Summon Your Dragons

by Roger Parkinson

  Once beyond the wall they found themselves in a wide courtyard faced with massive stone buildings ornately decorated with statues and relief work, but all were ancient and crumbling. The nearest building had a wide stairway leading up to a doorway flanked by two tall statues, no less than ten times the height of a man. They had huge, kindly faces and their hands were open in friendship.

  But a wide crack ran like a chasm down the stairway. The face of one of the statues had cracked and crumbled in a way that suggested it was weeping and tears were running down its cheek. One of the arms of the other statue lay in the dust at its feet.

  “Why is it all ruined? Do the Gashans not live here any more?”

  “I think the Gashans live here like the snakes,” said Menish. “They never built all this.”

  Although they had seen no Gashans the drums were loud and not far away. An evil smell, like the burning of unclean things, wafted into the courtyard. They moved stealthily, keeping to shadows and avoiding the open spaces. There was a gateway leading out of the courtyard and they moved carefully towards it. Once there had been heavy gates across it. Two stone hooks could still be seen on the pillars of the gateway. But the gates had long since disappeared.

  They peered through the gateway gingerly. There were still no Gashans to be seen. A wide street ran past the gateway and Menish wondered if this was the continuation of their causeway. As far as he could tell it led in the same direction. To Menish it seemed dangerously exposed but there was no other route. He thought briefly of climbing onto the roof of the buildings but discarded the idea as impractical. The outside walls were too smooth to climb and he did not like the idea of venturing inside the buildings.

  They moved from cover to cover along the street, keeping to the side that offered most shadow. There were plenty of fallen stones to hide behind and alleyways to slip into. The drums grew louder, but still they saw no Gashans. Menish began to wonder if they had already been seen and were walking into an ambush, but he had no reason to believe that.

  For more than an hour they made their way along the street. The city must have been a beautiful place before it fell into ruin. Some of the buildings were faced with marble, most were decorated with carvings of men, birds and axes. The double-headed axe motif Grath had seen in the hot pool was stamped everywhere here and easily recognisable. One building had a dragon carved across its facade in raised relief. It was startlingly lifelike and Azkun stared at it, forgetting himself until Menish pulled him into an alleyway.

  “There is something wrong with it. Yes, the ears. Dragons do not have ears.”

  “Perhaps the carver hadn't actually seen one,” said Althak. Menish noticed that his face was grey with pain. “We're far from the sea.”

  At last the street opened out into an immense square dominated by a huge, pillared building. They crept behind the fallen head of a massive statue and peered out at the scene before them.

  There were Gashans here, a great host of them, naked as animals. Near the steps leading up to the pillared building was an enormous drum. It lay on its side and a team of Gashans rammed a log against it, making the hammering sound they had heard all day.

  Near the drum, on the lower steps, stood a figure who was speaking to the host assembled in the square.

  Cautiously they edged forward. A pile of rubble gave them a clear vantage point.

  The figure on the steps was a Gashan woman. She held her arms above her head as she spoke and clasped in her hands were two of the coloured snakes Grath had warned them of.

  They writhed and twisted in her hands, biting at her arms again and again as blood flowed down in long, red streaks. But she stood there as the drum pounded, an evil smile on her face as if she relished her own death. She spoke to the crowd. Menish could not hear her words clearly above the drum and he knew he would not have understood them anyway, but they sounded like an exhortation to evil.

  With horrible fascination they watched as she swayed on her feet and collapsed onto the steps. The Gashans shouted with glee as she writhed and twitched with the poison. The snakes slid from her grasp but another Gashan woman caught them up. She raised them above her head and continued her predecessor’s speech.

  Other Gashans picked up the still convulsing woman and flung her on a stone block. There they hacked off her head and caught her blood in a wide copper bowl. Her body was pulled off the block and flung onto a pile of other bodies that lay beyond it. This grisly scene had been going on for some time.

  They carried the bowl to another stone block and poured the blood over it.

