The palace of Atonir held many memories for Menish. He had first come here as a small boy with his father on a state visit. It was a long journey for a child but the roads were good.
In the years when Sinalth occupied the throne he had made that journey several times trying to encourage the Vorthenki warlord to better government, and sometimes pleading with him for something like decency.
Sinalth was not so bad, but Thealum was a monster and Menish did not come in those years. Instead he had raised Vorish in Anthor, and together they had raised an army to push Thealum into the sea.
Menish had done what he could but Vorish would have done the job alone if necessary. He always got what he wanted. Always.
They passed through three courtyards before dismounting at the inner stair. Menish looked up as he climbed off his horse, wondering, as he always did, how the inner courtyards could be open to the sky in a building that was like a mountain and they were inside it somewhere near the base.
But the palace was peculiar like that. It contained one great courtyard that seemed large enough for a small army to manoeuvre in. The stairs took you higher than they had any business doing so that after taking a few short flights of steps you might look out a window and find yourself hundreds of feet above the city.
Somehow all of the apartments, regardless of where they seemed to be had a charming little courtyard with a balcony facing south. There were halls, rooms of state, gardens, towers, stables, kitchens, fabulous bathrooms and a host of other rooms required for the functioning of the empire. Keashil’s song had said that there were rooms that had never been entered since it was built. This might be true, there were large sections of the palace that, as far as Menish knew, had never been used.
The inner stair where they left the horses was white polished marble and they swept up to an impressive doorway. Their escort accompanied them up the stairs while the guards led the horses away. Keashil and the other women left their litters and went on foot.
At the top of the stairs Menish paused and looked back. A broken sword hung on the wall beside an inscription. It was here that the Invaders had finally hewn down his sister with thirty of their own dead at her feet.
Through the doorway they found more stairs. The walls and ceiling here were painted with birds and winged beasts. Again Menish paused at the top of the next flight of stairs, this time to look at a roughness in the smooth marble of the floor. He had been little more than four years old when he had first climbed these stairs with his father. The statues had frightened him and he had cried out and buried his face in his father’s cloak. His father’s laughter had told him to look again at the figures, and only then did he realise that they were not living.
Looking as if some magic might turn them from stone to living flesh at any moment, Gilish and Sheagil had stood before him there on the stairs. To a young boy used to the rough art of Anthor they were impossibly life like. Gilish had taken a step down the stairs and held Sheagil’s hand as he half turned towards her and laughed at some ancient jest. Sheagil smiled demurely back and held her free hand in a curious gesture, as if she had been pointing at something.
His second look had revealed that they were not fierce, although they were much larger than life which had been the main cause of young Menish’s fright. But their eyes were strange. Rubies had been set in Gilish’s eye sockets and jet in Sheagil’s. It gave their faces an odd appearance. It was said that Gilish, when he was alive, could look through the eyes of his statue and see whoever entered his palace.
And now there was only a roughness in the floor where the statues had been. The Vorthenki had smashed them down just as they had cut down Menish’s sister. They had carried them out to the courtyard and pounded them to dust, for they feared they might be magical. Gilish’s ruby eyes had been taken by one of the Vorthenki, but they had brought him such bad luck that he cast them into the sea. Menish never heard what happened to the jet stones of Sheagil’s eyes. He looked at Azkun’s strange eyes and remembered the rubies.
It was hard to say how many flights of stairs and lengths of passageways it took them to reach the apartment Vorish had given them. But the palace was like that. Menish knew some of the halls they passed and he remembered the peacock garden they saw from a balcony they passed along. Beyond the garden rose the tower of Sheagil, the highest part of the palace that no one knew the way to.
The very vastness of the place was somehow contemptuous of mere humanity crawling like ants among its ancient glory. One hall, the Hall of Birds, was covered with swirling lines that twisted and turned into the shapes of birds that seemed to fly over their heads. Another was faced with marble that was polished so smooth that they could see their reflections. The polish extended to the dizzy heights of the ceiling.
