Summon Your Dragons

by Roger Parkinson

  When they were ready they were led to a room near the one Menish and the others had met in for most of the day. There were bright hangings on the walls and a large fireplace piled with logs. The fire was unlit because the evening was warm. In the centre of the room were many cushions, some embroidered with complex patterns. Vorish and Sonalish were sitting on the cushions accompanied by several women and four children.

  The women, except for Sonalish, rose to make room for them to sit, and to fetch them wine. A platter of cold fish and fruit was brought from another room and placed before them. Sonalish handed some cloth and needles she was holding to one of the women as she greeted Menish.

  “Sonalish, you grow more Relanese each time I see you. Is that really embroidery?”

  She laughed.

  “Of course, Uncle. I'm Relanese now. I've not shot a bow for years and I hardly ever ride.” Her smile faded to a more serious expression. “I still keep my sword arm in practice, that's only sensible.” She pushed forward the largest of the children, a small boy with Vorish’s eyes, and spoke to him. “Men’, do you recognise your great uncle or your Uncle Drinagish? Here Drinagish, you talk to him. You'll be his vassal one day, you should make your impression early as our Uncle Menish did on Vorish!” They laughed and Drinagish took the boy's hand, looking as though he did not know what to do with him.

  Men' stared at Drinagish with Vorish's eyes.

  “Drinagish,” he said carefully in his piping voice. “Yes, I remember you. You came here three years ago.”

  He was not much younger than Olcish, thought Menish, and perhaps the two of them would enjoy each other's company. But Olcish seemed too awed to come out from behind his mother.

  Menish smiled and remembered when Vorish had first met Sonalish, years ago now. Vorish was only nineteen, newly ascended to the throne, and she was thirteen, far too young for an Anthorian to marry. He had seen her at the coronation when they placed Gilish’s crown on his head and he had determined then that he would marry her. When she was sixteen he had sent proposals to her, but her mother, Adhara’s sister, would not hear of it. He hardly knew her, she had said, it was not the Anthorian way. So he had gone to Anthor for six months to woo her, and still they refused. Not everyone liked Vorish, he was too forthright, too determined, too Vorthenki, but that was not what they said. They told him she was still too young, which she was.

  But the spell was cast. When Sonalish came of age at eighteen she took a horse and rode down to Relanor without her parents' blessing to marry the Emperor. It was considered somewhat improper for her to wed so young, but Menish had intervened and soothed her parents. Vorish needed an Empress, the Vorthenki were uneasy that he had no wives, and, no, he would not prove Relanese or Vorthenki enough to take any others. In reality, Menish knew, Vorish simply always got what he wanted.

  And he had wanted Sonalish. What had attracted him Menish did not know. She was pretty, but not especially so, rather lean by stocky Anthorian standards, and she had a pleasant nature. It did not seem enough for someone of Vorish’s towering passions, but it was.

  “Are you feeling better, Azkun?” Sonalish inquired as though last night’s outburst had been a minor complaint of indigestion.

  He nodded silently, as if minimising any commitment to an answer, but she took his response as definitely positive.

  “I'm glad to hear it. You've a long and weary journey before you,” she said. “Hrangil, you're not eating. Here, do try one of these.” She held a large prawn out to him. Menish noticed that she had referred to Azkun’s journey to Gashan, she was obviously informed on Vorish’s policies.

  Hrangil shook his head with a smile and picked up a bunch of grapes. “No, thank you. This will suffice.”

  “Really, Hrangil,” said Menish. “You ate fish during our voyage. I didn't see you turn your nose up at it then.”

  “But I had no choice then, Sire,” he protested. “And now I prefer the Emperor's grapes to his fish.”

  “Well, I'll have his prawn then,” Althak took it from Sonalish and expertly cracked it open to extract the meat inside. “Mm… delicious, the Emperor’s table never disappoints.”

  “If you like fish and the stink of the sea,” muttered Hrangil, but he noticed that everyone else was grinning at his expected reaction, so he smiled and began to eat his grapes.

