“Welcome, all of you,” said Vorish. “Please sit down. Have something to drink and there is food. Talking is hungry work.”
A servant poured wine or ambroth, as requested, and the ambroth was good, not the usual rough variety one took on journeys.
The food, however, was dried, except for the fresh meat. Even the Emperor could not arrange for fresh fruit on a spring journey. Menish resolved to see if he could find something better for Vorish’s table tomorrow.
“It's good to be in Anthor again, though I'd rather it was not for battle. I'd rather attend your spring games but,” he shrugged, “I'm always too busy. I used to delight in them in my youth, although I usually lost whatever I wagered.” Menish did not miss the casual way he reminded the clan chiefs that Anthor had once been his home.
“I've given this battle much thought, but no doubt so have you. What do the clan chiefs say?” He already knew what Menish thought.
“I fought Gashans last time, by Menish’s side,” said Barvolin. He was the most relaxed in the Emperor’s presence of the clan chiefs. Barvolin had been initiated into the Sons of Gilish at about the same time Menish had, and he had been a great friend of Hrangil. “There are two problems, they can throw fire and they have the Eye of Duzral. But we beat them last time. We can do it again.”
“We can do it by ourselves,” said Krithyol. “Anthorians are brave fighters.”
“Yes, I agree,” said Yarva. “You need not have brought all this.” She gestured vaguely to the tent, presumably indicating the army outside.
“Amralen? Oramol? What are your thoughts?” asked Vorish.
Amralen shifted on his cushion. He looked uncomfortable.
“Anthorians are brave, but to fight fire we have to be more than brave. I wasn't at the last battle, but everything I've heard says it was not just bravery that won. Menish was brave, everyone who fought there was brave. But Menish was clever. To win this battle we have to be both brave and clever. It's like a duel where the two fighters are matched. One will win because he knows a throw or a twist of the sword the other doesn't. When the fighters are not matched, the smaller one will sometimes know a trick the larger one doesn't.”
“I agree with Amralen,” nodded Oramol. “We have to be clever.”
“And we have to be brave, “ said Vorish. “I also agree with Amralen.”
“But you've brought your army,” said Krithyol.
“I brought a few men, they may be of use. Barvolin wisely mentioned that the Gashans can throw fire. This is what I've been thinking about most.”
“We're not afraid of fire,” said Yarva.
“Of course not. I know Anthorians well enough. You're afraid of nothing,” said Vorish. He sounded as though he meant it. Menish said nothing. He saw what Vorish was doing. “But as Amralen said, to beat them we'll have to be clever.”
“You mean think of some strategy?” asked Barvolin. “That won't help us much. Remember that our people like to meet their enemies head on. We don't have trumpet calls that each is trained to obey like the old Relanese did.”
“The Relanese still do use trumpet calls,” said Menish. “Vorish’s army is trained to understand them.”
“That's true,” said Vorish. “It may be useful. But this battle must be fought in the Anthorian way. It's your fight. I've only come to see if I can help.” He had disarmed their fears now. “I keep thinking about this fire they throw. The thing that I keep thinking about is how surprised they would be if we could throw fire back at them.”
“They certainly would,” said Amralen. “We would drive them before us like dogs. Chase them into the lake!”
“Yes, but we can't throw fire at them, can we?” asked Drinagish. Menish was pleased he had spoken up, but he wondered what Vorish was leading to.
“Of course we can't,” said Vorish. “But I wish we could. If we could just let them think we could throw it.”
“Ah, I see what you mean,” said Yarva. “It might make no difference if we could actually throw it or not. The panic we would cause would be enough.”
“Yes, imagine it,” said Athun, speaking for the first time. “Poor devils seeing a horde of Anthorians charging at them and throwing fire. I would run for my life!”
There was a murmur of laughter.
“But this is idleness,” said Adhara. “We can't convince them we can throw fire unless we can actually do it. And we know we can't.”
“Well, how could we convince them we were throwing fire?” asked Vorish. “What does this fire look like when it's thrown?”
