that.”
“You were a fine student, lord. Perhaps the best I ever knew.”
“Perhaps?” queried Ammon with a wide smile. “One never uses the word perhaps to a king. You are not a diplomat, Anwar.”
“I fear not, lord.”
Ammon glanced round, caught the eye of a waiting servant and summoned him. “Fetch cool drinks for myselfand my guest,” he said. The man bowed low and ran back into the palace. The king lay back on the grass, the sunlight bringing a gleam to his oiled skin. “One raiding party was wiped out by the Avatars,” he said.
“As you predicted, sire. I take it your brother is no longer a thorn in the flesh.”
“No. Sadly he died. What was interesting, however, is that the enemy sent only a small group of Vagars led by a single Avatar.”
“Viruk?”
“The very same. Such a small response to our provocation. What does this mean?”
“They are weaker than they appear, lord.”
“Indeed so. And yet I do not believe this is the time to strike at them directly.”
“Might I inquire as to your reasoning, lord?”
The servant returned with golden goblets brimming with the juice of several fruits. Ammon thanked him and sat up. “Whoever strikes first—even if he wins—will be weakened. My army could—possibly—overrun the five cities. We would suffer enormous losses. How then would we counter an attack from our tribal enemies?”
“I find your reasoning sound, lord,” said Anwar. “It would therefore be advantageous if our own enemies made the first attack.”
“Precisely. And by a happy coincidence that it is what Judon of the Patiakes is planning.”
“How can I be of assistance, lord?”
Ammon sipped his drink. “Our people in the cities must do nothing to aid Judon once the battle starts. Quite the opposite, in fact. They must assist the Avatars in every way.”
“I will get a message to them. One of my agents isleaving today, with gold to finance the Pajists. But I fear they will not react well to the order. Their hatred of the Avatars blinds them to more far-sighted objectives.”
“You have the names of all the Pajists?”
“All the leaders, lord.”
“They will see the destruction of the Avatars, and my promises kept. Then they must die.”
“Indeed they shall, lord.”
A cloud obscured the sun. The king shivered. “Let us go inside. I am hungry.”
Questor General Rael was not often surprised. In his eight hundred years he had experienced all that human life could offer and, like many of the older Questors, found himself living in a constant circle of previously experienced events. He had known friendship and betrayal, love and hate, and all the misty maneuvring that swam between them. In the course of his eight centuries friends had become enemies, loved ones had sought to harm him, and bitter enemies had become brothers of the blood. There was little new to experience. So when surprise touched him he treated it like a gift. Even when it was a gift tarnished by pain.
He stood now on the wall above the eastern gate of Egaru, staring out over the rich farmlands spreading out on both sides of the Luan River. Like all Avatars he was ageless, seemingly no more than thirty, his blue hair close-cropped, his lean body clad in a white shirt-tunic of heavy silk, embroidered with gold thread at the high collar and the cuffs. His long legs were encased in leggings of the finest leather, and he wore knee-length riding boots crafted from crocodile skin. Rael carried no weapons, and boasted no jewelry. No rings glittered upon his fingers, no circlet of gold gleamed upon his brow.
The sun was bright and hot in a clear blue sky abovethe city and Rael gratefully accepted the cool drink his aide Cation proffered to him. Cation was not yet seventy, one of the few Avatars not to have been born when the world fell. Like all the younger men, he eschewed the full head of blue hair, but followed the fashion set by Viruk of having the temples dyed. Cation was of Rael’s
“You were a fine student, lord. Perhaps the best I ever knew.”
“Perhaps?” queried Ammon with a wide smile. “One never uses the word perhaps to a king. You are not a diplomat, Anwar.”
“I fear not, lord.”
Ammon glanced round, caught the eye of a waiting servant and summoned him. “Fetch cool drinks for myselfand my guest,” he said. The man bowed low and ran back into the palace. The king lay back on the grass, the sunlight bringing a gleam to his oiled skin. “One raiding party was wiped out by the Avatars,” he said.
“As you predicted, sire. I take it your brother is no longer a thorn in the flesh.”
“No. Sadly he died. What was interesting, however, is that the enemy sent only a small group of Vagars led by a single Avatar.”
“Viruk?”
“The very same. Such a small response to our provocation. What does this mean?”
“They are weaker than they appear, lord.”
“Indeed so. And yet I do not believe this is the time to strike at them directly.”
“Might I inquire as to your reasoning, lord?”
The servant returned with golden goblets brimming with the juice of several fruits. Ammon thanked him and sat up. “Whoever strikes first—even if he wins—will be weakened. My army could—possibly—overrun the five cities. We would suffer enormous losses. How then would we counter an attack from our tribal enemies?”
“I find your reasoning sound, lord,” said Anwar. “It would therefore be advantageous if our own enemies made the first attack.”
“Precisely. And by a happy coincidence that it is what Judon of the Patiakes is planning.”
“How can I be of assistance, lord?”
Ammon sipped his drink. “Our people in the cities must do nothing to aid Judon once the battle starts. Quite the opposite, in fact. They must assist the Avatars in every way.”
“I will get a message to them. One of my agents isleaving today, with gold to finance the Pajists. But I fear they will not react well to the order. Their hatred of the Avatars blinds them to more far-sighted objectives.”
“You have the names of all the Pajists?”
“All the leaders, lord.”
“They will see the destruction of the Avatars, and my promises kept. Then they must die.”
“Indeed they shall, lord.”
A cloud obscured the sun. The king shivered. “Let us go inside. I am hungry.”
Questor General Rael was not often surprised. In his eight hundred years he had experienced all that human life could offer and, like many of the older Questors, found himself living in a constant circle of previously experienced events. He had known friendship and betrayal, love and hate, and all the misty maneuvring that swam between them. In the course of his eight centuries friends had become enemies, loved ones had sought to harm him, and bitter enemies had become brothers of the blood. There was little new to experience. So when surprise touched him he treated it like a gift. Even when it was a gift tarnished by pain.
He stood now on the wall above the eastern gate of Egaru, staring out over the rich farmlands spreading out on both sides of the Luan River. Like all Avatars he was ageless, seemingly no more than thirty, his blue hair close-cropped, his lean body clad in a white shirt-tunic of heavy silk, embroidered with gold thread at the high collar and the cuffs. His long legs were encased in leggings of the finest leather, and he wore knee-length riding boots crafted from crocodile skin. Rael carried no weapons, and boasted no jewelry. No rings glittered upon his fingers, no circlet of gold gleamed upon his brow.
The sun was bright and hot in a clear blue sky abovethe city and Rael gratefully accepted the cool drink his aide Cation proffered to him. Cation was not yet seventy, one of the few Avatars not to have been born when the world fell. Like all the younger men, he eschewed the full head of blue hair, but followed the fashion set by Viruk of having the temples dyed. Cation was of Rael’s
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