Roger Parkinson - Summon Your Dragons

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.