“When they heard her voice they surged forward, for it was only a woman after all. The first two that reached her died with shocked surprise on their faces. She must have been good, that woman. She held up the Invaders for two hours. My father said he had never seen such skill with a blade. Over thirty men died before they were finally able to cut her down.
“Sinalth was so moved by her courage that he had her body placed with honour on the battle pyre with those of his own men who died. Nor did they strip her of her curious armour and weapons.
“It was only much later that my father learned who she was. Her name was Haragil. She was Menish’s sister.
“It was this that led me to Anthor to serve Menish. I'd never heard of such courage anywhere else, yet in Anthor it is almost commonplace. But I found more than that in Anthor.” He looked at the sleeping King with affection. “You've known him but a few days. The King of Anthor is a man one could cheerfully die for. Oh, Vorish is impressive. He's triumphant in battle, wise in judgements and his people love him. Vorish is just. He has to be, for we Vorthenki are a lawless people and he has had to set down laws and see them obeyed. He's fiercely determined in all he does, and I've never once heard of his failing a task he has set himself. He expects the same determination from those he commands.
“But Menish is not like that. He'll listen to a plea for forgiveness, for he's made mistakes himself. If Vorish had found you he would either have left you behind or killed you if you did not fit into his plans. Menish would have brought you along even if you had done nothing spectacular. Look at Keashil and Olcish and the other slaves.”
“This Vorish sounds a cruel man.”
“He can be cruel, but rarely from passion. Everything he does he does for a reason, usually more than one reason. Menish is kind from his heart. When Vorish is kind it's because you may be of some use to him.”
“You speak as if you know this Emperor well.”
“I grew up with him. He and I were always playmates or adversaries on the practice fields. Yes, I know him as well as anyone can.” He seemed to shake himself as if waking. “By Kopth I seem to have been telling you my life story. Come, we must wake the others before the storm comes.”
Chapter 11: Storm
The first effects of the coming storm were felt long before it was upon them. The wind shifted suddenly and turned chill. Althak and the newly woken Anthorians moved their sailcloth shelter so that it blocked the wind better. Shelim brought another sail out of the hold and set it over their heads.
With the change of wind the air smelt wet and close, as if it ached to teem with rain. Dark clouds chased the sun from the sky and swept them into gloom. Awan called orders to his men to trim the sails, tighten some ropes and loosen others. The lookout clambered down from his place at the top of the main mast, and the ship’s motion became more accentuated. Drinagish groaned and reached for his bucket.
Azkun could see that Menish and Hrangil were fighting the sea retch themselves. They sat quietly by the main mast, sheltered by the sailcloth, and clenched their jaws.
The splash and swish of the waves grew louder and the wind turned from a breeze to a howling gale that stretched the sails, making the ropes creak with the strain. Omoth went to the stern to help Awan with the tiller. The sky was dull grey now, with patches of darkness reaching from the east.
The first squall struck unexpectedly, although Azkun had seen its rippling trail across the waves. He was unprepared for the icy shower that splashed across the deck. Shelim was ready, though. He had set an open barrel in the middle of the deck to catch some of the water.
“Fresh water, M'Lord. Always worth having,” he called to Azkun through the rising noise of wind and rain.
The black sky extended over their heads, bringing heavier and heavier squalls until, at last, they were deluged with a constant downpour. Those sailors not actually required at their various tasks sought refuge under the sailcloth shelter with Althak, Menish and the others, but Azkun did not mind the rain.
The deck surged up and down beneath him and the wind swept the rain into his face. Tenari remained beside him, as oblivious to the weather as she was of everything else. Water streamed down her face like tears and her hair clung wetly to her head.
At first he found the storm refreshing, as if it were a confirmation of his own restlessness. Kishalkuz filled his thoughts. The storm blew from the east. Had it crossed the dragon isle before it came here? Perhaps it had.
