Summon Your Dragons

by Roger Parkinson

  Azkun felt uneasy in this place. He was glad when they were seated near the fire for it gave him comfort. Yet there was something intrinsically cold about the hall itself. He felt it was a place where evil deeds had been done, and still would be done. There were many people assembled now and he felt cross currents of anxiety among them, insinuating into his own thoughts. It confused him. The people looked happy. They wore fine clothes and smiled. Yet he could feel an underlying fear. Two women stood near the fire, one of them wore a sparkling gown of golden fabric with a neckline that plunged between her breasts. They were like the women at Deenar. He was afraid of them.

  A servant appeared from nowhere and placed a goblet of wine on the table in front of him. For a moment their eyes met and Azkun felt the man’s mind. A confused mixture of fear and hope and a wheedling desire to please welled up at him. He had not noticed this in the other servants.

  There was a mark on the side of his face, a bruise or a graze. Before he could move off to his next errand, Azkun grabbed his arm.

  “What do you fear?”

  “M… M’Lord?” the man stammered.

  “You are afraid. What is it?”

  “Azkun, leave him alone,” interrupted Althak. He nodded to the servant and the man scuttled off, his mind screaming relief.

  “I wanted to help him.”

  “He thought you were going to have him beaten for fumbling with the wine.”

  Before Azkun could ask more questions the whole room fell silent and filled with expectancy. Heads turned towards the great door at the end of the hall which swung open. Two blue-clad trumpeters strode in and blew a fanfare that echoed in the darkness above and a voice behind them boomed, “His Magnificence, Vorish, Emperor of Relanor, Protector of the Vorthenki Coasts and High King of the Western Deserts!”

  Then the Emperor himself walked into the room.

  For Azkun he was a disappointment. It was, after all, only a man. He had been expecting something more, though on reflection he did not know what. He had known the Emperor was a man, yet after seeing the great palace and the fine clothes and everything else, he had supposed he was something more like a dragon.

  But Vorish was only a man, not even a very big man. He was not as tall as his trumpeters, in fact he was probably less than six feet.

  He walked easily among his subjects, a nod here, a smile of greeting there, as he made his way towards the throne. As he approached Azkun saw him more clearly, the red light of the flames cast a ruddy hue across his features. What he lacked in size he made up for with an easy grace; and in that easy grace Azkun saw reflections of the dancing swordsmanship that Menish and his companions had used against the pirates. Even though he had little eye for such things Azkun could see that here was one who could lead a battle.

  Although he smiled happily at his people, occasionally in his long walk to the throne Azkun saw his face slip into repose. His mouth grew cruel, accentuating his eagle nose, and his dark eyes looked defiant, as if he had done things he refused to he ashamed of.

  But this disappeared completely as he caught sight of Menish. It was all smiles and outstretched hands as he approached their table near the throne. Only once did his eyes leave Menish and stab at Azkun, raking him up and down for a brief second, before they returned to the King of Anthor.

  In that instant Azkun was astonished at the man, for he saw into his mind and shrank from it.

  He had seen many minds now and none of them clearly. The only thing he could sense acutely was pain. They were otherwise vague and fuzzy, shallow joys and ill-defined motives. Nothing but pain was clear until they spoke. He had never seen a mind like this.

  Vorish had no uncertainties, no vagueness, only a massive determination. His confidence in his own abilities was staggering. Here was one who knew exactly who he was, what he wanted, and how to get it. He had never known failure, and was determined he never would.

  The cruelty Azkun had seen in his face was matched by a potential for passionless brutality in his mind. He would kill without compassion if any opposed him.

  All this was there even while he was smiling and laughing with Menish and the others, welcoming them to the banquet. Azkun saw genuine affection for Menish. Vorish was a man of monumental passions, and one of them was love for the King of Anthor.

  A woman who had been walking behind Vorish stepped forward and embraced Menish, calling him ‘uncle’, and Drinagish, calling him ‘brother’. Menish presented Azkun, Tenari, Keashil and Olcish to the Emperor and his lady, Sonalish.

