When evening came, he knew, it would still be ablaze, visible for many miles.
The thought of fire reminded him of Azkun. He still lay prone on the deck. Menish called one of the sailors to bring water then he knelt beside Azkun and checked him for injury. Apart from a swelling around a new cut on his forehead, obviously Menish’s own work, he was whole. His injuries from the river showed no sign now. One arm lay in a pool of blood that was not his own and he was speckled with dark red. Menish cleaned him as best he could. He straightened his limbs and made a pillow of some spare garments for his head. Taking a flask of ambroth he cleaned his forehead. Azkun did not stir.
He was not seriously hurt. His heart beat firmly. Menish left him in the care of Omoth, who had brought the water, and went to clean himself.
Battle is a disgusting business, he resolved, as he always did, while he washed his spattered arms and body. Sticky, red droplets had clung to his hair and it took some effort to rid himself of these. By the time he had completed his ablutions he had removed his battle jerkin and changed his tunic. The sun had set and the lamps were lit, casting a yellow light across the decks. Finally clean and considerably refreshed, he made his way to the base of the main mast. There the rest of the company, except Azkun and Tenari, had gathered. Althak had managed to find time to remove his armour and helmet. He still wore his greaves but he had washed himself. Drinagish was spotless and was now helping Hrangil, who was hurt, to replace his shirt.
The blind woman and her son had been provided with food, some dried fish and a bowl of mein. Menish was touched by the way the boy watched over his mother, feeding her with his own hand. She still appeared frightened, as though there were too many things she could not know without sight. Her voice, he recalled from their brief conversation earlier, had a strange clarity to it, as if she used it for more than just speaking.
Althak sat beside them, the boy made him look like a giant. He seemed no taller than the Vorthenki’s knees.
“Here is the King,” he announced and she turned her sightless eyes towards him. “M’Lord, are you hungry?”
“No, not yet, Althak.” He still saw men dying on the decks in his mind’s eye, besides the sea retch was stirring in his guts again. He sat down on a barrel beside the boy. A chill wind swept across the decks but someone had arranged a piece of sail cloth to shelter them from the worst of it. Just above their heads a lamp hung from the mast. It rocked with the motion of the ship, making the shadows move, accentuating the roll of the waves. The yellow light caught the woman’s hair making it seem Vorthenki blond.
“I would hear your story, Woman, if you're ready to tell it.”
“I'm ready, Sire. But please excuse me if I hesitate. My tale is painful.” Menish nodded then, realising that was no reply for her, spoke his acknowledgement. There was that clarity in her voice again. She sounded as though she were reciting poetry.
“My name is Keashil and I'm from Moshanir, in the country of Golshuz. It was a country often forgotten in the struggles of war. We were a peaceful folk, when left alone. Relanor all but forgot us, the Invaders didn't know us and Anthor, I suppose, considered us part of Relanor.”
“That's true, Golshuz has always been part of Relanor.”
“Yes, but our association is a loose thing. A fire tower stands in our midst, a Drinol presides over us when one can be found to travel from Relanor, nothing more. We always thought of ourselves as Golshuz, not Relanor.”
“But you speak Relanese.”
“As you do, Sire. We worship Aton and take frequent baths as well. Our men folk, including my father, were Sons of Gilish. But there were also Vorthenki folk in our midst. Not pirates or wayfarers, they were happy folk who blended with our people easily and lived among us.
“We heard, of course, of the invasion. But the Vorthenki, the Invaders, did not come to Golshuz. We were forgotten for a time. But only for a time. In the year 913 Thealum and his hordes descended upon us.” Here she paused for a moment. It seemed to Menish she groped for words, or courage.
“One of the worst days of my life began when we heard that Monilen was laid waste. I was fifteen years old at the time, espoused to a wealthy merchant who dealt in rich fabrics that were delightful to caress. For my family it was to be a good marriage. I believe he must have been a kind man, for you who have sight regard us who have it not as inferior. He had only one other wife and she was much older than I.” Here Hrangil stirred uneasily. Menish, too, was uncomfortable with Relanese polygamy.
“Thealum’s horde were on the heels of the messenger. There was barely time to hide away the children before they fell on us. I need not describe the horror of it. At the end of the day I and a few other children who had reached a place of safety picked over the ruins of our city.
“We fled to the hills, I and the other children. I was one of the oldest and, therefore, to me fell the responsibility of the youngest ones. We spent six years living as outlaws in the hills, hiding from Vorthenki raiding parties in caves and makeshift forest dwellings.”
“And all this time you were blind?” asked an incredulous Drinagish. She smiled in the direction of the voice.
“Yes, I was born without sight. I've never known it, therefore I ask no pity on that account. I don't desire what I don't know.
“Those years were very hard. Many of the youngest children died in the first winter, which grieved me, I had a little brother… but that's past. There was never enough to eat, the winters were cold and often we dared not light a fire lest we were discovered. But I didn't notice my lot was much different to my fellows. I couldn't hunt, but we women left that to the men, for our boys quickly grew to men.
“One thing I found did make me different. I'm not sure how it came into our possession but, from the first, our small company owned a harp. My family had always prized music. My earliest memories are of playing and singing with my mother. So it often fell to me, when we were safe from discovery and a warm fire was lit, to play and sing away cold winter evenings.
“After six years of this life our small band was reduced to a dozen sorry starvelings. The Vorthenki hordes ebbed away at that time, I learned later that they were recalled south. Thealum was pressed to defend Relanor from the attacks of the Emperor, and yourself, Sire. For that you have my undying gratitude.
“There was little left of Golshuz. The high folk were obliterated, the peasants massacred. Only the Vorthenki that had lived in our midst were spared, and for them we were thankful. They sheltered us when we felt it safe to return from the wilderness. They listened to my songs and my harp and gave us gold for them. Once more we slept indoors with full bellies.
“Our fame grew and we travelled the length and breadth of Golshuz. No longer did we hide ourselves, messengers were sent before us announcing our imminent arrival. We were received with welcome and delight wherever we performed. I say ‘we’ because, while some of our original company left us, most could not bear to put away our deep friendships. If our bread was to be earned by singing songs then they resolved to help me earn it. I taught them what I could with my little harp, we used our gold to buy another, and they had always sung with me by the fire. Some danced and performed strange tricks but, while I could hear the delight of the crowd, I could not understand them.
“I married one of our company. His name was Aramish but he called himself ‘Rith’ and told the crowd that he was a great magician. For the first time I envied your gift of sight. I would hear him speaking, sounding deep and mysterious, then I would hear gasps of wonder from our audience. He explained to me what he did but I never understood their wonder. He would tell me that ‘the hand is quicker than the eye’ but that was no use to me.”
Suddenly she checked herself.
“I'm sorry, Sire. I ramble on like an old crone. But my Aramish was dear to me and those were happy times.” Menish noticed her lower lip had begun to tremble. “I bore him two children, a girl and this boy, Olcish, here.
“Now the saddest part of my tale begins.
“Our own Vorthenki of Golshuz delighted to hear us. But there were some who disliked us. Perhaps they took offence at some of our Relanese songs of Gilish, or perhaps they did not think my husband’s calling himself Rith was seemly. I don't know. We heard rumours that something evil was brewing, we had warnings not to travel too far north, but we laughed at them. Did the people not love us? So we paid them no heed and travelled north.
“We were on the coast north of Deenar two years ago when they attacked us. I can't tell you much of it. Olcish, here, can tell you more. I remember the clash of steel and the cries of those I loved. I clung to Olcish and we survived. Olcish tells me they killed Aramish but he does not know what happened to Falia, my daughter. Some
