At about noon the old man led them off the road and through the trees, where they found a sod hut thatched with straw in a grassy clearing. It was a crude-looking dwelling, and when the old man pulled back the skins covering the doorway they found it stank of animal dung and old sweat.
The hut was tiny inside, but somehow two yaks and a goat were stabled there, which accounted for the stink. Azkun placed Althak on the rough cot of old hay and dirty rags that was either the old man’s bed or the animals’ hay store. The Vorthenki was heavy and Azkun was weary with carrying him. Menish sank down on the floor, leaning his back against the wall.
Again, while they were not watching him, the old man started a fire. There was a small fireplace, a pile of embers in a ring of stones, in the centre of the room. From an old, wooden chest in a corner he produced a bowl and several earthenware jars. Muttering away to himself, he shook the contents of one of the jars into the bowl. It was powdery stuff and it hung in the air like smoke. The old man coughed and spluttered as he opened the next jar.
Azkun watched him like a hawk. They were safe from the forest now, but they were not safe from this Monnar. And Althak was still in deadly danger from his bite. He lay on the hay as silent as death, but Azkun knew that he had not died. He could still feel the throbbing pain in his arm. He did not want Althak to die. It was not just that he feared that darkness he would feel when Althak passed into oblivion; Althak was his friend. But there was nothing he could do. He had not saved Hrangil, and he could do nothing for Althak.
The old man finished mixing his potion and, as Azkun watched him, he reached into the fire and grasped one of the flames. He pulled it out and it twisted and writhed in his hand like a living thing. Somehow it did not look strange, the old man simply held a tongue of flame in his hand. He muttered something to himself and poured the flame into the bowl where it hissed and bubbled alarmingly.
With sudden swiftness he grabbed Althak’s swollen arm and poured the potion over the two puncture marks where the skin was darkest. It was black and vile-smelling and it hissed virulently as it ran over the Vorthenki’s arm. Althak’s body went suddenly rigid, but he did not regain consciousness. The skin around the bite, where the potion had touched it, turned from black to red and then to a weeping rawness. But the waxy texture of Althak’s skin diminished and the throbbing pulse in his arm grew calmer. Azkun had felt no pain when the potion had touched Althak’s arm.
The old man coughed and went back to his wooden chest to replace his jars. The mixture he had made filled the room with an acrid smell that blended with the animal stink and made Azkun’s eyes water. Their host also appeared irritated by it. He produced another jar from the old chest, scooped out some red powder in his hand and tossed it into the fire.
With a roar the fire exploded in the tiny hut. A ball of fire erupted into the thatching above. Somehow it did not catch on the dry straw there and, when it died away, the acrid smell was replaced by a drowsy sweetness. Azkun took one breath and found himself slipping irresistibly into sleep.
It was a strange sleep. At times he woke, or dreamed he woke, and saw the old man spooning something into Althak’s mouth or binding his arm. Once he saw him feeding Menish. He wanted to warn them, but he saw these things as if he were looking down a long tunnel, as if he were not part of the real world. One thing he dreamed was unlike the others. He saw the old man standing in a field with bundles of greenery in his arms, crushing them and casting them about his feet. The eye on his forehead was freshly painted.
When he finally awoke he had the feeling that several days had passed. The old man was gone and Althak was sitting up on the hay. Menish was asleep near him.
“Althak! You are well? You look much better.”
The Vorthenki grinned and lifted his arm. His wrist was wrapped in a dirty cloth but there was no sign of the swelling.
“I'm much better. My arm's still stiff and I can't bend my fingers properly, but I'm well. Do I remember your carrying me through the forest?”
Azkun nodded.
“Then I thank you. I would've died if you had not brought me here.”
For a moment Azkun said nothing, then he burst out, “I should have been able to heal you! You and Hrangil. Hrangil died and I did nothing. All I could do for you was to carry you. Why could I not heal you?”
Althak shrugged. “Some hurts are greater than others. Hrangil took more than a knife wound, Azkun. He was a dead man before you reached him. And perhaps you're not proof against poisonous bites.”