  When Sonalish stood before him he was so surprised that he blurted out “You are pregnant”. He remembered the swollen belly of the woman in Deenar. Sonalish had no such obvious signs, but he could feel two minds not one. Sonalish smiled demurely.

  “You are perceptive, Sir.”

  Vorish raised an eyebrow.

  “He is, indeed,” was all he said, although Azkun was once again raked by his dark eyes.

  Another fanfare of trumpets sounded as Vorish took his seat on the great throne and Sonalish sat on an ornate chair at his feet. This was the signal for dozens of servants to swarm into the hall carrying stacks of trenchers and loaves of bread. In their midst came teams of Vorthenki giants carrying roasted oxen on spits. Azkun counted fifteen beasts that were brought in to feed the banquet before he covered his face.

  Fifteen! No, more than that, for they were going back for others. And just for one night’s feasting. He thought of their deaths and shuddered. Althak had told him that, although this banquet was a special occasion because of the presence of Menish, such feasts were held often. The slaughter was appalling, and it went on and on. It had been happening for years, hundreds of years, since the coming of Gilish, and would go on for years to come. A permanent agony of death that festered like a running wound on the world.

  He swallowed bile.

  They brought in the largest beast last, right up to the foot of Vorish’s throne and set it down before the Emperor.

  “Vorish has forbidden the use of precedence in this hall except for himself, said Althak, as the Emperor rose silently and drew his dagger. “A good thing, too,” he added with a grin. “There'd be little hot meat left if we had to witness Kopth knows how many speeches and duels before we ate.”

  Vorish stood by the roasted ox with his trencher in one hand and his dagger in the other.

  “I am Vorish, son of the house of Sinalth,” he said in a loud voice and hacked off a steaming cut of meat. The room burst into cheers as he loaded his trencher and returned to his throne.

  When he sat down the rest of the room erupted into activity. Vorish’s rule of no precedence was only partially obeyed. Men elbowed their way through their fellows to the nearest beast to get their meat. Some gave way to more powerful guests, some shoved their lesser brethren aside.

  Not far away Azkun could see a red-haired man who held a dagger the length of his forearm, and there was murder in his eyes. He pushed another man aside and disappeared from view.

  “There are many knives drawn here.”

  “Have no fear, the knives are for dead meat.”

  “They are knives for rending flesh. Do they never fight?”

  “Only once. A man killed another right before the throne. Vorish had him chained to the wall above the door until he died of thirst. Look, you can still see what's left of him.” Azkun could not see it clearly, but there was something tattered hanging above the door. “They've not forgotten.”

  “It is fear that holds them.”

  “Of course. Well, no doubt you're not hungry but I must fill my trencher.” He stood up and made his way to the beast in front of the throne. Menish and the others were already returning.

  For a moment he thought of what Althak had said. The stench of death and the murder that lay just below the surface here welled up inside him until he thought his head would burst. His stomach lurched and he gripped the table edge almost convulsively. He had thought he was inured to these things by now, but he had never t
hought before of so much death.

  Tenari who, with her new liveliness, pressed close to him and nibbled his ear playfully distracted him. He put his arm around her, grateful to have something warm and friendly beside him, even if it was mindless.

  The guests were, for all the seeming confusion, remarkably efficient at serving themselves and it was not long before they had returned to their seats. The remains were being cleared away to be picked over by the servants. While they were still eating Vorish rose and made a speech welcoming Menish to the feast and bidding the musicians to play.

  At once the sound of a harp stole through the hall. A small balcony in the wall across from the fire held a group of musicians. The harper tuned his instrument for a moment then began to play against the dull thud of a drumbeat. Two others picked up the tune with long necked instruments Azkun had not seen before.

