Summon Your Dragons

by Roger Parkinson

  Olcish also rode in their company. He seemed pleased to see Althak, chattering away to him about what he had been doing while they had been in Gashan. He slept in the men’s lodge now, and Adhara had taught him to wrestle in the Anthorian fashion. Menish guessed that she had done so of necessity. Olcish was small for his age and would need to be able to hold his own among his peers.

  They rode on until well after sunset and, by the light of the waning moon, Menish passed through the gates of Meyathal. The smithy shop was working late, an orange glow spilled from its doorway and the sound of hammering could be heard. New swords, thought Menish, new shields and new helmets for the war. He felt he should be excited by the thought, but he was not.

  Several stable hands roused themselves to attend to their horses. Menish could see their fresh, young faces in the glow of the lamps they carried, eager for news and delighted at the prospect of war. They were so young, he thought. Surely they were not old enough to ride into battle. But swords hung at their hips, real ones, not the wooden ones children played with, and two of them wore new helmets.

  Menish clapped one on the shoulder and complimented her on her helmet before he made his way through the great doors. He tried to sound encouraging but he suddenly felt tired and his leg had begun to ache.

  He told Yarol to have food and ambroth sent to his rooms and to bring hot water for a bath. That would remove the grime of Gashan that still clung to him and it would soothe his leg. If he had had his own way he would have gone straight to his rooms, but there were people to greet, people who had waited up in case he returned that evening. They had been anxious for him and he could not ignore them.

  But he avoided repeating his account of Gashan. That could wait, they had heard most it from the messenger anyway. He would tell them the entire tale tomorrow, otherwise he would be repeating it endlessly to those who wanted to hear it from his own lips.

  By the time he reached the rooms in the south wing of the palace he shared with Adhara the fire was burning brightly on the hearth. On the low table lay a platter of food, a roasted haunch of beef and some bread; beside it stood a flask of ambroth.

  “So they let you go at last.” Adhara sat on the embroidered cushions that surrounded the table. She had changed from her tunic and breeches into a flowing, woollen gown that she had bought from a Relanese merchant. It was not the sort of thing she would be seen wearing except here in their private rooms, but it was comfortable to wear it in the evenings, she claimed, and it was warm.

  Everywhere he looked in this room was a mixture of the Relanese and the Anthorian that lay in them both. The floor was covered with skins and rugs and the walls were hung with weapons, but behind the weapons the walls were solid Relanese stonework, carved in places with firebird symbols. Relanese ladies with nothing better to do had embroidered the cushions around the table. Adhara’s gown was Relanese, though she had found one of a dull colour and with only a little embroidery on the cuffs; she did not want to look like a peacock.

  Beyond this room was a Relanese style bathroom that was even now being filled using an ingenious piping system. In another room stood a real Relanese bed with carved legs and a mattress of horsehair. Such beds were rare in Relanor now. Vorish had one and so did several of his Drinols, but Menish knew of no others. This one had come from Atonir in Menish’s grandfather’s time.

  Menish grunted a reply to Adhara’s question. “Help me off with this jerkin will you?” They were always a curse to get in and out of. Vorish had spoken of a new way of fastening them down the front, he wished he had obtained a new one while he had been in Atonir. After a struggle they removed the jerkin and Menish hauled off his boots. Adhara picked them up, opened the shutter and tossed them out the window.

  “My boots!”

  “You’ve others, and those stink. Phew, it’s not just the boots. You must have rolled in that Gashan slime.”

  “I had to wade chest deep in it. No, before you try and strip me naked I am going to eat something.” He sat down on the cushions and broke off a piece of the meat.

  “You certainly need that bath,” she said as she poured them both ambroth.

  “And you are disrespectful to the King of Anthor.”

  “The King of Anthor is stuck with me.”

  “Did anything happen while I was away?”

  “The usual things. Marayhir is still saying you raided his cattle. I was going to offer to duel with him to prove the truth but your news came.”

  “Drinagish should do any duelling.”

  “Am I not regent while you are away?”

