broadly.
The fat man indicated that they should sit at one of the benches while he scuttled off to another room and began shouting orders. Although Azkun understood nothing of the Vorthenki language it was obvious enough what was happening. Besides he caught hints and snatches of thoughts from everyone in the room. But to Azkun they were dominated by the boiling thoughts of Menish. His mind was racing with confusion and anxiety. Azkun’s own confusion was largely replaced by relief, but Menish’s suddenly troubled thoughts mingled with his own. They were so intense that Azkun began to see what was bothering him.
Menish despised the Vorthenki. As they rode past the first of the houses he had remembered their foul, barbaric ways. Their long houses were a symbol of their brutal society where a strong man would murder his brothers and set himself up with his wives and slaves.
He hoped Azkun had not noticed the dragon post outside the inn, but Menish had seen it. Across the road it stood, streaked with old blood. Sometimes they used animals, Menish knew, but Kopth preferred human flesh. Children or slaves were often killed to adorn the dragon post.
Menish had expected no less, in fact he had not really expected such a fine building as this in which to spend the night. It was obviously an old Relanese structure, for the Vorthenki never built of stone. The frescoes on the walls were illustrations of tales from the Mish-Tal. Of course it had seen better days. The smelly cauldron of fish stew in the centre of the room was a Vorthenki alteration.
But all this was incidental. He had expected to find Vorthenki in a Vorthenki village. The thing that troubled him had sprung from the incident outside when Azkun had approached that woman. Why he had done so did not really concern Menish. If his story was true he had never seen a woman before so it was not unreasonable that he should approach the first one he noticed. It was not the young woman Menish was thinking about anyway. It was the old one.
She had stepped out of the shadows and thrust herself between Azkun and the woman he was reaching out to and told him with all the vehemence of the Vorthenki tongue to leave her daughter alone. Then she had looked beyond Azkun and her eyes had lighted on Menish.
Thalissa.
For a moment his heart had stopped beating. In that moment she had turned and whisked the young woman away into the night. But he had seen her.
Her face was lined with age, as was his own now, and her once golden hair was grey, but even though he could not see the colour of her eyes in the dim light he knew her features only too well.
Inside the inn, in the cheerful light of the lamps, he wondered if it really was her. It was all so long ago. Perhaps he was mistaken. Perhaps he was not mistaken. He needed to know. He did not know what, if anything, he should do if she was still alive. Nevertheless, he had to know.
The fat man returned. His name, he had said, was Astae and he had spoken enthusiastically of his premises as if they rivalled the palace of Atonir. Menish could speak Vorthenki well enough, but he disliked that tongue. He would rather leave Althak to organise things with the man. Now Astae herded several dirty looking women before him, each carrying carved drinking horns.
“This is the best ale north of Deenar, M’Lords. Folk come from as far away as Athim for a mere sip of the ale of Lianar. And our women are said to be the delight of the Dragonseed…” Menish glared at him so ferociously that he trailed off nervously. If there had been an Anthorian woman in their company Astae would not have survived that sentence. Grath loosened his sword overtly and Bolythak’s dagger, which had been cleaning his fingernails, moved in a subtle but menacing way. A bawdy song in the wilderness was one thing, open talk of the Dragonseed festival was quite another.
“We require food, drink and rest,” said Althak, breaking the tense silence. “Your hospitality need extend no further.”
Astae grinned nervously. He had obviously not met Anthorians before or he would know better than to offer his women to them. It was only a mistake, thought Menish, the Vorthenki honoured their guests this way. The women stood in an awkward knot beside their master, wondering what to do with the drinking horns, not quite daring to offer them to these strange folk, though one of them was surreptitiously making eyes at Althak.
Menish dissolved the tension by reaching for one of the horns and Astae sighed with relief.
“You have come a long way then?” It was the cautious question of one who was curious but did not wish to give offence with his curiosity.
Althak looked to Menish who surprised him by answering.
“We are travellers from Anthor on our way to Atonir.” His accent, he knew, was appalling but Astae nodded. “We wanted to see this part of the country.” With a wry grin he added, “the fame of your ale has travelled far.”
At that the innkeeper giggled again. Menish decided he did not like the man. But he was too full of his own thoughts to be much annoyed by a grown man who giggled.
“If you are bound for Atonir I may know of a ship-”
“Talk to Althak about it. He will arrange it.”
Drinagish, who had gone out to check how the horses were stabled, entered the room with his face clouded with anger. He was shouting at a youth that followed at his heels and, though he was agitated, plainly did not understand a word Drinagish said. Menish decided he must arrange for Drinagish to learn some of the Vorthenki tongue as soon as he could.
“Uncle, this place is disgusting! The stables are filthy with dung and rotten oats.”
As he spoke he made threatening gestures at Astae and any other Vorthenki within reach, including the women.
“Calm down, Drinagish. Is it so bad?”
“Oh, it's better than they've had for the last few nights I suppose. But they've earned good food. I think he makes his beer in the stables.”
Astae began to bow nervously. Menish made an impatient gesture at Althak, who spoke to Astae in Vorthenki, explaining that the horses were to have fresh oats immediately.
“Come, Drinagish, the ale is good enough,” said Menish. “Have some, though you'll have to brave Astae’s women.” He knew why Drinagish was so concerned. He had a particularly fine horse that Menish had given him. Drinagish seemed to distrust the bench he was to sit on, but he sat down anyway and Grath reached him a horn of ale from one of the women.
“Not bad,” he said after he had tasted it. “I thought any ale north of Deenar was no better than horse piss.”
“Fortunately for the northerners that is not so,” said Althak.
Through an open doorway they could hear the sounds of their meal being prepared. The other Vorthenki folk in the main room helped themselves to the cauldron now and then, ladling the fishy stew into metal dishes. It did not look very appealing to the Anthorians, although Althak occasionally glanced towards the cauldron as if he would like to taste fish again.
“This is not really a Vorthenki house is it, Sire?” asked Grath.
“It seems Relanese to me,” answered Menish. “What do you know of it, Hrangil?”
Hrangil had hardly touched his ale. He had been looking at the frescoes on the walls.
“It is, indeed, an old Relanese building. It was old when my father and I came here many years ago from Atonir. I believe there had always been a Vorthenki village here also. There's a good harbour. But this was built as a stopping place for pilgrims to Kelerish.” He glanced at Azkun. “I'm afraid it's but a ruin of what it was. The walls, as you see, show scenes from the Mish-Tal. There are similar ones in the Court of Learning in Atonir. This one shows the Vaults of Duzagen in the Chasm below the Tor. There is the bridge we crossed today and here is-” he stopped with his finger pointing towards a stylised picture of the Chasm. “Here is Gilish throwing himself into the Chasm of Kelerish,” he said slowly.
“But who's this Astae?” asked Drinagish. ‘He doesn't look like a Vorthenki warlord. He's no taller than Grath, at least not when he stands up!”
Althak sighed and looked pained
“We're not all murderers of our brothers, Drinagish. His father probably found that Astae was the most competent at running the inn and left it to him when he died. It's not uncommon for these things to happen
