months before we expect Gashan then you need not come at all. The dead of Anthor won't welcome you.”
“The alternative is to find out more about what is happening in Gashan before we commit ourselves to a course of action we may regret.”
“Find out? How?”
“By going there. A small expedition, just a few men. Quickly in and quickly out. They find out what the Gashans are doing and report back.”
“You don't know what you're saying. Gashan is a fearsome place-”
“It's been done before, I believe,” continued Vorish. “In the time of Gilish III spies were sent into Gashan before the main expedition. Most returned safely, in spite of the dreadful tales they spread.” He looked at Menish strangely for a moment. “There is another reason for venturing into Gashan.”
“What other reason?”
“They have the Duzral Eye.’
“What has that to do with it? We both know the Duzral Eye was useless against them last time. It didn't help Telish IV, though he trusted his life to it. I'll not hear tales of the Duzral Eye.”
“Gilish III, if I remember correctly, claimed to have defeated the Gashans with it.”
“Tales, idle tales. It's all nonsense. Vorish, I was there when Telish died. The Eye has no power. None at all. You know my feelings on this matter. Forget the Eye.”
“I've read things about this Eye. It's not as easily dismissed as you'd wish. I don't necessarily believe all of these tales, but I can't simply ignore the possibilities. Menish, if you ask me to listen to your dreams you can listen to my tales. The Eye may be more than you suppose. It may have done nothing for Telish IV, but it appears to have been the key to Gilish III’s victory over Gashan in 583.”
“What about the Eye, then?” said Menish reluctantly.
“If it's the fearsome weapon it's said to be I would like to know if the Gashans have found a way to use it.”
“Another reason to enter Gashan.”
“Exactly. Your dream, my tales. The question is who to send there. The choice isn't large. I gather this Eye is not easy to recognise, there are few who have seen it left. The Sons of Gilish were so secretive about such things. Hrangil is the obvious choice. There's an old priest of Aton in the palace who says he saw it, but he's not up to such a journey.”
“I can't send Hrangil alone.”
“No. I'd suggest Althak and Grath. If anyone can find their way in and out of Gashan those two can. There's one other I'd like you to send: Azkun.”
“Azkun?”
“Yes. He's done strange things since you found him. What if he took the Eye from the Gashans and knew how to use it? I can't think of a better method of trying this brother-god of mine.”
His quizzical smile reminded Menish that the peasant folk of Relanor, the ones who had survived the Vorthenki invasion, had always worshipped the Emperor as a god.
“Don't expect him to fight battles for us. He won't kill anyone.”
“We'll see.”
Chapter 16: The Banquet
Azkun and the others passed the time sitting in their courtyard finishing their meal, talking and trying to coax Tenari into speaking. Hrangil had left them to visit the fire tower that lay in the temple enclosure in the palace. He had asked Azkun to accompany him and Azkun had been willing to follow him. But Tenari had insistently clung to him and women were not allowed there. Hrangil went alone.
Tenari was even stranger to him now. Before she had appeared so blank in mind and body that she was merely mysterious. Now she was contradictory. In an attempt to encourage her to sing Keashil played for them. She said she had known someone once who could not speak but who could sing. Her fingers plucked a lively tune from Althak’s harp as she sang an old Relanese song that had their feet tapping in a moment.
Tenari’s reaction surprised them. She did not sing but she leapt to her feet and began to dance. Her bare feet skipped across the marble floor as she twirled and twisted, weaving her arms in a complex pattern that seemed to echo Keashil’s words.
“Hrangil and M’Lord would not appreciate this,” remarked Althak as she shimmied delightfully before them, and he was probably right. Her dance was rather reminiscent of the dance of the Vorthenki women in Deenar.
But it was for Azkun alone. It was he who commanded her smiling gaze and it was to him she returned when Keashil’s song ended.
“At least she can do something interesting,” said Drinagish dryly.
“You'd best not let M’Lord hear you say that,” smiled Althak.
By the time Menish returned servants had lit torches around the courtyard and it flickered with light and shadow. He said little of his talk with the Emperor, only that he was well and that there would be a feast that night.
Hrangil returned shortly after Menish. He looked as if he were filled with solemnity and holiness, as if perhaps they should all bow to him in recognition of the honours he had bestowed upon himself.
“I have been to the fire tower itself,” he announced in a hushed voice. “You should have come.”
“Perhaps tomorrow,” said Menish unenthusiastically.
“Did they have anything to say about Azkun?” asked Drinagish.
“You would know if you'd come with me,” Hrangil almost snapped at him. “I stood before the fire, in the presence of Aton himself. The priesthood is not what it was, of course, but Aton is always the same.”
“But what did they say?”
“They are fools,” said Hrangil, suddenly angry. “They refuse to accept what is clearly written in the Mish-Tal. When I told them about Azkun they wouldn't listen to me. The audacity of it! Only one of them has even seen the Duzral Eye. They are much lowered from their old heights.”
“So they didn't agree with you,” said Menish. “What do they think he is?”
At this Hrangil almost spat.
“It was disgusting. They've lost the truth of Aton. One of them suggested he might be one of the Vorthenki demigods.”
“So I am not to be Kopth now?” asked Azkun with a grin. “I have been debased it seems.”
Hrangil turned a look of concern to him but said nothing.
“So we know nothing more, as I expected,” Menish shrugged.
That evening they were summoned to the Sword Hall by servants, who led them down torch-lit corridors. They were not alone in their journey. Folk dressed in fine clothes that rustled and sparkled with gold and silver fell in with them or went ahead. The whole palace was on the move towards the great hall.
The Sword Hall itself was immense, so immense that it could not be lit adequately. A huge fire crackled and sparked in its centre and near it stood a canopied, golden throne, its arms formed into the shapes of horses. But that was the only resemblance to Darven's house in Deenar. The hall was so wide that it was difficult to see a man’s face clearly across it and it was much longer than it was wide. The stone walls rose to a ceiling so high above it was lost in the darkness.
Lamps glowed all around the walls at about the height of a Vorthenki’s head and others hung from long chains that disappeared into the gloom above.
A constant stream of people entered the hall through various doors and found places at the benches and tables that crowded the rush-strewn floor. Shouts of greeting, laughter and conversation echoed around the hall.
Azkun felt uneasy in this place. He was glad when they were seated near the fire for it gave him comfort. Yet there was something intrinsically cold about the hall itself. He felt it was a place where evil deeds had been done, and still would be done. There were many people assembled now and he felt cross currents of anxiety among them, insinuating into his own thoughts. It confused him. The people looked happy. They wore fine clothes and smiled. Yet
