Summon Your Dragons

by Roger Parkinson

  No one had ever returned from the Dragon Isle. Althak thought he knew why now.

  “Shelim,” he said carefully, not knowing how the sailor would react. “They attacked us and killed Thalissa. We can't stay here. You have fennel in your hat.”

  “Yes, M’Lord. There is a lot of it growing here. I wear it for the dragons.”

  “Throw it away. We don't wish to see any more dragons.”

  “You offended them somehow?” he asked.

  “No… I don't know. They were like… never mind. They just attacked us.” He forced a smile. “We always knew they were dangerous, eh?”

  He turned to Azkun.

  “How are you now?”

  “Numb,” he replied hollowly. “I cannot feel my arm and I dare not think my thoughts.”

  “We'll sail when it's dark.”

  “Yes.”

  Tenari returned at that moment. Her hair was wet and her face cleaned. She had arranged Althak’s cloak around herself better than he had been able to.

  “We can find our way back,” he said to Azkun. “Perhaps we'll reach Menish in time to help with the war.”

  “How can I return empty-handed? I promised them dragons, but I have nothing.” He raised his injured arm. “I am not even proof against fire.”

  Althak sighed. He was too weary to comfort him. “I too return empty-handed.”

  Shelim had found a tiny stream at one end of the beach and filled their water casks from it. He brought Althak more fresh water and some food. Azkun still refused it and Tenari still ignored it. By the time Althak had eaten the sun had set and it was time to sail. Althak missed Thalissa now, for she had helped him tie the sails and Azkun was no use at such things. He helped push the boat away from the rocks, though, and Althak felt that it was good for him to have something to do rather than sit and grieve. He set him to stacking the casks of water in the hold. It was an unpleasant job because of the smell, but it kept him busy. Tenari, as always, watched him blankly, offering no help.

  Shelim set a course by the stars. He had watched their direction carefully while the dolphin led them and now he knew the way home. He had only to sail westwards to find the lands of men. Every Vorthenki knew the trick of using a small plank with a hole bored in it and a piece of string to find their north-south position, so he knew with some precision how far north they were of Atonir. Of course, he knew they had sailed eastwards for almost forty days with a fair wind. It was not enough to find Kishalkuz again in the vast ocean, but it was enough to find their way straight home.

  At last, when their boat had caught the wind and the sails were taut, Althak curled up on the deck for sleep, trying not to dream of dragons and trying not to think of what he would say to Menish if ever they met again. Instead he shed tears for Thalissa, something he never had expected to do.

  Azkun was afraid, desperately afraid. Until today there had been the dragons. Dragons to provide guidance and hope. Dragons to work wonders in the name of. Dragons to hide him from the dread of Gashan.

  And now it was all a lie. He had promised them: Menish, Vorish and Althak. He had told the Vorthenki not to sacrifice but to wait for the dragons. He had promised himself that the dragons would purge him from that evil spectre that lurked in his mind and secretly delighted in murder; that tiny part of Gashan that had entered him.

  So he went from day to day. Althak set him mundane tasks to do, to try and prevent him from brooding. But Azkun’s hands fumbled in despair. He had to find an answer. Desperation rose like a shriek in his mind. They were sailing to their doom and there was nothing he could do.

  His injured arm was a constant reminder. Although the burn scabbed over cleanly enough, the pain of it as it healed was a constant testament to his broken promises.

  He had lost count of the days when the only possible answer came to him. Power was the key. His own power was unpredictable. If he tried to use it against the Gashans they would simply possess him. He needed a way to resist them; to think his own thoughts, not theirs. He needed to destroy them and still weep at their deaths, not gibber with glee, though the thought of such destruction made him cringe with horror. To do that he needed power.

  If he had not been as desperate as he was he would never have thought of it. But the horror they sailed towards drove him to resourcefulness.

  His answer was Kelerish.