  Menish could see something on this stone but he did not know what it was at first. It looked like a head. When the crimson liquid poured over it a shout went up from the Gashans and the thing on the stone glowed with a light as green as venom. In the midst of the glow Menish saw an eye. This was what they had come to find. This was what the Gashans had done to the Eye of Duzral, or perhaps this was what the Eye had done to them. Perhaps this was why the Sons of Gilish had always kept it hidden.

  There was no way he could be mistaken. He had seen the thing once before, he had seen that eye peering out from the Emperor's clasped hands. The last time it had not been as malevolent, but it was the same eye.

  A ragged sigh from Azkun at his side caught his attention. He was looking with bulging eyes at the woman with the snakes. He was rubbing his arms, twitching them and wincing with pain as the snakes struck her. His jaw worked silently and expressions of malice crossed his face. Menish remembered what he had said about the Gashan on the causeway.

  “Azkun,” he shook him.

  Azkun’s eyes seemed to refocus on him for a moment, then the woman with the snakes collapsed as her predecessor had done. The attendants carried her to the stone block and another took her place. Once again Azkun was submerged in their evil. Before Menish could stop him he began shouting, echoing the words of the woman on the steps, though they were meaningless to Menish. He twisted himself away from Menish’s grasp and clambered to the top of the pile of rubble.

  “No!” he screamed, a long, gut-wrenching cry that tore at his throat and sounded loud and clear even over the noise of the drums.

  Time stopped for an instant while Menish reacted. The Gashans turned to see where the cry had come from. They would be on them in a moment. There was no way to reach the Duzral Eye, and in its present condition Menish was loath to touch it anyway. He grabbed Azkun’s arm and ran for the nearest exit from the great square, with Althak panting behind him.

  As they crossed an open space a howl like that of a hunting pack went up behind them. Althak’s pace was unsteady, but he kept up with them. Azkun was running on his own now, Menish no longer had to pull him along. Even so Menish would not have given much for their chances of escape.

  They threw themselves into a narrow alleyway and raced down it. Menish ran blindly from alley to alley, hoping against hope that he could somehow lose the Gashans. Once, when he hesitated at a fork in their path, Azkun said, “Not that way, they are down there.” He took the other path, though he never knew if Azkun was right.

  Althak moaned with the effort of their running. His arm looked much worse, the swelling was up to the elbow now, barely contained by the bandage Menish had made.

  “M’Lord, I can't keep up with you. This alleyway's narrow, they couldn't approach me more than one or two at a time. Let me hold them here while you escape.”

  “Damn your heroics!” shouted Menish with tears behind his eyes. “Do you think I could leave you to that? I'd rather kill you myself.”

  He caught Althak’s arm and threw it across his shoulders. Azkun did the same with the other arm and, supporting him, they continued their flight.

  Menish thought his heart would burst and his leg began to feel weak with strain. He was too old for this kind of thing, he should have listened to Adhara when she told him to stay in Meyathal. He did not want to die like this. In battle, yes, or even to drift away peacefully at home, but not captured by a horde of G
ashans. He wanted to see Meyathal once more. He wanted to see Adhara.

  They reached the outer wall of the city and clambered over a fallen section of it into the forest, heedless of any dangers except the one that followed them. Menish had no idea where they were. They might be on the far side of the city for all he could tell, but they kept on running.

  A cry of fiendish glee rose behind them as Gashans spilled across the wall and spotted them racing through the trees. Menish had hoped they would have time to climb a tree and hide there but that was no longer a possibility. They ran on.

  They were, all three, about to drop from exhaustion when they were suddenly halted by the marsh. Menish cursed himself for not paying closer attention to their surroundings. They had run out into a long tongue of dry ground and now were surrounded on three sides by the gurgling, slimy mud they were so familiar with. Behind them the Gashans crowded forward blocking any retreat.

  There was no choice really. They waded into the slime.

  It gurgled and stank. Fortunately it was not as thick as Menish had expected and they could make headway through it. The worst thing about it was the stink. The mud came up to Menish’s chest and that was uncomfortably close to his nostrils.

