And he knew the priestess had hated herself for doing it. It was impossible to believe that she could despise herself so and yet still wield that knife. But she had. Some need or fear drove her beyond self-despite to murder. It was fear of Kopth, fear of Azkun.
That was the worst thing of all. They had done it for him. They had slaughtered a human being, one of their own, for him. That it was because of a misguided notion that he was Kopth was irrelevant. He had not denied that he might be, he did not himself know. It had led to this. Now he was guilty of murder.
So he lay in the darkness with the sound of the insane waves dashing against the cliffs. The sailors feared to touch him, even Althak kept his distance, not knowing what he should do. The Anthorians were all ill and Tenari sat wordlessly beside him.
It was Keashil who finally came to comfort him. She felt her way along the deck, ignoring Althak’s cautioning, and sat in a puddle that lay near Azkun’s head. The rain had stopped but the wind still filled their sails and the waves still thudded against the hull.
“Azkun?” He felt her hand on his head as she checked his position. “Azkun, you've been still for a long time. I heard weeping before. What is it?” He lifted his head, his neck was stiff and sore. How could she not know? How could they not have felt that darkness and not know that it was his doing?
“They killed her. They killed her anyway, because of me.”
He felt the hand on his head again.
“Oh, Azkun,” she said quietly and when he looked at her he saw her blind eyes crying in the lamplight. She was silent for a time, her quiet weeping could be not heard over the waves. Althak, overcoming his caution, came and sat on the deck beside her.
“It's the Vorthenki way,” she said presently. “Maidens are given to Kopth by the sacrifice.”
“They killed her for me,” he said flatly. “The priestess, she hated herself for doing it, but she did it anyway. She killed her for me.”
“Azkun,” said Althak, “we all heard a cry, but we were far from shore. How can you know-?”
“I did not eat her in some dark place or whatever I am supposed to do with my victims!” he shouted suddenly. “I am horrified by what your people do for me. It is evil!”
“It's the Vorthenki way…”
“Then it must stop. It is wrong.” He hesitated, to be Kopth or not? He did not know, perhaps he was, perhaps not. But only Kopth could stop them. “I command that it stops.”
Althak looked at him for a moment in silence, and he could not see his face in the darkness.
“Althak, who do you think I am?’
“They say you're Kopth, or Gilish. You're not like either, yet you're not as other men.”
“I do not eat maidens and I do not build in stone.”
“Yet you speak of dragons and you quote from the Mish-Tal,” said Keashil.
“That's not what I meant,” said Althak. “Kopth has never found death abhorrent, Gilish would have helped to fight the pirates.”
“You have not answered me. Who does Althak think I am?”
“I don't know. As I said, you're not like other men.”
“If I must be Kopth to forbid the sacrifices then I will be Kopth.”
“Perhaps there is another possibility,” said Keashil, and Azkun heard a smile in her voice that comforted him. She held Althak’s harp and as she spoke she lifted it into a playing position. “You speak Vorthenki?”
“No.”
At that she laughed quietly. “Could Kopth not speak Vorthenki? No matter. If I cannot sing a Vorthenki song I can sing you a song of Golshuz that was borrowed from the Vorthenki and made into the Relanese tongue.”
With that she began to sing, plucking at the harp, but it was hard to hear the notes she played. She sang of a famine in the far north. Winter lay on the land for year after year. Summer, that brief time when the ground can be tilled and the cattle fattened, did not come and the people hid in their houses, for they could not endure the cold. It was said that Kopth was angry with a man who had killed a priestess and was determine to punish him. Sacrifices were offered but it was no use. The snow would not melt and there was no food. Storms lashed the coast and no one could sail south for help, they were trapped.
A man named Galth, whose house had been decimated by hunger, came forward. He would brave the storms and seek help. But he would not sail south. If Kopth had not afflicted the south as well then he would be given no hope of passing through the storms.
