The dream haunted him for the next two days as they travelled through the mountains that separated the plains of Relanor from the pastures and deserts of Anthor. The icy wind left them as they entered the relative shelter of the mountains but a thin, misty drizzle rolled in from the east.
The days were spent hugging wet cloaks around themselves, the nights in sodden blankets around frugal fires of wet wood. Olcish developed a cough and Keashil looked pale and weak. Althak made the lad a brew of herbs he found on a hillside, but the cough only grew worse. Menish’s leg began to pain him again but he said nothing. Home was not far away and there he would find relief, not before.
For Azkun the weather was a minor discomfort compared to the unease of his dream. He felt the eyes of the stones staring at him as they travelled, hidden behind trees and rocks, making evil plans for him. They haunted him.
Once he ventured to ask Hrangil what he knew about the copse of trees, but he told no one of his dream. That would admit its reality. Hrangil made vague, sinister references to the evil Monnar who built magic circles in these mountains and killed men there. He knew little about them, and his peculiar way of answering Azkun’s questions, as if it were some obscure test, was both irritating and uninformative.
One thing he did make clear was that the Monnar were responsible for Gilish’s death, for they had told him that the Duzral Eye lay in the Chasm of Kelerish.
Meanwhile the nagging feeling that they were watching him continued and he grew more and more anxious. Was it some judgement from the dragons? The guilt he had acquired unwittingly on the raft of cow skins still lay heavily on him. The guilt that Vorish had given him by having that man executed in his place was also fresh. He had drunk wine against his vow at the banquet at Atonir, was it that? And they had killed a girl for him on that Vorthenki beach. But he found himself glancing sidelong at Tenari. It was she who had led him to the Monnar, it was she who watched him. She was under some spell of theirs, some evil that was part of what they were plotting against him.
Whenever they managed to get a fire going Azkun stared at it, trying to take comfort from the flames and to remember the fire from the dragon. But the fires were pitiful in the damp, as if the Monnar would extinguish all his hopes.
On the second day the countryside opened out onto a broad plain that swept up to the feet of the mountains where it was cut by wide valleys. They crossed several of these valleys during the day. Many-channelled streams wound amongst themselves on the valley floors, swift, cold, shallow and filled with gravel banks.
Late in the day they found themselves on the edge of one of these valleys. It was wider than the previous ones and a deep river flowed in it, winding among tilled fields and herds of cattle. Directly below them the road plunged down the long slope towards a town near the river. It could only be Meyathal.
Menish let out a whoop of joy when he saw it and kicked his tired horse into life. The rest of the company paused at the top of the slope as he sped ahead of them, giving Azkun time to see Meyathal from a distance.
The palace was clearly an imitation of the great palace of Atonir, but a poor imitation. Azkun had by now heard the story of how it had been built long ago by Relanese craftsmen for Harana, the daughter of the Emperor, when she married the son of the King of Anthor. Those craftsmen showed great mastery of their skill, but their works could not rival those of Gilish.
It was also reminiscent of Holdarish and Mora’s house, but those and the other smaller buildings he had seen were probably copied from this.
The result was a many sided building with tall grey stone walls and a wide terrace. It was, perhaps, four stories high, but the roof was complicated and it might have been higher in some places and lower in others. The tops of the walls were decorated with flowing carvings but Azkun could not make out the details from a distance. He guessed that horses and cattle were the dominant themes.
There was a lower wall surrounding the main house with a grandly carved stone gateway in it. Within that wall a number of smaller buildings clustered around the house.
Surrounding the outer walls were stone houses like the ones they had seen in Kronithal, but varying in size from tiny hovels to larger, rambling buildings. Forming a fringe around those were many of the round, white tents that they had seen in the distant thals.
As Menish sped ahead of them towards Meyathal a shout came from a figure on the terrace. Moments later a horseman sped through the open gateway. They charged at each other like warriors in combat. Menish called something that sounded like a war cry. Azkun turned to Althak, wondering what was happening. The Vorthenki was smiling indulgently.
“They've never tired of each other, even after forty years.”
The two riders met, though not with the shattering impact Azkun expected. The horses skidded to a halt at the last moment, the riders leapt off them and clung to each other in an embrace that lasted until the others caught up with them.