“The man in the knife fight was as near death as Hrangil, and what is this?” he pointed to the bite on his cheek.
“It's not for us to command the gods. Kopth, Aton, or your dragons, they'll do what they will.”
“But the dragons are compassionate, how could they deny help?”
“You ask me of dragons? I only know of Kopth, and he's not compassionate.”
Azkun would have shouted at him again, but he remembered that Althak was still sick. He had no right to tax him with such questions.
When Menish woke he too was better. But he was concerned about what they had seen in the land of Gashan.
“It was the Duzral Eye, there's no doubt of that. There are things I learned of it long ago, things I thought I'd forgotten. I know what they were doing to the stone.”
“Hrangil said it drove men mad and they killed themselves. Was that what was happening?”
“No, I don't think so. The more I think of the Eye now I wonder about it. I wonder why the Sons of Gilish had so many secrets, especially about the Eye.” He paused, thinking. “I remember hearing of an emperor of long ago who tried to pour blood over it, he said it gave it power. He was prevented and forced to abdicate.
“But perhaps he knew more about the Eye than we do. Perhaps the reason it was kept so secret is that it is so evil. Perhaps Telish IV died because he did not pour blood over the Eye. I don't believe it had anything to do with his not being descended from Gilish.”
“It is an evil thing,” said Azkun. “I saw it. It is the source of the Gashans’ evil.”
“What else did you see?” asked Menish. He remembered how Azkun had echoed the words of the woman with the snakes. “We must know if they are really planning an attack on Anthor.”
“Of course they are. How could you think otherwise? Could you not feel their hatred at all? That… rite that they were performing, they were worshipping the Eye and the Eye was speaking to them through the women with the snakes. It was instructing them…” Azkun was pale as he spoke and his hands trembled. He rubbed at his wrists involuntarily, remembering the snakebites.
“And what was it telling them?” asked Althak gently.
“There was much about murder and death, that is what delighted the Gashans.”
“Yes, but was there any information about when the attack will come? Will it be before or after the winter?”
“They have not gathered their people together yet. They will attack when the lake, Lake Kel I think, when the lake is no longer frozen. They will wait until it freezes and then wait until it thaws.”
“It'll freeze over soon when winter sets in, then it's difficult to cross because of the shifting ice. Do you mean they won't attack until spring?”
“I suppose I do.”
Menish felt a coldness in his spine. Thalissa, or his dream of Thalissa, had said the attack would be in the spring. She had also said he would be killed.
“Then we have time to get help from Vorish, provided we can find our way home.”
“But what good will that do you? They have the Eye. You saw it yourself.”
“We will fight them the best way we know how.”
The old man had been out gathering herbs, and he returned with a basket of fennel and sage and a rabbit he had caught. The day was fine and warm and they sat outside while he roasted the rabbit. Azkun remembered the Gashan he had murdered with his own hands as he watched them eat it. He could no longer afford to despise others. This was corruption, there was no answer to it but the power of the dragons. Somewhere in the depths of his soul he could still feel that Gashan. It watched the others eat with relish.
When they had eaten the old man left them and went inside his hut. “Who is he?” asked Althak.
“He found us in the forest,” said Menish. “I'm not surprised you don't remember. Unfortunately he doesn't speak any tongue I know, although once or twice he has gabbled something that sounded like Anthorian. I could make no sense of it.”
“And does he always smell that bad?” Althak grinned.
“Yes, so far he has anyway. I don't know who or what he is, though.”
“He is a Monnar,” shuddered Azkun. “He is evil. There is an eye painted on his forehead.”
“A Monnar? I suppose he could be,” said Menish. “What eye?”
“You must have seen it. It is painted in blood.”
“I've seen no eye,” said Althak. “I don't care if he's a Gashan at the moment. We owe him much, I think.”
“Hrangil told me they were the ones who sent Gilish to Kelerish to get the Eye. I do not trust him. He is preparing us for some evil. We should leave here as soon as Althak can travel.”
