Summon Your Dragons

by Roger Parkinson

  “If you are bound for Atonir I may know of a ship-”

  “Talk to Althak about it. He will arrange it.”

  Drinagish, who had gone out to check how the horses were stabled, entered the room with his face clouded with anger. He was shouting at a youth that followed at his heels and, though he was agitated, plainly did not understand a word Drinagish said. Menish decided he must arrange for Drinagish to learn some of the Vorthenki tongue as soon as he could.

  “Uncle, this place is disgusting! The stables are filthy with dung and rotten oats.”

  As he spoke he made threatening gestures at Astae and any other Vorthenki within reach, including the women.

  “Calm down, Drinagish. Is it so bad?”

  “Oh, it's better than they've had for the last few nights I suppose. But they've earned good food. I think he makes his beer in the stables.”

  Astae began to bow nervously. Menish made an impatient gesture at Althak, who spoke to Astae in Vorthenki, explaining that the horses were to have fresh oats immediately.

  “Come, Drinagish, the ale is good enough,” said Menish. “Have some, though you'll have to brave Astae’s women.” He knew why Drinagish was so concerned. He had a particularly fine horse that Menish had given him. Drinagish seemed to distrust the bench he was to sit on, but he sat down anyway and Grath reached him a horn of ale from one of the women.

  “Not bad,” he said after he had tasted it. “I thought any ale north of Deenar was no better than horse piss.”

  “Fortunately for the northerners that is not so,” said Althak.

  Through an open doorway they could hear the sounds of their meal being prepared. The other Vorthenki folk in the main room helped themselves to the cauldron now and then, ladling the fishy stew into metal dishes. It did not look very appealing to the Anthorians, although Althak occasionally glanced towards the cauldron as if he would like to taste fish again.

  “This is not really a Vorthenki house is it, Sire?” asked Grath.

  “It seems Relanese to me,” answered Menish. “What do you know of it, Hrangil?”

  Hrangil had hardly touched his ale. He had been looking at the frescoes on the walls.

  “It is, indeed, an old Relanese building. It was old when my father and I came here many years ago from Atonir. I believe there had always been a Vorthenki village here also. There's a good harbour. But this was built as a stopping place for pilgrims to Kelerish.” He glanced at Azkun. “I'm afraid it's but a ruin of what it was. The walls, as you see, show scenes from the Mish-Tal. There are similar ones in the Court of Learning in Atonir. This one shows the Vaults of Duzagen in the Chasm below the Tor. There is the bridge we crossed today and here is-” he stopped with his finger pointing towards a stylised picture of the Chasm. “Here is Gilish throwing himself into the Chasm of Kelerish,” he said slowly.

  “But who's this Astae?” asked Drinagish. ‘He doesn't look like a Vorthenki warlord. He's no taller than Grath, at least not when he stands up!”

  Althak sighed and looked pained

  “We're not all murderers of our brothers, Drinagish. His father probably found that Astae was the most competent at running the inn and left it to him when he died. It's not uncommon for these things to happen peacefully.”

  “What about the speeches and the, you know, they fight over the food don’t they?” asked Grath.

  “Oh no, not here. This is an inn. It's sacred to Yaggrothil and no one would boast before Yaggrothil, the dragon of the deep. Every fishing village of any size has a place where the sailors who have no long houses of their own can stay in safety. Here they can take their meals without having to establish who should eat first.”

  Drinagish muttered something that might have been ‘barbarians’.

  “Cease, Drinagish,” said Menish. “We must demonstrate our own good manners even to those who have none.”

  Drinagish sulked, drinking down his ale and asking the woman who stood near him to fetch more. Menish was not sure he liked the way his nephew looked at her as she drew ale from one of the big wooden casks along the wall. He wished the Vorthenki women would dress a little more modestly.

  He found himself thinking about Adhara, wondering how she was managing while he was away. He had left her in charge before and she always did well. But he worried that she would tire herself out. Not all of the women gave her the respect she was due, he felt, but he did not know why. She had a shrewd sense of judgement and she needed it when he was away because the king, or his regent, had to judge the cases the clan chiefs could not fathom.