Azkun watched them as he and the others approached Menish and his wife. With his eyes he could see them locked in each other’s arms. With his mind he glimpsed their wordless sharing of hearts. It made him think of Vorish and Sonalish, yet for Vorish the Empress was his well of resolution, a thing he almost fed on. What lay between these two was a passion as deep as the sea, in its depths lay a peace they both shared.
They broke apart when the rest of the company stopped their horses. Adhara turned from Menish and smiled at them.
“Greetings, Master Hrangil, Althak, Drinagish. It's joy to see you again. And you, Strangers, welcome to Meyathal. Be at peace in our dwelling.”
Her gaze was fixed on Azkun as she spoke.
Adhara stood half a head taller than Menish. She wore tunic and breeches and a sword hung from her belt. Like Menish she was broad-shouldered and powerfully built. Her bare arms were muscled and looked as though they knew how to wield the sword. A straight scar that looked like an old sword cut ran down one forearm. Azkun could not imagine a woman less like those of the caravan.
Unlike Menish she wore some jewellery. Not nearly as much as Althak, however. Two silver bracelets and a heavy, silver necklace adorned her. Her hair hung loose down her back, a cascade of grey-threaded black, which caught in the breeze.
In a way she was reminiscent of Vorish. An arrogance lay in her face and mind. Her chin was out thrust and her eyes stared at him in open curiosity. But perhaps it was only that he expected her to be deferential like the caravan women.
Menish mounted Adhara’s horse and she sprang up behind him with the reins of Menish’s own horse in her hand. The rest of the company followed them to the gateway.
The gate led them into a courtyard where servants took their horses. Azkun was surprised at the attitude of the servants. They were no less respectful than those in Relanor were but there was something in their manner that echoed Adhara’s arrogance. They were free men. One of them spoke to Menish directly, greeting him as a friend. When she spoke Azkun realised that she and several more of these stable servants were women dressed in tunic and breeches like Adhara. All of the women he had seen in Relanor and in the caravan wore brightly coloured, loose robes and jackets. He had assumed the beardless servants here to be youths. When he thought of it, he remembered that two of the Anthorian horsemen who rode with the caravan had been beardless. He had not heard them speak.
Another thing he noticed while they led away the horses was that every one of the servants wore a sword.
The hall Menish led them to was much smaller than Vorish’s but larger than Holdarish’s. There were tapestries covering cold stone walls, rushes strewn on the floor and a huge hearth along one wall. Kitchen servants, also wearing swords, scurried around the hearth with pots and dishes. As in Holdarish’s house there were weapons hung on the walls in the bare spaces between the tapestries. The Anthorians were a warlike folk.
There were benches and tables scattered across the floor. They were ranged around a large, central pillar that rose to the roof. Most of the benches were empty because it was too early for the evening meal. A few old folk sat toothless near the fire, calling advice to the kitchen servants who seemed too busy to listen.
The bustle near the fire, and the advice, ceased when Menish entered the room. A member of the old folk’s group rose and walked towards them, smiling a greeting. One of the women by the hearth followed him.
“Sire! You've returned at last! For days now we've watched for you.”
The man’s eyes flicked to Adhara and Menish smiled.
“No doubt you had plenty of eyes willing to watch.” He turned to Azkun and Keashil. “This is Yarol, he's in charge of my house. He'll provide you with whatever you need while you stay here. If you need food or drink come to the hall. For clothing or other needs ask Yarol directly.”
Menish turned to the woman. “Neathy, I've some special duties for you. Here are Keashil, her son Olcish, and Tenari. I want you to take care of them. Keashil is blind, but she plays the harp better than any other I've heard. Tenari doesn't speak, we think she's suffered great harm. Take them to the women’s lodge and show them welcome.”
“Sire? The lad's a little old…”
“They don't know our ways, leave him with his mother a few days and we'll see.” Neathy nodded, though she looked concerned, and led the women and Olcish away. Tenari made no protest at being separated from Azkun and Azkun himself felt relieved to see her go. She was the eyes of the Monnar and he was out of her sight now.
Menish turned to Azkun.
“You have the freedom of my home. The hall is the place where we gather in the morning and evening for food and company. You may not wish the former but you're welcome to both.
“Althak and Drinagish will show you to the men’s lodge, a hall where the unmarried men sleep. The women’s lodge, where Neathy has taken Tenari and Keashil, is forbidden to men and the men’s lodge is forbidden to women. Do not take Tenari there under any circumstances and do not enter the women’s lodge yourself.
