of the roof near the smoke hole. Surrounding the fire a ring of stones kept the cracking, popping logs from lighting the rushes on the floor.
Benches and stools and sleeping furs lined the walls and, near the fire, an ornately carved throne stood; the chief’s place.
As they entered Menish heard a gasp beside him and turned to see Azkun wide-eyed and clutching his throat. He caught him by the shoulders and shook him.
“What is it?”
“They killed something,” he whispered. “It has passed,” he said after a moment, and Menish’s attention was diverted by Darven’s folk greeting them.
They crowded around them, anxious to see the strangers. Menish caught glimpses of a toothless old man, young children, plump women and several surly youths who had been tending the cauldron.
“Shoo! Back! All of you. Malak, I told you to keep stirring that pot, get back to it. If you let that fish boil dry again I’ll skin you alive.” The woman who spoke waved a curved bronze dagger at one of the youths as if she meant it. Malak slunk back to the cauldron over the fire, swinging the long ladle in his hand like a sword.
The others returned to their work as well. Several women were spinning near the fire and one was working a loom. The children stepped back a few paces but otherwise continued to stare at the strangers.
“Keashil! Keashil, it's me, Frethi!” the woman with the dagger embraced the blind harper and Menish saw tears sparkling in the firelight. Frethi was, of course, tall with yellow brown hair. It hung in braids almost to the ground and her tunic was of vivid green wool shot with a red thread. Menish noticed the small, metal spiral that hung from a leather string around her neck. She was a priestess of Kopth, dedicated to him from birth.
Not all of Darven’s folk had returned to their work. Two of the other women and the old man did not seem to find it necessary to obey Frethi’s order. The women were obviously Darven’s favourites, they both wore rich tunics. One wore a heavy gold necklace and a brooch with a sparkling red stone, while the other sported long golden earrings. The one with the earrings was quite young, the other was closer to Darven's age.
The older of them also embraced Keashil.
“It's Seti,” she said. “We heard rumours, bad rumours. We thought you were dead.”
The younger one pushed past the other women to Darven's side and clutched his arm possessively.
The old man just smiled and nodded at them, even bent as he was with age he was taller than the Anthorians. Menish wondered who he was that he could ignore Frethi’s order.
“Frethi, you have another guest too,” said Darven, interrupting the women from their embrace. “Take them both to the women’s enclosure and show them hospitality.”
Frethi smiled at Tenari and, taking Keashil’s arm, beckoned for her to follow.
Tenari, of course, ignored her. She still stared blankly at Azkun. Seti reached for her arm and Darven frowned. “Is there something wrong with her?”
Before Azkun could start telling him about the Chasm Menish said, “She won't leave my companion, but thank you anyway”
Their host shrugged and, while Frethi led Keashil to the far end of the hall behind the wicker screen, he gestured them to come and sit by the fire. Just before he sat Darven hesitated, looking at the throne and then at Menish. The throne of the hall was the right of the greatest lord present.
“No, Darven,” laughed Menish. “Your throne is much too big for my frame!” He picked up a stool, drew it close to the fire and sat on it.
“It's not seemly,” Darven glanced about, searching for something as he spoke. “Couldn’t you sit on a better stool, M’Lord? Here, this one's finer.” He found an ornate stool with a dragon design carved into the seat and placed it beside Menish.
Menish did not care if his rump covered plain wood or a design, but he could see Darven wished to honour him, so he accepted the fancier stool with thanks. Briefly he wondered if Azkun would prefer a dragon stool, or perhaps he would object to sitting on such a design. Strangely enough Menish himself felt relaxed even though he was in a Vorthenki house. His host knew better than to insult him by offering him women, and it was so good to be off that ship.
Darven called for ale and several of the women, including his two favourites went to fetch it while Menish introduced his company.
“Master Hrangil and Althak you know, of course. But you've not met my nephew, Drinagish, for he was too young to fight in those days. Two others, Azkun and Tenari, you've also not met before. We found them on our journey and they accompany us to Atonir.”
Darven looked closely at Azkun and Menish feared that he would see the likeness of Thalissa in him. But he only said, “your friend has no boots but fine clothes, where did you find him?”
“Wandering naked in the desert. We brought him with us out of compassion. The clothes are Althak’s.”
“But of course you had no spare boots!” Darven laughed. “That will be my pleasure to remedy.” He reverted to Vorthenki speech suddenly as he called to the old man. “Arith, find our friend some boots. New ones, mind.”
“New boots? New boots? What does he want with new boots?” grumbled Arith as he hobbled outside on his errand. Menish wondered again who he was that he could ignore the orders of a priestess, was addressed relatively politely by Darven, and had the audacity to grumble. He looked back at Darven and raised his eyebrows.
“Ah, you’ll be surprised to learn this, M’Lord. Surprised and pleased I think. But wait, here's the ale.”
Six women, each carrying a horn of ale, approached and presented one to each of the men. It was an echo of what had happened in Astae’s inn but they all knew it was just about ale, nothing more was implied. The women sat at the feet of the guest they had assigned themselves to. At Darven’s direction the young favourite sat at Menish’s feet. The older one, Seti, sat at his own. One of the other women was obviously pregnant. She had assigned herself to Azkun but seemed put out by Tenari's presence. Tenari stationed herself by Azkun's feet beside her.
Drinagish and Hrangil took their horns as if they were presented by vipers, Hrangil looked quite pale in the firelight. Althak, of course, was at ease here. He gave his woman a wink and a slap on the bottom as he took his horn and she sat down.
As for Menish himself, he took his horn with simple thanks, which seemed to discomfort the girl, as if he had scorned her beauty by not reacting more like Althak had. But, even if he had been Vorthenki and therefore relaxed about such matters, she was young enough to be his grand daughter.
He wished his host health, echoed by Drinagish, Hrangil and Althak, and drank.
Having joined them in drinking his own health, Darven resumed what he was saying.
“Old Arith, aye. You’ll like this M’Lord. I learned much in your service, including the way you value good men. After the war against Thealum I came north. I had some thought of sailing to the land of my fathers, perhaps even as far as Athim. Even now I’d like to see the glory of Kopth that fills the sky in the far north. But I stopped here. They tell me that the Vorthenki came here years and years ago and drove out some simple fisher folk who rode tiny coracles and had not even a bronze knife. When I arrived there were a few houses like this one but they were in poor repair. Pirate raids were frequent and the people usually fled into the forest while their houses were destroyed.
“I resolved to stay here, to establish a house of my own, for they were in need of a strong leader. You know, of course, the way this is done, but I could see that Arith was a wise man. He knows the seas here, the people and the forest. If I’d killed him to make myself chief my way would have been harder.”
“You let the old chief live?” asked Althak. ‘But surely you fought?”
“Oh, of course. He didn’t hand over his houses and slaves as gifts. We fought, but I've been trained in the Emperor’s army. You, Althak, know only too well that the Vorthenki has little skill for all his strength. I was the younger and my skill was greater. Although he fought to kill and I only to disable I bested him in a moment. He lay before me on the ground expecting death but I spared him.”
“And he's loyal?”
“I think so. As much as any. He is, at least, grateful. For I built the palisades you saw. No longer do we hide in the forest while our homes burn. Our folk are proud to fight to defend what's theirs. We have many strong young men, sons of my own house, and some of these I've trained in the ways of Relanor. Not all.” He grinned. “Some I would rather were not so skilled with a sword.”
Arith returned with a pair of fine boots.
“Boots, boots. Strangers given good boots. What are we coming to?” Arith muttered under his breath as he