The waves grew with the wind, rising beside them then seeming to dive beneath the ship, lifting it high. Awan and Omoth were hauling on the tiller, Azkun felt a brief twinge of anxiety from them. But then the tiller was pulled over and the ship heeled around to face into the storm. From this angle the waves seemed even larger. The ship see-sawed between them. One moment the stern lifted high, and the bows plunged towards the foaming, blue-green pit between the waves. The next the bow rose, and they were lifted towards the dark clouds and the pouring rain. Azkun clutched the gunwale to prevent himself from being thrown to the deck.
Above the roar and crash of the waves came a distant, muffled rumble of thunder. It was as if the very storm itself were speaking from the clouds, and it reminded him suddenly of the river that had tried to kill him.
Awan called more orders and Shelim and several others loosened ropes. Their anxiety was growing and it insinuated itself into Azkun’s own mind, making him see boats overturn and sink in tempestuous seas. A weird, mauve light flashed among the clouds and the thunder rumbled more threats.
Still the waves grew. The ship was tossed about on them. Sometimes the bow would turn and thrust off centre at the rushing sea as Awan and Omoth fought to hold it into the storm. White water crashed over the gunwales and swept across the deck. Sailors scrambled for bailers and some clambered down the deck hatch to man pumps in the hold.
The anxiety of the sailors ate into his mind and the thunder and lightning confused his senses. More white water crashed over the bows. The ship was forcing its way out of the course Awan had set, wanting to present its broadside to the waves. Even Azkun, with his few days at sea, understood that they would capsize if that were allowed to happen.
They rushed down another wave and up the next. This time the tiller was held firmly and they climbed up the mountain of water to the crest. It broke over the bows, sending a wall of water down the length of the ship. Azkun clung on, his knuckles white. The water rose to his thighs and it clawed at him, enticing him. He saw one of the sailors lose his footing and grab a rope just in time to save himself from being swept overboard. Awan and Omoth had lashed themselves to the tiller, they would have no second chance if they lost their footing.
Azkun did not expect the bow to rise from under the swirling foam but it lurched back out of the water and they rushed down the next wave to the swirling valley below.
He began to notice something about the waves. They were all enormous, but every so often a great mountain of a wave that dwarfed the others would appear. The last wave had been a mountain so the next few were smaller, but from the crests of the smaller waves Azkun could see the next mountain building.
The sailors, especially Awan and Omoth who were not bailing or pumping, had also seen it. They were not so tense now, these were waves they could overcome, but they waited in readiness for the next mountain.
When it came it was bigger than the last. Azkun had seen it grow as they approached to an appalling size. It reared above them, backed by flashes of lightning that seemed to stamp its displeasure across the sky.
Azkun willed it under the ship, clenching his teeth in futile effort. Again the crest broke over the bow and surged down the deck. It was swifter than Azkun had expected and it clutched at his knees, flinging him off balance. His grip twisted and he was thrown against the solid wood of the gunwale and down into the torrent.
He felt strong hands grip him as the salt water flooded his mouth and nose. His head cracked against something solid, either the deck or the gunwale, he
did not know which. When the water subsided he came up coughing and dazed. Tenari released her grip on his arm. He leaned over the gunwale and emptied himself of the salt water he had swallowed.
When he looked up again Tenari stood impassively and another wave was building. He could feel the concern of the sailors. There was too much water in the hold. They could not pump fast enough. The ship sat low in the water, bloated and unwieldy. Althak had gone below to help.
They crossed another crest of a minor wave and Azkun caught a glimpse of the next mountain. It was half again the size of the last. Awan must have seen it too for Azkun felt his heart sink.
The storm was trying to kill him. It was mindless, impassive in its fury, and it was trying to kill him. They had killed the pig, they had killed the pirates, now the storm was going to kill them. His head throbbed and his vision blurred. In the pit of his stomach salt water sloshed and nauseated. He felt a warm trickle behind his ear where his head had struck wood.
