stand up above the tussock, and Azkun fancied he saw Monnar eyes watching him from their moonlit surfaces.
Monnar magic. The old man had cured Althak, rescued them from the forest, and brought them here. He had fooled the others, but he had not fooled Azkun. Azkun had seen those eyes in the ring of stones, he had seen the old man with blood around his mouth at Gildenthal, and he had seen the painted eye on this old man’s forehead. The others did not have his sight, they could not know. The Monnar had made the Duzral Eye, their magic was evil.
As always there was only one answer to corruption. This talk of a battle with Gashan was madness. They had the Eye, mere swords could not hope to fight them. Only the dragons could prevent the Gashans from sweeping down from the north.
They heard singing as they approached the camp, an old Anthorian song Menish recognised of the heroes of Ristalshuz.
Suddenly a figure rose out of the ground before them, and they saw moonlight on a drawn sword.
“Halt, you're surrounded by ten swords. Are you friend or foe?”
A glance around them showed other blades within striking distance. “Friend,” answered Menish. “We come in peace and do not raid. I am Menish.”
“Indeed? You sound like him, but we'll see. Who are these? Since when does the King of Anthor travel like a beggar with other beggars?”
“This is Althak, the Vorthenki, and a man called Azkun. We lost our horses and two of our number in the forests of Gashan.”
A hiss of breath sounded in the darkness.
“Come then,” said the sentry. “Let's see you in the light. If what you say is true you are welcome at our fireside.”
They followed her into the camp. It was similar to the ones they had seen on their way north, horses hobbled and grazing nearby and round, felt tents. Inside the largest of the tents oil lamps lit a group of men and women sitting about a fire which crackled and spat. A young woman was stirring a pot of mein and the others, who had been singing, turned to see the strangers.
“It is indeed the King!” said the sentry. “Welcome, Sire. I didn't believe you in the darkness.”
“Neither would I have,” said Menish. “Your herds won't suffer for such diligence.”
“Greetings, Sire. Come and sit with us,” called a man of about Menish’s age who sat by the central tent pole, the place reserved for the head of the thal. Menish recognised him but could not think of his name. Althak murmured it to him quietly.
“Thank you, Aronyar. We've travelled far today and are in need of food, rest and your good company.” Aronyar had more than one hundred head of cattle, yaks mostly, but a number of sheep and camels. Like Grath he was bigger than the southerners, but not as big as Althak. His long legs were thrust towards the fire, one bare foot nearly touching a glowing log. Behind him Menish could see the polished helmet and mail shirt he had been eager to show off at the last spring games. He had bought them from a Relanese merchant at great expense. In this hour of relaxation he had hung them from the tent pole and wore a woollen tunic and breeches.
Beside him, and similarly dressed except for the addition of two silver arm rings, sat a woman with long black hair who looked too young to be his wife. Ah, Menish remembered her, she was his daughter. She was richer than her father and was, therefore, technically the head of the thal, but she deferred to her father. He could not remember if Aronyar had any other children.
He nodded to the woman in greeting as he sat down, trying to think of her name. Althak was too far away from him now to whisper it.
Just as politeness required that a host did not inquire too deeply into a guest’s business, so it was the duty of a guest to give some account of himself. Menish came straight to the point.
“I also need riders. The thals must be told the news I bear. We must prepare for war with Gashan. The spring games will be an arms meet and we'll travel north afterwards to meet the Gashans as they come south.”
The woman at the fire passed them all bowls of mein.
“I'd heard rumours. We had a rider from Gildenthal through here not long ago.”
“We've come from Gashan,” said Althak. “We've seen them preparing themselves.”
A murmur ran through the tent. Several of the women made the old Anthorian sign against evil.
“From Gashan?” exclaimed Aronyar’s daughter. “You're lucky to be alive.”
Menish nodded. “Five of us entered Gashan, only three return. It was a hazardous journey.” He told them all that had happened since they had entered the Gashan forests. They all knew who Hrangil was, though none of them had known him well. It was Grath they mourned most, for he had come from the north. Aronyar knew his family and someone made a reference to a cattle raid he was suspected of making on their herds. They would miss having to pit their wits against Grath’s cunning.
“So I'll need riders to announce the arms meet. You know the law. Each thal that hears the summons should also send riders to bear the message further. The riders should travel four days before they turn their horses.”
“Yarrana, your group can bear the message. Make ready to depart by dawn.” He turned back to Menish. “Some more ambroth? No? Your friend isn't eating. Would you like some bread?”
“He doesn't eat,” said Althak.
“He's fasting? Why? Is he ill?”
“No, I am not ill.”
“You'll want some water at least.“
“No, thank you. I do not require anything.”
Aronyar shrugged.
“So you met one of the Monnar, eh? Strange folk, tricky I call them. They're often not what they seem.” He chuckled. “I must confess I've never seen one, that is if you don’t count old One-ear at Gildenthal. The Relanese say they have no names so that they can tell lies. They're more often heard of than seen. Tela saw one once.”
“Many years ago now,” said his daughter. “I was just a girl. An old woman found me when I was lost after raiders had struck our herds. She was a wrinkled, toothless old thing with a bent back. I've never heard of a young Monnar. She said she would guide me home for a price, but I found my own way.”
“What was the price?”
“My first child. I would've cheated her anyway,” she held up her unbound hair, “for I have none. I've not even married.”
“The old man cured your centipede bite, Althak. But you don't say what happened to Azkun’s bite.”
“He looked at it,” said Menish.
“He touched it and laughed,” said Azkun. “But he did not heal it. I am preserved and sustained by the dragons. And I distrust the Monnar.”
“So do I,” said Tela. “What good they do is for their own dark purposes.”
“What's this talk of dragons?” asked Aronyar. “Ah, but you're Vorthenki, I can see that.”
“I do not worship Kopth. But I am a bridge to the dragons who are the true masters of the world.”
“Surely you speak of Kopth, then. The Vorthenki dragon-god.”
“Kopth is a twisted shadow of the dragons. They do not require blood as the Vorthenki believe Kopth does. They require peace. And they forbid death.”
“Well, that would suit those of us who are long in the tooth,” said Aronyar cheerfully. “For myself I've always called on Aton, for he's easy to find. He's there by day in the sun and by night he's in the flame of the lamp or cooking fire. Of course, I was never Relanese enough for the Sons of Gilish.
“But here in the north we don't forget that Aton is also Krith and that Kiveli, his wife, makes the pasture green in the spring.”
“These are only symbols for the truth,” said Azkun, “and the truth is the dragons. I know, I have been bathed in dragon fire and given this truth. It is the dragons who hold power, no other.”
“Azkun, don't offend our hosts with this talk,” said Menish. He did not want to hear this nonsense of dragons. Hrangil was dead and Azkun and his dragons had done nothing.
“No, no, I am interested. Is this true? You've stood in dragon fire?”
“It is true,” said Althak. “We saw it ourselves.”
“It is also true that he did nothing to save Hrangil. This truth of dragons is like shifting sand. Who are you,
