Summon Your Dragons Page 6

  The building took Gilish thirty-seven days and when it was completed he galloped his horse, Garnar, along the battlements for the entire length of the wall.

  At the end of the tale Hrangil added, as all Anthorians felt bound to, that the wall remained intact until the time of Vangrith. She was the second of the chief-kings of Anthor, and she led them in a ferocious attack that breached the wall. That was more than a century after it was built. In those days Kulash the Usurper ruled Relanor. Vangrith was later killed when Kulash retaliated, and her body was dragged through the streets of Atonir behind Kulash’s horse, but Hrangil did not add that.

  Hrangil’s story was complete. To Menish he seemed more at peace with himself and his King. It was enough for one day. Menish thanked him, rolled himself in his blankets, and went to sleep. He was careful to ensure that his bad leg was near the fire.

  Chapter 5: The Bridge

  The next day began with feeble drizzle that woke them early. Drinagish complained loudly about the weather, but his efforts to bait Althak and Grath about the northern climate failed. Althak ignored the rain as if he had been born in a downpour, Grath merely drew his cloak around himself and began packing up their camp. Azkun also ignored the rain; he stared into the dying embers of the fire, watching the hiss of steam each droplet made as it landed there.

  Menish had slept well. His leg was tolerable this morning thanks to the precautions of the night before. In spite of the rain he felt cheerful. His old bones might last him a while yet. He looked at Hrangil, trying to gauge how his friend felt. Hrangil seemed to have resolved his contradictions sufficiently. He helped the others with the packing and loading the gear onto the horses, though he was hardly pleased about the rain. He scowled at Drinagish’s complaints from time to time.

  Breaking camp in the wild when it is raining and the day’s end will see civilisation again is never a lengthy task. In a short time they had mounted their horses and were on their way. Drinagish was still complaining about the weather, the lack of baths and anything else he could think of until Grath retorted:

  “Drinagish, do you want water or not? Here in the north we have it fall on our heads so regularly we have no need to wash!”

  At that Drinagish fell silent, and Menish thought he saw Hrangil chuckling. In spite of his good mood Menish was apprehensive. Azkun had fled from them before, he might attempt to do so again. Of course he would not get far. His arm was still in a sling and getting on and off the horse was too awkward without Althak's help. Still, he should have warned Althak. But, when he looked at the Vorthenki through the worsening rain, he saw that Althak was riding close to Azkun, he needed no warning.

  The rain grew from the early morning drizzle to a heavy downpour. Even with the hood pulled over his head drops of icy water wriggled down Menish’s neck sending shivers down his spine. His legs, where his cloak did not cover them, were soaked, and at times water managed to dribble down his face. It was like ice. His hands grew white with cold and his leg ached fitfully.

  The roadway became awash with tiny streams that the horses splashed through, leaving muddied grass behind them. Though it was mostly overgrown, no more than a level cutting in the slope across which they travelled, the old road occasionally revealed a glimpse of former grandeur. Parts of the embankment were faced with great blocks of stone. Sometimes the stone was carved with relief work, generally displaying the stylised horse figurine or the Ammorl, the firebird, symbols of Gilish used on all his work. In places the road led them across a stream where the remains of a bridge could be seen or, even rarer, the bridge was still intact.

  The Sons of Gilish who had used the road most had taken a strange fascination in its decay. As if, by looking at the road, they could measure the time that had passed since the first Emperor. They had never repaired it, and now that they no longer came the road had grown choked with undergrowth and bracken.

  Still the rain poured down on them and still the horses plodded through it. Hrangil set a pace as fast as possible, but they had to push through bracken and boulders and fallen trees. They could not travel faster than a walk.

  About mid-morning Menish called a halt and they passed around some honey cakes and some dry bread, which everyone ate ravenously, for they had not eaten since the night before. Everyone except Azkun who refused any food. Menish sighed, it was going to be a long journey to Atonir.

  An hour or so after they set off again he heard Azkun and Althak talking. The rain drummed on his hood and he could not hear them clearly at first, but a slight lessening of the downpour allowed him to catch their drift.

