town within. Several small buildings lay outside the walls, clustered around the gate that stood open.
A squall blew across the deck, making it difficult to see much welcome in this place, but to Menish it appeared that Deenar was well constructed. No doubt the wall was to fend off pirates. He hoped they were hospitable to travellers, for he knew Drinagish needed a night off this rocking deck even if it meant spending it in a Vorthenki village. Awan had said that they did not have a sailor’s lodge here like the inn at Lianar and was reluctant to land. Another ship lay at anchor not far from the shore. It was a trading vessel like their own, Menish wondered where the crew of that ship were spending the night.
Awan’s booming voice shouted across the water and was answered, even above the noise of the sea, from a figure in a watchtower that rose above the palisade.
Men in heavy sea cloaks appeared in the gateway as they hove to and Shelim let go the anchor.
Menish knew that the Vorthenki sometimes greeted visitors with an alarming war dance but either they recognised Awan or they did not feel threatened. The men on the shore launched two small craft, which had been lying keel up on the beach stones, and rowed them out to sea. The waves grew more restive by the moment and this made heavy work for the rowers, but Menish could hear them chanting a work song to the rhythm of the oars. From the calls back and forth between the two boats it appeared that they were racing each other to the ship. When the first vessel thumped hollowly against their hull the crews of all three boats roared with laughter, cheering, and friendly abuse.
They were Vorthenki folk, of course. No one else lived on this coast. In the second boat stood a tall, red- bearded man who was dressed as a warrior. His helmet was even gaudier than Althak’s, for it sported a dreadful, nodding plume of horsehair that echoed every shift of his head. Menish noticed that he had not had to row. He was obviously the village chief.
The red-beard and two other armed Vorthenki hauled themselves over the gunwales. Menish held himself ready. Awan and Keashil had assured him that the folk of Deenar were friendly, but it would do no harm to have his sword loosened in its sheath. The red-beard drew himself up to his full height, about six and a half feet judged Menish. A little taller than Althak, and he was built more heavily. His face was partly obscured by the helmet so Menish could not judge his age easily, possibly he was in his mid forties. He had the look of a seasoned fighter, the stance of one who has been well trained. The two who stood beside him were younger men, the one on the left was younger than Drinagish.
Menish was about to introduce himself when the red-beard noticed Keashil. “Kopth’s balls!” he cried, “it’s the blind harper!”
He crossed the deck in three strides and crouched beside her figure. Menish saw him turn and notice Olcish too. “And the lad as well,” he murmured, “but only the lad. Woman, do you know me?”
She had been smiling from the moment she heard his voice.
“I know you, Darven. I've harped many times in your house.”
“Aramish? Falia?”
“Aramish is dead,” she reached out and fumbled to grasp Olcish’s hand in her own. “Pirates attacked us. I don't know what happened to my daughter.”
The red-beard gabbled something that Menish recognised as the Vorthenki words of passing and then added an eloquent oath of his own. Menish tried to remember something but could not think what it was.
“Darven? Yes it is,” cried Althak. “M’Lord, it's Darven of the Olsha fords.”
“Of course! I knew I had seen him before.”
Darven rose, looked about him and then pulled off his helmet, releasing a tumble of red hair.
“It is not… aye, but it is! Young Althak and M’Lord the King!” Suddenly he was caught by Althak who held him in a bear hug and thumped his back while he whooped for joy. The exuberance of Althak’s greeting dismayed Darven’s attempts to greet Menish more formally. Finally he extricated himself from Althak’s grip and bowed to Menish. It was a bow that made Astae’s efforts seem fawning.
“M’Lord, it’s good to see you again. But what brings you to Deenar? And by ship?” He glanced at Drinagish, on whose face the sea retch was plain.
“We travel to Atonir. But we're weary and need a night with solid ground beneath our feet.”
“Then you're most welcome. You'll lie in my house tonight, the ground's solid enough there!”
A rope ladder hung from the gunwale to one of the lighters. The little boat rose and fell alongside the larger, making the operation of getting from one to the other rather precarious as far as Menish was concerned.
Somehow he clambered down and found himself sitting in the middle of the boat, clutching at the wooden seat with white knuckles. He tried to smile a greeting to the other men in the boat but he suspected that all he managed was a bare-teethed grimace.
Hrangil managed well enough but Drinagish’s face was a greenish colour by the time he found his seat. Althak and Darven assisted Keashil down with Olcish supervising.
To Menish’s vague annoyance Azkun and Tenari swung themselves down easily, as if they had been born to the sea. Of course Azkun did have Vorthenki blood in his veins, as only Menish knew for sure.
In spite of the weather the sailors stayed on the ship. Awan was reluctant to let them ashore when there was no sailors’ lodge sacred to Yaggrothil. He was happy to trade with the village though and Omoth, who had relatives here, was allowed to land.
Althak took a hand at one of the oars and they seemed to fly across the waves. It was another race between the two boats. One of the oarsmen, another red-beard who resembled Darven enough to be his son, urged their rowers on with threats, jokes and curses.
When, finally, the boat scraped against the shingle beach amid a wash of foam, it was impossible to decide who had won. The oarsmen leapt out and hauled the boat up the beach. Drinagish, for all his apparent weakness, was out of the boat almost before the oarsmen. He threw himself on the stones and hugged the ground on which he lay. Menish and the others left with more dignity. He could not bring himself to rebuke his nephew for unseemly behaviour. He too was grateful for solid ground beneath his feet.
The stones crunched comfortably under their feet as they made their way up to the palisaded village. Darven sent one of his men on ahead to order preparations for a feast and Menish discovered, for the first time in days, that he was very hungry. The sea retch had forced him to eat sparingly and now that it had left him he was starved. No doubt the feast would be more fish stew, but he felt he could enjoy even that.
The village was a good deal better than Lianar, although there were no stone buildings like the old inn. This was not a place the Relanese had used. The palisade was well constructed and three times the height of a Vorthenki. The tops of the logs were sharpened and, on the inside of the structure, a fighting platform ran around the walls to allow the villagers to fend off ladders and to hurl spears and rocks at their attackers.
The gates, always the weak point in such a defence, were set at an angle into the wall. The wall on the right curved into the edge of the door, giving those defending it easy access to the unshielded side of the attackers. Great iron hinges held the gates and a heavy wooden bar could be drawn across it. Darven, who was obviously proud of the defences, pointed out another bar that lay alongside one of the open gates. It could be fitted into a socket in the ground that was packed with stones and placed against the gates to give them extra strength.
The houses themselves were made of well-cut planks of wood and thatched with straw. Rather than curtains of animal skins they had wooden doors, again on iron hinges, and carved door lintels. The carving writhed with sinuous figures of men, women and dragons. Over each lintel hung a pair of sheep’s horns, and some sprigs of fennel were threaded around them. Much as Menish disliked the Vorthenki, he could not help but admire their carving.
Women clustered in the doorways of the houses, torn between the drizzle and their curiosity of what the men had found in the ship. Like their men they were tall and usually yellow-haired.
Darven led them to the largest house, though they were all much the same. The doorway reeked of fennel as they passed through into the gloomy interior, but that smell was replaced by the smell of smoke, stale sweat and cooking.
Inside the house was typical of its type. A long hall filled the whole structure with a fire burning at its centre. At the very far end a wicker screen hid the women’s enclosure and near the door a similar screen formed a pen to enclose animals at night. Menish noted one of the differences between the way the Vorthenki treated their cattle and their women was that they kept them at different ends of the house.
The fire in the centre of the hall burned brightly and was the only source of light, for there were no windows and no lamps. Its flames curled around a great cauldron that hung from a large chain attached to the central beam
