Vorish hesitated again, as if we wanted to say something else. But all he said was:
“I'm sure he'll be pleased. And I'll want to see your reaction to this display. For now, you need to get that leg better.”
With that Vorish left and Menish wondered what he was planning. Vorish never did anything without a reason, usually more than one. Why was he trying to increase Drinagish’s prestige? Was it in case Menish died in the battle as his dream had predicted? Would Vorish be so cold hearted as to plan for such a thing? Of course he would.
There was time to prepare a great feast for that evening, and enough room to hold it on what was left of the games field. Vorish’s men did not come, he had arranged for them to gather on the other side of their camp from the Anthorians otherwise there would simply not have been room.
At the Anthorian feast they raised yak tail standards and built a great bonfire. Cows and yaks were butchered and set roasting on them, skins of ambroth were opened and distributed, and a roped off area was prepared for Drinagish’s display. The cost of the feasting was largely borne by Menish, one of the reasons people were not allowed to raid his herds, but the clan chiefs contributed too. Menish did not mind the cost. It was his duty as King to provide for his people on occasions like this, just as it was his duty to lead them into battle and judge their most difficult disputes.
When the feast began he and Adhara moved among them, carrying their meat with them, stopping and talking to everyone they could. Menish saw Aronyar and Tela and greeted them with pleasure. Even Marayhir had a smile and a nod for the King. He saw Mara once, but she did not return his smile. It was moments like these that he felt how much he loved his people. They were still asking how many cattle the Gashans had, still wondering why Vorish had come when they could surely take care of this business themselves. They were naive and foolish, but he loved them anyway. He heard Adhara laughing with Vangrith over some clever raid one of the northerners had made last summer. Vangrith seemed to have forgotten how offended she had been when Menish had last spoken to her. At length, when most people had finished eating and were moving into the heavy drinking phase of the evening, Menish returned to the bonfire and climbed onto a horse. Bolythak was on horseback beside him and unfurled his standard over his head.
Most people saw the standard and, realising Menish was going to speak, stopped talking to their neighbours. But Menish still had to shout to make himself heard over the din.
“Offspring of the Heroes of Ristalshuz!” A murmur of a cheer went through them. They had eaten and drunk well at his expense. Many of them had just spoken personally to the King. With the exception of Mara most of them felt warm towards Menish at that moment, even the women who knew of his crime seemed to have forgotten it now. “Have you all eaten well?” There was a resounding chorus of yeses, a few bantering noes which were ignored and, just as they faded away, a loud belch from somewhere over on Menish’s left. It was greeted with a roar of laughter. Menish could not see who was responsible. “It sounds as though someone has!” More laughter. “Before I weary you with words Drinagish, my nephew and heir, as you all know, has asked that he give you a little entertainment first.” He waved his arm towards Drinagish who was waiting at one corner of the field. Menish could not see the rest of his guard, except for Neathy who was standing near him with a Relanese trumpet in one hand and Drinagish’s standard in the other.
At Menish’s signal Neathy raised the trumpet and blew it. The Relanese trumpet sounded quite different from the traditional Anthorian yak horn, which could only produce a single, honking sound. The trumpet was capable of a number of notes depending on how it was blown. The first note was the signal for Drinagish’s horse to leap forward. He started with some trick riding that was common in Anthor. He rode around the perimeter of the field, turning backwards in the saddle, swinging underneath the horse and back up the other side. It was something any ten-year-old could do, but the better trick riders always did these things to warm up for their better tricks. Drinagish did one fancy trick, standing up on the horse’s back and somersaulting. The crowd cheered him for that one, and Menish was surprised. He had not realised that Drinagish was that good. Or was it something he had learned under Athun?