  The music made a background to the general conversation in the hall. Azkun looked across at Keashil, whose blind eyes sparkled with the music and her fingers drummed on the table. The players were not as skilful as she was, but that did not seem to matter to her.

  The entire hall now was filled with people rending and eating bodies of the oxen, for the men had passed their surplus meat to their women. The background music distracted him, and slowly their thoughts of hunger and eating crept into his brain. The smell of cooked meat and wine seemed to make him dizzy. Althak, beside him, was talking to Drinagish about some hunting incident and Azkun was trying not to listen.

  Before he realised what he was doing he had raised the goblet of wine before him and taken a gulp from it. It was heady and strong. A weakness permeated his body and he pushed the goblet away, trying to shut out the hundreds of minds around him that crowded him with eating and drinking.

  His hand was trembling as he withdrew it from the goblet. The room seemed unbearably hot, as if there were not quite enough air. The great fire threw shadows of demons on the walls.

  Everyone appeared to be talking too loudly and he began to feel a fogginess in his thoughts. He shook his head but that only made the room spin wildly. A cold pit of nausea lay in his stomach. He wished he had not touched the wine.

  Impressions of other minds invaded his as the music lulled him. A dark, full-bearded man was laughing loudly not far away as he patted the bottom of a serving girl. Azkun sensed the woman’s feelings of quiet fear and a desire to move away from the man. The man’s thoughts were somehow predatory, as if he wanted to eat her.

  Azkun closed his eyes. It was difficult to think or, more precisely, to know his own thoughts from the others that came from outside.

  When he opened his eyes again the room had gone suddenly silent.

  For a startled moment Azkun thought that they had noticed his distress and had all turned to stare at him.

  But they had turned to stare at something else.

  It was the servant who had brought the wine to their table. He lay sprawled on the rushes while the red bearded man Azkun had noticed earlier stood over him, waving his knife menacingly.

  “I'm sorry, M'Lord. I'll fetch another goblet.” As he spoke he slid himself across the rushes, not daring to get up but not daring to stay where he was.

  “Clumsy fool. I told you last time I'd have your guts-”

  “Amat,” Vorish seemed hardly to raise his voice for it to cut clear across the hall. “Let the man fetch you another goblet. I'll punish my own servants.”

  Amat grumbled, aimed a kick at the servant but missed, and flopped down onto his bench. The relieved servant raced from the room. But it was too much for Azkun. He saw it now. The killing and the servant's fear. It was all of a piece.

  Something evil was being done here.

  He jerked to his feet, the room swayed, nearly knocking him down. A hand caught at his arm, trying to pull him back to his seat. It was Althak but he ignored it.

  “Stop!” he shouted. His cry echoing from the stone walls as if the demon shadows there mocked him. The musicians ground to a confused halt as he tried to shore up his mind against the unspoken questions that flooded into him. All eyes were on him now.

  It was Vorish who broke the silence that followed his cry.

  “What is it?”

  Azkun groped for words. He felt that they might all turn to spectres in a moment.

  “You are vile, all of you! You murder the innocent and grow fat on their flesh. Those who serve you are half crazed with fear of you-”

  “That's enough, Azkun.” Vorish’s eyes gleamed coldly at him.

  “No it is not! You are the Emperor. You are responsible for this. You are the most guilty of all!”

  A nervous whisper ran through the room. Althak swore.

  “You'll regret that remark. Althak, remove this fool. I'll deal with him when he's sober.”

  Azkun’s revulsion was not spent. He was about to say more when Althak grabbed him roughly and pulled him from the room, complete with Tenari clinging to him.

  Chapter 17: The Council

  Menish knew Azkun would be taken to the endless labyrinth of dungeons beneath the palace. It was the kind of place they might lose a prisoner and there were stories of them opening a cell thought to be empty and finding a skeleton. But Azkun's real danger was Vorish's wrath.

  Insulting the Emperor publicly demanded Vorish execute him publicly. To do any less would show weakness and he never showed weakness.