Galth determined to travel not south but east, to the isle of Kishalkuz. There, if Kopth willed it, he would come before him and plead for his people.
They told him it was foolish, for no one could return from Kishalkuz, but he set out anyway and they marvelled at his courage. No more was ever seen of Galth from the day he left. After many days the winter lifted, the sun shone and summer came at last. That summer they harvested more grain than they had stores for.
As for Galth, a priestess who was famous for her wisdom prophesied that he had, indeed, reached Kishalkuz and had been received with honour in the house of Kopth.
When she stopped singing Azkun had almost forgotten that she had some reason for singing him this song. He was absorbed by the idea of sailing to Kishalkuz, of seeing the halls of his masters. The dolphin had promised to guide him.
“Perhaps you're neither Kopth nor Gilish. Perhaps you're like Galth, a man on whom the gods have laid some purpose.”
“A bridge,” he said quietly. “A bridge to the dragons.”
Chapter 14: Atonir
The wind blew them steadily onwards through the night, and by late afternoon of the following day they had crossed the gulf of Keatel, which lay between the rocky peninsula of Gomol and the land of Relanor. All day they had seen no land at all, even the gulls had deserted them for the time being. But sometime during the afternoon they returned (or others from the Relanese coast found them). Omoth, who was manning the lookout, shouted that he had seen land at last and Azkun strained forward at the bows to see it. Presently a dark line on the horizon was visible and, after a time, he could just make out a white tower that stood on a promontory in the distance.
“That's the Gel-Alhak, the White Tower of Sinalth,” said Althak. “It was built by Sinalth after the invasion to warn of any further invasions from the north.”
“And also as a guide for ships,” said Shelim who was not far away as Awan steadied their course towards the distant tower.
“Atonir lies beneath it?”
“No, further down the coast, another day or so.”
As Azkun watched it draw closer he realised that the tower was taller than he had first thought. The sun peered through the clouds and shone brightly on it. The last work of stone he had seen was the inn at Lianar and before that the bridge of Sheagil. This was much larger than either, though not so impossible in its construction as the bridge. It seemed to Azkun to be a welcome to this land, he felt that he walked in the purpose of the dragons.
At the base of the tower lay a harbour and a town. Ships much like their own lay moored beside stone piers like the one at Lianar. Several were sailing in and out of the harbour. They could see men scurrying about the boats, loading and unloading cargo, and carts and horses lined up on the piers.
“M’Lord is wondering whether to disembark here and ride horses to Atonir or to take advantage of the fair wind. The sea is calm enough now, so they are no longer suffering much from the sea retch. Either way we will reach Atonir tomorrow.”
After a talk with Awan it was decided to continue south by ship, which pleased the sailors; they did not want to lose Azkun. The ship turned parallel to the coast and Gel-Alhak began to recede behind them. A low wall of dunes swept up from the surf-washed beaches and parted occasionally to give them glimpses of worked fields. The land was flat near the coast, rising to low hills in the distance. Often a wide river mouth broke the wall of dunes, and in such places there were more towns and villages, though none the size of Gel-Alhak. Althak explained that the riv
ers they were seeing were, in fact, all one river. They were sailing across the many mouths of the great Goshar River that wound right across Relanor.
“This was how Gilish himself first saw Relanor,” put in Hrangil when he heard them talking of the river. “He first landed at the mouths of the Goshar with his heavenly armies.”
That night, after they had eaten and the lamps were lit, Keashil played her harp again. She sang of Atonir, their destination, and told the tale of its building. Even Tenari turned her head from Azkun and watched her play.
When Gilish landed at the mouths of the Goshar he was threatened by attacks from the Monnar, the race of magicians who held Relanor in their evil power. He needed a strong place he could defend from them. So he set about constructing the great palace of Atonir. Using his own magic he built it in a day and a night, and it had stood for nearly a thousand years. Needless to say the Monnar were never able to scale the vast walls of the palace, and they were eventually defeated before those walls by Gilish’s cavalry.