“It's difficult to describe,” said Menish. He had told him this often enough before. Why was he asking again? Vorish never forgot anything. “You see the ground burst into flame in front of you. One moment there's nothing there, the next there's a great fire.”
“Do you see anything before it flames?”
“The Gashans had some strange devices with them, I wondered if they were part of the magic. Once I thought I saw flame flying through the air before it struck. But I had other things to think about.”
“I remember it,” said Barvolin. “It was just like that. Nothing, and then whoosh! A huge flame where there was nothing.”
Vorish nodded.
“If we could make one of those explode in front of the Gashans we would terrify them. How could we make one?”
“Something that burns quickly…” said Theyul. He trailed off hesitantly.
“Drinagish, you must have some idea.”
“Something planted in their path?” said Drinagish. “We could use pitch, that burns well.”
Vorish’s eyes gleamed.
“Yes, that's what we need! A bucket of pitch in their path. If that burst alight just as they approached it we'd have them frightened.”
“Yes, they would think it was us throwing it,” said Yarva, excited at the idea.
“And we would drive them before us!” said Krithyol.
“Into the lake!” laughed Vorish. But Menish thought it was not going to be that easy. The clan chiefs were still thinking of cattle raids, not battles. And what was Vorish thinking of? “Here, let me show you this.” He lifted a board onto the table. It was painted with strange designs, but Menish recognised it. It was a plan of the battlefield. “I had this made in Atonir by questioning people who were in the last battle. It's a picture of the battlefield as if you were a bird flying high above. This is the river, see? And here is the lake away down here. This area is the battle plain and there are wooded hills either side here and here.” The clan chiefs crowded around it, Menish noticed the Drinols did not. They had seen this before.
“What's it for?” asked Neathy.
“It is a tool for planning battles, Neathy. I'll show you.” How did he always remember everyone’s name? “If we say that Gashan is this marker,” he produced a tiny figure of a man and stood it upright on the board. “Gashan will advance from the lake up the valley. Anthor is this marker.” Another figure, this one larger, was placed at the other end of the valley. “If Drinagish's fire is set here, perhaps, and Anthor charges, Gashan will retreat back to here.” Vorish made the movements with the markers.
“But what if they scatter into the woods?” asked Drinagish. “They might be able to fight us off from there.”
Vorish was obviously pleased with Drinagish’s question.
“Perhaps that's where I can help,” he said. “If I put some of my people in the woods ready to ambush them and drive them back to you they'll have no hope.”
“There's something I am not sure about,” said Oramol. He was known as one who said little but thought deeply. “How will we light this fire of Drinagish’s?”
“Oh I'm sure something can be worked out,” Vorish assured him. “I've with me a team of engineers. Some people say they're wizards, but they've no magic. They're just clever, like Menish.” He smiled. “They'll devise a way to light Drinagish’s fire. We'll probably have to work out some signal so that the fire is lit during your charge, not after or befo
re. Then we'll put the fear of Anthor into those Gashans!”
Menish saw it all. Not just the battle, but the way he had manoeuvred the clan chiefs. They were prepared to be intimidated by the Emperor’s army, to demand that they fight their own battle in their own way. Vorish had ensured that the strategy he had already planned appeared to be an idea of Drinagish’s as well as letting them charge head on into Gashan. But Menish saw himself at the head of that charge, dying.
“What about the Eye of Duzral?” asked Barvolin. “Menish said they still had the Eye.”
“I'm relying on Anthor’s courage there. We don't know how well they can use the Eye. I suspect they'll forget quickly when our plan begins to work-”
There was a commotion and the clash of steel among the tents outside. A woman’s cry rang out, not of pain but of outrage. They heard the thud of fist on mail.