  But Menish also knew that the stories of what Azkun had done in the north and even in the streets of Atonir were spreading fast. There were always factions who watched for an opportunity to threaten him. Would they interpret Azkun's words as some kind of rallying cry? Yes, if it suited them to.

  And if Vorish ignored the incident it would suggest that Azkun was someone the Emperor dared not punish. He would not take that way.

  After the feast was over and they returned to their apartment they found Tenari weeping. Althak had been trying to comfort her, there was tea on the bench beside her he must have fetched. She had not touched the tea.

  The next morning, when they had eaten breakfast, servants came to summon them to Vorish’s apartments for a meeting with the Emperor and his chief Drinols. They were led to the same room where Menish had met Vorish the day before. The table was still piled with papers and among them lay the several scrolls of the Gash-Tal. From the way they were rolled Menish could see they had been read recently.

  The others were there before them. Menish recognised Treath, Athun and Angoth. There was also a black robed priest of Aton introduced as Tishal. Servants were attending, armed with food, wine and one with quills and fresh paper.

  Vorish bade them sit down and offered them wine. When they had exchanged introductions and pleasantries he began.

  “I've been thinking about Gashan, Gentlemen. You all know Gashan attempted to invade Relanor forty years ago. Some of you were there, though others of us were not yet born.”

  “Gashan?” said Treath. “I thought that it was a tale put about by Anthor in the war with Thealum.” The question was directed more at Menish than at Vorish, and Menish wondered if he was trying to make some point.

  “We did spread stories of Gashan in the war against Thealum,” said Menish. “Those stories were true, though they may have sounded fantastic. Gashan is a marshy country that lies north of Anthor. Its people are smaller than we Anthorians, but yellow-haired like you Vorthenki. They're an evil folk and fierce in battle.”

  “And the battle years ago?” asked Athun. “Is that also true? You defeated them.”

  “It was a victory of a sort. I've suffered better defeats. The armies of Anthor and Relanor were reduced to a tattered band of wounded survivors with an inexperienced, young prince as their leader.

  “When they threw fire at us my company managed to reach the river. We covered our shields with cloaks and coats we'd soaked in water. By that time the Gashans had passed us by, pursuing the main army. We attacked them from behind. The fire throwers, who were ranged across the vanguard of the Gashan
forces, panicked and tried to blast us through their own ranks. They destroyed themselves.”

  “When you say they were destroyed,” said Vorish, “I understand you to mean they were no longer able to fight?”

  “A number of their companies retreated with some order, though many were killed outright and others fled in fear. We hunted those down over the following weeks, killing them when we found them. The work only stopped when we heard Sinalth had taken Relanor.”

  “And that has taught them to stay away from our lands. Why are we interested in them now?”

  Menish noticed the way Treath said 'our lands' which included Anthor, but there was nothing he could say without sounding petulant.

  “Rumours, hearsay, tales. Some say Gashan is on the move. Some say they'll attack us in the spring. You understand I can't reveal all my sources even to this company. The news reached me a short time ago and I delayed mentioning it until the King of Anthor arrived so that we have the benefit of his wisdom.”

  Everyone knew he had spies everywhere so they expected him to hear of things long before anyone else. That he knew something of Gashan and that he knew of Menish's coming well before he arrived surprised no one. Only Menish wondered how often he really knew, or only seemed to know.

  “Has Menish heard these rumours?” asked Treath, turning to him.

  “I've been away in the north for weeks now,” said Menish. “Such rumours surely came directly from Anthor and would not reach me.”

  How simple it was to fall in with Vorish's deception.

  “What is this information you have, Vorish?” asked Althak. “How certain is this attack?”

  “Quite uncertain. Hints and conjectures. Nothing more.”

  “We need more information, surely,” said Althak. “You can't do anything about it without some confirmation.”

  “Are you volunteering to go and see, Althak?”

  “Someone must. Yes, I'll go, with M'Lord's permission.” He nodded at Menish who nodded back.