“No! She stays with us.” It was Azkun. He had clutched the woman’s arm as if some madness had come upon him. The woman herself seemed hardly aware of him.
“We do not steal women, Azkun,” said Menish carefully. “Help her down, Althak.”
“No!” shouted Azkun again. “You do not understand. She… she must stay with me. She is real. If she remains here then so must I.” He climbed onto the edge of the gangplank.
Menish swore. Sickness churned in the pit of his stomach. It was obvious that Azkun was determined in this foolishness, to argue with him would only increase the possibility of Thalissa’s identifying herself more explicitly. He could, of course, make Azkun a prisoner but that could be dangerous. He did not know what Azkun was capable of, and Hrangil would never forgive him.
Thalissa’s eyes pleaded with him silently and his own conscience howled at him but he gave his decision.
“She stays.”
Thalissa let out a sobbing groan and sank to her knees. Menish wondered if it was only his own selfishness that restrained him from letting them kill her. He did not want the guilt. To forestall further argument from her, and because he was known for his kindness to simple folk (his men, after all, were still watching him) he drew out a handful of coins from his pouch. They lay in his hand, inadequate recompense for the pain he had inflicted, was still inflicting, on this woman. But the others were still watching him and there was one other thing he could give her.
He mounted the treacherous gangplank, strode down to the woman on the pier and offered her the coins. She drew back, her lip curled in disgust.
“You hope to make amends with mere gold?” she hissed. “Or have you turned Vorthenki in your old age? My daughter is not for sale.”
“Take it for your own life’s sake,” he returned between his teeth so that those on the boat would not hear. “My men will kill you if they learn who you are.” Still she refused. Her eyes glared at him. Azkun’s eyes. “She's not your daughter. You bore a son in the Chasm. He is with my men.”
At that she whirled hungrily to look. It was easy to pick Azkun. His wild hair and beard singled him out. Thalissa drew in her breath in a short gasp. She recognised enough of her own features from this distance, though she could surely not see his eyes. “Now take the gold or your life may be forfeit.”
Stunned by truth thrust in her face she allowed the coins to be dropped into her hands. Menish turned and stamped back up the gangplank. He felt a wave of nausea rising.
“Sail at once!” he cried to Awan. “I'm sick of the smell of this place.” With that he groped his way to the opposite side of the boat and leaned over. He was grateful for his illness. It hid his tears.
Chapter 8: Blood on the Decks
Azkun was all too aware of the turmoil in Menish’s mind. He had not intended to cause him pain. Menish had wanted to speak with that old woman so, when Azkun had felt the same mind nearby, he had told Menish where she was. When the young woman had rescued him a second time from the spectres they had all become he knew he could not leave her behind. Menish had thought he had delivered an ultimatum, either she came or Azkun stayed behind with her. He had not intended it so. All he had tried to say was that he would stay behind rather than be parted from her. He had expected Menish to leave him.
As the boat drifted away from the stone dock he peered through the mist at the forlorn figure of the old woman. No one else noticed her particularly. Hrangil and Drinagish huddled near the base of the central mast, plainly uncomfortable with the motion of the boat. Menish had not yet left his post at the far gunwale and the Vorthenki sailors were too busy, or did not care, or both. But Azkun could see more than a vague, shrouded old woman, he could see a broken heart with a yearning purpose.
Althak stood behind him. The Vorthenki seemed confused and Azkun remembered Menish’s assertion that his men would kill the old woman if they knew who she was, and he remembered the pig. Althak had slashed its side with the sword that still hung from his belt.
“This is strange behaviour for him,” he murmured.
“I believe he is ill,” replied Azkun in an effort to explain Menish’s actions and distract Althak from the old woman.
“Yes, the sea always picks Anthorians. They'll be no better until we reach land again.”
“You seem unconcerned about it.” Althak was indeed. His confusion over Menish was slipping away now that he remembered the sea retch that afflicted the King. Althak was, in fact, pleased to be afloat.
“Oh, no. They'll suffer discomfort but no harm. It was, after all, M’Lord’s choice to come by sea.”
“Why must we travel this way then?”
“It's faster. The lands we'd have to travel through by horse are wild and uncertain, and the paths few and poorly known. The only certain route would take us all the way back to Anthor and then south. It would add weeks to the journey. But you're not afflicted yourself?”
“No, I am well.”
“And you're not hungry yet?”
“No. I will not eat.”
Althak nodded as if he understood.
“You're a strange one,” he turned and appeared to notice Tenari for the first time. “What happened? Why do you want her with you?” He was almost reproachful in his question, as if he felt sorry for the old woman.
Azkun told him, trying to keep the trembling from his voice when he spoke of the spectres. The Vorthenki nodded slowly.
“I've never heard of such a thing.” He smiled suddenly. “You're full of surprises. How do your dragons explain this?”
“I do not know. Perhaps… perhaps the dragons wished her to come with us.”
“Perhaps.” he stepped back and looked at Tenari. She ignored him. Her vacant gaze was for Azkun alone, as if he held her in a trance. Her height and colouring made her clearly not Vorthenki. Thick, black hair framed an elfin face with clear, dark eyes. When she moved her head the droplets of mist in her hair sparkled like jewels. Something about her mouth suggested solemnity or sadness but in her eyes there was nothing.
When Azkun looked at her his perception failed him. He could see no thoughts behind her eyes. At first she seemed as dead as the wooden hulk of the ship, a blank wall, a nothingness. But, when he stretched his perception to its limits, he caught something. It was not a mind, an echo of a mind perhaps. Like a gap in the emptiness, a distant cry of anguish or mirth, he did not know which. It slipped too quickly from his grasp.
“A bath and a clean robe would not go amiss, but she's quite pretty. She has an Anthorian look about her, although their women are usually more muscled. She is slender like a young Vorthenki maid.” He turned and asked Azkun suddenly, “Do you speak any Vorthenki?”
“No,” Azkun wondered why he asked. He was still puzzling over his glimpse at her mind.
“Then the old woman’s ravings meant nothing to you. I suppose you don't even know this one’s name.”
“Tenari? I heard her call that.”
“Yes. She also tried to tell M’Lord that she was her mother, but she has a more interesting tale. I heard it last night in my kinsman’s house.” He paused, waiting to see if Azkun was interested.
“Who do you speak of? Tenari or… or the old woman?”
“Oh, Tenari, of course. The old one is the woman belonging to the fisherman who found her. But I've omitted part of my tale. Tenari is new to this village. She was found by one of the local fisherman the day before yesterday.”
“Found? Where? In the sea?”
“No. She was found on the rocks by the mouth of the Chasm. It seems that you're not the only one to leave that place. I was told the fisherman saw a dragon in the sky.”
“She was flamed?”
“Not as far as is known. But, Azkun, I inquired carefully the day and time she was found. She must have left the Chasm at the same time you did. Isn't that strange? It would seem that the dragon that was seen was the
