Summon Your Dragons

by Roger Parkinson

  “They didn't throw her into the Chasm, they lowered her into it to prolong her punishment. She's Azkun’s mother, and she's alive in Lianar. I spoke with her there.”

  “Kopth’s balls! Alive? You saw her?” Menish nodded. “I thought that was one service Thealum had done us, but it seems he could be trusted with nothing.”

  “Althak, she's Azkun’s mother. Have a care what you say.”

  “He doesn't know the crimes left unpunished in his mother.”

  “Don't say unpunished. She's suffered enough. Let her be.”

  “And what of Vorish? Does he know she's alive? Would he let her be if he knew?”

  “He already knows. I told him when we last saw him and he told me he'd known for years. She'll not trouble us again. Don't seek retribution for crimes gone cold.”

  Althak did not reply. He stared at the ground between his feet, and Menish knew he was far from convinced.

  They slept one more night in the old man’s hut. The next morning he picked up his staff and beckoned them to follow him back to the road. Althak still could not clench his hand around his sword properly but his strength had returned to his legs. Menish was also ready to travel. In spite of Azkun’s warnings they followed him. Azkun had no choice but to go with them, he did not want to remain in the Monnar’s hut alone.

  It was a strange journey. They seemed to travel faster than they walked. The sensation was such that Azkun could not quite grasp hold of it. When he looked around him nothing was amiss. The countryside was forest and meadow, pleasant to walk through, but when he looked ahead he would see a mountain or a pass that was impossibly closer than when he had last noticed it. So it was that they found themselves high in the mountains, the road strewn with snow, and the day was not half over.

  The strangeness of their journey was contrasted sharply by the old man. He muttered and snorted, stopping every once in a while in a fit of coughing. Often he blew his nose on his hands and wiped them on his dirty robe.

  Still they travelled on. The snow became thicker and the mountains steeper, yet the road always ran level. Once they crossed a wide ravine on a bridge of ice, or they appeared to. When Azkun looked back at it the bridge was no longer there and the road curved away behind a hill. It was dreamlike, and he wondered if he would wake up back in the hut, or even in the forest of Gashan. But then the old man would spit or cough again and the dreamlike air would vanish.

  When the sun finally set that day they found themselves on a wide hillside with the mountains behind them. The road had deteriorated to a rough track that was barely discernible in the mountain tussock. Ahead of them the hills swept down to a wide plain that stretched to the horizon. They could see two rivers winding their way across it, glinting redly in the last rays of the sun.

  One of the rivers curved close to the base of the slope on which they stood, and there they could see a cluster of white tents with a plume of smoke rising from it. It was a thal. They had reached Anthor.

  At about the time they noticed the thal, they also noticed that the old man was no longer with them. It seemed that he had not been with them for some time, although they could not say when he had left.

  Although the sun had set before they reached the thal the light of the camp fires and the crescent moon guided them. Even so their way was slow, for the remains of the road did not run towards the camp and they were forced to pick their way through the tussock which was strewn with boulders. Several of these were large enough to stand up above the tussock, and Azkun fancied he saw Monnar eyes watching him from their moonlit surfaces.

  Monnar magic. The old man had cured Althak, rescued them from the forest, and brought them here. He had fooled the others, but he had not fooled Azkun. Azkun had seen those eyes in the ring of stones, he had seen the old man with blood around his mouth at Gildenthal, and he had seen the painted eye on this old man’s forehead. The others did not have his sight, they could not know. The Monnar had made the Duzral Eye, their magic was evil.

  As always there was only one answer to corruption. This talk of a battle with Gashan was madness. They had the Eye, mere swords could not hope to fight them. Only the dragons could prevent the Gashans from sweeping down from the north.

  They heard singing as they approached the camp, an old Anthorian song Menish recognised of the heroes of Ristalshuz.

  Suddenly a figure rose out of the ground before them, and they saw moonlight on a drawn sword.

  “Halt, you're surrounded by ten swords. Are you friend or foe?”