When they reached the apartment assigned for their use Menish knew the others were completely lost except possibly Hrangil, but Menish recognised the passage outside. They were quite near the Imperial apartments. Vorish wanted them close by.
The apartment itself was typical of ones he had used on previous visits. There was an open courtyard with a fountain bubbling in its centre. It looked cool and refreshing. Shrubs grew in planters around the fountain and doorways led off beyond them into the rooms where they would eat and sleep.
With many courteous words, too many for Menish’s liking, their escort left them in the care of servants. There were more servants than there were guests here. For the next hour they were bathed, fed and dressed in the flowing robes of the court. They were only too pleased to shed their battle jerkins and travel-worn garments for the soft, clean clothes the Emperor had provided. Tenari allowed herself to be led away with Keashil and Olcish to be attended by women while the men were bathed by men servants. She had grown increasingly animated in the palace and, except for the tears Azkun had seen, seemed quite cheerful. She had nodded and smiled several times to the questions of the women but she did not speak.
When they returned to the courtyard they found a low table surrounded by cushions and laid with golden dishes containing cold game and fruit. Menish was pleased to see it for, as at Deenar, he was very hungry.
They looked an entirely different company now. Dressed in the court robes the Anthorians were changed from drab, unkempt figures (even Drinagish had neglected to comb his hair while he suffered with the sea retch) to gracious lords. Hrangil appeared a little uncomfortable in his blood-red robe with its broad gold border, as if he could not bring himself to approve of such extravagance of colour. Drinagish's hair had been arranged more carefully even than he usually managed himself.
At the table they met Keashil, Tenari and Olcish. Keashil looked years younger than she had an hour ago, although lines of old grief still marked her face. They had painted her eyelids in the Relanese manner and her white hair, brushed and clean now, gave her an air of wisdom rather than haggardness.
Tenari was transformed. Gone was the dirty, wretched flotsam from the Chasm with her old blue robe, her straggly hair and her blank face. Her black hair was combed back from her face and hung nearly to her waist. They had clothed her in white and gold with a silver circlet on her brow. While they were surprised at her change in looks her change in manner was astonishing. She looked at them with recognition, not a blank gaze, and laughed. It was the first time they had heard her voice.
Still laughing she threw herself at Azkun and boldly kissed him on the mouth. As she did so she pulled the golden cord from her waist and wrapped it around Azkun’s. Then she stepped back and said one word.
“Gilish.”
But she would not speak again, nor would she eat any of the food. Menish and the others ate heartily. They tried to coax her into saying more but Azkun knew they would have no success. When she had kissed him he had felt a door open and close. There was still no mind behind her now-dancing eyes.
Not long after they had eaten a servant arrived to summon Menish alone to Vorish. As he had noted earlier, they were not far from Vorish's apartments.
There were guards with halberds at the entrance to the Emperor’s apartments blocking the way, but a gesture from the servant made them open the doors and admit them.
He passed through two more doors that led him into a pillared room with a fountain supported by carved horses. There were rich hangings on the walls; tapestries, Menish knew, which dated from the time of Mishan IV, and an open window on the south wall flooded the room with light.
Vorish sat on cushions at a low table similar to the one that Menish had just eaten at. It was strewn with scrolls of parchment and broken seals. A goblet of wine lay near his elbow and he reached for it as he spoke to two Vorthenki who sat opposite him.
The Emperor was a lean man with a face as sharp as an eagle’s. His mouth was grim, almost cruel. For a Vorthenki he was not tall, but he always seemed taller than he was. His hair was blond like Althak’s but his eyes were as dark as Menish’s. Unlike the garish clothes the two Vorthenki wore he was dressed in a plain white tunic that reached to his feet and he wore no ornament except a jewelled knife on a leather belt.
His eyes searched the faces of his listeners as he spoke to them, weighing, measuring them always. It was said that the Emperor could know how far he could trust a man in a glance, it was also said he trusted no one. Menish knew that both stories were all but true.
