Summon Your Dragons Page 10

  Menish stepped forward to the gunwales. He glanced at Hrangil, wondering if he recognised Thalissa. Could he yet save the situation? He nodded to Althak’s unspoken question, asking him if he should escort the woman back down the gangplank.

  “No! She stays with us.” It was Azkun. He had clutched the woman’s arm as if some madness had come upon him. The woman herself seemed hardly aware of him.

  “We do not steal women, Azkun,” said Menish carefully. “Help her down, Althak.”

  “No!” shouted Azkun again. “You do not understand. She… she must stay with me. She is real. If she remains here then so must I.” He climbed onto the edge of the gangplank.

  Menish swore. Sickness churned in the pit of his stomach. It was obvious that Azkun was determined in this foolishness, to argue with him would only increase the possibility of Thalissa’s identifying herself more explicitly. He could, of course, make Azkun a prisoner but that could be dangerous. He did not know what Azkun was capable of, and Hrangil would never forgive him.

  Thalissa’s eyes pleaded with him silently and his own conscience howled at him but he gave his decision.

  “She stays.”

  Thalissa let out a sobbing groan and sank to her knees. Menish wondered if it was only his own selfishness that restrained him from letting them kill her. He did not want the guilt. To forestall further argument from her, and because he was known for his kindness to simple folk (his men, after all, were still watching him) he drew out a handful of coins from his pouch. They lay in his hand, inadequate recompense for the pain he had inflicted, was still inflicting, on this woman. But the others were still watching him and there was one other thing he could give her.

  He mounted the treacherous gangplank, strode down to the woman on the pier and offered her the coins. She drew back, her lip curled in disgust.

  “You hope to make amends with mere gold?” she hissed. “Or have you turned Vorthenki in your old age? My daughter is not for sale.”

  “Take it for your own life’s sake,” he returned between his teeth so that those on the boat would not hear. “My men will kill you if they learn who you are.” Still she refused. Her eyes glared at him. Azkun’s eyes. “She's not your daughter. You bore a son in the Chasm. He is with my men.”

  At that she whirled hungrily to look. It was easy to pick Azkun. His wild hair and beard singled him out. Thalissa drew in her breath in a short gasp. She recognised enough of her own features from this distance, though she could surely not see his eyes. “Now take the gold or your life may be forfeit.”

  Stunned by truth thrust in her face she allowed the coins to be dropped into her hands. Menish turned and stamped back up the gangplank. He felt a wave of nausea rising.

  “Sail at once!” he cried to Awan. “I'm sick of the smell of this place.” With that he groped his way to the opposite side of the boat and leaned over. He was grateful for his illness. It hid his tears.

  Chapter 8: Blood on the Decks

  Azkun was all too aware of the turmoil in Menish’s mind. He had not intended to cause him pain. Menish had wanted to speak with that old woman so, when Azkun had felt the same mind nearby, he had told Menish where she was. When the young woman had rescued him a second time from the spectres they had all become he knew he could not leave her behind. Menish had thought he had delivered an ultimatum, either she came or Azkun stayed behind with her. He had not intended it so. All he had tried to say was that he would stay behind rather than be parted from her. He had expected Menish to leave him.

  As the boat drifted away from the stone dock he peered through the mist at the forlorn figure of the old woman. No one else noticed her particularly. Hrangil and Drinagish huddled near the base of the central mast, plainly uncomfortable with the motion of the boat. Menish had not yet left his post at the far gunwale and the Vorthenki sailors were too busy, or did not care, or both. But Azkun could see more than a vague, shrouded old woman, he could see a broken heart with a yearning purpose.

  Althak stood behind him. The Vorthenki seemed confused and Azkun remembered Menish’s assertion that his men would kill the old woman if they knew who she was, and he remembered the pig. Althak had slashed its side with the sword that still hung from his belt.

  “This is strange behaviour for him,” he murmured.

  “I believe he is ill,” replied Azkun in an effort to explain Menish’s actions and distract Althak from the old woman.

  “Yes, the sea always picks Anthorians. They'll be no better until we reach land again.”

