Azkun and the others passed the time sitting in their courtyard finishing their meal, talking and trying to coax Tenari into speaking. Hrangil had left them to visit the fire tower that lay in the temple enclosure in the palace. He had asked Azkun to accompany him and Azkun had been willing to follow him. But Tenari had insistently clung to him and women were not allowed there. Hrangil went alone.
Tenari was even stranger to him now. Before she had appeared so blank in mind and body that she was merely mysterious. Now she was contradictory. In an attempt to encourage her to sing Keashil played for them. She said she had known someone once who could not speak but who could sing. Her fingers plucked a lively tune from Althak’s harp as she sang an old Relanese song that had their feet tapping in a moment.
Tenari’s reaction surprised them. She did not sing but she leapt to her feet and began to dance. Her bare feet skipped across the marble floor as she twirled and twisted, weaving her arms in a complex pattern that seemed to echo Keashil’s words.
“Hrangil and M’Lord would not appreciate this,” remarked Althak as she shimmied delightfully before them, and he was probably right. Her dance was rather reminiscent of the dance of the Vorthenki women in Deenar.
But it was for Azkun alone. It was he who commanded her smiling gaze and it was to him she returned when Keashil’s song ended.
“At least she can do something interesting,” said Drinagish dryly.
“You'd best not let M’Lord hear you say that,” smiled Althak.
By the time Menish returned servants had lit torches around the courtyard and it flickered with light and shadow. He said little of his talk with the Emperor, only that he was well and that there would be a feast that night.
Hrangil returned shortly after Menish. He looked as if he were filled with solemnity and holiness, as if perhaps they should all bow to him in recognition of the honours he had bestowed upon himself.
“I have been to the fire tower itself,” he announced in a hushed voice. “You should have come.”
“Perhaps tomorrow,” said Menish unenthusiastically.
“Did they have anything to say about Azkun?” asked Drinagish.
“You would know if you'd come with me,” Hrangil almost snapped at him. “I stood before the fire, in the presence of Aton himself. The priesthood is not what it was, of course, but Aton is always the same.”
“But what did they say?”
“They are fools,” said Hrangil, suddenly angry. “They refuse to accept what is clearly written in the Mish-Tal. When I told them about Azkun they wouldn't listen to me. The audacity of it! Only one of them has even seen the Duzral Eye. They are much lowered from their old heights.”
“So they didn't agree with you,” said Menish. “What do they think he is?”
At this Hrangil almost spat.
“It was disgusting. They've lost the truth of Aton. One of them suggested he might be one of the Vorthenki demigods.”
“So I am not to be Kopth now?” asked Azkun with a grin. “I have been debased it seems.”
Hrangil turned a look of concern to him but said nothing.
“So we know nothing more, as I expected,” Menish shrugged.
That evening they were summoned to the Sword Hall by servants, who led them down torch-lit corridors. They were not alone in their journey. Folk dressed in fine clothes that rustled and sparkled with gold and silver fell in with them or went ahead. The whole palace was on the move towards the great hall.
The Sword Hall itself was immense, so immense that it could not be lit adequately. A huge fire crackled and sparked in its centre and near it stood a canopied, golden throne, its arms formed into the shapes of horses. But that was the only resemblance to Darven's house in Deenar. The hall was so wide that it was difficult to see a man’s face clearly across it and it was much longer than it was wide. The stone walls rose to a ceiling so high above it was lost in the darkness.
Lamps glowed all around the walls at about the height of a Vorthenki’s head and others hung from long chains that disappeared into the gloom above.
A constant stream of people entered the hall through various doors and found places at the benches and tables that crowded the rush-strewn floor. Shouts of greeting, laughter and conversation echoed around the hall.
Azkun felt uneasy in this place. He was glad when they were seated near the fire for it gave him comfort. Yet there was something intrinsically cold about the hall itself. He felt it was a place where evil deeds had been done, and still would be done. There were many people assembled now and he felt cross currents of anxiety among them, insinuating into his own thoughts. It confused him. The people looked happy. They wore fine clothes and smiled. Yet he could feel an underlying fear. Two women stood near the fire, one of them wore a sparkling gown of golden fabric with a neckline that plunged between her breasts. They were like the women at Deenar. He was afraid of them.
A servant appeared from nowhere and placed a goblet of wine on the table in front of him. For a moment their eyes met and Azkun felt the man’s mind. A confused mixture of fear and hope and a wheedling desire to please welled up at him. He had not noticed this in the other servants.
There was a mark on the side of his face, a bruise or a graze. Before he could move off to his next errand, Azkun grabbed his arm.
“What do you fear?”
“M… M’Lord?” the man stammered.
“You are afraid. What is it?”
“Azkun, leave him alone,” interrupted Althak. He nodded to the servant and the man scuttled off, his mind screaming relief.
“I wanted to help him.”
“He thought you were going to have him beaten for fumbling with the wine.”