As Menish entered the Emperor’s eyes caught him, a flash of delighted recognition and then an imperious gesture to the two Vorthenki to be gone. They rose and bowed to him then scurried out of the room. Menish thought he detected relief on their faces, as if they had not been enjoying their interview. It was amusing to see these two big men dismissed from Vorish’s presence by a mere wave of the hand. The Emperor’s power sprang from many things and one of them was his very presence. He was so, well, royal, and he knew it.
“Menish, Menish,” cried Vorish as he approached him, took his hands and embraced him. “Come, sit here. Make yourself comfortable. You've eaten well enough? Some wine?” A servant stood behind Vorish and he set a goblet of wine before Menish. “How are you? You look tired.”
Menish sank back in his cushions.
“Tired? Yes. You know we travelled by sea.”
“I know. And you bring a man with you that people are pleased to name ‘Kopth’, although some call him ‘Gilish’. His real name is, I believe, Azkun.” He always came straight to the point.
“That is what we named him when he came out of the Chasm of Kelerish.’
“So that part's true? And he was flamed by a dragon?”
Menish nodded.
“And the lightning?”
“You're well informed. I thought we'd told no one about the dragon.”
“A ship left Deenar just before you and arrived here yesterday. One of them remembered a remark made by this Azkun to that effect. I don't think the man who heard it realised what was meant.” That was typical of Vorish. He often found out more than his informants knew from their own words. Menish took a sip of wine and gave him a brief account of Azkun’s doings. Even now he omitted any mention of Thalissa.
“…and you'll have heard of the incident in the street below. A knife fight, one man with a knife in his chest anyway. I would have given up. Azkun revived him somehow. I don't know how he got the blood out of his lungs.”
“I was told the man actually died.”
“Dead men don't wake up. He can't have died.”
Vorish raised one eyebrow questioningly. It was a habit he had learned from Menish though neither of them realised it.
“I've given orders for the man to be taken to the infirmary. The priestesses there will examine him and we will know more.”
He was silent for a long moment, his bright eyes looking at Menish intently. Weighing and measuring again. He had always been like that, even as a child.
“What are you not telling me, Menish? What happened at Lianar? Why were you at Kelerish in the first place?”
“Dismiss the servants.”
A gesture from Vorish and they were gone. Menish drew a deep breath, preparing himself for the ordeal. Was there any way he could prevent Vorish from killing Thalissa?
“She's alive. Thalissa, your mother, is alive.”
Vorish looked at Menish blankly for a moment.
“I know.”
“What?”
“Some years ago Angoth… you remember Angoth? He was in Lianar assessing the situation with the northern chiefs. A trustworthy man. He remembered her and he brought news to me. I've had her watched from time to time but she's harmless. And,” he added with a wry grin, “she is my mother.”
“I thought you'd kill her if you knew. She would have killed you if that had been my price to rescue her from Thealum.”
“Do you think so?”
“It's what she said. That's why I left her and took you.”
“Perhaps she would have. Let's not dwell on old crimes. You've not taught me to hate her as you have others. How did you find her?”
Menish allowed the accusation. He knew it was just.
“I saw her in the road. It was Azkun who saw Tenari, and Tenari was in her care. Later we were able to speak. I had to tread carefully, Althak and Hrangil would not be as generous as you.”
“And how is she?”
“She hates me more than ever. I took Tenari away from her. Tenari was found at the Chasm mouth by a fisherman, as she was herself. The same fisherman, incidentally. She bore a child in the Chasm and believed it was Tenari.”
“You disagree, you think it was Azkun.” Menish nodded. Vorish was very quick. “That would make him my half brother. Why do you think so?”
“He has her eyes, and something of her looks now that he's clean.”
“Who was the father?”
“Who knows? Some Vorthenki Thalissa found it useful to make her bed with.”
“Just because we know this does not dismiss the claims of Godhead.”
“Why not? He's the son of Thalissa. He's a man. Flame of Aton! You are not going to take on Hrangil’s foolishness? It's driving me mad.”
“Then leave that aside. You've not told me what you were doing at Kelerish in the first place. You've never been there before, except for your initiation, I suppose.”