“Now that you know the rules, let's refresh ourselves and meet back here for the evening meal.”
The men’s lodge was much like the main hall, except it was smaller and there was a privy in one corner. A few forgotten sleeping furs lay on the straw and there were carved, wooden chests along the walls containing the personal effects of those who lived there. Althak and Drinagish found their chests and pulled out fresh clothing to replace their travel-stained garments. Hanging on the wall above Althak’s chest was a Vorthenki shield with a dragon painted on it. He hung the one he carried beside it.
“It was my father’s,” said Althak when he saw where Azkun was looking. “He brought it from the north. I don't use it myself but I keep it in his memory.”
Azkun changed into the clothes Vorish had given him to wear in Atonir, including the golden cord Tenari had tied about his waist.
“Where is Hrangil?”
“He has his own chamber, with all his books and things,” said Drinagish. “There aren't many such rooms here, most of us have to sleep in the lodges. Even me, though you'd think I'd get some preference now I'm the heir.”
“M'Lord said you could have your own chamber when you're twenty,” said Althak.
“And that's years away.”
“Little bitch!” said Neathy when they returned to the main hall. Tenari had a ripening black eye and Neathy’s face was scratched. “She seemed placid enough so I thought I’d help her to the privy and look what I got!” She ran her hand along the scratches on her face. “She can look after herself from now on. If she wasn’t simple I’d call her out.”
Keashil had said she needed sleep more than food so she had remained in the women’s lodge. Olcish had accompanied Neathy and Tenari back to the main hall. It was still almost empty and there was no sign of Menish.
“I don’t expect to see those two for hours yet. You know what they're like.” Neathy winked. “Olcish, you could get a bowl of mein and take it to your mother if you want. No one would mind.”
“I'll stay here,” the boy declared. “With the men.”
“You can come back,” said Althak. “But take her a bowl anyway. She'd like it.” Olcish nodded and silently fetched a bowl of mein for his mother.
Drinagish and Althak also fetched bowls of mein from the pots on the hearth. Tenari resumed her blank stare at Azkun. The bruise under her eye gave her a somewhat malevolent appearance.
“Have you eaten, Neathy?” asked Althak picking up a bowl for her and offering to fill it.
“No, I’m not hungry, but I suppose she is,” she said with a shrug. Althak put the bowl down.
“She doesn't eat.”
“What, never?”
“Not since we found her. That was weeks ago now.”
“She looks thin to me. Still, she won’t want the privy I suppose.”
“Probably not. All she does is follow Azkun around. The only time she seemed more alive than she does now was in the palace of Atonir. It seems Meyathal isn't so much to her liking.”
They sat at a bench near the fire and ate.
“What's been happening while we've been away?”
“Much and little.” Neathy shrugged. “Marayhir has been kicking up a stink about some cattle raid of Grath’s. He says it was illegal but his clan chief ruled against him so he wants to appeal to Menish. He refused to let Adhara make the judgement, which she was pretty annoyed about, so he's had to wait here until Menish arrived back. You can imagine how we all feel about that.
“Your friend isn't eating. Won’t you have some mein?”
“He doesn't eat either,” said Drinagish.
“It's becoming fashionable by the look of it. I suppose he doesn't talk either?”
“I speak. But food and drink are abhorrent to me.”
“So you'll starve yourself to death?”
“I do not need food. The dragons sustain me.”
Neathy nodded slowly.
“I thought you looked a bit Vorthenki. Be careful with talk of dragons in Meyathal. We don't like Vorthenki ways. There are few enough of us who will give Althak a civil greeting.”
Azkun said nothing. He would have liked to explain to Neathy that she had not understood but this did not seem the time or the place. Besides, he was distracted by something.
A tiny terror lurked in the far corner of the room. It was dimly lit there, the few windows did not light it well and the fire was too far away. He could hear a rustling and could see a grey shadow with murder in its heart. His attempts to shut it out were futile. He felt trapped. His back legs would not work and his front paws could only drag him across the straw on the floor while a gaping mouth leered over him. Something held his tail and he squeaked. The jaws closed on the back of his neck with a stab of fire. Darkness engulfed him.
He shuddered; his hand knocked Drinagish’s bowl. “Careful!”