Over another wave. The next mountain was closer now, he could see the foam on its crest, like the mouth of a mad beast. Lightning arced behind it, casting a strange bluish light across the grey sky and green waves. It was like dragon fire.
And Azkun knew what he had to do.
Ignoring the panic and the dizziness and the way the deck pitched and rolled beneath his feet, he stumbled towards the mast. Twice he slipped and fell on his face, jarring his head. He wept with pain and fear but he drove himself on.
He reached the mast and clambered up the rope ladder that hung there. Menish was suddenly grasping at his shoulder, shouting something that he could not hear over the storm. The boat lurched and Menish fell back. He hauled himself up the ladder. It was easier now. The motion of the boat swung his knuckles against the heavy mast but he was used to climbing the walls of the Chasm. This was not so different.
Moving as swiftly as he could he climbed to the top of the ladder where the spar joined the mast. He clutched the mast with both hands and placed his feet on the spar. Glancing down he saw Tenari making her way up the ladder. Menish stood at the bottom of the mast, he looked to be calling to him but Azkun could not even hear his voice.
The mountainous wave was almost upon them, rearing like some incarnation of evil, high above the height of the mast. He had a moment of sheer terror as it loomed but he fought it down. The dragons had not called him from the Chasm to die buried under the sea.
“Stop!” he cried against the storm, the terror and the red haze that began to cloud his vision. “Stop! I command you to stop in the name of the dragons!”
A clap of thunder overhead punctuated his words, and lightning lashed down. Blue fire like dragon fire engulfed him in a cloud of flame.
The great wave appeared to hesitate in its downward plunge, as if uncertain whether to engulf the ship or not. Then, incredibly, it seemed to subside before them, lifting the ship easily across its back.
Behind it the wind lessened and, though the waves were still large, there were no more giants in sight.
Azkun clung to the mast as if it were the only thing he was sure of. He was sick and dizzy and everything was coloured with a red haze. The lightning had not harmed him but the blows to his head were taking their toll. He did not think he could climb down, so he clung on where he was.
Again Tenari rescued him. He felt her strong hands unclasp his grip on the mast and half carry him through the red fog onto the ladder. Moments later he heard Althak’s voice above the storm.
“I have him, yes.”
The red fog turned black.
*
When he awoke the sun shone in his face and his head ached behind his left ear. Opening his eyes he saw Tenari leaning over him, her face expressionless and her mind as blank as ever. Althak sat on the other side, his large body partially shading him from the now bright sunlight. Concern showed in his eyes. He moved so that his shadow fell across Azkun’s face and smiled grimly.
“Awake at last?” he asked. “Your head leads a precarious life, my friend. Here, drink this.” He held a leather bottle to Azkun’s lips and squeezed it. Before he could help it Azkun had swallowed a mouthful of water. His mouth was dry and it felt refreshing to have the cool liquid flowing down his throat. He opened his lips again and received another mouthful. As he swallowed he thought about what he had done. Until the storm he had only endured the evil in the world. But, for the first time, he had fought it. He had called on the dragons and they had answered. The evil could be conquered.
Another mouthful. Water was not a living thing, it did not die so he had not compromised his vow to neither eat nor drink. Yet something nagged in his mind. To drink even water made him dependent on the world, dependent on corruption, where he wanted to be dependent only on the dragons. He closed his mouth and shook his head.
“You took a heavy blow. How do you feel now?”
He croaked back that his head ached but he was otherwise well.
“No ill effects from the lightning? No? I checked for burns and was not surprised to find none. It's strange that you suffer knocks and scrapes like anyone else yet you're proof against more spectacular harms.”
“Dragons, dragon fire,” said Azkun, his voice still weak.
“It was lightning, not dragon fire.” He shrugged. “Not that the difference matters. Both are equally deadly to all but you. But why did you climb the mast? One does not remain on the masthead during a storm. Unless you wanted to be struck by lightning?”
“No, the dragons calmed the storm.”
Althak looked at him strangely for a moment, then nodded slowly.