  Sonalish also offered Tenari food but, although she looked back at her, she made no other acknowledgement. Azkun, of course, also did not accept food.

  “I can't understand how neither of them eat,” said Drinagish as he picked white meat from a lobster’s tail. “They ought to be dead with hunger by now, or at least thinner. And Azkun can't afford to lose much weight.”

  “I can't understand how a woman can hold her tongue,” declared Althak with a sly grin. Vorish laughed but the Anthorians only smiled politely.

  “Does she not speak at all?” asked Sonalish.

  “Once,” said Keashil. “She said ‘Gilish’ when she greeted Azkun after we had refreshed ourselves from our journey.”

  “I think she's improving,” said Drinagish. “Now that she's cleaned up she seems more normal. Her speech will probably return soon. It must have been hell in that chasm.”

  “So the Vorthenki believe,” said Vorish.

  “Do they? Anyway, she was quite lively yesterday. She even danced for us when Keashil played.”

  “She danced?” asked Vorish. ”What kind of dance?”

  “It was a bit, well, Vorthenki, I suppose. Not like our dances.”

  “She seems to understand what's going on around her,” said Sonalish. “Perhaps she would like to hold little Adhara. Telma, pass her to me.” The child that Telma, one of Sonalish’s attendants, held on her knee was placed in Tenari’s lap and they watched her enfold the little girl affectionately in her arms and coo at her.

  “They're all the same,” said Althak. “Even Anthorian women cannot resist children.”

  “A little girl,” said Keashil wistfully.

  “She has a voice, then,” said Sonalish. “Perhaps she doesn't understand our speech.”

  “She doesn't look Vorthenki or Anthorian,” said Menish. “Too short for one and too slight for the other. I suppose she looks more Relanese than anything, but with those eyes and dark hair she must have Anthorian blood in her.”

  Vorish looked intently at Tenari for a moment as if searching her face for something more. But he said nothing.

  “Will she accompany us to Gashan, Azkun?” asked Althak.

  “Of course. Why not?”

  “I'm thinking of the difficulty of the journey, and she seems happy enough here. Perhaps we should leave her behind when we leave for Anthor.”

  At that Tenari looked up from the child she held and glared at Althak. She grasped Azkun’s arm and in doing so released her grip on little Adhara, who rolled onto the cushions beside her and began to cry. Keashil rescued the child, finding her unerringly and lifting her into her arms.

  “May I?”

  “Of course,” said Sonalish.

  “Well, that proves she understands us,” said Drinagish nodding towards Tenari.

  “It also makes her wishes clear,” said Althak. He shrugged. “It's no extra food, anyway.”

  “What is that?” asked Azkun suddenly. A dark brown animal padded silently into the room, its coat immaculately groomed and a jewelled collar around its neck. It made straight for the platter of food and was about to help itself when Telma swatted it away.

  “This? This is Sura. Have you not seen one before? They breed them in the south.”

  “He's not seen a cat before, of any kind,” said Althak.

  “Oh, well, you'll like this one,” said Telma. “He loves people.” She picked the cat up and placed it on Azkun’s lap. It purred loudly and snuggled against him. Its fur coat was silky to his touch.

  Azkun was confused by it. The cat obviously adored him, but he could feel a wildness barely below the surface of its mind, a predatory nature that was more
vicious than anything he had seen before. How could an animal so savage be so adoring? The cat made him think of Vorish. Vorish was savage, yet Althak had said he was just. He was concerned about Gashan because of all the bloodshed the war would bring. He wanted to avoid that, even if that meant he had to kill. Was this cat like that? He did not know and he suspected he only half understood both Vorish and the cat.

  They passed on to less serious matters. Menish told them of an incident in the last spring games when two chiefs had kept up a wrestling bout for a day and a night before Menish declared a draw. It was not a popular decision, many had bets placed on the contestants and there was still argument as to what the outcome would have been. Even Adhara still speculated on that. Menish knew she had wagered some of her camels on the fight.