  The Gashans, who had thought them trapped, yelled with rage and flung themselves into the mire after them. Menish could see some high ground not far off, but he doubted if they could reach it before the Gashans reached them. They were gaining on them.

  Suddenly Azkun screamed.

  “Something… something on my leg… pulling… aargh!” Before Menish could do anything he disappeared beneath the slime.

  “Azkun! Damn.” The Gashans were still gaining. “It may be another of those creatures. Come on, Althak!” But the Vorthenki did not move. His face twitched but otherwise he hung limply from Menish’s shoulder. One arm draped down into the mud, following Azkun's disappearance. He moaned in pain.

  “Althak!”

  Suddenly the Vorthenki lurched into life. His body tensed as if a convulsion seized him, the muscles on his arm bunched and corded with strain. With a cry of agony he hauled Azkun back from under the mud.

  At the same moment a marsh creature erupted in the midst of the Gashans, roaring and screeching and snaking out fingers towards them. Menish did not know where he found the strength to drag his two companions through the mud to solid ground. He had little enough left to even look back at the Gashans. The creature held a hundred writhing forms, the rest had escaped back to the other side.

  They were safe for the moment, from Gashans at least. He collapsed between the bodies of his friends, not knowing if he would live to regain his senses or not and, for the moment, not greatly caring.

  It was Azkun who woke him, and it was pitch dark.

  “I am worried about Althak. He is unconscious and his body jerks.”

  “Convulsions,” said Menish. “I saw them start when we were in the mud. I think he pulled you out with one.”

  “But… what does it mean?”

  Menish sighed.

  “It means he's dying,” he said wearily. “Why aren't you dying? You were bitten.”

  Azkun’s hand touched his cheek.

  “The dragons protect me.”

  Menish slammed his fist into Azkun’s jaw.

  “The dragons protect you? Hrangil died defending you from the marsh creature. Althak pulled you from under the mud. Your friends die saving you while you do nothing for them and thank your dragons!”

  Azkun rubbed his jaw and said nothing. They waited until dawn, listening to Althak’s moaning.

  When it was light enough Menish cut two straight branches and tied their cloaks between them to form a litter for Althak, for there was no way he could walk and Menish could not abandon him here. Althak’s pack, and the little food it still contained, had been lost when they fled the city so Menish set off with an empty belly and a heavy heart. He had little idea where they were, he only knew that this place was still too near the city and the marsh. Anywhere else was better.

  Chapter 26: A Strange Guide

  The following days were a nightmare. Azkun did not know how many weary days and fearful nights they spent in the forests of Gashan. The very ground under their feet seemed alive with snakes and other venomous things. Many times they found stretches of marshy slime across their path and had to wade through them, each time they expected the sudden tug of a marsh creature and the end of their journey.

  All the time Althak’s pain ate into his mind. Azkun’s arm, not his face, was full of fire. But he had to use it to grasp the litter that carried his friend.

  Althak was sometimes quiet for hours and Menish wondered if he had died, but then he would cry out with pain and fling his body about in convulsions. Menish eventually lashed him to the litter poles so that he would not harm himself or them.

  But Menish himself was almost spent. The weariness of the journey, coupled with the total lack of food and, especially, water was telling on him. In desperation he drank once from a noisome pool and it cost him dearly. He was ill and feverish the next day and his stomach retched violently. He stumbled along in a half daze and only an innate toughness in his nature prevented him from lying down and dying.

  Azkun, driven by the terror of the Gashans, led Menish on and together they carried Althak. Neither of them had any idea where they were or which direction they should take, but Azkun had to keep fleeing from the city. Lack of food and water did not trouble him directly, but he shared Menish’s pain and his sickness from the foul water.

  It was a test. He knew that. For even now the dragons had not deserted him. Even if they would not save his friends, and Menish’s accusation had stung him, they would save Azkun himself. And if they led him from the forest then he would lead his friends. It was all he could do. He fought down the Gashan that still howled in a corner of his mind. It was a test. He would not let the dragons down. He would not let his friends down.

