Roger Parkinson - Summon Your Dragons

The trumpet blared again and seven riders galloped from behind the bonfire. They rode straight at Drinagish, swords drawn and yelling battle cries. There was a murmur of confusion from the crowd, but Drinagish sat calmly on his horse. Just before they reached him the horn blew again. As one the riders stopped dead. The horn blew again, a higher note, and they turned to form a circle, including Drinagish. The horses began to trot around the circle, nose to tail, moving slowly at first, then faster and faster. Menish was impressed already. Athun had not been just training the riders, he had been training the horses as well. There were few horses Menish had ridden that could maintain a strict formation at that speed.

Then Neathy sounded the horn again. Two of the riders opposite each other in the circle exchanged places by crossing through the middle. Another blast on the horn, a different note this time, and two more riders crossed the circle. It took a few moments for the crowd to register what was happening. Neathy blew again, and this time they were watching. Two riders, one of them was Drinagish, broke out of the circle, crossed the centre and exchanged places. The others kept up their speed. A cheer went up from around the perimeter of the field. Menish heard someone offering a wager on who would miss the timing first.

Once more Neathy’s horn blew and once more the riders changed places. Menish was not sure how many people realised the significance of the horn blasts. Each pair of riders had been given a note, when Neathy blew their note they had to change with perfect timing. It involved recognising their signal and acting immediately, just as they would have to in a battle.

But now it changed. Neathy still blew as before, but the riders had drawn their swords and strapped their shields to their wrists. Instead of just changing places the riders would swing their swords at each other as their paths crossed. As far as Menish could see these were not the predefined slashes and parries of the sword dance game, they were more like the real thing. He supposed the swords were blunt. One of the spring games events was a form of jousting with riders charging each other with blunt swords. It was good entertainment, but the participants were generally regarded as mad. Wagers were being exchanged thick and fast now. This was the kind of thing they loved, and it was new.

Of course, sooner or later, it had to end by one of the riders being knocked off his horse. Drinagish was exchanging places with his opposite rider, there was a blurred sword movement, a raised shield arm and a thud, the other rider landed in the dust.

The crowd roared its delight as the other rider, Barvolin’s grandson Menish thought, climbed to his feet and dusted himself off. Someone caught his horse for him and he climbed back on. Even those who had lost their bets looked pleased.

The riders were not finished yet. They reformed their circle and continued their ride, but this time it was different again. They wove a complex pattern, guided by Neathy’s signals, where it seemed that four of them were changing places at once. Menish had not quite seen how it worked when Vorish touched his arm, he had climbed onto a horse and moved alongside him.

“They've learned it well,” said Vorish.

“It's a clever idea. It makes them learn the trumpet signals.”

“Not to mention excellent horsemanship. The Vorthenki take longer to learn it. Drinagish and his friends only had to learn the trumpet signals.”

“And the cooperation to obey them.”

“Of course.” Vorish fixed his eyes on Menish. “I want Drinagish to lead the charge.”

“What did you say?” Menish was still trying to make sense of the pattern the horsemen were weaving, he must have misheard Vorish.

“I want Drinagish to lead the charge.”

“That's impossible, you know it is. I must lead them.”

“You'll be on the hillside with me. From there we'll control the battle. With Drinagish at the head of the Anthorians we'll be able to control the start of the charge with the trumpet signal.”

“I know the trumpet calls. I taught them to you!”

“Yes, and your place is with me. This is not a cattle raid, Menish.”

He had been saying that to his own people for so long.

“The King leads his people-”

“The King should have more sense. You're not young any more. If you are in the front line you'll die. Leave that for younger men who can defend themselves. Getting killed will not help Anthor. You'll not have Althak by your side this time, Menish.”

“Vorish, you're not often wrong but this time you are. You want me to announce that Drinagish will lead them. If I do that I'll no longer be King. Yet Drinagish will not be King either, there'll be confusion and division. People will not know whether to follow him, or go home. Many will go home.

“I think I'll die in this battle. It's something I'm ready for. I'd rather die in battle than grow old and toothless around the fire. You don't know what pain this leg gives me at times.”

Vorish grasped him by the shoulders.

“But I don't want you to die!” Vorish’s eyes rolled white and his face paled alarmingly, even in the ruddy glow of the fire. Menish had not seen him so disturbed since he was a child and used to have fits of rage. He could feel the grip on his shoulders tighten and Vorish’s mouth jerked oddly, but it only lasted a moment. He clamped his jaw shut and closed his eyes, bowing his head and steadying himself against Menish. “At least accept some of my Ammorl guards as a bodyguard,” he said hoarsely. “They'll guard you with their lives.”

Menish shook his head, though he was afraid of the reaction he might provoke.

“My people would be offended. You know they don't want to share the glory.”

“Then Drinagish must guard you, he and his own guard. If they let anything happen to you I will tear their skin from their backs. I wish Althak were here!

“Very well, since you're determined. But they need to all charge together and to the rest of your people the trumpet means nothing.”

“I told you I can manage my own people, Vorish.”

Drinagish and his guard had all but completed their dance. Another trumpet blast from Neathy and they broke their circle and galloped back behind the bonfire amid cheers and the settling of bets.

As the noise died down Menish moved his horse forward into the roped off area, Bolythak moved up beside him with the standard.

“Did you like that?” Menish shouted. There were cries of ‘yes’ and cheers. “Can Anthorians ride horses?” A unanimous ‘yes’ chorused out. “Can Anthorians fight Gashans?” A loud cheer. “Poor, stupid Gashans! If only they knew what slaughter we will make of them, they'd run back to their stinking forests and hide.” Another cheer. They were in a good mood, and Menish had had years of practice at speaking to them. “Some of you have asked me what all these Relanese soldiers are here for. I'll tell you.” They went suddenly silent. “You may have noticed there are a lot of them. They've come to watch how Anthor fights. Are we going to show them?” Cries of ‘yes’ and ‘we’ll show them’ roared back.

“Now, tomorrow we travel north to the battle plain where we beat these stupid Gashans last time. We'll wait for them there. When we see them I'll place my standard at the end of the valley, and you'll assemble by it. People have been telling me I am getting old-” There were cries of ‘no’ from the crowd. “Well I'm not as quick as I used to be. That's why I want you to wait until I signal before we charge, just to give the old fellow a chance.” There were hoots of laughter. “So when you see my standard dip, dip it Bolythak, like that, then we all charge together. We meet them head on-” He clapped his hands together. “And those Gashans that live will talk of Anthorian swords for generations. But wait for the signal. I want to have first cut at this Gashan filth, and I'll take it as a personal insult if anyone charges before my signal,” there were murmurs of assent. “Remember that signal.” Bolythak dipped the standard again. “And slaughter Gashans when you see it. Stupid Gashans!” He was answered with hearty laughter.