“That would be a good plan if we knew where to go,” said Althak. “I think we must rely on our host for directions at least if we're to find our way home. Don't think too harshly of him, Azkun. He saved my life. Besides, the story I heard was that Gilish forced the information about where to find the Eye from them. They didn't give it willingly.”
“I would have thought you, of all people, would know that,” said Menish.
“You mock me because of what I told poor Hrangil. What else could I do for him? I could not heal him. I tried, but I could not. You think I did not want to? Do not look at me like that. I lied to him and I murdered a Gashan the next day. I am evil too, but I am not a Monnar. I had a dream before we reached Meyathal. It warned me against the Monnar. Tenari is in their power, they were watching me through her.”
“A dream?” asked Menish, suddenly interested. “Dreams don't always show all the truth. I had a dream. It led me to the Chasm and you emerged. But in my dream something else came out of the Chasm.”
“What?”
“The ghost of Thalissa.”
Althak looked at him sharply for a moment then he said, “Those eyes, I wondered where I'd seen them before. But she died when they threw her into the Chasm, and good riddance. Why should you dream of her?”
“They didn't throw her into the Chasm, they lowered her into it to prolong her punishment. She's Azkun’s mother, and she's alive in Lianar. I spoke with her there.”
“Kopth’s balls! Alive? You saw her?” Menish nodded. “I thought that was one service Thealum had done us, but it seems he could be trusted with nothing.”
“Althak, she's Azkun’s mother. Have a care what you say.”
“He doesn't know the crimes left unpunished in his mother.”
“Don't say unpunished. She's suffered enough. Let her be.”
“And what of Vorish? Does he know she's alive? Would he let her be if he knew?”
“He already knows. I told him when we last saw him and he told me he'd known for years. She'll not trouble us again. Don't seek retribution for crimes gone cold.”
Althak did not reply. He stared at the ground between his feet, and Menish knew he was far from convinced.
They slept one more night in the old man’s hut. The next morning he picked up his staff and beckoned them to follow him back to the road. Althak still could not clench his hand around his sword properly but his strength had returned to his legs. Menish was also ready to travel. In spite of Azkun’s warnings they followed him. Azkun had no choice but to go with them, he did not want to remain in the Monnar’s hut alone.
It was a strange journey. They seemed to travel faster than they walked. The sensation was such that Azkun could not quite grasp hold of it. When he looked around him nothing was amiss. The countryside was forest and meadow, pleasant to walk through, but when he looked ahead he would see a mountain or a pass that was impossibly closer than when he had last noticed it. So it was that they found themselves high in the mountains, the road strewn with snow, and the day was not half over.
The strangeness of their journey was contrasted sharply by the old man. He muttered and snorted, stopping every once in a while in a fit of coughing. Often he blew his nose on his hands and wiped them on his dirty robe.
Still they travelled on. The snow became thicker and the mountains steeper, yet the road always ran level. Once they crossed a wide ravine on a bridge of ice, or they appeared to. When Azkun looked back at it the bridge was no longer there and the road curved away behind a hill. It was dreamlike, and he wondered if he would wake up back in the hut, or even in the forest of Gashan. But then the old man would spit or cough again and the dreamlike air would vanish.
When the sun finally set that day they found themselves on a wide hillside with the mountains behind them. The road had deteriorated to a rough track that was barely discernible in the mountain tussock. Ahead of them the hills swept down to a wide plain that stretched to the horizon. They could see two rivers winding their way across it, glinting redly in the last rays of the sun.
One of the rivers curved close to the base of the slope on which they stood, and there they could see a cluster of white tents with a plume of smoke rising from it. It was a thal. They had reached Anthor.
At about the time they noticed the thal, they also noticed that the old man was no longer with them. It seemed that he had not been with them for some time, although they could not say when he had left.
Although the sun had set before they reached the thal the light of the camp fires and the crescent moon guided them. Even so their way was slow, for the remains of the road did not run towards the camp and they were forced to pick their way through the tussock which was strewn with boulders. Several of these were large enough to stand up above the tussock, and Azkun fancied he saw Monnar eyes watching him from their moonlit surfaces.
