At once the sound of a harp stole through the hall. A small balcony in the wall across from the fire held a group of musicians. The harper tuned his instrument for a moment then began to play against the dull thud of a drumbeat. Two others picked up the tune with long necked instruments Azkun had not seen before.
The music made a background to the general conversation in the hall. Azkun looked across at Keashil, whose blind eyes sparkled with the music and her fingers drummed on the table. The players were not as skilful as she was, but that did not seem to matter to her.
The entire hall now was filled with people rending and eating bodies of the oxen, for the men had passed their surplus meat to their women. The background music distracted him, and slowly their thoughts of hunger and eating crept into his brain. The smell of cooked meat and wine seemed to make him dizzy. Althak, beside him, was talking to Drinagish about some hunting incident and Azkun was trying not to listen.
Before he realised what he was doing he had raised the goblet of wine before him and taken a gulp from it. It was heady and strong. A weakness permeated his body and he pushed the goblet away, trying to shut out the hundreds of minds around him that crowded him with eating and drinking.
His hand was trembling as he withdrew it from the goblet. The room seemed unbearably hot, as if there were not quite enough air. The great fire threw shadows of demons on the walls.
Everyone appeared to be talking too loudly and he began to feel a fogginess in his thoughts. He shook his head but that only made the room spin wildly. A cold pit of nausea lay in his stomach. He wished he had not touched the wine.
Impressions of other minds invaded his as the music lulled him. A dark, full-bearded man was laughing loudly not far away as he patted the bottom of a serving girl. Azkun sensed the woman’s feelings of quiet fear and a desire to move away from the man. The man’s thoughts were somehow predatory, as if he wanted to eat her.
Azkun closed his eyes. It was difficult to think or, more precisely, to know his own thoughts from the others that came from outside.
When he opened his eyes again the room had gone suddenly silent.
For a startled moment Azkun thought that they had noticed his distress and had all turned to stare at him.
But they had turned to stare at something else.
It was the servant who had brought the wine to their table. He lay sprawled on the rushes while the red bearded man Azkun had noticed earlier stood over him, waving his knife menacingly.
“I'm sorry, M'Lord. I'll fetch another goblet.” As he spoke he slid himself across the rushes, not daring to get up but not daring to stay where he was.
“Clumsy fool. I told you last time I'd have your guts-”
“Amat,” Vorish seemed hardly to raise his voice for it to cut clear across the hall. “Let the man fetch you another goblet. I'll punish my own servants.”
Amat grumbled, aimed a kick at the servant but missed, and flopped down onto his bench. The relieved servant raced from the room. But it was too much for Azkun. He saw it now. The killing and the servant's fear. It was all of a piece.
Something evil was being done here.
He jerked to his feet, the room swayed, nearly knocking him down. A hand caught at his arm, trying to pull him back to his seat. It was Althak but he ignored it.
“Stop!” he shouted. His cry echoing from the stone walls as if the demon shadows there mocked him. The musicians ground to a confused halt as he tried to shore up his mind against the unspoken questions that flooded into him. All eyes were on him now.
It was Vorish who broke the silence that followed his cry.
“What is it?”
Azkun groped for words. He felt that they might all turn to spectres in a moment.
“You are vile, all of you! You murder the innocent and grow fat on their flesh. Those who serve you are half crazed with fear of you-”
“That's enough, Azkun.” Vorish’s eyes gleamed coldly at him.
“No it is not! You are the Emperor. You are responsible for this. You are the most guilty of all!”
A nervous whisper ran through the room. Althak swore.
“You'll regret that remark. Althak, remove this fool. I'll deal with him when he's sober.”
Azkun’s revulsion was not spent. He was about to say more when Althak grabbed him roughly and pulled him from the room, complete with Tenari clinging to him.
Chapter 17: The Council
Menish knew Azkun would be taken to the endless labyrinth of dungeons beneath the palace. It was the kind of place they might lose a prisoner and there were stories of them opening a cell thought to be empty and finding a skeleton. But Azkun's real danger was Vorish's wrath.
Insulting the Emperor publicly demanded Vorish execute him publicly. To do any less would show weakness and he never showed weakness.
But Menish also knew that the stories of what Azkun had done in the north and even in the streets of Atonir were spreading fast. There were always factions who watched for an opportunity to threaten him. Would they interpret Azkun's words as some kind of rallying cry? Yes, if it suited them to.
And if Vorish ignored the incident it would suggest that Azkun was someone the Emperor dared not punish. He would not take that way.
After the feast was over and they returned to their apartment they found Tenari weeping. Althak had been trying to comfort her, there was tea on the bench beside her he must have fetched. She had not touched the tea.
The next morning, when they had eaten breakfast, servants came to summon them to Vorish’s apartments for a meeting with the Emperor and his chief Drinols. They were led to the same room where Menish had met Vorish the day before. The table was still piled with papers and among them lay the several scrolls of the Gash-Tal. From the way they were rolled Menish could see they had been read recently.
The others were there before them. Menish recognised Treath, Athun and Angoth. There was also a black robed priest of Aton introduced as Tishal. Servants were attending, armed with food, wine and one with quills and fresh paper.
Vorish bade them sit down and offered them wine. When they had exchanged introductions and pleasantries he began.
“I've been thinking about Gashan, Gentlemen. You all know Gashan attempted to invade Relanor forty years ago. Some of you were there, though others of us were not yet born.”
“Gashan?” said Treath. “I thought that it was a tale put about by Anthor in the war with Thealum.” The question was directed more at Menish than at Vorish, and Menish wondered if he was trying to make some point.
“We did spread stories of Gashan in the war against Thealum,” said Menish. “Those stories were true, though they may have sounded fantastic. Gashan is a marshy country that lies north of Anthor. Its people are smaller than we Anthorians, but yellow-haired like you Vorthenki. They're an evil folk and fierce in battle.”
“And the battle years ago?” asked Athun. “Is that also true? You defeated them.”
“It was a victory of a sort. I've suffered better defeats. The armies of Anthor and Relanor were reduced to a tattered band of wounded survivors with an inexperienced, young prince as their leader.
“When they threw fire at us my company managed to reach the river. We covered our shields with cloaks and coats we'd soaked in water. By that time the Gashans had passed us by, pursuing the main army. We attacked them from behind. The fire throwers, who were ranged across the vanguard of the Gashan forces, panicked and tried to blast us through their own ranks. They destroyed themselves.”
“When you say they were destroyed,” said Vorish, “I understand you to mean they were no longer able to fight?”
“A number of their companies retreated with some order, though many were killed outright and others fled in