The trumpet blared again and seven riders galloped from behind the bonfire. They rode straight at Drinagish, swords drawn and yelling battle cries. There was a murmur of confusion from the crowd, but Drinagish sat calmly on his horse. Just before they reached him the horn blew again. As one the riders stopped dead. The horn blew again, a higher note, and they turned to form a circle, including Drinagish. The horses began to trot around the circle, nose to tail, moving slowly at first, then faster and faster. Menish was impressed already. Athun had not been just training the riders, he had been training the horses as well. There were few horses Menish had ridden that could maintain a strict formation at that speed.
Then Neathy sounded the horn again. Two of the riders opposite each other in the circle exchanged places by crossing through the middle. Another blast on the horn, a different note this time, and two more riders crossed the circle. It took a few moments for the crowd to register what was happening. Neathy blew again, and this time they were watching. Two riders, one of them was Drinagish, broke out of the circle, crossed the centre and exchanged places. The others kept up their speed. A cheer went up from around the perimeter of the field. Menish heard someone offering a wager on who would miss the timing first.
Once more Neathy’s horn blew and once more the riders changed places. Menish was not sure how many people realised the significance of the horn blasts. Each pair of riders had been given a note, when Neathy blew their note they had to change with perfect timing. It involved recognising their signal and acting immediately, just as they would have to in a battle.
But now it changed. Neathy still blew as before, but the riders had drawn their swords and strapped their shields to their wrists. Instead of just changing places the riders would swing their swords at each other as their paths crossed. As far as Menish could see these were not the predefined slashes and parries of the sword dance game, they were more like the real thing. He supposed the swords were blunt. One of the spring games events was a form of jousting with riders charging each other with blunt swords. It was good entertainment, but the participants were generally regarded as mad. Wagers were being exchanged thick and fast now. This was the kind of thing they loved, and it was new.
Of course, sooner or later, it had to end by one of the riders being knocked off his horse. Drinagish was exchanging places with his opposite rider, there was a blurred sword movement, a raised shield arm and a thud, the other rider landed in the dust.
The crowd roared its delight as the other rider, Barvolin’s grandson Menish thought, climbed to his feet and dusted himself off. Someone caught his horse for him and he climbed back on. Even those who had lost their bets looked pleased.
The riders were not finished yet. They reformed their circle and continued their ride, but this time it was different again. They wove a complex pattern, guided by Neathy’s signals, where it seemed that four of them were changing places at once. Menish had not quite seen how it worked when Vorish touched his arm, he had climbed onto a horse and moved alongside him.
“They've learned it well,” said Vorish.
“It's a clever idea. It makes them learn the trumpet signals.”
“Not to mention excellent horsemanship. The Vorthenki take longer to learn it. Drinagish and his friends only had to learn the trumpet signals.”
“And the cooperation to obey them.”
“Of course.” Vorish fixed his eyes on Menish. “I want Drinagish to lead the charge.”
“What did you say?” Menish was still trying to make sense of the pattern the horsemen were weaving, he must have misheard Vorish.
“I want Drinagish to lead the charge.”
“That's impossible, you know it is. I must lead them.”
“You'll be on the hillside with me. From there
we'll control the battle. With Drinagish at the head of the Anthorians we'll be able to control the start of the charge with the trumpet signal.”
“I know the trumpet calls. I taught them to you!”
“Yes, and your place is with me. This is not a cattle raid, Menish.”
He had been saying that to his own people for so long.
“The King leads his people-”
“The King should have more sense. You're not young any more. If you are in the front line you'll die. Leave that for younger men who can defend themselves. Getting killed will not help Anthor. You'll not have Althak by your side this time, Menish.”
“Vorish, you're not often wrong but this time you are. You want me to announce that Drinagish will lead them. If I do that I'll no longer be King. Yet Drinagish will not be King either, there'll be confusion and division. People will not know whether to follow him, or go home. Many will go home.
“I think I'll die in this battle. It's something I'm ready for. I'd rather die in battle than grow old and toothless around the fire. You don't know what pain this leg gives me at times.”
Vorish grasped him by the shoulders.