Monnar magic. The old man had cured Althak, rescued them from the forest, and brought them here. He had fooled the others, but he had not fooled Azkun. Azkun had seen those eyes in the ring of stones, he had seen the old man with blood around his mouth at Gildenthal, and he had seen the painted eye on this old man’s forehead. The others did not have his sight, they could not know. The Monnar had made the Duzral Eye, their magic was evil.
As always there was only one answer to corruption. This talk of a battle with Gashan was madness. They had the Eye, mere swords could not hope to fight them. Only the dragons could prevent the Gashans from sweeping down from the north.
They heard singing as they approached the camp, an old Anthorian song Menish recognised of the heroes of Ristalshuz.
Suddenly a figure rose out of the ground before them, and they saw moonlight on a drawn sword.
“Halt, you're surrounded by ten swords. Are you friend or foe?”
A glance around them showed other blades within striking distance. “Friend,” answered Menish. “We come in peace and do not raid. I am Menish.”
“Indeed? You sound like him, but we'll see. Who are these? Since when does the King of Anthor travel like a beggar with other beggars?”
“This is Althak, the Vorthenki, and a man called Azkun. We lost our horses and two of our number in the forests of Gashan.”
A hiss of breath sounded in the darkness.
“Come then,” said the sentry. “Let's see you in the light. If what you say is true you are welcome at our fireside.”
They followed her into the camp. It was similar to the ones they had seen on their way north, horses hobbled and grazing nearby and round, felt tents. Inside the largest of the tents oil lamps lit a group of men and women sitting about a fire which crackled and spat. A young woman was stirring a pot of mein and the others, who had been singing, turned to see the strangers.
“It is indeed the King!” said the sentry. “Welcome, Sire. I didn't believe you in the darkness.”
“Neither would I have,” said Menish. “Your herds won't suffer for such diligence.”
“Greetings, Sire. Come and sit with us,” called a man of about Menish’s age who sat by the central tent pole, the place reserved for the head of the thal. Menish recognised him but could not think of his name. Althak murmured it to him quietly.
“Thank you, Aronyar. We've travelled far today and are in need of food, rest and your good company.” Aronyar had more than one hundred head of cattle, yaks mostly, but a number of sheep and camels. Like Grath he was bigger than the southerners, but not as big as Althak. His long legs were thrust towards the fire, one bare foot nearly touching a glowing log. Behind him Menish could see the polished helmet and mail shirt he had been eager to show off at the last spring games. He had bought them from a Relanese merchant at great expense. In this hour of relaxation he had hung them from the tent pole and wore a woollen tunic and breeches.
Beside him, and similarly dressed except for the addition of two silver arm rings, sat a woman with long black hair who looked too young to be his wife. Ah, Menish remembered her, she was his daughter. She was richer than her father and was, therefore, technically the head of the thal, but she deferred to her father. He could not remember if Aronyar had any other children.
He nodded to the woman in greeting as he sat down, trying to think of her name. Althak was too far away from him now to whisper it.
Just as politeness required that a host did not inquire too deeply into a guest’s business, so it was the duty of a guest to give some account of himself. Menish came straight to the point.
“I also need riders. The thals must be told the news I bear. We must prepare for war with Gashan. The spring games will be an arms meet and we'll travel north afterwards to meet the Gashans as they come south.”
The woman at the fire passed them all bowls of mein.
“I'd heard rumours. We had a rider from Gildenthal through here not long ago.”
“We've come from Gashan,” said Althak. “We've seen them preparing themselves.”
A murmur ran through the tent. Several of the women made the old Anthorian sign against evil.
“From Gashan?” exclaimed Aronyar’s daughter. “You're lucky to be alive.”
Menish nodded. “Five of us entered Gashan, only three return. It was a hazardous journey.” He told them all that had happened since they had entered the Gashan forests. They all knew who Hrangil was, though none of them had known him well. It was Grath they mourned most, for he had come from the north. Aronyar knew his family and someone made a reference to a cattle raid he was suspected of making on their herds. They would miss having to pit their wits against Grath’s cunning.