  But now it was not her judgement he missed, it was her ready wit. She usually found a way to make him laugh even when he was tired. Would she make him laugh again if she knew all about Thalissa?

  Supper was not long. Two women, accompanied by Astae and the youth, brought in the roasted pieces of pig on a wooden platter and placed it on the table before them along with a loaf of black bread. Menish sniffed at the meat. It was under cooked, most Vorthenki did not really know what to do with red meat, but he was too hungry to have them cook it longer.

  The meat was skewered onto metal spikes and Menish grabbed the nearest one and began to eat. Astae was visibly relieved that it was edible. Azkun ate nothing, but that was expected. He sat and glared at the others as if they were committing the worst of Vorthenki barbarities, which did nothing for their conversation.

  Menish did not wish to talk anyway. He was trying to think of an excuse to speak to Astae alone, to ask him about a certain old woman. It was awkward. He had hated Thalissa for years and he had half-deliberately sown that hatred among his men. They would want to kill her if they found her alive. But, after all these years, with the actual possibility of revenging the evil she had done in his grasp, he began to wonder if his hatred was entirely just.

  At the end of the meal he rose and muttered something about visiting the midden. It was obvious he would have to ask Astae for directions, so he beckoned to the innkeeper as he walked towards the door.

  “Yes, M’Lord?”

  “My friend saw someone he thought he recognised outside, a girl,” he said in a tone that was easily lost in the conversation of the Vorthenki sailors. “Do you know her?”

  “A girl? Oh, yes, I saw him make for her. Not a very pretty wench, and good for nothing I’ve heard. Her name is… oh, I can’t remember now. She was only found a couple of days ago and it isn’t her real name anyway as far as we know.”

  “Found?”

  “Yes, she was found by Trian at the mouth of that Chasm when he was fishing. Crazy place to fish if you ask me. But he goes there often. He’s a free man, you see, though he is of Akarth’s house. He has a boat of his own. Folk say she might do him good. His other woman has given him no children, and it is rumoured she gives him no pleasure either. Soft, crazy and soft, is Trian. Fancy keeping a woman and no return for it.

  “I think he has made the same mistake again. This new woman’s a strange one, too. A half-wit or such like. She doesn’t speak or even look at you. Poor Trian, he has no luck with women. It comes of fishing near that Chasm, I say.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Didn’t I say? Oh, the old woman, Loreli, she was found at the Chasm mouth years ago, or so they say. He should have left her there.”

  “That was the old woman who took the younger one away? She referred to her as her daughter.”

  “Yes, that was her. She seems to have taken a fondness for the young one and calls her daughter. Not the usual way is it, M’Lord? When you bring in younger women the older ones are rarely so pleased!”

  “I would not know,” said Menish tersely. “Perhaps you can direct me to the midden.”

  Astae’s familiarity disappeared and he gave Menish the information he wanted. Menish went outside and found it largely by following his nose rather than the innkeeper’s guidance.

  How Thalissa had survived he could not guess, but somehow she had escaped from the Chasm and been rescued by a fisherman. Since th
en she had lived here in obscurity, unaware that her son was now Emperor of Relanor.

  Chapter 7: Loreli

  When he returned he met Azkun standing in the doorway waiting for him. The others were still eating and drinking. Althak, Menish noticed, was still watching Azkun from their table. Azkun’s strange eyes caught his attention again. Thalissa was alive, it was like his dream. Yet he had killed her once as certainly as if it had been with his own hands. How could she be alive? Somehow he had to speak with her. There were things he should tell her.

  “I can find her for you,” said Azkun, fixing those eyes on him.

  Menish paled. Find her? Thalissa? Did he know? Of course not. He had heard Menish’s conversation with Astae and he probably meant the young woman, not the old one. For the first time Menish wondered about this young woman who had also come from the Chasm; she must have been found the same day Azkun appeared.

  “Find who?”

  “The old woman.”