  “You seem unconcerned about it.” Althak was indeed. His confusion over Menish was slipping away now that he remembered the sea retch that afflicted the King. Althak was, in fact, pleased to be afloat.

  “Oh, no. They'll suffer discomfort but no harm. It was, after all, M’Lord’s choice to come by sea.”

  “Why must we travel this way then?”

  “It's faster. The lands we'd have to travel through by horse are wild and uncertain, and the paths few and poorly known. The only certain route would take us all the way back to Anthor and then south. It would add weeks to the journey. But you're not afflicted yourself?”

  “No, I am well.”

  “And you're not hungry yet?”

  “No. I will not eat.”

  Althak nodded as if he understood.

  “You're a strange one,” he turned and appeared to notice Tenari for the first time. “What happened? Why do you want her with you?” He was almost reproachful in his question, as if he felt sorry for the old woman.

  Azkun told him, trying to keep the trembling from his voice when he spoke of the spectres. The Vorthenki nodded slowly.

  “I've never heard of such a thing.” He smiled suddenly. “You're full of surprises. How do your dragons explain this?”

  “I do not know. Perhaps… perhaps the dragons wished her to come with us.”

  “Perhaps.” he stepped back and looked at Tenari. She ignored him. Her vacant gaze was for Azkun alone, as if he held her in a trance. Her height and colouring made her clearly not Vorthenki. Thick, black hair framed an elfin face with clear, dark eyes. When she moved her head the droplets of mist in her hair sparkled like jewels. Something about her mouth suggested solemnity or sadness but in her eyes there was nothing.

  When Azkun looked at her his perception failed him. He could see no thoughts behind her eyes. At first she seemed as dead as the wooden hulk of the ship, a blank wall, a nothingness. But, when he stretched his perception to its limits, he caught something. It was not a mind, an echo of a mind perhaps. Like a gap in the emptiness, a distant cry of anguish or mirth, he did not know which. It slipped too quickly from his grasp.

  “A bath and a clean robe would not go amiss, but she's quite pretty. She has an Anthorian look about her, although their women are usually more muscled. She is slender like a young Vorthenki maid.” He turned and asked Azkun suddenly, “Do you speak any Vorthenki?”

  “No,” Azkun wondered why he asked. He was still puzzling over his glimpse at her mind.

  “Then the old woman’s ravings meant nothing to you. I suppose you don't even know this one’s name.”

  “Tenari? I heard her call that.”

  “Yes. She also tried to tell M’Lord that she was her mother, but she has a more interesting tale. I heard it last night in my kinsman’s house.” He paused, waiting to see if Azkun was interested.

  “Who do you speak of? Tenari or… or the old woman?”

  “Oh, Tenari, of course. The old one is the woman belonging to the fisherman who found her. But I've omitted part of my tale. Tenari is new to this village. She was found by one of the local fisherman the day before yesterday.”

  “Found? Where? In the sea?”

  “No. She was found on the rocks by the mouth of the Chasm. It seems that you're not the only one to leave that place. I was told the fisherman saw a dragon in the sky.”

  “She was flamed?”

  “Not as far as is known. But, Azkun, I inquired carefully the
day and time she was found. She must have left the Chasm at the same time you did. Isn't that strange? It would seem that the dragon that was seen was the same one that flamed you. We saw it fly off towards the sea.”

  “The same moment. The same moment I left the Chasm, so did she.” He peered at her carefully, almost suspiciously, as if she embodied the numb terror of the Chasm. But no, she had rescued him twice from terror. She also was a victim of the Chasm, and more so. For in her the numbness remained. Her mind, if it was there at all, had not yet broken free as had her body. Perhaps she had not been flamed, perhaps that was what was wrong with her.

  “Does the fact mean something more to you? I thought it merely odd.”

  “Surely it means something, but I do not know what.”

  “And she doesn't speak. That too I learned last night. But you seem already aware of this.”

  “She was not flamed. She still has the Chasm in her mind.”

  “No doubt she will not eat either. Our provisions will last well.” His grin returned.