“I wondered. The wave would have engulfed us. I was certain it would. You stopped it?”
“The dragons stopped it.”
“Nonsense,” Menish’s voice sounded from behind Althak. “I know little enough of the sea, but I've heard that waves grow and diminish as they will. Storms come and go quickly on this coast. Isn't that so, Shelim?”
Shelim was not far away either.
“It is so, M’Lord.” But there was doubt in his voice. Azkun could see that Althak, although he would not argue with Menish, did not agree with him.
The King squatted beside Azkun. The boat rocked only slightly now, but he placed a hand on the deck to maintain his balance.
“Azkun,” he said seriously. “You are a marvel, I don't doubt that for I've seen two marvels, three if we consider how long you have been without food. But I won't admit a fourth marvel while I have another explanation, for I don't necessarily like marvels.”
Azkun nodded, the action gave him pain but he saw that Menish had no animosity in his doubt.
“As for your head, you've recovered sooner than I expected for it was a vicious blow.” He smiled wryly. “More so than the one I gave you. Perhaps your ministering angel here has something to do with your recovery, though she's done nothing but sit and stare at you.”
“Don't tease her, Sire!” It was Keashil’s voice. He realised then that they had all gathered around him.
“You're right,” said Menish. “Your pardon,” he nodded in Tenari’s direction but she ignored him as if pardon was either irrelevant or impossible. He shrugged and returned her attitude. “At least Gilish was never struck by lightning.”
“But he did calm the sea twice, and three times he called storms,” said Hrangil.
Keashil spoke in a strange voice.
“‘ Power over sky, power over sea, power over the air. These are the marks of the magician.’”
Menish frowned.
“You know it?”
“They were said over and over to me as a child so that I'd always have their comfort.”
“In Anthor the Scriptures are not for women,” Hrangil remarked sourly.
“Nor in Relanor I am told,” smiled Keashil. Her smile was strange for her eyes did not smile, only her mouth. It looked counterfeit. “But it is not prohibited in Golshuz.”
“It's not meet that women should know the great secrets!”
“Didn't Sheagil know them?”
Hrangil muttered something but would not answer.
“In Anthor the women have their own secrets,” said Drinagish. “It's difficult enough to keep them to those. Tell them not of Golshuz!” He laughed grimly.
“No more of this,” said Menish. “Our friend doesn't claim to be Gilish, he talks too much of dragons anyway.”
“Perhaps…” Althak hesitated. “Perhaps he is Kopth.” He almost winced as he said it. Anticipating Menish’s reply.
But Menish simply looked at him and said, “Don't speak of Kopth to me, Althak.”
“I am not a dragon. I am a man. Do I look like a dragon?”
But even as he said it Azkun wondered. If he were the dragon called Kopth in human form would he know? Althak had said Kopth could take on any form he wished. What if he had chosen the form of a man who did not know he was Kopth? These thoughts made his head ache and he closed his eyes.
“Let him alone,” said Menish kindly. He laid a refreshingly cool hand on Azkun’s forehead. “We can torment him with our speculations when he's well. Until then we must leave him to Tenari.” He looked at Tenari for a moment, puzzled. Then he reached out, took her hand, and placed it on Azkun’s forehead. It felt like ice, and soothed his ache better than Menish’s hand. With a sigh and a shake of his head Menish rose to his feet and walked out of Azkun’s range of vision.
Menish crossed the deck to stand at the gunwale and look across at the now calm sea to the grey coastline in the distance. Hrangil, it seemed, still wanted Azkun to be Gilish after all. Menish was disappointed in Althak’s comment about Kopth. The last thing he wanted was more gods for Azkun to be.
But Menish knew who Azkun was. He was the son of Thalissa and some man she had seduced. He was neither Gilish, nor Kopth. He was simply a piece of derelict humanity thrown up from the Chasm. To see him lying injured on the deck, to speak with him, it was almost impossible to believe he had stood in dragon fire.
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