  Gilish had gone there seeking power and he had found it. He had also found his own death. Azkun was terrified of death, but he was more terrified of Gashan and the murders he would be forced to commit. Kelerish was the only way. He announced his intention to the others, and asked if Shelim could take their boat to Lianar.

  “Are you mad?” said Althak.

  “On the wall of the stairs to the dragons’ lair, did you see it? An Eye like the Duzral Eye, but with many eyes not one. That is the answer. There is another Eye in the Vaults of Duzagen. I will go to Kelerish and fetch it.”

  “But the Vaults drove Gilish mad and killed him. It's an evil place. We Vorthenki say the spirits of the evil dead lurk there and howl in the wind. It smells of death.”

  “I was born there. It holds no fear for me.” That was not true, but the fear he felt for Kelerish was a fear of the numbness he remembered. The numbness was akin to oblivion. It was not as terrifying as murder. Even his own death was preferable to the horror of Gashan.

  “Azkun, this is foolish. I can't let you kill yourself. You have your own magic. Use that against the Gashans.”

  “No, you do not understand. They would possess me. They would make me use it against our own folk. They would make me delight in murder. I must go there. I am afraid to do anything else.”

  “And you think that following in the footsteps of Gilish would bring you power over them?”

  “Althak, do you not see my torment? I do not wish to die. I do not wish to climb raving mad from the Chasm and wreak havoc on my friends before I destroy myself. But the murder of the Gashan haunts my dreams.” He shuddered. “The slaughter of the pig still haunts me. Althak, I have to stop the Gashans. I have to stop them possessing me.”

  “I begin to see. But you don't need to do this. Hide yourself away. Don't take part in the battle.”

  “Menish will lose. You know that. That is why you came with me.”

  Althak nodded. “Yes, that's true.”

  “And I promised them help. I promised. The dragons are no more than beasts, but that does not mean I have become like them. I promised in the name of dragons, but now the promise must be met in my own name.”

  He covered his face with his hands and wept.

  Althak sighed deeply. He had followed Azkun to the end of the world, and now he wanted to go to the depths of hell itself.

  “Very well,” he said. “I'll go with you.”

  “No. I must go alone. Thank you, Althak. I know your offer is generous; you are afraid of the Chasm. I cannot take anyone with me. If I return from the Vaults of Duzagen mad like Gilish I might destroy you. I must go alone.”

  “What of Tenari?”

  “Take her back to Atonir. She was happy there.”

  But Tenari's grip on his arm, steady as it was, suggested otherwise.

  “Then I'll travel back to Anthor, to Gildenthal. Perhaps Menish will need me again. If not then at least I can see how Keashil and Olcish fare at Meyathal.”

  “I have broken your friendship for nothing. For that I am deeply sorry.”

  So they sailed on, and Azkun’s nights were troubled by dreams of spectres racing across the sky or hanging in the night clouds, watching him from single eyes in their foreheads. He dreamed of the days since he had left the Chasm. The dragon fire had bathed him with the power of sense and speech, but it had not after all. The power was his own. He dreamed of the storm when he had been struck by lightning, and of the man he had brought back to life in Atonir, and he wondered how he could do these things. But, most of all, he dreamed of the horror of Gashan and the evil that lay there, and he would wake in a sweat of fear at
night, dreading sleep.

  He also dreamed of the future, of the coming battle with Gashan. He saw the battlefield in Ristalshuz, the wide valley with the river and the mound of the dead. But it was night. Moonlight filled the air, and in that moonlight hobbled the old Monnar. He was coughing still. Azkun saw the eye in his forehead glistening brightly as if freshly painted. He was up to some wickedness, Azkun could feel it. He held branches of some plant in his arms, and these he crushed and scattered around himself. The eye in his forehead stared at Azkun and he fled from it.

  Fennel. Fennel to call dragons. The Monnar was going to murder them all.