  As they passed out of the harbour the fog drew back like a curtain. A breeze filled the sails, the sailors cheered their craft on and, with much creaking of ropes and timber, it gained speed.

  With the fog gone Azkun could see the lie of the land around him, or rather, the lie of the sea. He had not considered that so much water could exist in one place. It stretched to the eastern horizon without so much as an island to relieve the vastness. It went on forever. On the south side rose tall cliffs, stark and cold, like the mountains that had refused him help. They were grey and treeless with patches of white scattered across their higher faces.

  About midday Azkun, remembering Althak’s stories of dragons, searched the cliffs for them but there were none. When the cliffs changed their direction and veered away to the south he felt a sudden unease. At first he attributed this to the tossing of the sea. The wind changed with the line of the cliffs and the sea became choppy. He noticed Tenari sometimes broke her blank gaze from him and glanced away south.

  Althak returned from talking with one of the sailors with the explanation. He pointed out a gap in the cliffs, difficult to see from this angle. It was, when noticed, like a black mouth yawning open to swallow its prey. The cliffs were high, even when diminished by distance they dwarfed the boat. It was the mouth of the Chasm.

  Azkun found he had caught Tenari by the arm. She did not protest. Her gaze was fixed on him again. She was his anchor in terror and there was the Chasm. Azkun was almost surprised that the others did not turn to ghosts, he had expected it. It did not matter. Tenari was here. Her solidity, even when not contrasted against spectres, was real. Did she remember the Chasm? Her glances towards the mouth indicated that she did. But her mind remained blank.

  During the afternoon Althak introduced him to Shelim, one of the few sailors who spoke Relanese. The man showed a calm respect for Althak, not the frantic bowing manner of Astae. Althak had discovered that Shelim knew his cousin Akarth, and they had other connections in common. Azkun noticed that Althak did not tell Shelim about the Chasm or the dragon and he remembered what Menish had said to Grath concerning secrecy. He was not sure if he agreed with this policy but, until he knew more, he would keep silent.

  Rather than speak of himself he plied Shelim with questions. How did the boat move? Where did the wind come from? Shelim was delighted to talk of the sea, as was Althak, and they passed the afternoon happily. Occasionally Shelim would dart a glance at Tenari, unsure of her, but Althak had told him that she was simple so he asked no more questions of her.

  Azkun learned much about the ship. He asked about the man who always stood in the stern and was told that this was Awan, the master of the ship. He was a man of vast girth, which he put to good use at the heavy tiller he held. For much of the time there was little for the sailors to do, and they occupied themselves with minor tasks, games, or sleeping. Sometimes they would climb below the deck to the hold. Azkun wondered what was down there and Shelim informed him that most of their cargo was stacked there. It was, he said, a foul place, smelling of the fat used to waterproof the ship. Azkun noticed that the sailors rarely stayed down there long. It was mostly packed with salt cod.

  While there were many leisure hours, there were moments when every hand was needed. Awan would suddenly begin bawling orders over the swish and splash of the sea and Shelim would leave them for a while. There seemed to be a number of vital tasks to be performed at a moment’s notice. Sometimes it was no more than tightening some of the ropes or turning the sail slightly, but every now and then Awan’s hoarse voice would bring all the sailors to their stations. They would position themselves by various ropes and tackles, waiting for Awan’s next call. When it came a kind of organised chaos would break loose. Awan would heave on the tiller, ropes would be loosened, others tightened. The great spar of the mainsail would be hauled down at one end, the other end rising high above the top of the mast, and pulled across the deck. This operation resulted in the mainsail facing the other side of the boat. Azkun did not see the point of this until Althak explained the necessity of tacking to make the best use of the wind.

  When night fell they were once again sailing along the shoreline. They had crossed a large bay and the cliffs had come marching back from their southern detour. Azkun had another moment of uneasiness when he saw the sun sinking. Would the night bring back the spectres? But, as the darkness gathered, lamps were lit and hung from the masts. Their cheery yellow glow raised his spirits and he held Tenari’s hand in his own. She was a comfort even when there were no spectres.

