing from the few friends who stuck by him. Here he
continued to preach the coming catastrophe.
Within weeks Anu's dark prophecies began to be spouted among the populace. But they were derided by the
Council.
True to his word Anu did refine his calculations, predicting the fall on the eighth or ninth day of summer in
the eighteen hundred and third year of the Avatar Empire.
Two years and four months later, on the ninth day of summer, while taking Serpent Seven on a mapping
expedition to the far north-west, Talaban had viewed the fall of the world. The ship was sheltering in a wide bay
and his scouts were returning from a trip ashore. It was close to sunset. Talaban was standing on the high upper
deck as the silver longboat cut through the waves towards the Serpent. It had been a good day, bright and fresh
and cold. Melting ice floes still clung to the shores of the bay and a cool breeze whispered across the decks. The
longboat secured, his men on board, Talaban turned towards his cabin door. The sunlight was almost gone, the
clouds shining red and gold above the western mountains. Talaban paused to watch the last of the sunset.
Suddenly the winds rose, a storm arriving from nowhere. Distant trees were bent by its force, and the clouds
began scudding across the sky. The ship lurched. Talaban was thrown against the cabin door. A bright light
washed over the Serpent. Talaban turned - and saw the sun rising again. He stood, lost in the wonder of the
moment. From all over the ship came the sound of shouting, as men called for their friends to come and see the
phenomenon. Then Talaban remembered the words of Anu. The sun will rise in the west, the seas will tip from
their bowls, and not one stone will be left upon another.
Shading his eyes he stared into the west. The area they were mapping was a narrow strip of land, some 20
miles wide. On the other side of the mountains lay the ocean. A huge dark mass, like bunching storm clouds,
reared up over the mountains.
... the seas will tip from their bowls.
The mountains were almost two miles high. The tidal wave beyond them was half as high again. And it was
roaring towards the bay.
For the first time in his life Talaban felt the onset of fear-induced panic. It rooted him to the spot, and he
stared horrified at the immense wave darkening the sky. For a dozen heartbeats he stood still. Death was coming,
and he felt powerless to oppose its immensity. On the deck below him a man screamed in fear, and fell to his
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