  “Yes, yes, but-”

  “But you think I'm too old to beat Marayhir,” she was annoyed.

  “You could not wrestle him, that would be unseemly, so it would have to be a blood duel with weapons. He's old, but he still has his strength, and he's cunning. Drinagish would have less trouble beating him, that's all I meant.”

  “Cunning? I knew more tricks when I was five years old than he'll ever know.” She looked at him seriously. “Do you really think I'm too old to fight him?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Then I’ll let you rest your weariness tonight, but tomorrow I’ll spar with you. Old indeed!”

  “Oh, never mind my weariness, I’ll spar with you now!” he made a lunge at her, meaning to catch her about the waist and pull her close to him. But she twisted and rolled out of his grasp.

  “Not with that stink about you!”

  “Is it really so bad? I've grown used to it.”

  The bathroom held a pool of steaming water that was sunk into the floor. Around it the floor and walls were covered in mosaics of human figures, mostly female, bathing. In typical Relanese style there were garlands of leaves and flowers carefully covering their nakedness. The pool was small, just enough room for the two of them, that meant there was less water to heat.

  Adhara stepped out of her robe and slipped into the pool. Drawing her knees up to her chin to make room for him. Menish watched with approval at her muscular body. Adhara had lines on her face now, and grey in her hair, but she still moved as gracefully as a swan.

  With a sudden twinge of guilt he remembered Thalissa.

  “What's wrong?”

  “Nothing.” Their voices echoed eerily in this room. Menish pulled off his breeches and stepped into the pool.

  “Ow, it's hot!”

  “Better hot than cold.”

  Menish lowered himself in, feeling the soothing heat as it crept into his leg. He spent some time rubbing the sandy soap they used into his skin and then sat back against one wall of the pool. He tried to relax, but thoughts of Gashan filled his mind now. Plans and strategies crowded into his head. A dike across the battlefield, archers, shields covered with water-soaked skins. Adhara ran her fingers over his knotted brow.

  “You're thinking of Gashan. Not tonight, my love. Tomorrow there'll be care enough for the King, tonight let there be love enough for us.”

  Later, when they lay on the great, carved bed wrapped in fur blankets, Menish stared at the ceiling and listened to Adhara’s breathing as she slept. He had thought he was tired but she had roused him just as she always did. It was not through want of passion that she had borne no children. He sucked in his breath between his teeth suddenly as he recalled again that he was not childless even though she was. He had to admit that the Keeper had been correct about Azkun’s saying he was Gilish, even though his prophecy had been misleading. What he had said about Vorish could not be misinterpreted.

  Adhara’s breathing changed and she stirred.

  “Are you awake, my nightingale?” he asked.

  “Yes. I'm thinking about Gashan.”

  He closed his arms about her.

  “Not until tomorrow.”

  “How can you be so sure when they'll attack?”

  “Azkun told me.”

  “Yes, I know. You said he could see what they were thinking. But how do you know that's true? I don't trust him.”

  He could have
told how Azkun had found Thalissa for him at Lianar, but he did not.

  “Oh, we can trust him. I saw him when we were watching the Gashans. It's hard to describe, but they get into his blood. He was very frightened.”

  “That woman, Tenari, he brought with him, she's an odd one. While he was away she just sat in the woman’s hall and stared at the wall. She wouldn't eat or speak, nothing. Neathy kept an eye on her and she said that sometimes, in the evenings, she'd weep a little, but nothing else. I think today was the first time she left the hall. Neathy must have made her understand you were coming back.

  “Anyway, what happens now?”

  “I'll send word to Vorish for the forces he promised. When he comes we can work out some strategy.”

  She sat up suddenly.

  “Strategy? What can you do? I've heard you too many times to have hope in strategy. It was you who told me how the Gashans will fight even when they are wounded mortally, how if their front ranks fall with arrow wounds their comrades surge from behind them like the sea, how they launch balls of fire.”

  “Yes, but we beat them last time.”