  They had decided to set off for Anthor the next day and were to make use of Vorish’s courier horses to give them extra speed. Vorish had restored the old Relanese system of placing way stations every few miles along the major routes with fresh horses. An imperial courier could cover between two and three hundred miles a day, but it was a somewhat arduous method of travel.

  Because they were leaving before dawn they retired early. This time Azkun slept in the guest apartments and not in a damp cell.

  Chapter 18: The Keeper of the Flame

  Althak thumped on Azkun’s door until he emerged, bleary eyed. Vorish had provided some travelling clothes for him that fitted better than the ones he had borrowed from Althak. They included a strong, leather jerkin and a short sword. He queried the sword but Althak told him he only had to wear it, not use it. Everyone wore a sword in Anthor. He strapped it around his waist next to Omoth’s jewelled knife. Althak also gave him a bag in which to pack his court clothes. But they travelled light like the couriers, taking no food and only essential clothing with them.

  It was still dark and Azkun could not stop yawning. Servants led them through the corridors to waiting horses. There they were met by Vorish who embraced Menish.

  “I've been reading the Gash-Tal over again,” Azkun heard him say. He did not look as though he was newly wakened. “Menish, you are not to accompany the expedition to Gashan. I forbid it.”

  Menish said nothing to commit himself either way, and Vorish’s expression hardened into annoyance.

  “You've been warned then. I can't do more.”

  They mounted their horses and clattered across the cobblestones, through the great archways and out into the city streets. The horses were lean beasts, built for speed rather than strength. Azkun could feel his horse's excitement at setting off. It wanted to run.

  There were few people about, some stall keepers setting up early and a bakery alight with lamps and full of activity. They passed mounted guards, for Vorish had the streets patrolled at night.

  The north gate of the city was lit with many lamps and in their light the shields and armour of the guards were visible. Several stood on watch up on the walls, others manned the gate and a large group huddled around a glowing brazier that kept away the night chill.

  As they drew near they were challenged. Althak presented the metal disk that functioned as an Imperial pass and the gates were opened enough for them to pass through single file.

  The city ended abruptly with the walls and, when the gate boomed shut behind them, Azkun found himself on the wide plains he had seen from the boat. They spread out in every direction under the starry sky that, in the east, was glowing grey with dawn. The road ran straight as an arrow to the north east, reflected dimly in the starlight. To Azkun it looked magical, as if it rose before them like a stairway to the sky.

  While he was still dreaming these thoughts Menish kicked his horse into a gallop.

  “Anthor!” he cried. “Home to Anthor!” a shout of joy burst from Althak and Drinagish. Young Olcish, caught in the moment let out a high pitched whoop. The other horses sprang eagerly after the king and they galloped along the starlit road with a wild joy in their hearts. Running, racing was all they lived for.

  All day they kept up a mad gallop. Every few hours the travellers stopped at a way station by the road briefly to exchange their tired horses for fresh ones. At noon the pause was long enough to eat and drink, and then they were off again.

  The country they passed through was flat at first but by the afternoon it was low, rolling hills. In the lowlands the flat fields were swampy but lush and people waded through the mud tending watery crops that were growing vigorously. In the higher country the fields were drier but no less lush. There were small villages where chimneys smoked from mud houses and dogs barked.

  In the late afternoon the country became flat again and they skirted wide lakes where men in little boats paddled or waited with lines on poles for fish. One of the lakes had a whole village built out over the water on poles. It was full of boats and people coming and going. Azkun was interested, but they did not stop there.

  They rode on into the night until Azkun was nearly asleep on his horse. At last they came to another city. All Azkun noticed was that it was rather like Atonir, including a palace, and they had to cross a great bridge to reach it.

  They passed the gate guards and rode to the palace where Athun met them. He had ridden back from Atonir the previous day. The city, Althak told Azkun, was named Askonir and Athun was the Drinol of the city. He looked as tired as Azkun felt. His palace was alive with soldiers, officers shouting orders, cavalry drilling and, in the smithies, the clang and clash of metal on metal. Preparations for the war with Gashan, if it were confirmed, were already under way.

