David Gemmell - Echoes of the Great Song

Also by David Gemmell

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

Wolf in Shadow

The Last Guardian

Bloodstone

Ghost King

Last Sword of Power

Lion of Macedon

Dark Prince

Ironhand's Daughter

The Hawk Eternal

Sword in the Storm

Midnight Falcon

Knights of Dark Renown

Drenai Tales

Morning Star

Dark Moon

Echoes of the Great Song

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

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 buildings, 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.