  “…I've always revered dragons, they are my kin,” said Althak. “But I've never heard it said that they created the world. It's said among my people that Kopth lay with Kiveri-Thun and from that union the world was born.”

  “And who is this ‘Kopth’, a dragon?”

  Althak hesitated as if he were considering a thing he had not thought of before.

  “I'm not sure. The priestesses say he is a spirit that can take whatever form he pleases, man, dragon, sometimes a bull. His favourite form is a dragon, there's no doubt of that.”

  “Then he is a dragon. He can change to other forms perhaps, I do not know, but he must be a dragon.”

  “Perhaps,” said Althak, though he seemed not entirely convinced.

  “And so the dragons made the world. You said so yourself.”

  Menish heard the smile in Althak’s reply.

  “That I did, almost.”

  Menish was surprised that Azkun had lost his intensity. He even laughed at Althak’s reply.

  “Then you will not doubt that the dragons, Kopth if you prefer, are perfection. You have seen them yourself.”

  “I've seen them in the north, not only at Kelerish. They often cavort above the sea cliffs. I believe they ride the winds up there like a ship rides the winds on the sea. The first sight I caught of them the folk with me were afraid and hid indoors. I didn't know why until I saw one breathe fire.”

  “Why?”

  “Oh, why indeed. Azkun, you stood in dragon fire and lived. We count that a marvel. No other man would've survived such an ordeal-”

  “But it was no ordeal!” he protested. “The fire of the dragon was as gentle as the rain. It opened my eyes and my mind. It gave me speech.”

  “Then you are especially blessed. In the north we both love and fear the dragons. We love their beauty, but we fear their power.”

  In a low voice that Menish could hardly hear Azkun replied.

  “You do not have to fear them. It is only the corruption within you that fears them.”

  “What do you mean?” Althak’s tone was suddenly guarded. It was a tone he often used at the court of Menish when he was taken to task for his Vorthenki ways. Some would try to ridicule him, others would accuse him of crimes relating to the barbarity of the Vorthenki rites. There were those who were genuinely offended by Vorthenki and there were others who wrongly thought this was a stepping stone to Menish’s favour.

  “Do not be offended, but consider. If the dragons created the world how could they be anything but joy to us?”

  “How indeed? Yet they are powerful. I wouldn't like to meet an angry dragon.”

  “You misunderstand. There is a barrier between yourself and the dragons, like the Lansheral, a wall. The dragons did not place it there, I do not know where it came from, I cannot believe it was there in the beginning. But it is there now.”

  “A wall? I've seen no wall. Where is it?”

  Menish could not tell if Althak was baiting Azkun or if he was genuinely puzzled. There was humour in his voice, though. His guarded tone had faded away.

  “It is not a wall of stone, nor of earth. It is corruption.”

  “Corruption? A wall? Now you confuse me utterly.”

  “Corruption. I first knew it in the Chasm, though I did not know it for what it was. But when the dragon bathed me in its flame the corruption was melted from me and I was born into the upper world. I th
ought there was no corruption here. Yesterday I discovered that I was wrong.” Azkun seemed to grope for words, and Menish noticed his former intensity returning. “It manifests itself in all foul things, in all violence, in all fear. Yesterday the river tried to kill me, the mountains were silent and cruel.” He hesitated. “And you killed the pig.”

  “A man will die if he doesn't eat.”

  “I will not.”

  “But, Azkun, I will. I can't stand in dragon fire and live, nor can I go hungry and live. If you're different then don't accuse us of corruption because we must eat.”

  Azkun fell silent and their conversation stopped. Menish felt, at last, that he understood how Azkun thought. That Azkun was deluded was obvious, but Menish began to follow his deluded reasoning.

  Gilish would not, of course, have spoken so. Menish had always heard that Gilish had regarded dragons as enemies. He had never fought them. It had not come to that. The dragons had occupied the peninsula of Kishir and Gilish had wanted Kishir in his empire. But perhaps Gilish was entitled to change his mind. It was all so long ago.

