"David Gemmell - Echoes of the Great Song" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gemmel David)

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