“That was the only other time, yes. You'll find this hard to believe. I had dreams. Have you ever had such dreams? They haunted me every night. I feared sleep. They were so vivid, so terrifying. I dreamed I saw the skeleton of Thalissa climb out of the Chasm at the Tor. It makes my skin crawl to remember it.”
“So you went to the Tor to show yourself it was nonsense.”
“Exactly, and Azkun emerged and was blasted with dragon fire.”
“How strange. When did Tenari emerge?”
“What? Oh, Althak said it must have been about the same time. Why do you ask? She's a little curious, but it's Azkun who concerns me most.”
“Perhaps. But she doesn't eat either, does she? Do all folk who enter the place and manage to leave have this strangeness? But there's more, isn't there?”
“The skeleton, Thalissa, except she's alive now after all, it spoke. It told me of another attack from Gashan. It told me I'd die in the battle.”
“I remember a time you would have thrashed me soundly for concerning myself with dreams. You'd have called me a Vorthenki brat and turned me out with a crust of bread for my supper.” He smiled as he spoke and there was amusement in his voice, not malice.
“You never dreamed these dreams!” said Menish, suddenly angry. “I know what I've said. I know I've always rejected such things. But what else can I think? The dream was half true. Thalissa's son came out of the Chasm alive instead of her skeleton. What if the words are half true? Or what if they are the truest part of all?”
“You fear the possibility of a Gashan attack on the strength of a dream?”
“It costs me much to admit it, but yes I do.”
Again Vorish was silent for a moment, then he spoke.
“Naturally you want me to send reinforcements. It's a lot to ask. Though you, Menish, may ask much of me. I've not forgotten my debts to you.” He paused again as Menish’s anger subsided. “Let's say, for the moment, that I accept this dream as a portent of a Gashan attack. In that case my resources are at your disposal. Don't think me generous, I've no wish to see the Gashans threatening my borders if they over-run Anthor. Gilish III was of the same mind when he mounted his expeditions there. May the servant return?”
Menish nodded and Vorish struck a tiny gong that lay on the table. A moment later the man who had poured the wine stepped into the room.
“Fetch the Gash-Tal from the library.” Without a word the man nodded and left. “I'll read it tonight. I looked it over some years ago and I know there's good information on how they managed their supply lines and troop deployments. Your memories of the last time they attacked will help too, but I would hope this time we were better prepared. Now, how precise were Thalissa's words?”
Menish shook his head at the absurdity of it. It was a dream, and the woman he had dreamed of was alive anyway.
“She said a lot of things about me being responsible for her death.”
“Which we can discount because we know she is alive. Go on.”
“And she said the Gashans would attack in the spring.”
“This spring? You mean in six months?”
“Now that you ask it I don't know. I assumed it was this spring. She was recounting the story of my death with some relish and it did not seem as though it would be a distant event.”
“So we have at least six months. Where exactly did you meet them last time?”
“There's a plain that opens out in the middle of the mountains and an old road across it. That's where Gilish III met them, with more success than we did.”
“You beat them. It was a costly victory, but you won. How many days to get to this plain? Is there water? Ah, you used water from a river last time. How big is the river?”
“What? Not very big. A large stream really. Snow melt. It's cold. They'll be watching for the trick I used last time.”
“I'm thinking about drinking water. We might have to wait for them for weeks with an army in the field. I assume the place is barren of food?”
“There are woods, so there will be game to hunt. No one lives there so no grain fields.”
“Days to get there?”
“Oh, about four weeks with good horses and good men. That's from Meyathal so add another three weeks to get from here.”
“Troops travel half that speed, especially across Relanor where the post horses speed everything up for small parties like yours. We can't use them for troops, of course. They'll have supply wagons and herd animals. Ten weeks travelling, then, allow twelve weeks for contingency. At least we won't need to carry much water.
“I recall you fielded five thousand men last time and it wasn't enough. All cavalry I think. How many heavy cavalry?”