  A glance around them showed other blades within striking distance. “Friend,” answered Menish. “We come in peace and do not raid. I am Menish.”

  “Indeed? You sound like him, but we'll see. Who are these? Since when does the King of Anthor travel like a beggar with other beggars?”

  “This is Althak, the Vorthenki, and a man called Azkun. We lost our horses and two of our number in the forests of Gashan.”

  A hiss of breath sounded in the darkness.

  “Come then,” said the sentry. “Let's see you in the light. If what you say is true you are welcome at our fireside.”

  They followed her into the camp. It was similar to the ones they had seen on their way north, horses hobbled and grazing nearby and round, felt tents. Inside the largest of the tents oil lamps lit a group of men and women sitting about a fire which crackled and spat. A young woman was stirring a pot of mein and the others, who had been singing, turned to see the strangers.

  “It is indeed the King!” said the sentry. “Welcome, Sire. I didn't believe you in the darkness.”

  “Neither would I have,” said Menish. “Your herds won't suffer for such diligence.”

  “Greetings, Sire. Come and sit with us,” called a man of about Menish’s age who sat by the central tent pole, the place reserved for the head of the thal. Menish recognised him but could not think of his name. Althak murmured it to him quietly.

  “Thank you, Aronyar. We've travelled far today and are in need of food, rest and your good company.” Aronyar had more than one hundred head of cattle, yaks mostly, but a number of sheep and camels. Like Grath he was bigger than the southerners, but not as big as Althak. His long legs were thrust towards the fire, one bare foot nearly touching a glowing log. Behind him Menish could see the polished helmet and mail shirt he had been eager to show off at the last spring games. He had bought them from a Relanese merchant at great expense. In this hour of relaxation he had hung them from the tent pole and wore a woollen tunic and breeches.

  Beside him, and similarly dressed except for the addition of two silver arm rings, sat a woman with long black hair who looked too young to be his wife. Ah, Menish remembered her, she was his daughter. She was richer than her father and was, therefore, technically the head of the thal, but she deferred to her father. He could not remember if Aronyar had any other children.

  He nodded to the woman in greeting as he sat down, trying to think of her name. Althak was too far away from him now to whisper it.

  Just as politeness required that a host did not inquire too deeply into a guest’s business, so it was the duty of a guest to give some account of himself. Menish came straight to the point.

  “I also need riders. The thals must be told the news I bear. We must prepare for war with Gashan. The spring games will be an arms meet and we'll travel north afterwards to meet the Gashans as they come south.”

  The woman at the fire passed them all bowls of mein.

  “I'd heard rumours. We had a rider from Gildenthal through here not long ago.”

  “We've come from Gashan,” said Althak. “We've seen them preparing themselves.”

  A murmur ran through the tent. Several of the women made the old Anthorian sign against evil.

  “From Gashan?” exclaimed Aronyar’s daughter. “You're lucky to be alive.”

  Menish nodded. “Five of us entered Gashan, only three return. It was a hazardous journey.” He told them all that had happened since they had entered the Gashan forests.
They all knew who Hrangil was, though none of them had known him well. It was Grath they mourned most, for he had come from the north. Aronyar knew his family and someone made a reference to a cattle raid he was suspected of making on their herds. They would miss having to pit their wits against Grath’s cunning.

  “So I'll need riders to announce the arms meet. You know the law. Each thal that hears the summons should also send riders to bear the message further. The riders should travel four days before they turn their horses.”

  “Yarrana, your group can bear the message. Make ready to depart by dawn.” He turned back to Menish. “Some more ambroth? No? Your friend isn't eating. Would you like some bread?”

  “He doesn't eat,” said Althak.

  “He's fasting? Why? Is he ill?”

  “No, I am not ill.”

  “You'll want some water at least.“

  “No, thank you. I do not require anything.”

  Aronyar shrugged.

  “So you met one of the Monnar, eh? Strange folk, tricky I call them. They're often not what they seem.” He chuckled. “I must confess I've never seen one, that is if you don’t count old One-ear at Gildenthal. The Relanese say they have no names so that they can tell lies. They're more often heard of than seen. Tela saw one once.”