  The rain eased in the afternoon, fitful showers passed over from time to time but they were able to throw back their hoods and dry out somewhat. Menish was grateful for the warmth of the horse. He was sure his leg would have been the worse without that comfort.

  With the easing of the rain came the wind. They were sheltered from it in the forest, though its icy fingers sometimes stole through the trees. When the road passed across an exposed cliff face or ridge they felt its full blast. The wind blew from the snows of the mountains above them and brought their cold with it. Menish clutched his cloak tightly around him and hoped they would reach Lianar by evening.

  They had been travelling through steep country for some time now. The road led across cliff faces where it had been hacked out of the rock and wound around the contours of the mountains. Far below Menish could hear a river thrashing its way through the gorge and, above, the cliffs rose sheer. When he leaned over the edge of the road he saw that they were a dizzy height above the river. It was a tiny white streak in the gloom below.

  Their way was constantly made difficult now by the rocks and rubble that had fallen across the road. They had to dismount and lead the horses a number of times, and progress was slow, and especially hard for Azkun.

  After a particularly treacherous stretch where the road narrowed to a thin track just wide enough to pass and rocks turned beneath their feet as they walked, they found themselves standing before a bridge.

  It was no ordinary bridge. Menish had seen many works of Gilish in his life, but he had not expected such a thing to emerge out of the northern wilds. It leapt the gorge in a single, graceful span. Menish looked, as he had done with so many of Gilish’s works, and wondered at it. It was an impossibility. Such a thing could never have been built. Yet, here it was.

  “Blaze of Aton!” cried Drinagish. “What is this?”

  “It's the Bridge of Sheagil, made by Gilish himself to reach her,” said Hrangil.

  “Must we cross this?” asked Althak. “It looks old-”

  Hrangil snorted contempt, as if Gilish and anything he did would last forever. But he also looked at Azkun, perhaps hoping that he would recognise this marvel.

  Azkun was clearly impressed by the bridge. He hobbled over to the very edge of the gorge to look at it. He knelt there and touched the grey stone, as if in greeting. His palm caressed it almost tenderly with his one free hand. He smiled.

  Hrangil, who was leading the company, hesitated, obviously wanting to see what Azkun would do. Presently Azkun rose and turned to them. It started to rain again and the wind buffeted him on the edge of the precipice.

  “A bridge!” he cried above the wind. “A bridge across the river, across the chasm! This,” he turned and flung out his arms as if to encompass the structure. “This is the answer to corruption!” Joy lit his eyes as if he were giving them a gift he knew they had yearned for.

  Menish wished he could contain his madness for times when the rain was not blowing in their faces. He did not want to delve into the strange passages of Azkun’s mind just now. All he wanted was for them to remount their horses and continue their journey.

  “Then let us cross the bridge,” he called back through the rain.

  That delighted Azkun. Althak helped him back onto his horse and Menish nodded to Hrangil to start forward. Althak was suddenly beside Menish.

  “M’Lord, this bridge is old. Will it bear us all? Perhaps we should not all cross at once.” Menish nodded, though to him the bridge seemed safe enough. Hrangil had already started when he called:

  “One at a time, wait until Hrangil has crossed.”

  So, one by one, they crossed the bridge. Althak followed Hrangil and then came Azkun, utterly delighted with the bridge and forgetting his pains, and then Menish himself. The bridge was wide enough for two riders to cross abreast and had chest high ramparts on either side, but even so the vast drop beneath the stone was perilously accessible. His horse shied once before it set foot on the bridge but it gave Menish no further trouble. At the centre of the span the wind was so strong that Menish dismounted and walked the rest of the way. Sitting high up on a horse did not give him any confidence against that dreadful fall.

  Grath, Bolythak and finally Drinagish crossed, all leading their horses from the beginning. Drinagish looked quite discomforted by the crossing. When they finally assembled on the other side Hrangil looked at Menish reproachfully.

  “You did not trust the bridge of Gilish.”

  “It was wise to be cautious.”