“Two thousand and the rest light. A thousand from Anthor. It would have been enough if they hadn't blasted us with fire. The Gashans were all on foot, although there were more of them than us. You know a good cavalry can mow down infantry. But not when the horsemen are being burned in their saddles.”
Vorish seemed to be counting, his eyes looked past Menish.
“I can field fifteen thousand horse without leaving Relanor undefended. Most of them will be lightly armed, but I can make a third of them heavy cavalry. You can raise, how many? Three thousand?”
Trust Vorish to know his numbers better than he did himself.
“Close enough. All light cavalry, of course.”
“I know how Anthor fights.”
“So you'll send these reinforcements? On the strength of my dream?”
“No,” Vorish said. “That'd be foolish at this stage. We don't have enough information. All we know is that there might be a Gashan attack. We have to prepare for the possibility, not the certainty.”
“You think I'm getting old. You're trying to humour me,” said Menish through his teeth.
“I am not trying to humour you!” shouted Vorish, thumping the table. Even through his own anger Menish observed that Vorish was carefully in control of himself. The outburst was calculated, not spontaneous. “You have to admit that the dream was inaccurate. Merely a pointer to what really happened. This tale of Gashan may be just as wide of the mark. Do you really want me to send men to Ristalshuz to wait for a battle while Relanor itself is attacked from another foe that your dream was really trying to warn us of?”
“The alternative is to sit here safely in Atonir while Anthor is laid waste. If you don't start moving your men months before we expect Gashan then you need not come at all. The dead of Anthor won't welcome you.”
“The alternative is to find out more about what is happening in Gashan before we commit ourselves to a course of action we may regret.”
“Find out? How?”
“By going there. A small expedition, just a few men. Quickly in and quickly out. They find out what the Gashans are doing and report back.”
“You don't know what you're saying. Gashan is a fearsome place-”
“It's been done before, I believe,” continued Vorish. “In the time of Gilish III spies were sent into Gashan before the main expedition. Most returned safely, in spite of the dreadful tales they spread.” He looked at Menish strangely for a moment. “There is another reason for venturing into Gashan.”
“What other reason?”
“They have the Duzral Eye.’
“What has that to do with it? We both know the Duzral Eye was useless against them last time. It didn't help Telish IV, though he trusted his life to it. I'll not hear tales of the Duzral Eye.”
“Gilish III, if I remember correctly, claimed to have defeated the Gashans with it.”
“Tales, idle tales. It's all nonsense. Vorish, I was there when Telish died. The Eye has no power. None at all. You know my feelings on this matter. Forget the Eye.”
“I've read things about this Eye. It's not as easily dismissed as you'd wish. I don't necessarily believe all of these tales, but I can't simply ignore the possibilities. Menish, if you ask me to listen to your dreams you can listen to my tales. The Eye may be more than you suppose. It may have done nothing for Telish IV, but it appears to have been the key to Gilish III’s victory over Gashan in 583.”
“What about the Eye, then?” said Menish reluctantly.
“If it's the fearsome weapon it's said to be I would like to know if the Gashans have found a way to use it.”
“Another reason to enter Gashan.”
“Exactly. Your dream, my tales. The question is who to send there. The choice isn't large. I gather this Eye is not easy to recognise, there are few who have seen it left. The Sons of Gilish were so secretive about such things. Hrangil is the obvious choice. There's an old priest of Aton in the palace who says he saw it, but he's not up to such a journey.”
“I can't send Hrangil alone.”
“No. I'd suggest Althak and Grath. If anyone can find their way in and out of Gashan those two can. There's one other I'd like you to send: Azkun.”
“Azkun?”
“Yes. He's done strange things since you found him. What if he took the Eye from the Gashans and knew how to use it? I can't think of a better method of trying this brother-god of mine.”
His quizzical smile reminded Menish that the peasant folk of Relanor, the ones who had survived the Vorthenki invasion, had always worshipped the Emperor as a god.
“Don't expect him to fight battles for us. He won't kill anyone.”
“We'll see.”