  “Many years ago now,” said his daughter. “I was just a girl. An old woman found me when I was lost after raiders had struck our herds. She was a wrinkled, toothless old thing with a bent back. I've never heard of a young Monnar. She said she would guide me home for a price, but I found my own way.”

  “What was the price?”

  “My first child. I would've cheated her anyway,” she held up her unbound hair, “for I have none. I've not even married.”

  “The old man cured your centipede bite, Althak. But you don't say what happened to Azkun’s bite.”

  “He looked at it,” said Menish.

  “He touched it and laughed,” said Azkun. “But he did not heal it. I am preserved and sustained by the dragons. And I distrust the Monnar.”

  “So do I,” said Tela. “What good they do is for their own dark purposes.”

  “What's this talk of dragons?” asked Aronyar. “Ah, but you're Vorthenki, I can see that.”

  “I do not worship Kopth. But I am a bridge to the dragons who are the true masters of the world.”

  “Surely you speak of Kopth, then. The Vorthenki dragon-god.”

  “Kopth is a twisted shadow of the dragons. They do not require blood as the Vorthenki believe Kopth does. They require peace. And they forbid death.”

  “Well, that would suit those of us who are long in the tooth,” said Aronyar cheerfully. “For myself I've always called on Aton, for he's easy to find. He's there by day in the sun and by night he's in the flame of the lamp or cooking fire. Of course, I was never Relanese enough for the Sons of Gilish.

  “But here in the north we don't forget that Aton is also Krith and that Kiveli, his wife, makes the pasture green in the spring.”

  “These are only symbols for the truth,” said Azkun, “and the truth is the dragons. I know, I have been bathed in dragon fire and given this truth. It is the dragons who hold power, no other.”

  “Azkun, don't offend our hosts with this talk,” said Menish. He did not want to hear this nonsense of dragons. Hrangil was dead and Azkun and his dragons had done nothing.

  “No, no, I am interested. Is this true? You've stood in dragon fire?”

  “It is true,” said Althak. “We saw it ourselves.”

  “It is also true that he did nothing to save Hrangil. This truth of dragons is like shifting sand. Who are you, Azkun, to throw doubt on another’s gods?”

  “You mean he actually stood in the fire and wasn't burned?” asked Aronyar as if Menish had not spoken.

  “And for how long did he stand in it?” asked Tela. “I can put my hand in the fire and draw it out quickly.”

  “No,” said Althak. “He stood in the fire long enough to die in it. But, as you see he lives.”

  “This is only the word of a Vorthenki,” muttered one of the men. Aronyar and the others also looked doubtfully at Althak, turning to Menish for confirmation. Menish hated to see Althak so doubted because of his race. His anger flared.

  “You doubt Althak’s word? The word of your guest? Of my friend? Then will you doubt my word too? I saw Azkun stand in dragon fire. Althak speaks truly as always.”

  Althak laughed, dispelling Menish’s anger.

  “M’Lord, anyone may be doubted who makes such claims. I take no offence.”

  “So it is true?” said Tela.

  “I don't understand,” said Aronyar. “We're too far from the sea for dragons to come. How can they be masters of the world?”

  “In the beginning were the dragons. They made the world. You see them as beasts that breathe fire. They are much more than this. And I tell you: the dragons will deliver you from Gashan, not your swords.”

  Chapter 28: “The Best Way I Know”

  The next day Aronyar’s riders left at dawn to spread Menish’s message. Menish knew that they would take more than the simple news of war. All of them had heard the whole story of the expedition to Gashan, of Grath’s and Hrangil’s deaths and of the Duzral Eye. This news would also go with them, together with their own embroidering of the tale that inevitably crept in.

  Menish had been uncomfortable last night with Azkun’s promise of dragons. It had the familiar ring of failed magic that he had seen in the last battle with Gashan. Where had Azkun’s dragons been when Hrangil was dying? Where had they been when the Gashans had pursued them through the swamps? How could Azkun promise deliverance by dragons?