“But I don't want you to die!” Vorish’s eyes rolled white and his face paled alarmingly, even in the ruddy glow of the fire. Menish had not seen him so disturbed since he was a child and used to have fits of rage. He could feel the grip on his shoulders tighten and Vorish’s mouth jerked oddly, but it only lasted a moment. He clamped his jaw shut and closed his eyes, bowing his head and steadying himself against Menish. “At least accept some of my Ammorl guards as a bodyguard,” he said hoarsely. “They'll guard you with their lives.”
Menish shook his head, though he was afraid of the reaction he might provoke.
“My people would be offended. You know they don't want to share the glory.”
“Then Drinagish must guard you, he and his own guard. If they let anything happen to you I will tear their skin from their backs. I wish Althak were here!
“Very well, since you're determined. But they need to all charge together and to the rest of your people the trumpet means nothing.”
“I told you I can manage my own people, Vorish.”
Drinagish and his guard had all but completed their dance. Another trumpet blast from Neathy and they broke their circle and galloped back behind the bonfire amid cheers and the settling of bets.
As the noise died down Menish moved his horse forward into the roped off area, Bolythak moved up beside him with the standard.
“Did you like that?” Menish shouted. There were cries of ‘yes’ and cheers. “Can Anthorians ride horses?” A unanimous ‘yes’ chorused out. “Can Anthorians fight Gashans?” A loud cheer. “Poor, stupid Gashans! If only they knew what slaughter we will make of them, they'd run back to their stinking forests and hide.” Another cheer. They were in a good mood, and Menish had had years of practice at speaking to them. “Some of you have asked me what all these Relanese soldiers are here for. I'll tell you.” They went suddenly silent. “You may have noticed there are a lot of them. They've come to watch how Anthor fights. Are we going to show them?” Cries of ‘yes’ and ‘we’ll show them’ roared back.
“Now, tomorrow we travel north to the battle plain where we beat these stupid Gashans last time. We'll wait for them there. When we see them I'll place my standard at the end of the valley, and you'll assemble by it. People have been telling me I am getting old-” There were cries of ‘no’ from the crowd. “Well I'm not as quick as I used to be. That's why I want you to wait until I signal before we charge, just to give the old fellow a chance.” There were hoots of laughter. “So when you see my standard dip, dip it Bolythak, like that, then we all charge together. We meet them head on-” He clapped his hands together. “And those Gashans that live will talk of Anthorian swords for generations. But wait for the signal. I want to have first cut at this Gashan filth, and I'll take it as a personal insult if anyone charges before my signal,” there were murmurs of assent. “Remember that signal.” Bolythak dipped the standard again. “And slaughter Gashans when you see it. Stupid Gashans!” He was answered with hearty laughter.
“Someone reminded me yesterday that the Gashans can throw fire. Oh yes, it's true, they can. We're going to give them the fright of their short lives! Drinagish has found a way to throw fire back at them, and some of the Emperor’s men are going to try it out. So when you see fire erupting in the Gashan ranks you'll know what it is. It's Drinagish blasting the front ranks and frightening the rest half to death. Don't kill too many Drinagish, leave some for us!”
They burst into cheering and laughter, someone started a chant of ‘Menish, Menish’, but it faded when Menish raised his hand for silence.
“So remember two things, the signal,” Bolythak dipped the standard again, “and Drinagish’s fire.
“What will you do when you see the signal?”
Cries of ‘charge’ and ‘kill’ were shouted back.
“I'm getting old, I can't hear you. What will you do?”
“Charge!”
He put his finger to his ear and nodded at Bolythak who dipped the standard again.
“Charge!” The cry roared back. They drew swords and waved them above their heads, they stamped the ground until it shook. It took some time for them to settle down again.
“Stupid Gashans!” said Menish. “Fancy wanting to fight you lot!” He climbed down from the horse amid more cheers and laughter. Their response had heartened him, even his leg felt better. He had noticed several people he would have counted as enemies, people like Marayhir, cheering along with the rest. He felt he had got Vorish’s message through.