Before Azkun could ask more questions the whole room fell silent and filled with expectancy. Heads turned towards the great door at the end of the hall which swung open. Two blue-clad trumpeters strode in and blew a fanfare that echoed in the darkness above and a voice behind them boomed, “His Magnificence, Vorish, Emperor of Relanor, Protector of the Vorthenki Coasts and High King of the Western Deserts!”
Then the Emperor himself walked into the room.
For Azkun he was a disappointment. It was, after all, only a man. He had been expecting something more, though on reflection he did not know what. He had known the Emperor was a man, yet after seeing the great palace and the fine clothes and everything else, he had supposed he was something more like a dragon.
But Vorish was only a man, not even a very big man. He was not as tall as his trumpeters, in fact he was probably less than six feet.
He walked easily among his subjects, a nod here, a smile of greeting there, as he made his way towards the throne. As he approached Azkun saw him more clearly, the red light of the flames cast a ruddy hue across his features. What he lacked in size he made up for with an easy grace; and in that easy grace Azkun saw reflections of the dancing swordsmanship that Menish and his companions had used against the pirates. Even though he had little eye for such things Azkun could see that here was one who could lead a battle.
Although he smiled happily at his people, occasionally in his long walk to the throne Azkun saw his face slip into repose. His mouth grew cruel, accentuating his eagle nose, and his dark eyes looked defiant, as if he had done things he refused to he ashamed of.
But this disappeared completely as he caught sight of Menish. It was all smiles and outstretched hands as he approached their table near the throne. Only once did his eyes leave Menish and stab at Azkun, raking him up and down for a brief second, before they returned to the King of Anthor.
In that instant Azkun was astonished at the man, for he saw into his mind and shrank from it.
He had seen many minds now and none of them clearly. The only thing he could sense acutely was pain. They were otherwise vague and fuzzy, shallow joys and ill-defined motives. Nothing but pain was clear until they spoke. He had never seen a mind like this.
Vorish had no uncertainties, no vagueness, only a massive determination. His confidence in his own abilities was staggering. Here was one who knew exactly who he was, what he wanted, and how to get it. He had never known failure, and was determined he never would.
The cruelty Azkun had seen in his face was matched by a potential for passionless brutality in his mind. He would kill without compassion if any opposed him.
All this was there even while he was smiling and laughing with Menish and the others, welcoming them to the banquet. Azkun saw genuine affection for Menish. Vorish was a man of monumental passions, and one of them was love for the King of Anthor.
A woman who had been walking behind Vorish stepped forward and embraced Menish, calling him ‘uncle’, and Drinagish, calling him ‘brother’. Menish presented Azkun, Tenari, Keashil and Olcish to the Emperor and his lady, Sonalish.
When Sonalish stood before him he was so surprised that he blurted out “You are pregnant”. He remembered the swollen belly of the woman in Deenar. Sonalish had no such obvious signs, but he could feel two minds not one. Sonalish smiled demurely.
“You are perceptive, Sir.”
Vorish raised an eyebrow.
“He is, indeed,” was all he said, although Azkun was once again raked by his dark eyes.
Another fanfare of trumpets sounded as Vorish took his seat on the great throne and Sonalish sat on an ornate chair at his feet. This was the signal for dozens of servants to swarm into the hall carrying stacks of trenchers and loaves of bread. In their midst came teams of Vorthenki giants carrying roasted oxen on spits. Azkun counted fifteen beasts that were brought in to feed the banquet before he covered his face.
Fifteen! No, more than that, for they were going back for others. And just for one night’s feasting. He thought of their deaths and shuddered. Althak had told him that, although this banquet was a special occasion because of the presence of Menish, such feasts were held often. The slaughter was appalling, and it went on and on. It had been happening for years, hundreds of years, since the coming of Gilish, and would go on for years to come. A permanent agony of death that festered like a running wound on the world.
He swallowed bile.
They brought in the largest beast last, right up to the foot of Vorish’s throne and set it down before the Emperor.
“Vorish has forbidden the use of precedence in this hall except for himself, said Althak, as the Emperor rose silently and drew his dagger. “A good thing, too,” he added with a grin. “There'd be little hot meat left if we had to witness Kopth knows how many speeches and duels before we ate.”
Vorish stood by the roasted ox with his trencher in one hand and his dagger in the other.
“I am Vorish, son of the house of Sinalth,” he said in a loud voice and hacked off a steaming cut of meat. The room burst into cheers as he loaded his trencher and returned to his throne.
When he sat down the rest of the room erupted into activity. Vorish’s rule of no precedence was only partially obeyed. Men elbowed their way through their fellows to the nearest beast to get their meat. Some gave way to more powerful guests, some shoved their lesser brethren aside.
Not far away Azkun could see a red-haired man who held a dagger the length of his forearm, and there was murder in his eyes. He pushed another man aside and disappeared from view.
“There are many knives drawn here.”
“Have no fear, the knives are for dead meat.”