  But Aronyar had been interested, so Azkun had spoken. Aronyar, of course, was old enough to remember the carnage of the last battle with Gashan. The younger folk thought of it as a glorified cattle raid, except for Tela who had more of an eye for a profit and saw war as an interruption. Consequently they would rather Azkun kept his dragons out of their fun. He hoped the others who received his news would also think so. The last thing he wanted was for them to leave the battle to Azkun’s dragons.

  Aronyar gave them horses and food to continue their journey and they set off after breakfast. Menish did not know this part of the country well but Aronyar told him how to reach the caravan road between Meyathal and Gildenthal. For five days they rode south east until they rounded an out thrust spur of the Ristalshuz Mountains, then they were able to turn eastwards towards the road for another fifteen days.

  They found many thals on their way and never had to sleep more than two nights without a tent roof over their heads. This was fortunate for winter was upon them now and the nights were very cold. Wherever they found a thal Menish had them send riders to the neighbouring thals with the news of the arms meet, and always it was augmented by Azkun’s talk of dragons. Menish considered forbidding him to speak, but he had his own doubts about his ability to win this war with Gashan. Besides Azkun had the right of a guest.

  When they reached the road they turned south to Meyathal. Now they began to find that Menish’s news had gone ahead of them. There were few thals near the road but those they did meet were already counting the number of days it would be until the spring games and how many of their people they should leave behind to tend the herds. There were old folk boasting that they could still wield a sword as well as ever, and children demanding to be allowed to try their mettle. Defeat was not something they considered.

  One evening, when they had not found a thal to sleep in and lay instead in a hollow off the road around an open fire, Althak asked Menish if he really hoped to win this war with Gashan. Menish had been careful not to tax him with plans and strategies yet, for he was still weak from the poison.

  “I won't have them devastate Anthor unchallenged.”

  “I've heard them say you'll beat them just as you did last time.”

  “You don't think it possible?”

  “You've said it yourself. It was a tric
k that they'll watch for again. And they have this Duzral Eye-”

  “I can't think of the Eye. It failed Telish. It may fail them. Speaking of the Eye is profitless. All we can do is to fight them the best way we know.”

  Unexpectedly Althak placed a hand on Menish’s shoulder and gripped it firmly.

  “Yes, M’Lord, that's all we can do, fight them the best way we know.” There was a hoarseness in his voice and his eyes gleamed in the firelight. Abruptly he rose and walked off into the darkness, and Menish did not see him until he awoke the next morning.

  Just before they reached Meyathal they met a small party of riders approaching them on the road. While they were still too distant to recognise one of their number let out a long, piercing cry. A horn sounded and the group galloped towards them.

  It was Adhara, Drinagish and a few others from Meyathal. They had set out looking for Menish on the road when a rider had brought them news. Their meeting was not as dramatic as it had been the last time. Menish and Adhara rode up to each other and clasped hands. Menish could see the look of worry on her face.

  “You know my news?”

  “Yes, the rider came this morning. It's war with Gashan.”

  Menish nodded.

  “At least you're safe, for a time,” she said. He could see there was more she wished to say, but not here. “If we make haste we can reach home tonight.”

  After a few words of greeting to the others, they rode on towards Meyathal. Menish noticed Tenari among Adhara’s party. He did not see her at first for she was dressed in Anthorian garb, even sporting a pair of silver bracelets. They had given her a leather jerkin but no sword. It was just as well, he supposed. No one knew what to make of her. Her attitude was as impassive as ever, her silent stare at Azkun resumed immediately. Menish wondered what she had looked at while Azkun was gone.

  Azkun appeared discomforted by her presence, which was not surprising considering the performance she had made when they had left her behind. But he appeared to be trying to accept her back into his company in spite of his fear of her. Perhaps he had decided that she was not one of the Monnar, it was difficult to see any similarity between her and the old man they had met in the marsh.