  He woke from this dream confirmed in his resolve. He could imagine the Monnar watching him through Tenari, laughing at him on his fool’s errand. But they would not laugh if he emerged from Kelerish with the Second Eye. He would stop their evil and drive back the Gashans. And he would release Tenari from their magic.

  Chapter 36: Drinagish's Fire

  Vorish did not spend much time at Meyathal, after two days he was anxious to press on northward. With him went Menish and most of the rest of Meyathal. Mora arrived from Kronithal just in time to accompany them north to Gildenthal.

  For Menish it was much like the migration that took place every spring when he went north for the spring games. The clan chiefs always gathered at Meyathal beforehand and they and their people travelled with him. Most of the rest of Anthor also converged on Gildenthal, some coming from the north, from the foothills of the Ristalshuz Mountains, others coming from the wide plains to the west. Everyone who possibly could went to the games, but this year it was not the games they were going to, this year it was battle.

  It was a relaxed time for the Anthorians because of the usual ban on cattle raiding before the games. They could move their herds together without fear, though there were usually a few arguments after the games about whose cattle were whose if they had not been branded carefully. Someone took advantage of the fact that this year there were no spring games, therefore the ban should not apply, to make off with some of Yarva’s yaks. It was just one of the disputes Menish had to resolve along the way.

  Cattle were always an obsession with the Anthorians. Menish was often asked how far it was beyond the battlefield to their pastures, and did he see many cattle when he was in Gashan? Did they keep yaks or camels or did they prefer sheep? At first he explained carefully the difference between a battle and a cattle raid, but usually their minds were closed to what he said.

  When they were two days out from Meyathal, just before noon, a strange thing happened. Up until then the sky had been wide and clear, as only the open skies of the Anthorian plains can be. Suddenly the sky turned from blue to a slate grey. The sun seemed to lose its brightness. The horses noticed it and became skittish. Then, just as people were trying to control their horses, they were plunged into night as if something had swallowed the sun. People screamed with fright, animals panicked and a sudden blast of howling wind tore across them from the north. In a moment the sun returned and the wind faded as quickly as it had risen. It left Menish blinking with surprise and wonder, and he shivered when he thought of that wind. In its howl there had been something like a cry of despair.

  But the incident did not stop them for long. Vorish said that it was an omen of good fortune, the fire of the sun had turned away from them to show that the fire of Gashan would also turn away from them in the battle. It was the kind of thing people wanted to hear and each thanked whatever gods they worshipped for this sign.

  As for Drinagish’s guard, Menish did not see very much of it. Drinagish had collected a few of his friends, including Neathy who had agreed to be his standard bearer now, and Athun met them every day for training. They rose early each day and rode to the place where they would camp that night. The rest of the company moved more slowly, hampered by cattle, wagons and infantry. By the time they arrived at the camp Drinagish and his guard had received several hours of instruction from Athun. Neathy seemed delighted with the standard.

  Shortly after the odd darkness Vorish sent a team of engineers on ahead to Gildenthal, accompanied by Anthorian guides. They were to proceed from there to the battlefield to check the accuracy of Vorish’s map, and to prepare Drinagish’s fire. Several carried large gourds that Menish noticed and asked Vorish about.

  “They contain the pitch.”

  “How do you carry pitch in a gourd? It's too sticky.”

  “We've found a way to make it flow like water,” said Vorish. “It burns better too.”

  “And you just happened to have some with you on a journey to fight Gashans?”

  “Of course,” said Vorish with exaggerated innocence. “It's standard equipment.”

  Menish and Adhara took to walking together in the evenings to get away from the pressure of people in the camp. Often they would walk long into the night and be weary the next day. He had always loved Adhara, but now that there were no secrets between them he found the flame burning anew. More than ever he did not want to lose this battle, he did not want to die. He wanted Adhara.

  It took less than a month to reach Gildenthal, and as they travelled the weather grew cooler. Spring was slower coming to the northern lands. But, except for the desert, the ground was covered with the green mantle of spring. Here and there lay the remains of a late snowfall.