It took them only four days to reach the battleground. Vorish’s scouts met them halfway through the mountain pass with news that the Gashans had been sighted on barges crossing the lake. From that point on they marched day and night until they reached the wide valley where the battle had been fought forty years before. The mound of dead, where Telish IV and Menish’s father lay, was still there, so was the river. But a grey haze obscured the far end of the valley. Somewhere in that haze lay the Gashan camp, but they could not see it. Even the scouts could bring them no information, which incensed Vorish. Those who entered the haze did not return.
By evening the Anthorians had set up a camp near the river. Menish made another encouraging speech to his folk while they ate, reminding them about waiting for the banner to dip and about Drinagish’s fire. They still thought they were on a cattle raid, though, and so many of them were so young. But they were tired too. They had slept little the last few nights.
Vorish’s light cavalry ate cold food and used the cover of night to move onto the forested slopes overlooking the battlefield. It was important that the Gashans not realise they were there until after they engaged Anthor. They could light no fires to warm themselves that night.
The heavy cavalry assembled behind the Anthorian forces. There had been arguments about that, but Menish knew that the heavy horses needed flat country to be effective. They ought to have been arrayed in front of Menish’s light cavalry but he knew the Anthorians would not accept that.
Vorish set up his command post above the tree line, where he could see the battlefield clearly. It too was fireless. Menish and Adhara walked up there after they had eaten. It was a cold night and they hugged their cloaks around themselves, but they both wanted to escape the pressure of people in the camp more than they wanted to be warmed by the fire. A silence enfolded them like the cold as they climbed the hill. The forest dwellers of the day were asleep, and the night creatures were silent. Vorish’s men were away over to their right, not in this part of the forest. Adhara had deliberately chosen a path that would avoid them.
There was little undergrowth and they followed a rough path threading between straight trunks that glistened where the moonlight touched them. In a little while the trees thinned and they were able to see across the valley. The moon was just past full. It shone on a white mist that rose f
rom the river and spread in wisps across the plain. Away down the valley they could see pinpricks of light, the camp fires of Gashan. Menish knew Vorish’s scouts would be down there, learning what they could under cover of darkness. He remembered the dreadful scene he had witnessed in Gashan and wondered what such people did to prepare for battle.
“What is that?” said Adhara, breaking the silence. In among the drifting mist they could see a faint light out in the middle of the valley. “There's someone down there.”
“Probably Vorish’s engineers. That's about where they are laying the gourds of pitch.”
“Surely they've already done that.”
“Yes, but someone will be guarding them. Anyway, it will not be a Gashan skirmish party, they wouldn't carry a light.”
“Do you think Vorish’s idea will work?”
“Perhaps. I don't know. Vorish has ignored the influence of the Eye of Duzral. When I think back to what I saw in Gashan I believe it was controlling them, making them act together. Last time the Gashans were savages, this time they may be better disciplined. Also, we still don't know how many of them there are. Vorish’s scouts have not yet found out.”
“I, too, have no hope for tomorrow. I've said this before. Savages or not they'll destroy us utterly.”
“I didn't say I have no hope. I have a little. I didn't yet explain why I went to Kelerish.”
“You couldn't sleep. It was something to do with the Sons of Gilish.”
“I was afraid to sleep because I had a constant dream that terrified me. I dreamed I saw Thalissa’s ghost rising out of Kelerish. That's why I went there, to show myself it was false. But Azkun emerged instead.”
“And Thalissa was alive in Lianar, not a ghost at all. Whatever demon brings you such dreams is either a liar or confused.”
“The ghost spoke to me, telling me these Gashans would attack. In the attack she said I would die.”
Adhara said nothing but he felt her arms wrap around him. Moonlight caught the grey threads of her hair as her chin rested on his shoulder.
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