  Althak offered Tenari food when the sailors ate. The Anthorians had no appetite and he knew better than to offer food to Azkun. But she ignored him as he had expected. He shrugged and ate it himself.

  The next day Azkun detected another unease in the sailors. They were vaguely anxious about something. Their course still followed the coastline but he noticed that they had moved a long way off from it. The cliffs were only just visible on the horizon. Shelim had spoken of storms but Azkun could see no sign of the dark clouds he had described.

  He soon forgot about this when Shelim and another sailor named Omoth began playing a game with small, flat pebbles. They were painted one side white and the other red. Shelim made a grim reference to this being ‘the blood and the bone’ but otherwise the game was cheerful enough. They took turns casting the pebbles onto the deck, having first guessed the number of red and white faces that would show. There was something else too, involving the passing of copper coins from one man to the other.

  It was late afternoon when the lookout, one of the sailors perched on the main mast, cried out in the Vorthenki tongue. The undercurrent of anxiety rose. Awan called a question to the lookout and his reply pushed the crew into a frenzy.

  “Pirates,” Althak informed him. “They hunt ships,” he added, choosing words he knew Azkun would understand. “They seek to kill us and take Awan’s cargo.” He grinned and Azkun realised he did not share the anxiety of the crew. “They will die in the attempt.”

  Azkun felt darkness at his words. To kill us? To seek for us the darkness of the pig? There was blood in Althak’s words, and across the deck he saw Drinagish and Hrangil emerge from their afflictions with eagerness. Already Menish was talking with Awan. Azkun shivered at their savagery, but he had no answer of his own to the pirates.

  The other ship had not been visible from the deck when the lookout had called his warning, but it approached with alarming speed. It was smaller than their own vessel and it was driven by a large, square sail. The pirates enjoyed a more favourable wind than themselves at present; that and their small size would have been sufficient to give them the advantage of speed. But, as they approached, Azkun could see a row of oars rising and dipping rhythmically along the one visible side. It made the pirate ship seem like a many-legged insect crawling towards them across the water.

  The Anthorians had shed their heavy cloaks and coats by now. Drinagish was still adjusting his ba
ttle jerkin but Menish and Hrangil were ready. Their short, curved swords were drawn and the small, round shields they carried were fixed to their wrists. They moved in odd little dance movements, preparing their limbs for battle.

  Althak had left Azkun’s side. He had spent some time talking with Awan and Menish, no doubt planning how they would repel the pirates. He had also made an announcement to the Vorthenki sailors that Azkun could not understand, and checked what weapons they had. Now he stood clad in his fighting gear, a gleaming breastplate, greaves and winged helm.

  The pirates were approaching. Moving just across the surface of the water the shape of a ram could be seen. It was a black, metal thing that glistened wetly with evil, seeking their fragile wooden hull. It was impossible that it could miss them now. He could feel the malice from the pirates as they heaved on their oars. A desperate ferocity lay in their hearts, it was so like what he could see in his own friends now, and he had no answer to it. No solution.

  “Azkun, get down!” shouted Menish. “Brace yourself against the gunwale. There may be a shock. And keep your head down!”

  He obeyed mutely. The waves of passion from the pirates whirled in his brain. Tenari echoed his movement as he crouched against the still solid hull of the ship and waited for the sickening crunch that would sink them.

  Although the pirates had appeared to be almost upon them, the waiting went on forever. He looked around. Had they somehow escaped? But a hush had fallen over their ship. Menish crouched against a barrel, he was still waiting. Althak stood in the centre of the deck, his legs looked like iron pillars, in no danger of toppling. The sailors waited tensely, clutching swords and knives. Azkun could feel each man’s jaw clenched as he watched the pirates race towards them. The tenseness crept into his mind, blotting out even the malice of the pirates. He crouched, waiting, waiting…

  “Now!” shouted Althak. He spoke Vorthenki but there could be no misunderstanding. Awan hurled himself against the tiller, the sailors sprang at the familiar ropes, the main spar swept across the deck and the ship lurched and leaned. Azkun was thrown against the gunwale, but there was no real shock. Looking up he saw the other ship slipping harmlessly past them.