No orders were passed but Athun and Treath rushed outside while Vorish coolly sipped some of his wine while he waited. There were more sounds of fighting but they returned a few moments later with two of Vorish’s blue surcoated guards who hauled an Anthorian woman between them; one of Vorish’s infantrymen followed, prodded along by Athun. Treath carried a curved sword that was smeared with blood and dust. There was a fresh gash in the infantryman’s leg and he was limping. The woman struggled and kicked. She tried to bite the men who held her and, with some clever footwork, she almost tripped one. All the while she kept up a torrent of abuse which only stopped when she saw Menish and the clan chiefs.
“What is the meaning of this?”
“Sire! I've been insulted, and these brutes have interrupted a death duel!”
“Let the King of Anthor judge this matter,” said Vorish, formally giving Menish charge of the situation. It was no good the Emperor trying to dispense justice to an Anthorian woman.
“Release the woman,” said Menish. The guards released her as if she were a viper; and she glared venom at them. “Let the injured party speak first.”
The infantryman stumbled forward. There was also a graze on his arm, which turned into a cut where it met a bracelet, and a swelling on his face. He looked to Vorish first, but Vorish gestured towards Menish.
“M’Lord, this woman told me I'd pitched my tent wrongly. I told her it was correctly pitched. At that she drew her sword and tried to kill me. I only had my shield to defend myself and I'd be dead now if I'd not been rescued.”
Menish had been making an effort to recognise the woman. Althak would have remembered her name easily but Althak was not here. This time, however, he managed to recall her face. She was of the Thonyar clan, visiting Meyathal until they travelled to Gildenthal. He thought she was quite wealthy.
“Mara,” he fervently hoped that was her name, “is this true?”
“This barbarian had pitched his tent with the door facing east rather than south. Knowing them to be ignorant brutes and feeling pity for them I politely pointed out the error.” Menish could guess how politely. “In return he insulted me.”
“What words were used?” he asked the infantryman. “How did she tell you your tent was set wrongly?”
“She said, ‘You barbarians have the manners and knowledge of horse dung. The door must be on the south side, but you're as ignorant as the flies that hover about you.’” Menish noticed Drinagish grinning, threw a glance at Adhara who nudged him to a respectfully concerned expression.
“And what did he say in reply?” Menish asked Mara.
“Sire, I can't foul my lips to repeat it. Let him say it again and I'll tell you if it's the truth. After that I'll take pleasure in hacking out his tongue!”
Menish turned to the man. He assumed he would evade the question but he did not.
“All I said was, ‘a woman’s place is to keep her mouth shut and her legs open.’”
There was an outcry among the clan chiefs. Yarva began to draw her sword but Menish said “Wait!”
“That's near enough to it,” said Mara, her eyes flashing with rage.
“Flame of Aton! How are we going to work together against Gashan if we squabble amongst ourselves? You were wrong to attack him, Mara. This was no death duel. This was attempted murder. He did not have a sword.”
“He should have thought of that before he insulted me.”
“You must understand, their customs are different from ours,” Menish spoke to her in Anthorian, hoping she would follow suit rather than aggravating the situation with further abuse.
“Yes, and their customs are foul. Do you want us to supply them with maidens to slaughter?”
“They do not sacrifice maidens in Relanor.”
“They still buy and sell their women like cattle.”
“They're not buying and selling women now, Mara. You've wounded this man. I judge that you have had your honour satisfied. Leave the camp and cause no more trouble.”
The clan chiefs looked uneasy. Vorish’s man had delivered a grievous insult, but they saw Menish’s difficulty. Mara’s anger blazed to new heights.
“You find against me? What evil is this? Treachery from our own King before a council of clan chiefs! To what depths has Anthor sunk? But I'm not the first to feel the sting of your faithlessness, Son of Kizish. Your father would rise from the dead and cut you down if he knew. Your whoring in Relanor has got you an Emperor of your flesh, and now you bring him and his Vorthenki filth to rape our lands!”
She would have lunged at him but the guards grabbed at her and held her back.
“Who's hurling insults now?” stormed Barvolin, rising to his feet. His face flushed with anger. Menish was too shocked to speak. “How dare you insult our King before our visitors, before the Emperor himself? Are you trying to force a death duel with the King? Sire, I offer my own sword to settle this on your behalf.”