  One night, when he felt his throat parched with Menish’s thirst and his arm throbbed with Althak’s poison, he dreamed of Tenari, or he thought he dreamed. She stood in the forest and beckoned him silently. At first he refused. She had led him to the Monnar when he had followed her last. But she stood there bathed in some ethereal light that looked like moonlight, though the moon was well past full. She looked as she had done in Relanor, her long, black hair combed and hanging down to her waist and wearing the court robe they had dressed her in. On her head she wore a silver circlet and below it her dark eyes sparkled with laughter. Her mouth formed words but made no sound. In spite of himself he rose to follow.

  She glided noiselessly through the trees and he followed, feeling himself almost float over the ground like a wraith. They came to a river of slime, but in the strange light it looked like a real river of fresh water. Tenari laughed noiselessly, caught him by the hand and they wafted over it without touching its surface. On the far side, beyond a thicket, they found a standing stone. Azkun drew back from it in fear, but its eye was not looking at him. It was preoccupied with the now distant city of the Gashans. Beside it ran a causeway like the one they had travelled on.

  The next morning Azkun wanted to cross the river of slime. Menish protested, though feebly. His breath seemed to rattle in his lungs now, and he was unsteady on his feet. Every now and then he would double over in a fit of dry retching. The river was not in the general direction they had been heading, though that was hardly a forceful argument. There was plenty of dry ground to choose from, did Azkun have to deliberately find more slime for them to cross?

  But Azkun somehow got both Menish and Althak across. On the other side he found no standing stone, but he did find the causeway.

  The causeway heartened Menish. He had all but given up hope. It put length into his stride for a time as they followed it, though he could not expect to last much longer without fresh water. Following the causeway was better than aimless wandering. It must lead somewhere. Almost certainly it led out of the forest.

  That
afternoon they heard something they had not heard for days: the trickling of water. A stream of clear water flowed alongside the causeway. Menish bent towards it, dubiously at first, for he was wary. But he was desperately thirsty. His tongue felt like a dry stick and he could not swallow. He dipped a finger into the water and tasted it, ready to spit out foulness. It tasted clean. Gingerly he scooped up some in his cupped hand and poured it into his mouth. He coughed when he tried to swallow but the water began to melt the dryness. He drank some more, and more. It was fresh water, there was no doubt of it.

  Althak had been unconscious for some time now, even the convulsions had subsided. His face was grey and his skin felt like wax. Menish checked him when he could find the energy to see if he was still alive. Now, with the fresh water, they washed his face and managed to pour some water between his lips. He seemed to rest more peacefully after that.

  When they rose from tending Althak they heard a giggling laughter behind them. Menish reached for his sword as they turned to confront it. On the other side of the causeway sat an old man.

  He was clothed in a tattered old robe that covered him down to his knees. His legs were thin and his feet were bare. The top of his head was bald but what hair he had hung down, grey and lank, to his chest and was matted into his dirty beard.

  And he sat there, in the depths of the Gashan forest, leering at them. But he was not a Gashan. There was no look of murder in his eyes and, of course, he wore clothes. They relaxed a little, but they were still wary. Menish was disconcerted that they had not heard him approach.

  He hawked and spat then climbed to his feet with the aid of a twisted stick and hobbled over to them.

  “Greetings,” said Menish, his voice was still cracked with thirst. The old man did not answer.

  As he drew closer Azkun noticed the faint outline of a painted eye on his forehead. It looked like the eye on the Eye of Duzral, or like the eyes on the Monnar stones. He seemed to see Althak lying on his litter for the first time and he looked suddenly concerned, or a comical mockery of concerned. It was difficult to read his expression because he was so shrivelled and ugly. He turned to Azkun and said something that was obviously a question, but Azkun did not understand his speech and nor could he see his mind. The old man was as blank as Tenari, and little more eloquent.