  “So you did, but with a trick they'll watch for. We'll sell our lives as dearly as we can in this war, and we'll die fighting side by side. I suppose it's a better end than watching each other fade into dotage.” Her voice grew bleak in the darkness. “But it's not long enough, my love.”

  He pulled her close to him again.

  “Don't grieve. We've not lost the war yet. You forget that last time an inexperienced youth went into battle and beat them. This time the youth has forty years experience behind him. And I have Althak and Vorish to aid me.”

  “They have the Eye.”

  “Well, we have Azkun. He's proof against fire. They'll not expect that.”

  “Azkun again! What use will he be? He'll squeal and run as soon as he sees a Gashan. You expect him to raise a finger against them?”

  “He killed the first Gashan he saw.” Menish told her of the incident of the Gashan who had been tied to the stake.

  “I don't see you slaughtering Gashans by convincing them to tie each other up so that Azkun can slit their throats.”

  “But we can use him somehow. He hates them and we can build on that. At every thal we stopped at on the way home he urged everyone to call on his dragons to fight the Gashans. He can hardly refuse to help us himself, though the dragons are nonsense. Althak is good with him. Sometimes I feel he doesn't quite trust me, but he trusts Althak.”

  “Poor Althak. He looked haggard when he came in. Is that from the insect bite?”

  “Yes. He very nearly died.”

  “That would have been a great loss. With Grath and Hrangil lost we'll need him more than ever.”

  “I told you he saved my life again at that pirate fight? He always seems to be where he's most needed. He never tires. Well, almost never. We wouldn't have been able to make our way around Lake Kel if Althak hadn't kept our spirits up. I almost despaired when he was bitten. But Althak never despairs.”

  “So you think Althak will get Azkun to fight these Gashans and beat them again?”

  “Perhaps. We'll fight, but I'll not risk all our folk in this war.”

  “But if we lose against Gashan…”

  “Then I'd rather we lived to fight again. I saw those stable hands when we came in. They're so young. I've seen so many like that on the way here, young and fresh faced. They think it will be a huge spring games or a great cattle raid. I don't want to lead them to their deaths.”

  “If they die in battle and are pure of heart then Kiveli will take them to heaven.”

  “If Kiveli really wanted to aid us she could help us win.”

  “Then perhaps she will.”

  Menish could not keep the cynicism from his voice.

  “In which case she could tell me to stop worrying about the battle.”

  “You joke. You shouldn't joke about these things.”

  “Do I joke? Perhaps not. But if Kiveli promised her help it would have to be more than just to win the battle.”

  “What more could you want?”

  “I don't want our people slaughtered like they were last time. I'd ask that none of them die.”

  “In a battle? You ask much.”

  “She's a goddess. Why not? The question is: can your Kiveli promise this? Aton certainly can't. He failed us last time.”

  The next day Menish called a court in his hall. A number of thals had converged at Meyathal to hear news from Menish and the local townspeople were also present.

  There were no petty disputes to judge, no one wanted to hear anything but Menish’s tale of Gashan first hand. It took some time, for there were many questions and interruptions. One man had heard a rumour that Azkun had hurled fire at the Gashans and this had to be denied. He had difficulty convincing them that Azkun’s perception of the Gashans’ plans was reliable, and he found himself telling them much of their previous journey as well.

  At last he was able to tell them what he proposed to do about it. Vorish had promised aid as soon as Menish was able to confirm that the Gashans really would attack. He could now send that confirmation to Vorish, and when the Emperor’s forces arrived they would meet the Gashans at the old battlefield in the mountains.

  Menish knew they would murmur at that. The Anthorians were a proud people. They did not want to share their victory with the Relanese Emperor.

  When he finally sat down on the fur blankets by the central pillar there was a silence. Then Azkun rose from beside Althak. A murmur went through the hall. Many did not recognise him and asked their neighbours who he was. Others shushed them, for they wanted to hear.