When her song died away Azkun was left with a picture of a place like Gel-Alhak only larger. Atonir, it seemed, was so vast that there were rooms in it that no one had visited since it was built. It sounded impossible, but the bridge of Sheagil he had seen in the north had looked impossible. Such were the works of Gilish.
When the sun rose next morning he saw Atonir.
It was still distant, but it looked like a mountain. It rose, staggeringly huge, from the plains with sheer walls hundreds of feet high topped with battlements and machiolations that looked finely intricate from this distance. And, though it appeared vast now, he realised that they were still far from it. Towers and spires rose from behind the battlements as if they would pierce the clouds themselves. Flags swirled proudly in the breeze. He thought of Sinalth’s tower and there was no comparison. The Vorthenki tower was a crude pile of stones compared to this colossal structure. And it grew. As they drew closer to it the great palace towered higher and higher.
But it was more than its dizzying size that made it impressive. Although the lower walls were sheer the upper ones were worked with fine patterns and shapes that gave the impression of ornate delicacy rather than heavy stone. It was as if Gilish was as much interested in beauty as defence.
When Azkun looked hard at the more ornate parts of the palace he became confused. The shapes did not somehow add up. Lines that ought to have met did not, others that should not meet did. He blinked, shook his head and moved his gaze to the city below.
As a seeming after-thought the city itself spread about the great walls. The palace dwarfed streets and buildings of stone, although there were several towers at least the size of Gel-Alhak and one that reached nearly half the height of the palace walls. The multitude of walls, towers, trees and streets appeared to cascade down to the water’s edge. There lay the outer defences, an irregular, grey, stone wall that, as far as Azkun could see, encircled the city. It seemed a poor gesture compared to the great walls of the palace.
His sense of scale was confused. It was as if he were looking at a picture where the artist had drawn one building impossibly larger than the others, but this was not a picture.
“Atonir the Golden!’ cried Hrangil as the morning sun caught the honey coloured walls of the palace.
“Raise my standard,” commanded Menish. Althak passed it up to the lookout who unfurled it above the mast. The white horse was spread out in the breeze, a signal to those on shore that the King of Anthor had arrived.
They crossed the bay to the city and the palace filled half the sky. The towers flew flags, the Ammorl or the sun disc of Aton. The sun disc was the imperial standard and had been since the time of Gilish. The Ammorl, a flaming bird with outstretched wings, was Vorish’s personal standard. As they sailed close to the city walls Azkun saw that they were quite tall, much higher than Darven’s palisade. They were made of stern, grey stone that rose sheer from the water and they were crested with battlements. Azkun could see men with helmets walking along them.
Tall arches pierced the walls and through these were thrust stone piers that were bustling with people, much like the ones he had seen in the distance at Gel-Alhak. But these were larger and there were many of them. There must have been nearly fifty ships moored alongside the piers. Some with sails flapping in the wind as they prepared to sail and others tied firmly, sails furled, as cargo was unloaded. A constant stream of horses, carts and people moved up and down the docks. The noise of men shouting, donkeys braying and wheels creaking sounded across the water.
The noise grew as they approached and the smell of the sea was replaced with the kaleidoscope of wharf odours. The smells of fish and salt water mingled with those of dried skins, hay, dung and sweat. Gulls were everywhere, they circled overhead, they perched on the masts, they strutted on the piers and fought for scraps of food. Some patrolled the battlements with the guards.
A cry from one of the piers hailed them across the water. A man wearing Vorthenki armour and the blue livery of the imperial guard waved at them and pointed to three lighters that were rowing towards them from the pier. Awan gave the command to furl the sails and, by the time the lighters reached them, they were drifting slowly. Ropes were thrown to the lighters and made fast, then with a heave of oars the men on the lighters drew them gently towards the pier. Menish heard Awan make a remark to the effect that he was quite capable of accurately docking his ship under sail.