  Menish felt dizzy. It must be that ale, or perhaps the smell of the midden. He sat down clumsily at the nearest bench and rubbed his eyes. Suddenly he glared at Azkun. “What do you know of her? You said you remembered nothing before the Chasm.”

  Azkun shrugged and turned his gaze away.

  “You asked him.” He nodded towards Astae, who was introducing a woman to one of the Vorthenki sailors. “You asked him about her.”

  Was it that obvious? Had they all heard that conversation? He glanced over at the others but they were paying no attention. Grath was telling some story about cattle raiding, and even Althak was no longer watching them. Only Hrangil was not with the others, he was over at one of the far walls looking at the frescoes

  “Sit down, Azkun. I want to talk to you.” It occurred to Menish that this was the first opportunity he had had to speak to Azkun away from his men. Azkun sat opposite him. Their table was otherwise unoccupied. “What do you know of this old woman?”

  “I saw her face, but… not clearly. I thought she was a ghost. But she was unhappy, so unhappy. She saw you. That made her unhappy. I could find her again-”

  “Hush,” said Menish, for he had been speaking too loudly. “I do not wish the others to find her.”

  “Why not?”

  Menish owed him an answer, he felt he owed those eyes much. “Because they might kill her if they found her.”

  Azkun went pale and his hands trembled on the table as if he were fighting a fever.

  “They won't find her,” Menish added quickly. “But I…” What? He wanted to speak with her. He wanted to know if there was any connection between herself and Azkun. More than that. He wanted to tell her why he had left her to Thealum. He wanted to expiate his guilt. None of this would make any sense to Azkun, it barely made sense to himself, and anyway he had no wish to condemn himself before a wild man. “I would like to speak to her.”

  “Come then.”

  “No, you don't understand. I must see her alone, and she'll not wish to see me. Her friends will prevent me from meeting her. Think no more of it, it's impossible.” He would have to content himself with the fact that she was alive and that he was not, after all, guilty of her murder.

  He returned to the others and told Althak to ask Astae about that promised bath and then he and Bolythak could go and organise the boat for the next day. The local fishing boats would not do, but freighters worked their way up and down this coast and they usually called at Lianar. Astae would be able to direct them to the right people.

  Astae, it appeared, had some trouble about the bath. He was quite nervous when he eventually led Menish out of the room and into another much smaller room. When he saw it Menish groaned in disappointment.

  The Relanese were always bathing. They constructed huge bathrooms with pools and hypocausts to heat them. Such luxuries had spread to Anthor and the palace at Meyathal boasted two such bathrooms, but in Anthor the need for cleanliness was subservient to the inconvenience of carrying and heating water. Here, in the wild north lands, the Relanese had constructed a bathroom for the use of pilgrims to the Tor. It was not a very elaborate one. The pool was small and the mosaic work on the walls was roughly done, but it was a bathroom all the same.

  What made Menish groan was the Vorthenki adaptation of it. Astae had not had the pool filled with water and heated with the hypocaust, it was possible he did not know how such things worked. Instead he had placed a copper tub in the empty pool and filled that. It looked ridiculous.

  Astae managed a worried smile when Menish told him it would be satisfactory, for there was something obviously wrong. The Vorthenki did not normally find it necessary to wash.

  But it was satisfactory. Menish sank his weary limbs into the hot water and felt the warmth soothe away the last vestiges of pain in his leg. There was no soap, of course, not even any of the coarse sand he had heard was used in Golshuz instead. It did not matter. The heat of the water was what he needed most.

  Unfortunately when he emerged he realised that there were no towels and he had to pull his clothes on over his wet body. It was a minor inconvenience but it spoilt his comfort.

  When he returned to the main room he found that Drinagish had been drinking too much and was singing. The others were trying to ignore him although he was clutching Grath’s shoulder and singing in his ear. Hrangil was trying, unsuccessfully, to talk to Azkun.

  Menish sent Drinagish off to the bathroom in the hope that he would sober up before he made a greater fool of himself and then asked Bolythak where Althak was.