  But the barriers between Menish and his old friend were flung up again. Hrangil turned his horse and led them off in silence.

  Once more they had to pick their way along the old road as it wound across the cliffs. The slope was generally downwards now, where it had been roughly level before. They were slowly working their way towards the bottom of a gorge. Still the wind blew and the rain slapped at their faces. Menish resolved many times that he would not make such a journey again. Adhara had said he should not, he was too old for such things. But she had not been plagued by evil dreams. And those dreams still left him troubled him somewhat. The nagging feeling that he had been summoned by them to meet Azkun was still there. What god would make such a summons? Aton? Or perhaps Gilish himself? But Thalissa had not climbed from the Chasm, and Azkun was plainly mad. What kind of summons was that? At least he could sleep again, and for that he was grateful.

  When they left the gorge they found themselves travelling through forest again. Menish checked the direction of the pale smudge in the clouds that marked the sun’s position. It was late. He was about to ask Hrangil if they would still reach Lianar by nightfall when it began to rain again. Instead he hunched his cloak around himself and lost interest. They would arrive when they would arrive. He was quite cold now, his hands were numb and he felt weary, so weary.

  He jerked awake suddenly, feeling alarmed and foolish. He had gone to sleep on his horse! None of the others were watching him, so either his hood had hidden him or he had slept only briefly. Even so he was surprised at himself, and somewhat horrified. He remembered jokes he had repeated as a boy about old men and women who were so senile they fell asleep on their horses.

  As he fumbled with his thoughts, telling himself that he was very tired today and making other excuses, he became aware that Azkun was speaking with Althak again.

  “That is what I realised as soon as I saw the bridge. The road between corruption and the dragons is broken by a great gulf, a chasm not a wall. This chasm must be crossed and to cross it a bridge is required.”

  “Fine words, my friend,” said Althak. “But what do they mean? I see no bridge, I see no chasm.”

  “You see no chasm because you stand in its shadows, as I did once. I did not know there was an upper world until I was called from the Chasm. That calling was my bridge.”

  “So what is to be my bridge?”

  Azkun was silen
t for a long time, then he spoke.

  “I am your bridge.” He said it loudly enough for Hrangil to hear, and Menish wondered what he would make of that remark. Althak only laughed. Menish heard him clapping Azkun on the shoulder.

  “A bridge to the dragons! You have a great heart, Azkun. One day you'll have me believing you.”

  Azkun no longer wanted to flee. He had reconciled himself to the futility of that course. The corruption had insinuated itself into the very rocks. Their jagged edges had attacked him mindlessly in the river and he still felt their wounds. Running from his comrades would not escape it.

  He resolved to resist the evil he felt around him, to face it and to somehow defeat it in the end. Yesterday, before they had killed the pig, his perception of the world had been so different. Yesterday the trees and the rocks and the water were things of beauty he had taken delight in. But yesterday he had not realised the fundamental darkness that infested everything even during the day. The spectres of the night were merely hidden. He perceived that darkness with a desperate clarity. He was in a place of death among people who killed, who deliberately sought that terrifying darkness that had swallowed the pig.

  But he fought many battles within himself that day to contain his panic. Sometimes it lurked in his mind just beyond a scream. Sometimes he was almost able to ignore it, but it was always there. At first he wondered if he could possibly last the day. His mind would sometimes brush against the thoughts of the others, and he would clench his teeth against horror. But as the morning wore on his defences became more secure. He remembered the dragons and that gave him hope.

  So it was that he began to speak to Althak about dragons. Althak, because he was most receptive to talk of dragons. Althak, because he had, after all, shown him kindness. He was not all darkness and death. Azkun felt he had some measure of success, but he had no answer to the Vorthenki’s assertion that he must eat if he was to live.

  The bridge provided him with that answer. They had struggled along the face of the gorge for hours. It reminded him so much of the Chasm with its sheer cliffs and its biting wind. He felt the instinctive numbness creeping back into his mind. It was almost a relief from his contained panic. But the bridge had driven all that away. The bridge was the answer.