  Even as Athun welcomed them a messenger came to him with news of horse counts from further up the river. He ran a weary hand through his dark hair and bade them follow him.

  Inside the palace they were provided with rooms and servants. Baths were filled and food was provided. It was already after the main meal of the day so they ate in their rooms, not in the great hall. Azkun did not wait for them to finish eating or bathing. He found his bed and, without bothering to remove his jerkin, went to sleep.

  The next day began much the same as the last. A thump on his door before dawn and a wild gallop across the plains. When they stopped for their brief noon meal Azkun could see that the land was becoming more hilly again. Away in the blue distance the hills rose to mountains with a hint of higher mountains beyond.

  In the middle distance the ground rose to a blue-black crag that leapt out of the treeless plains. Menish and Hrangil stared at it as they ate their dried meat and fruit.

  “I will see the Keeper,” said Menish, a grimness in his voice.

  “Sire? The Keeper?”

  “Yes, I have… questions for him.”

  “The Eye?”

  But Menish did not answer. He swung himself up onto his horse and waited silently for the others to mount. Then they galloped off on the road towards the crag.

  As the afternoon wore on the details of the crag became clearer: a tall finger of stone pointed skywards, black on the black crag below it. Smoke curled from the tip of the finger and, when dusk enclosed them, a twinkling, yellow light shone from there. They rode on into the night towards it until they came to the foot of the crag. A small post-house stood there, the crag looming above it and the stone tower with its light above that.

  They were met by a tall, lean man with a grim mouth and eyes that glowed in the light of the lamp he held. Unlike the other way station attendants, and they had met many in the last two days, this one spoke no word of greeting. Althak presented him with the Imperial pass he carried but the man looked at Menish and nodded as if he recognised him.

  “I wish to speak with the Keeper of the Flame,” said Menish.

  The man nodded again and beckoned them to follow him inside the post-house.

  It was like the many others they had seen in the past two days: a simple, two roomed, stone building with straw pallets in one room and benches and tables in the other. The man’s silent manner stifled any other speech and Althak half whispered an explanation to Azku
n.

  “He's forgotten speech. Up there,” he indicated the tower on the crag, “they tend their fire for years and years without uttering a word.”

  Menish indicated that Azkun was to accompany him, Tenari followed without being asked. The post-house man led them through a rear door. The night closed around them as they were taken along a narrow path that wound up the crag to the solemn tower above.

  It was not a long climb, for the crag was not high, but it was difficult. In some places it was treacherous. Loose rocks turned under their feet and others were slippery. Even the lamp was of little use, for the rock of the crag was black and appeared to eat up the cheerful, yellow light. Their guide went slowly ahead of them, effortlessly for he knew the path, but he made no effort to warn them of obstacles.

  Azkun, who had not been bothered by the night since Tenari had appeared, felt that there were spectres not far away. They could not see him yet, but they were there. He pulled Tenari closer to him as he walked.

  She had changed over the last two days, reverting to her previous blankness. The miles on horseback obviously did not agree with her.

  When they reached the top of the crag their legs and eyes ached from the strain and the silence of the place had enfolded them. They stood at the base of the tower whose black stone rose sheer and windowless from the rock of the crag to a dizzying height above. No doubt, thought Azkun, it was built by Gilish. High above them the fire burned. They could see its flames leaping over the crest of the tower.

  A door opened at the foot of the tower as they approached and a robed figure beckoned them silently inside. Azkun could sense the awe Menish felt at this place. It was an awe that bordered on, but was not quite, fear. They entered the doorway and found themselves in pitch darkness. The door boomed shut behind them and they heard the sound of heavy bolts sliding into place. The darkness and the silence crowded around them. From the echoes of their footsteps Azkun realised that they were in a large room. He was also aware that the room was full of people. People who were silently waiting in the darkness.