Roger Parkinson: Summon Your Dragons

“Sensible,” nodded Vorish. “You should have got them to build a fire for you before they went. Here, let me.”

“No, no. I can light my own fire,” said Menish, getting up and wincing with pain.

“So you say,” said Vorish as he continued setting up the fire beneath the smoke hole in the top of the tent. “You'll need to be better by this evening if you expect to address your folk.”

“You're right,” said Menish, settling back onto a cushion. “A few moments of warmth normally restores me.” He watched Vorish for a moment as he laid the fire and lit it. It reminded him of the years before they fought Thealum when Vorish had lived at Meyathal, or travelled with him around Anthor. “It's good to have you here, Vorish. I'm pleased about what happened at Meyathal, that everyone now knows. I am not proud of what I did with Thalissa, but I am proud to have you as my son.”

Vorish smiled.

“Who could want for a better father? How's Adhara? Are things right between you?”

“Oh yes. We talked it over. I wish she had been your mother. She deserves a son like you.”

“You embarrass me with this talk, Menish. I thought of her as my mother from the time I arrived in Meyathal, or soon after. She was cool to me at first, for obvious reasons, but it didn't last. I remember her teaching me to wrestle like the Anthorians because the boys my age kept picking on me and I couldn't match them. She came looking for me when I didn't return to Meyathal one evening because my horse had thrown me and I was hurt.”

“Yes, I remember that. She did much the same for Althak, and for Neathy.”

“Have you seen Drinagish lately?”

“When have I been able? He's been with Athun and his friends most of the day. He's slept in my tent a few times, but he's been too tired to tell me much. I thought he was impressed with Athun, though.”

“Athun has been teaching them the trumpet signals, among other things. I was thinking that a display of their new skills would be in order. You could do it this evening before your speech. It would be more interesting than a sword dance.”

“Really? What did you have in mind?”

“Some precision riding, the kind of thing Anthorians do all the time, but with a difference. They respond to trumpet signals. Athun developed the idea after I told him about the sword dance. He uses it to train our cavalry. It looks very impressive.”

“I'd like to see it. It was always difficult training our Vorthenki when we were fighting Thealum.”

“We had to beat it into them most of the time,” said Vorish. “It was only by winning over powerful men like Darven and Angoth that we got anywhere at all.”

He paused and Menish could see he was weighing his options, as if coming to a difficult decision.

“I suppose it is futile to suggest deploying my heavy cavalry in our centre?”

“You know it is. Yes, I agree tactically it is the better choice. But my people would never accept it. This has to be Anthor's battle, even if it kills us all, and that means light cavalry in front.”

“Then Anthor needs to learn some exquisite timing in the next few days. My engineers tell me they can set the gourds to fire as the Gashan line crosses them, and a moment later, before the Gashans have recovered, Anthor must crash into them.”

“You can signal us with a trumpet?”

“Yes, but your folk, even those that know the call to charge, will not follow the Emperor's signal.”

“But I will. Don't concern yourself, Vorish. I can manage my people well enough. Tell Drinsagish he should go ahead with this display. We can use it to warm people up before I address them.”

Vorish hesitated again, as if we wanted to say something else. But all he said was:

“I'm sure he'll be pleased. And I'll want to see your reaction to this display. For now, you need to get that leg better.”

With that Vorish left and Menish wondered what he was planning. Vorish never did anything without a reason, usually more than one. Why was he trying to increase Drinagish’s prestige? Was it in case Menish died in the battle as his dream had predicted? Would Vorish be so cold hearted as to plan for such a thing? Of course he would.

There was time to prepare a great feast for that evening, and enough room to hold it on what was left of the games field. Vorish’s men did not come, he had arranged for them to gather on the other side of their camp from the Anthorians otherwise there would simply not have been room.

At the Anthorian feast they raised yak tail standards and built a great bonfire. Cows and yaks were butchered and set roasting on them, skins of ambroth were opened and distributed, and a roped off area was prepared for Drinagish’s display. The cost of the feasting was largely borne by Menish, one of the reasons people were not allowed to raid his herds, but the clan chiefs contributed too. Menish did not mind the cost. It was his duty as King to provide for his people on occasions like this, just as it was his duty to lead them into battle and judge their most difficult disputes.

When the feast began he and Adhara moved among them, carrying their meat with them, stopping and talking to everyone they could. Menish saw Aronyar and Tela and greeted them with pleasure. Even Marayhir had a smile and a nod for the King. He saw Mara once, but she did not return his smile. It was moments like these that he felt how much he loved his people. They were still asking how many cattle the Gashans had, still wondering why Vorish had come when they could surely take care of this business themselves. They were naive and foolish, but he loved them anyway. He heard Adhara laughing with Vangrith over some clever raid one of the northerners had made last summer. Vangrith seemed to have forgotten how offended she had been when Menish had last spoken to her. At length, when most people had finished eating and were moving into the heavy drinking phase of the evening, Menish returned to the bonfire and climbed onto a horse. Bolythak was on horseback beside him and unfurled his standard over his head.

Most people saw the standard and, realising Menish was going to speak, stopped talking to their neighbours. But Menish still had to shout to make himself heard over the din.

“Offspring of the Heroes of Ristalshuz!” A murmur of a cheer went through them. They had eaten and drunk well at his expense. Many of them had just spoken personally to the King. With the exception of Mara most of them felt warm towards Menish at that moment, even the women who knew of his crime seemed to have forgotten it now. “Have you all eaten well?” There was a resounding chorus of yeses, a few bantering noes which were ignored and, just as they faded away, a loud belch from somewhere over on Menish’s left. It was greeted with a roar of laughter. Menish could not see who was responsible. “It sounds as though someone has!” More laughter. “Before I weary you with words Drinagish, my nephew and heir, as you all know, has asked that he give you a little entertainment first.” He waved his arm towards Drinagish who was waiting at one corner of the field. Menish could not see the rest of his guard, except for Neathy who was standing near him with a Relanese trumpet in one hand and Drinagish’s standard in the other.

At Menish’s signal Neathy raised the trumpet and blew it. The Relanese trumpet sounded quite different from the traditional Anthorian yak horn, which could only produce a single, honking sound. The trumpet was capable of a number of notes depending on how it was blown. The first note was the signal for Drinagish’s horse to leap forward. He started with some trick riding that was common in Anthor. He rode around the perimeter of the field, turning backwards in the saddle, swinging underneath the horse and back up the other side. It was something any ten-year-old could do, but the better trick riders always did these things to warm up for their better tricks. Drinagish did one fancy trick, standing up on the horse’s back and somersaulting. The crowd cheered him for that one, and Menish was surprised. He had not realised that Drinagish was that good. Or was it something he had learned under Athun?