  “He found a relative of his, a cousin of some sort named Akarth. He was asked to spend the night in his house. Althak said it would offend his cousin if he refused and he'll join us in the morning.”

  “What about the ship to Atonir?”

  “Yes, Sire, we found a man named Awan who's sailing early tomorrow. He's making for somewhere called Ramuz. Althak says he can take us on to Atonir from there. He said we must be ready before first light. I think Awan had read some Vorthenki omens about the time to sail.”

  “I think it has something to do with the tide rather than omens,” said Hrangil. “There's a shallow place at the mouth of the harbour here that's easier to cross when the tide is high.” Apart from Althak, Hrangil was the only one of them who knew anything about the sea. “I think Ramuz is an island not far from Atonir. We passed it when I last came here.”

  “It is the Vorthenki isle,” said Menish. “Sinalth launched his invasion from Ramuz and it's never been subdued by the Emperor. It's a lawless place I've heard, much like here.”

  When Drinagish returned Menish told Astae that they would sleep in the bathroom rather than the main room. Many of the Vorthenki were already stretched out on straw pallets, a few of them had procured Astae’s women and their activities, conducted with no attempt at privacy, were offensive.

  Astae was surprised at this when he was told, but he went about fetching them straw pallets and the coarsely woven woollen blankets that the Vorthenki used. Menish discarded the blankets immediately in favour of the ones he had brought with him. At least he knew the bugs in his own blankets, he had no wish to be introduced to any new ones.

  They would have to rise early, so Menish rolled himself in his blankets and went to sleep immediately.

  He slept long and dreamlessly until a gentle hand shook him by the shoulder. Clambering out of his unconsciousness he focused on Hrangil.

  “Sire, we must rise. Althak says this ship must sail early.”

  Menish nodded and sat up. Looking around him he saw that Althak had returned. Bolythak and Grath were packing their gear and Drinagish was combing his hair, complaining about the fleas he had found in his blankets.

  “They cannot have been Vorthenki fleas,” said Althak, so seriously that Drinagish had to ask why. “Because Vorthenki fleas are as big as rats.” He laughed. “The fleas you have must be poor, stunted Anthorian things. You brought them with you.”

  Bolythak and Grath laughed heartily at that but Drinagish retreated i
nto his dignity.

  Menish stood up and was pleased to find his leg was as good as ever. That was a small mercy he would be grateful for on this sea voyage. The thought of it, now that it was so near, set his stomach churning.

  “So, we have a boat to Atonir. Grath and Drinagish can return to Meyathal with the horses and take news of where we have gone-”

  “Uncle, am I not to go to Atonir?”

  “You want to go?”

  “Of course. I've only been there once before.”

  “Drinagish,” said Hrangil carefully, “we are travelling by sea.”

  “I know.”

  “It's preferable to avoid danger to both king and heir at the same time,” said Menish. “How dangerous is it, Althak?”

  The Vorthenki shrugged.

  “The greatest danger is from pirates, or sea raiders, that operate from the coasts between here and Gomol. They're rarely well armed. There are storms, too, but few at this time of year.”

  “Then there's not enough danger for caution after all,” said Menish. “Bolythak can return with Grath, Drinagish can come with us.”

  Drinagish looked delighted, Hrangil looked dubious at Menish’s decision. Bolythak looked relieved.

  “When you reach Meyathal you are to tell Adhara everything you have seen, but no one else. Let her be the judge of who else is to know. And…” he hesitated, “tell Adhara to feed the nightingale for me.”

  Menish saw Drinagish smirking and Hrangil nodding slowly in comprehension at his reference to an old love poem. The others kept their faces carefully blank.

  “Well, are we ready? Is everything packed?”

  “Yes, M’Lord. We've already placed what we'll need for the voyage on board the ship. What's left is for Grath and Bolythak.” Two bundles lay on the floor.

  “Then let's start.”

  As they passed through the main room Astae accosted them.

  “You’re not leaving yet, M’Lords? With no breakfast in your stomachs? I have some fish-”

  “No,” said Menish. “We're travelling by sea. I fear the food wouldn't be with us long.”