“So I'll need riders to announce the arms meet. You know the law. Each thal that hears the summons should also send riders to bear the message further. The riders should travel four days before they turn their horses.”
“Yarrana, your group can bear the message. Make ready to depart by dawn.” He turned back to Menish. “Some more ambroth? No? Your friend isn't eating. Would you like some bread?”
“He doesn't eat,” said Althak.
“He's fasting? Why? Is he ill?”
“No, I am not ill.”
“You'll want some water at least.“
“No, thank you. I do not require anything.”
Aronyar shrugged.
“So you met one of the Monnar, eh? Strange folk, tricky I call them. They're often not what they seem.” He chuckled. “I must confess I've never seen one, that is if you don’t count old One-ear at Gildenthal. The Relanese say they have no names so that they can tell lies. They're more often heard of than seen. Tela saw one once.”
“Many years ago now,” said his daughter. “I was just a girl. An old woman found me when I was lost after raiders had struck our herds. She was a wrinkled, toothless old thing with a bent back. I've never heard of a young Monnar. She said she would guide me home for a price, but I found my own way.”
“What was the price?”
“My first child. I would've cheated her anyway,” she held up her unbound hair, “for I have none. I've not even married.”
“The old man cured your centipede bite, Althak. But you don't say what happened to Azkun’s bite.”
“He looked at it,” said Menish.
“He touched it and laughed,” said Azkun. “But he did not heal it. I am preserved and sustained by the dragons. And I distrust the Monnar.”
“So do I,” said Tela. “What good they do is for their own dark purposes.”
“What's this talk of dragons?” asked Aronyar. “Ah, but you're Vorthenki, I can see that.”
“I do not worship Kopth. But I am a bridge to the dragons who are the true masters of the world.”
“Surely you speak of Kopth, then. The Vorthenki dragon-god.”
“Kopth is a twisted shadow of the dragons. They do not require blood as the Vorthenki believe Kopth does. They require peace. And they forbid death.”
“Well, that would suit those of us who are long in the tooth,” said Aronyar cheerfully. “For myself I've always called on Aton, for he's easy to find. He's there by day in the sun and by night he's in the flame of the lamp or cooking fire. Of course, I was never Relanese enough for the Sons of Gilish.
“But here in the north we don't forget that Aton is also Krith and that Kiveli, his wife, makes the pasture green in the spring.”
“These are only symbols for the truth,” said Azkun, “and the truth is the dragons. I know, I have been bathed in dragon fire and given this truth. It is the dragons who hold power, no other.”
“Azkun, don't offend our hosts with this talk,” said Menish. He did not want to hear this nonsense of dragons. Hrangil was dead and Azkun and his dragons had done nothing.
“No, no, I am interested. Is this true? You've stood in dragon fire?”
“It is true,” said Althak. “We saw it ourselves.”
“It is also true that he did nothing to save Hrangil. This truth of dragons is like shifting sand. Who are you, Azkun, to throw doubt on another’s gods?”
“You mean he actually stood in the fire and wasn't burned?” asked Aronyar as if Menish had not spoken.
“And for how long did he stand in it?” asked Tela. “I can put my hand in the fire and draw it out quickly.”
“No,” said Althak. “He stood in the fire long enough to die in it. But, as you see he lives.”
“This is only the word of a Vorthenki,” muttered one of the men. Aronyar and the others also looked doubtfully at Althak, turning to Menish for confirmation. Menish hated to see Althak so doubted because of his race. His anger flared.
“You doubt Althak’s word? The word of your guest? Of my friend? Then will you doubt my word too? I saw Azkun stand in dragon fire. Althak speaks truly as always.”
Althak laughed, dispelling Menish’s anger.
“M’Lord, anyone may be doubted who makes such claims. I take no offence.”
“So it is true?” said Tela.
“I don't understand,” said Aronyar. “We're too far from the sea for dragons to come. How can they be masters of the world?”
“In the beginning were the dragons. They made the world. You see them as beasts that breathe fire. They are much more than this. And I tell you: the dragons will deliver you from Gashan, not your swords.”