“They are knives for rending flesh. Do they never fight?”
“Only once. A man killed another right before the throne. Vorish had him chained to the wall above the door until he died of thirst. Look, you can still see what's left of him.” Azkun could not see it clearly, but there was something tattered hanging above the door. “They've not forgotten.”
“It is fear that holds them.”
“Of course. Well, no doubt you're not hungry but I must fill my trencher.” He stood up and made his way to the beast in front of the throne. Menish and the others were already returning.
For a moment he thought of what Althak had said. The stench of death and the murder that lay just below the surface here welled up inside him until he thought his head would burst. His stomach lurched and he gripped the table edge almost convulsively. He had thought he was inured to these things by now, but he had never thought before of so much death.
Tenari who, with her new liveliness, pressed close to him and nibbled his ear playfully distracted him. He put his arm around her, grateful to have something warm and friendly beside him, even if it was mindless.
The guests were, for all the seeming confusion, remarkably efficient at serving themselves and it was not long before they had returned to their seats. The remains were being cleared away to be picked over by the servants. While they were still eating Vorish rose and made a speech welcoming Menish to the feast and bidding the musicians to play.
At once the sound of a harp stole through the hall. A small balcony in the wall across from the fire held a group of musicians. The harper tuned his instrument for a moment then began to play against the dull thud of a drumbeat. Two others picked up the tune with long necked instruments Azkun had not seen before.
The music made a background to the general conversation in the hall. Azkun looked across at Keashil, whose blind eyes sparkled with the music and her fingers drummed on the table. The players were not as skilful as she was, but that did not seem to matter to her.
The entire hall now was filled with people rending and eating bodies of the oxen, for the men had passed their surplus meat to their women. The background music distracted him, and slowly their thoughts of hunger and eating crept into his brain. The smell of cooked meat and wine seemed to make him dizzy. Althak, beside him, was talking to Drinagish about some hunting incident and Azkun was trying not to listen.
Before he realised what he was doing he had raised the goblet of wine before him and taken a gulp from it. It was heady and strong. A weakness permeated his body and he pushed the goblet away, trying to shut out the hundreds of minds around him that crowded him with eating and drinking.
His hand was trembling as he withdrew it from the goblet. The room seemed unbearably hot, as if there were not quite enough air. The great fire threw shadows of demons on the walls.
Everyone appeared to be talking too loudly and he began to feel a fogginess in his thoughts. He shook his head but that only made the room spin wildly. A cold pit of nausea lay in his stomach. He wished he had not touched the wine.
Impressions of other minds invaded his as the music lulled him. A dark, full-bearded man was laughing loudly not far away as he patted the bottom of a serving girl. Azkun sensed the woman’s feelings of quiet fear and a desire to move away from the man. The man’s thoughts were somehow predatory, as if he wanted to eat her.
Azkun closed his eyes. It was difficult to think or, more precisely, to know his own thoughts from the others that came from outside.
When he opened his eyes again the room had gone suddenly silent.
For a startled moment Azkun thought that they had noticed his distress and had all turned to stare at him.
But they had turned to stare at something else.
It was the servant who had brought the wine to their table. He lay sprawled on the rushes while the red bearded man Azkun had noticed earlier stood over him, waving his knife menacingly.
“I'm sorry, M'Lord. I'll fetch another goblet.” As he spoke he slid himself across the rushes, not daring to get up but not daring to stay where he was.
“Clumsy fool. I told you last time I'd have your guts-”
“Amat,” Vorish seemed hardly to raise his voice for it to cut clear across the hall. “Let the man fetch you another goblet. I'll punish my own servants.”
Amat grumbled, aimed a kick at the servant but missed, and flopped down onto his bench. The relieved servant raced from the room. But it was too much for Azkun. He saw it now. The killing and the servant's fear. It was all of a piece.
Something evil was being done here.
He jerked to his feet, the room swayed, nearly knocking him down. A hand caught at his arm, trying to pull him back to his seat. It was Althak but he ignored it.
“Stop!” he shouted. His cry echoing from the stone walls as if the demon shadows there mocked him. The musicians ground to a confused halt as he tried to shore up his mind against the unspoken questions that flooded into him. All eyes were on him now.
It was Vorish who broke the silence that followed his cry.
“What is it?”
Azkun groped for words. He felt that they might all turn to spectres in a moment.
“You are vile, all of you! You murder the innocent and grow fat on their flesh. Those who serve you are half crazed with fear of you-”
“That's enough, Azkun.” Vorish’s eyes gleamed coldly at him.
“No it is not! You are the Emperor. You are responsible for this. You are the most guilty of all!”
A nervous whisper ran through the room. Althak swore.
“You'll regret that remark. Althak, remove this fool. I'll deal with him when he's sober.”
Azkun’s revulsion was not spent. He was about to say more when Althak grabbed him roughly and pulled him from the room, complete with Tenari clinging to him.