“Let him deny it,” spat Mara. “I only repeat what any woman knows who has been at Meyathal for the last few weeks.”
The Drinols had been looking confused for the last few minutes. They did not understand the Anthorian tongue well enough to follow what was being said. But all of the Anthorians, and Vorish, had understood perfectly. They looked at Yarva, Neathy and Adhara for confirmation. Adhara stared at her knees. Her hands covered most of her face. Neathy looked frightened. It was Yarva who spoke.
“She speaks the truth, though she still insults the King.”
“It's the truth,” said Vorish. “Menish is my father.”
“You knew?” said Menish aghast. “How did you know?”
Vorish shrugged, “It was something that became obvious to me years ago.”
“And you told them?”
“I didn't tell them.” Vorish looked past Menish, and Menish followed his gaze.
“I told them,” said Adhara.
Chapter 33: The Dragons of Kishalkuz
Kishalkuz rose sheer from the flat sea and climbed to a mist-wreathed pinnacle like an ancient fortress. There was just enough wind in the sail to move their boat slowly towards it, but even the gentle splash of waves against the prow was muted in the deep hush that emanated from the island. It was like the silence of a temple, though more so. This was no house built by men to hold worshippers, this was the abode of the gods themselves. This was Kishalkuz, the dragon isle.
As they drew near the island resolved itself from the blue haze into sheer black cliffs that plunged into the sea. Nowhere, it appeared, was there anywhere to land. They could hear waves splashing against the cliffs and the occasional cry of a gull, but otherwise all nature held a respectful silence.
Azkun’s blood pounded. Here again he would see his masters face to face. They would remove his guilt and fulfil the promises he had made in their name to save himself and his friends from the Gashans. At last Menish and Vorish would see the truth. Hrangil would not, and for this Azkun was saddened.
The dolphin chuckling irreverently into his mind interrupted his thoughts.
“Dragons, dragon place. Lead you here, what game now?”
“No games. This is
most serious.” He sent an image of the most serious thing he could think of: death.
For once the dolphin stopped laughing and considered Azkun’s answer, then it chuckled and said “Land things, dolphins do not die. Not-dolphin not play.” Without further good-byes it streaked away from the boat.
Shelim muttered a curse and he wrenched on the tiller, trying to follow its lead as he had done for so many days, but Azkun stopped him.
“He is gone. We do not need him any more. This is Kishalkuz.”
Shelim nodded and steadied the tiller. He had known, of course, and his action had been a reflex.
“Where do we land, M’Lord?”
His question assumed that Azkun had been here before.
“Circle the island. There will be a place.” He spoke with the certainty that comes of proven faith.
They had to weigh sail to turn the boat across the wind, but Azkun left that to Althak and Thalissa. He stood at the prow, unwilling to take his eyes off the island of his masters. Tenari stood beside him, silent and impassive as ever, but her hand clenched tightly on his arm and the knuckles were white as if she too felt some of the awe of this place.
“The dragons will free you from the Monnar.” She gave no reaction to his promise.
The boat drifted lazily on the wind now and presently they rounded a bluff. Beyond it lay a small, shelly beach surrounded by cliffs. At one end of the beach a wide shelf of rock thrust out into the sea.
“The dragons smile on us, see? Here is our landing place. They have even provided a pier to tie up at.”
Shelim looked dubiously at the rock alongside but Althak, standing at the prow, assured him that the water was deep enough. It was crystal clear and they could see fish darting amongst the seaweed.
In the next few moments the tranquillity of the dragon isle was temporarily lost as they quickly pulled down the sail and fended off the edge of the shelf with poles to stop the boat crashing into it. Althak was first off the boat. He jumped down to the rock shelf and Azkun threw him a line to make fast to a heavy boulder that lay near the edge. Another line secured the stern. The boat rocked up and down on the small swell but it was moored as well as it would have been in any Vorthenki port.
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