Roger Parkinson - Summon Your Dragons

Thalissa cried out, stumbling backwards. But Azkun caught her.

“She scratched me!”

“She is under a strange spell of the Monnar. The dragons will free her from it. It was not she who scratched you. It was the spell.”

“You're Azkun?” she asked, her face welling blood from one of the scratches.

“I am. They tell me I am your son.”

“You're my son? But I had no son called Azkun. His name was Keig. Are you Keig?” She seemed suddenly bewildered and frightened.

“I am your son. You bore me in Kelerish, not Tenari. She is your foster-child.”

“Azkun?”

“Yes?”

“You have my eyes.” She smiled at him and then suddenly frowned. “Then where is Keig?”

“He is safe.”

“That's what Menish said. No more than ‘safe’?”

“You would be proud of him, I think.”

“He should have been emperor, but Menish stole him from me and left me to die.” She sighed wearily. “Oh, no more of politics and wars. I'm too old for such things now. Who is this?” Her eyes found Althak.

Althak stood up.

“You don't recognise me?”

“Should I? Wait a moment… no, I don't know you. Are you Keig?” she asked hopefully.

“No. I'm Althak.”

Thalissa looked at him closely.

“You've grown much since you were eight years old. What became of you?”

“I left Atonir soon after Menish. Thealum had no love for my father’s house after the lies you fed him. It wasn't safe for me to remain. I wanted to see Anthor, so I made my way north. Menish’s folk found me and I've served him,” he hesitated, “I've served him ever since.”

“Then I'd best watch my tongue as far as Menish is concerned.”

They left for the docks shortly afterwards, making their way through the press of people in the market place with the aid of horses and several of Vorish’s guards. It was the same as it had been before. Stall keepers clamoured for people to buy from them, weary donkeys carried improbably huge loads and small children carried baskets of bread on their heads.

As they moved through the crowd Azkun heard a voice call.

“It's Kopth! Kopth is among us again!”

Heads turned to look at them, those nearby moved closer to see them better.

“It is! It's Kopth in human form! They said he was dead.”

They pressed around them, reaching to touch Azkun.

“Stay with us!” cried a woman. “Kopth, stay with us.”

The cry was taken up by the rest of the crowd and Azkun could feel their longing for him. It was like that of the folk of Deenar when he left, it was like the place where they had sacrificed a maiden to him. Anxiously he looked about for a white-robed figure with fuzzy thoughts. But they were unprepared. Besides, Vorish had forbidden the sacrifice.

But Azkun was afraid of what they might do. The guards fended off people who tried to grasp Azkun’s legs. They used spear butts and their captain had a whip that he cracked to open the crowd ahead of them. Azkun felt the sting of it across a man’s face.

“Stop! Put down your whip! Stop!” Confused the captain turned his horse.

“What is it, M’Lord?”

“I must speak to these folk.”

He raised his arms above his head and the chanting faded to an expectant silence.

“People of Atonir! The last time I was here you saw me heal a man. It was not I who healed him, it was the power of the dragons.

“You have heard of the land of Gashan. I have been to that land. I have seen the Gashans preparing for war and they are dreadful to behold.” There was a low sigh from the crowd. “They will not fight with swords and spears, they will fight with magic. They will sweep down from their foul swamps in the spring and overrun Anthor. They will not stop there, they live for murder, nothing more. They will blast the great Lansheral and they will be at your gates by autumn.”

He felt their fear. There was none to question his words, he was Kopth to them.

“But this need not happen. While the Emperor sends swords and spears to aid Anthor I travel to Kishalkuz.” There were cries of ‘no’ and ‘don't leave us’ from the crowd, for this was Kopth saying he was going home, abandoning them.

“Your only hope is the dragons. You worship Kopth, but that is only a shadow of the truth. I am not Kopth. I am a messenger of the dragons of Kishalkuz. The dragons will deliver you from Gashan, not swords and spears. This is my promise to you. I go to Kishalkuz to ask their aid. I go to summon the dragons.”

For a moment they were stunned and confused. He had said he was not Kopth, yet he was going to Kishalkuz. But he had said that Kopth would deliver them from Gashan. A hesitant cheer broke out which grew.

“Kopth, Kopth, Kopth,” they cried, and the crowd opened before them, letting them pass through.

It troubled Azkun that they had not understood, that they still shouted for Kopth. But there was little he could do about that now. Besides, they would see the truth when the dragons delivered them.

Their boat was larger than Azkun had been led to expect by Shelim and Althak. But it was not as big as Awan’s boat that had brought them south. The vessel had only a short mast and the stern was not raised above the rest of the deck. As with all Vorthenki ships the carved dragon prow glared fiercely ahead.

“It'll be a long journey in a little boat,” said Shelim as they climbed aboard. “But at least we need fear no storms with you aboard.”

The crowd from the streets filled the docks, hoping to catch another glimpse of Kopth as he sailed away. They were strangely silent now as Shelim and Althak unfurled the sail and cast off. A breeze filled the sail, pulling it taut, and slowly the boat moved away from the pier. They watched as if this were a solemn occasion. Their god was leaving them, and Azkun felt their solemnity, their belief in him.

He stood on the stern, grasping the gunwale as their thoughts washed over him. A voice sounded in the crowd as they pulled away, the voice of a young girl raised in song, and others almost immediately swelled it. He perceived enough to know they sang an ancient hymn to Kopth, an invocation and a plea rolled into one. Behind them the megalithic palace of Gilish loomed like a mountain, dwarfing the people and even the city, but even against that the spontaneous singing of the Vorthenki held a vital significance. It was people, not stone, that mattered. For all Gilish’s mighty works he was dead. His buildings were only piles of stone. These folk on the docks were alive and they needed him.

He raised his arms, reaching out to them.

“I will return,” he cried. “I will return to you! I will bring dragons to save you!”

The sparring session Adhara had promised Menish did not take place. Althak’s departure left the King shattered. He had expected to spend the rest of the day conferring with Althak, Adhara and a few others, making what plans were appropriate at this stage. But most of those plans were to have included Althak and Azkun. In despair, though he was careful not to show it, he closed the court for the day and went riding with Adhara. He wanted to get away from these people who would make demands on him, to come to terms with Althak’s defection.

Menish whipped his horse with the anger he felt for Althak and galloped furiously along the riverbank. Adhara made little attempt to keep up with him. They were riding a well-known track. She would catch up when his anger cooled.

The cold wind on his face and the eventual snorting protests of the horse did their work on him and at last he stopped to let the horse drink. The tired animal picked its way down to the water while Menish stood on the horse track. The winter wind still blew on his face and the sky looked like snow. It was winter and he would die in the spring. He kicked at a stone, sending it flying into the water where the splash startled the horse. Damn Althak! How could he have listened to Azkun’s madness? Had he lost all reason? He was supposed to help convince Azkun to fight, not chase after his dragons. He was just a Vorthenki following his obscene gods. Menish had always known he continued to revere Kopth so what else should he expect? But Althak was different. Menish remembered the plea in Althak’s voice as he had announced his intention to fight Gashans the best way he knew. It was all Menish himself was doing. It was all Vorish was doing. Even Adhara, who had no hope for their survival, was going to fight Gashan the best way she knew.