  As they rode into Gildenthal Menish was heavy-hearted. His leg ached again after the journey although he had taken care of it. There were thousands of people to greet him. But Menish saw them all consumed in flames.

  When they had set up their camp Vorish came to Menish’s tent alone. “Come in, Vorish. Have some ambroth.”

  “Thank you,” he poured it himself and sat down on the rug. “Your people seem settled.”

  “I think so. Are yours?”

  “Yes, it was a good idea to put them on the games field.”

  “There's not much other flat ground to spare around here, except right beside the river. But you can get sudden floods down there.”

  “Where's Adhara?”

  “Some fool wanted to pitch his tents in one of the wheat fields, she and Bolythak have gone to see what damage has been done. We're not that short of flat ground. My leg's sore so I left them to it.”

  “Sensible,” nodded Vorish. “You should have got them to build a fire for you before they went. Here, let me.”

  “No, no. I can light my own fire,” said Menish, getting up and wincing with pain.

  “So you say,” said Vorish as he continued setting up the fire beneath the smoke hole in the top of the tent. “You'll need to be better by this evening if you expect to address your folk.”

  “You're right,” said Menish, settling back onto a cushion. “A few moments of warmth normally restores me.” He watched Vorish for a moment as he laid the fire and lit it. It reminded him of the years before they fought Thealum when Vorish had lived at Meyathal, or travelled with him around Anthor. “It's good to have you here, Vorish. I'm pleased about what happened at Meyathal, that everyone now knows. I am not proud of what I did with Thalissa, but I am proud to have you as my son.”

  Vorish smiled.

  “Who could want for a better father? How's Adhara? Are things right between you?”

  “Oh yes. We talked it over. I wish she had been your mother. She deserves a son like you.”

  “You embarrass me with this talk, Menish. I thought of her as my mother from the time I arrived in Meyathal, or soon after. She was cool to me at first, for obvious reasons, but it didn't last. I remember her teaching me to wrestle like the Anthorians because the boys my age kept picking on me and I couldn't match them. She came looking for me when I didn't return to Meyathal one evening because my horse had thrown me and I was hurt.”

  “Yes, I remember that. She did much the same for Althak, and for Neathy.”

  “Have you seen Drinagish lately?”

  “When have I been able? He's been with Athun and his friends most of the day. He's slept in my tent a few times, but he'
s been too tired to tell me much. I thought he was impressed with Athun, though.”

  “Athun has been teaching them the trumpet signals, among other things. I was thinking that a display of their new skills would be in order. You could do it this evening before your speech. It would be more interesting than a sword dance.”

  “Really? What did you have in mind?”

  “Some precision riding, the kind of thing Anthorians do all the time, but with a difference. They respond to trumpet signals. Athun developed the idea after I told him about the sword dance. He uses it to train our cavalry. It looks very impressive.”

  “I'd like to see it. It was always difficult training our Vorthenki when we were fighting Thealum.”

  “We had to beat it into them most of the time,” said Vorish. “It was only by winning over powerful men like Darven and Angoth that we got anywhere at all.”

  He paused and Menish could see he was weighing his options, as if coming to a difficult decision.

  “I suppose it is futile to suggest deploying my heavy cavalry in our centre?”

  “You know it is. Yes, I agree tactically it is the better choice. But my people would never accept it. This has to be Anthor's battle, even if it kills us all, and that means light cavalry in front.”

  “Then Anthor needs to learn some exquisite timing in the next few days. My engineers tell me they can set the gourds to fire as the Gashan line crosses them, and a moment later, before the Gashans have recovered, Anthor must crash into them.”

  “You can signal us with a trumpet?”

  “Yes, but your folk, even those that know the call to charge, will not follow the Emperor's signal.”

  “But I will. Don't concern yourself, Vorish. I can manage my people well enough. Tell Drinsagish he should go ahead with this display. We can use it to warm people up before I address them.”