The Anthorians disembarked before the ship was made fast to the stone bollards that lined the pier. Althak waited so that he could help Keashil and Olcish, for there was a drop from the gunwale to the pier. Azkun and Tenari jumped down without difficulty.
Menish handed Awan a bag of gold coins and the man seemed almost surprised it was Menish rather than Azkun who paid him. He was also reluctant to take it.
“You've carried us well and you've earned your pay. Kopth or not, a debt must be paid.”
Awan shrugged and bowed to both Menish and Azkun and accepted the money.
The man who had hailed them from the pier along with a group of guards, and some others met them. This pier had been cleared of other traffic for Menish’s arrival. To Azkun’s eyes the guards were a curious mixture of Anthorian and Vorthenki. They were tall and yellow-haired but their armour was of hide not metal and they wore simple iron caps, not ornate helmets like Althak’s. There was some colour about them, however. Each wore a short surcoat of blue with the golden Ammorl device on it. The man who had hailed them was more Vorthenki in dress. He wore armour and a helmet much like Althak’s, but over his armour he wore a similar surcoat.
“The Ammorl on the blue signifies the Emperor’s personal guard,” explained Althak to Azkun. “He always provides his best honour guard for M’Lord.”
The others that greeted them were not guards, though most of the men carried light swords. They wore long robes of embroidered silk that fluttered in the wind. There were women among them dressed in similar fashion, though several wore brightly coloured trousers rather than long robes and none carried swords.
When Menish turned to face them they all bowed. One of them blew a brief fanfare on a trumpet.
“Welcome to Atonir, Menish,” said one of the robed men as he stepped forward.
“Hello, Treath. How is it with you?”
“We are at peace, and yourself?”
“Pleased to have a sea journey over.” He patted his stomach.
“The Emperor was delighted to hear you were coming. A ship arrived yesterday with the news.” His eyes flicked away from Menish for an instant, lighted on Azkun and returned. Menish nodded. Vorish would have extracted every piece of information from that ship about Azkun. He wondered if he would have much to add. “He suggested you might wish to be shown to apartments to refresh yourselves before meeting him.”
“And get the sea retch out of our guts with some good food no doubt?”
“Of course,” smiled Treath. Menish knew this Treath well, and did not quite like him. The man w
as always polite but he had always addressed Menish by his name rather than his title. As one of the chief Drinols of Relanor, he was entitled to do that. It was something else. Menish had never trusted him since he had changed sides in the war with Thealum.
There were others here he knew as well; Angoth, chief of Vorish’s household, and Athun, the Drinol of Askonir. The latter was dark-haired, unusual for a Vorthenki. They were all, of course, Relanised Vorthenki. And there was something about the chief guard, the one with the armour, that he recognised.
Menish introduced the rest of his company, mentioned something about how glad he was to be in Atonir again, and they made their way to a row of horses waiting for them at the end of the pier. There were litters for the women, carried by servants. This was a method of transport the Anthorians had always found ridiculous, but the old Relanese had never permitted their women to ride horses. A quick count of the horses told Menish that Vorish had even found the exact number of their company. There was a horse for each man and enough room in the litters for Keashil, Olcish and Tenari.
Since Keashil’s song of Atonir Tenari had become more alive. She no longer stared glumly at Azkun. Her gaze was often upon him, but more often it was somewhere else. Menish thought he saw her almost smile when the fanfare sounded. Perhaps she was beginning to forget whatever had happened to her in the Chasm at last. But she still would not leave Azkun’s side. She ignored the litters and mounted Azkun’s horse behind him. One of the other women let out an exclamation of shocked surprise at the way her skirts rode up, exposing her legs. It was amazing just how Relanese the Vorthenki Invaders had become.
Althak pulled off his cloak and arranged it so that it draped over her legs. Menish nodded his approval. It would not do for her to ride through the streets looking like that.
Summon Your Dragons Page 18