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 rivers 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 was 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.
The guards gathered around their company in a protective circle, and they pushed forward through the archway in the wall and into the crowded streets of the city. Menish found himself riding beside the guard captain.
“I know you from somewhere. Where have I seen you before?” The man smiled.
“You may have seen me at the battle of the Olsha fords years ago, M’Lord. I doubt if you've seen me since then.”
“Of course, I knew I remembered you from somewhere. It was not so much you I remembered as that horse you rode. A fine beast, he could have been sired by Garnar himself. I was sorry when he fell in battle. You were on the left flank weren't you?”
“Yes, Darven was our commander.”
“I thought so. I spoke with Darven a few days ago. He lives in Deenar now, away north. He's done well for himself.”
“I'm pleased to hear it. There are few commanders I was so happy to serve under.” Again Menish was interested to see how Relanese they had become. This was no Vorthenki warrior, the man was a trained soldier, a professional, capable of working in an organised army. He himself had been a part of that transformation when he enlisted Vorthenki auxiliaries to help Vorish fight Thealum. But he had not been to Atonir for some years now, were they so civilised last time he was here?
While Menish talked to the captain of their meeting with Darven, Azkun absorbed the sights and sounds about him as they made their way up the broad avenue that led directly to the walls of the palace. It was lined with tall trees whose leaves were just turning autumnal gold and brown.
Under the trees and in open buildings beyond them were stalls piled high with wares. There were hundreds of people milling about. Most of them were Vorthenki, and they had the height and colouring of Althak. Their clothes were bright in the sunshine, reds and yellows, and they wore bangles and bracelets that sparkled. But others were darker and shorter with almond shaped eyes, more like the Anthorians in form but not in dress. These folk were even more adorned with jewellery and bright colours, as if to make amends for their lack of height. Azkun wondered if they were the remnant of the true Relanese folk, the folk of Gilish.
In the background lurked still another group. They were clothed in old, torn garments and had a sullen look that reminded Azkun of the slaves they had rescued from the pirates.
At one stall nearby a man stood yelling something at the top of his voice. From the little Vorthenki Azkun had picked up he seemed to he extolling the virtues of the carvings that lay in the stall. They passed another where the air was filled with the smell of baking bread. Yet another was piled high with vegetables. Some of these stalls were mobile. A man wheeled a handcart beside them offering some liquid refreshment he carried in big, metal bottles. Others moved among the crowd with baskets of small loaves from the bakery. Everywhere was the sound of voices, some laughing, some serious. A small child wept bitterly not far away, voices were raised in argument at one of the stalls.
In the midst of all this confusion Azkun felt something strange, like a door opening briefly and closing behind his back. Turning, he saw that Tenari was weeping. Slow tears ran down her still blank face, and her gaze was directed steadfastly ahead and not at Azkun.
“Tenari? What is it?” But she gave no sign that she heard him, her mind was as blank as stone.
A commotion erupted as they passed a whole line of stalls and shops that sold nothing but fish. The place reeked of the smell of it and it was even more crowded than the previous stalls. A woman screamed and two men burst through the press of people, struggling together.
One man pulled free of the other with the sound of rent cloth in the sudden silence. He whirled about and a knife flashed in the sun. The captain roared an order and drew his sword, but the knife man sprang at his opponent. There was a grunt and a cry. Azkun held his breath as he felt a fire erupt in his chest and burn down into his guts.
Darkness hovered in the air about him, he looked through two sets of eyes, his own and the red hazed eyes of a man who lay in a widening pool of blood on the ground. His heartbeat was slowly timing away the measure of his life. Two of the guards grabbed the knife man.
Clutching the pain in his chest Azkun slid from his horse and staggered to the man on the ground. The oblivion of death yawned, waiting to swallow him, waiting still.
But he knew what he had to do. He was not powerless before it.
The knife projected from the man’s chest and blood trickled from it in a relentless flow. His breath gurgled in his throat. Azkun could feel blood in his lungs.
Someone behind him, Althak he thought, cried “Don't touch him” but he ignored him. The knife seemed to grate against his own ribs as he breathed. It filled his awareness and only on the periphery was he conscious of the ring of anxious onlookers and the black chasm of death.
Not this time.
He drew out the knife, feeling every inch of it and gasping as it ground against bone. The man shuddered and lay very still, his breathing no longer sounded. Behind him the crowd let out a vast, collective sigh.
But he was not dead, not yet. The chasm of death still leered at him nearby, but it had not taken him. Through clotted lungs, his own lungs, Azkun forced breath. With his own life he refused death, in the name of the dragons. It seemed hours that he knelt beside the man, his hands covering the wound and his will battling with darkness. He was unaware of the crowd now, unaware that the guards had forced them back to form a wide circle and that Menish had told the captain not to hinder Azkun.
“Let him try”, he had said.
Azkun knelt there alone except for Tenari and another woman who wept beside the victim.
At last the man drew a slow, hesitant breath. Azkun felt the pain in his chest grow sharp as the wound was moved but his breath was clear. Another breath, the man’s eyes flickered open and the crowd sighed again. The woman looked at Azkun, astonished.
She said something to him in Vorthenki that he did not understand, but he caught the word ‘Kopth’ and nodded. At that her face lit with joy and she cried out to the crowd.
“Azkun,” it was Menish at his side. “Come on, we must leave here at once. Is he really-?”
“He is alive. The dragons saved him.”
The voice of the crowd began to rise. Someone shouted ‘Kopth’ and the others turned the cry into a chant.
“Come on!”
Azkun remembered the sacrifice only a few days ago.
“They will kill for me again.”
Menish nodded. It was what he had feared himself. Vorish had forbidden the sacrifice, but who listens to an Emperor when a god is speaking?
“Climb onto your horse, hold up your hand for silence and point to me. I'll speak to them for you. This will take some delicacy.”
The guards who had held back the crowd before for Azkun faltered under their pressure. They too wanted to see this man who some said was Kopth himself. Azkun flung himself onto his horse and pulled Tenari up behind him. Even as he did so people surged forward, crowding about him, chanting, catching and kissing his feet. They called to him, many with pleading in their eyes, the kind of pleading that provokes promises.
He raised his hand for silence as Menish had told him to and pointed to the King.
“I speak for the man you're calling Kopth. His name is Azkun and he comes from the north. You have seen him save a man from death today. He commands you to kill no longer. You are not to sacrifice to him. If you kill anyone it is as if you kill him.” Here he paused to let his words reach them. “I repeat, do not sacrifice. Keep the Emperor's law.”
This caused a murmur that ran through the crowd like fire. But they parted as the company urged their horses along the avenue.
Before them now loomed the great walls of the palace. At the end of the avenue the walls were pierced by an enormous arch hung with vast bronze doors. They must have been a fifty feet high and they shone in the sunlight with beaten images of birds and beasts. Above the arch, carved in the stone, was a rayed disc with a face on it. The image of Aton.
As they approached the doors swung silently open. More mounted guards with Ammorl surcoats emerged with lances and surrounded them, forcing the following crowd back from the gates. Their horses clattered forward over the stone into the blackness beyond the archway and the gates closed with a massive boom behind them.