“Oh, Kimi has a mouse!” shouted Neathy as a tawny cat carried its kill across the room towards them. “Here, Kimi, good boy.” The cat dropped the mouse on the floor near them and chirped with self-satisfaction. Neathy picked up the cat to stroke it but it wriggled free. Picking up its prey it carried it nearer the fire where it could devour it in comfort. Azkun was nearly sick.
“That's the third mouse he's caught this week. The cooler weather drives them indoors, of course, and they've forgotten their peril. And he loves it.” The last remark was half addressed to the cat who looked up, licking its lips. To Azkun it had a cruel beauty about it. The flecked, tawny coat was hard to see on the straw that covered the floor. He suspected it would blend into almost any background. Its large eyes and ears were ever alert for more victims even as it ate its present kill. Unlike Vorish’s indolent cat this one seemed terrifyingly predatory.
He felt two beasts being killed not long afterwards, reminding him that his friends were no less predatory, but they were far away and he felt them less than the mouse. Azkun stared at the fire and tried to forget death, willing down his fears with memories of the dragon.
Later, as the sun set, Menish’s folk began to arrive in the hall for the evening meal. Azkun did not want to stay. The death of the mouse had wounded his soul. He wanted to take his agony away to some quiet corner. But there were no quiet corners. As the evening deepened into night more and more people entered the palace. Many were Menish’s own folk, those who tended his herds and fields. Others were guests, either residents of the town beyond the walls come to welcome their King home, or visitors from the fringe of tents around about.
Unlike the Vorthenki the Anthorians had no tradition of speech making before getting their meat and their women served themselves. Azkun was surprised. The atmosphere was not as oppressive as it had been in Vorish’s hall. People wandered about talking and drinking. They seemed relaxed and happy, though each wore a sword. They were a contradiction. He saw the cat pestering one man for some meat. It climbed onto his shoulder and sat with its cheek beside the man’s face watching his every mouthful. Occasionally the man reached behind his head and stroked the cat and, in return, it snuggled against his neck. It was absurd. Swords and claws and teeth, all tokens of death, and yet there was affection displayed openly. Azkun did not understand it.
“Hey, Grath!” Drinagish shouted as he saw the northerner enter. They made their way across the hall towards him, Drinagish nodding greetings as he went. Althak also greeted a few people, but several turned away from him. It was as Neathy had said, Althak was not universally popular in Menish’s hall.
Drinagish and Althak greeted Grath warmly. To Azkun he seemed changed from when he had travelled with them in the north. But, of course, he was cleaner and dressed in court clothes now. He had some tale of raiding cows for them, a double raid on the same herd, which he told with relish. Azkun did not follow it very well. He was trying to avoid watching them eat.
Not long after Grath arrived Menish and Adhara entered the hall. The general noise of conversation subsided for a moment then rose to a cheer of welcome that Menish answered by climbing onto one of the benches and, with a smile, signalling for silence.
“By Aton, you all look well fed and ready to hear where I have been for the last few weeks.” There was a hearty chorus of yeses around the room. “Well you can wait until I've eaten. I'm not going to spend a moment longer up here with the smell of good Anthorian meat in my nostrils.”
There were good-natured protests, but mostly laughter as he climbed down and made his way to the food. Some time later, when he had eaten and moved among the crowd, and consistently shrugged off questions about where he had been, he climbed back onto the bench and spoke to them.
“Now that we've all eaten I'll tell you my tale,” he began amid laughter. He proceeded to give them a general description of his travels, though several things were left out. Azkun and Tenari were described as homeless wanderers and he left the impression that they had joined them from the pirate ship just as Keashil and Olcish had. He spent some time describing the fight with the pirates, dwelling on the valour of Drinagish and Althak, but he did not mention Thalissa at all. Their stay at Deenar was carefully described. Some of those present remembered Darven. Menish gave the impression that the Vorthenki chief was instilling Anthorian manners into the barbarous folk of the Vorthenki coasts, which was partly true.
When he told them of their time in Atonir he became serious. Vorish had heard from somewhere, he told them, of a possible attack from Gashan. It was only a rumour as yet, but Althak, Hrangil and Azkun were going north to see. Meanwhile they should all sharpen their swords “…for we may be hunting Gashans in the spring.” The spring games would produce a gathering point for the scattered folk of Anthor and, depending on what news the expedition brought back, they would take those ready to fight and march north when the games were over.