  “I claim the right of a guest to speak here,” he began. “I am Azkun of Kelerish and, as you have heard, I went with Menish to Gashan. You have listened to your King plan a war with Gashan. Once I would have been appalled at such a thing, for I hate death and killing. But now I have seen the Gashans with my own eyes and I can no longer disapprove. The Gashans are evil. They lust for nothing but blood and horror and death, even their own deaths are sweet to them.

  “But if you suppose that your swords will save you from this evil, if you suppose that Relanor will deliver you, then you are tragically mistaken. You will fail if you trust in swords.”

  “What do you want us to use, then?” called a man, “Axes?”

  “Menish told you how I was bitten by a centipede in Gashan just as Althak was. I did not sicken as he did because I am in the hands of the dragons. Only the dragons can deliver you from Gashan!”

  “But Althak does trust in dragons,” said someone. “He's a Vorthenki. Kopth did not look after him well.”

  There was a vague murmur of agreement and Menish rose.

  “You've said these things before, Azkun. But your dragons did nothing for Grath, nor Hrangil, nor Althak. They didn't find us when we were lost in Gashan, they didn't protect us from pursuit. If you'd help us then help us in the battle, but don't promise us dragons which have already failed.”

  “They have not failed! It is we who have failed. They are not ours to command like your cattle. They must be asked for help with humility, not arrogance. Perhaps it will cost us much to ask them. But I, myself, will bear this cost. I will travel to Kishalkuz to seek their aid.”

  There was a mixture of gasps and questions of ‘where?’ from those gathered, for many had never heard of the place. Menish was taken aback. In all Azkun’s talk of dragons he had never heard him express any intention of going to the dragon isle.

  “Fanciful tales!” shouted Menish. “There's no such place. Ask Althak, do the Vorthenki tell of anyone who ever returned from Kishalkuz? So how can it exist? Don't be a fool, Azkun. Stay with us, we need your help.”

  Azkun shook his head. “I must go. I must serve my masters. This is what I was sent for.”

  “What do you mean ‘sent for'?” asked Menish. Azkun could not leave them. He was their only hope for defeating Gashan, and a slender hope at that. “How c
an they have sent you if all you're to do is to return to them? Surely they sent you to help us fight.”

  “No. I do not expect you to understand. I have stood in dragon fire, I have received their wisdom. What may seem foolish to you is wisdom beyond your grasp.”

  “So, you would deny us your help and then call us fools in the same breath! I am weary of this, Azkun, you try my patience beyond its limits. If you go, you go alone. I will give you a horse, only because I want you out of my sight. Go! Summon your dragons! I don't expect we will ever see you again.”

  In the hush that fell after Menish’s anger one voice spoke.

  “Not alone. I'll go with him.” Althak stood, towering above the seated Anthorians. For a moment Menish thought he was saying he would try and bring Azkun back to help them rather than continue on his mad quest. But with disbelief he saw a grim determination in the Vorthenki’s mouth.

  He clamped his jaw shut, afraid of what he might say. Not Althak! Grath and Hrangil were dead, now he needed Althak more than ever.

  “I've heard him speak of dragons many times now. I've seen him do great works in their name. He has power and where there's power there's truth, so say the Vorthenki. I've seen the host of Gashan and their magic stone and they're to be feared. I must fight them the best way I know.”

  Menish heard the echo of their conversation of a few nights before, and the plea in Althak’s voice for him to understand his decision. But he also heard the Vorthenki proverb.

  “Damn you, Vorthenki,” he said in a quiet rage. “You desert us too for your foul dragon gods. Go then. Seek them on a trail of murdered maidens and wanton orgies!”

  “M’Lord-”

  “Go on, go! Get out of my sight.”

  But Althak did not go yet.

  “We'll travel to Atonir first, M’Lord. We can take your message to Vorish.”

  “Take it then. It will be the last service you ever do me!”

  Silently Althak and Azkun, trailed by Tenari, made their way to the door. The crowd drew back from them as if they carried a plague. Menish watched Althak go with a bone-weary bitterness. He had always seen Althak as different but, after all, Kopth came before Menish, a god before a king, before a friend.