“I thought you could just-”
“So did I, but I have spent all night trying to call it.”
“Perhaps it's far away.”
“Perhaps too far.”
“It's not like you to despair.”
“I am weary. Do not worry, Althak. I will think of some way. After all, the dragons want us to get to Kishalkuz.” As he spoke he asked himself ‘Do they? Do they want me there?’ but he did not voice these doubts to Althak.
He felt the Vorthenki’s friendly grip on his shoulder.
“You will, I know you will.”
Althak’s touching confidence was like ashes in his mouth. He watched the Vorthenki rise and cross the deck to the pile of sleeping furs that were spread under the canvas awning they used as a shelter at night. Just as he lay down a fuzziness stole into Azkun’s mind, like the buzzing of a bee or the distant sound of surf pounding on rocks. Sleep tugged at his eyelids. He felt his head lolling forward and jerked it up quickly. The fuzziness remained.
All at once a cascade of images flooded his mind. The dolphin laughed merrily as it raced alongside the boat.
“Dolphin-not-dolphin swim to dragons?”
Azkun let out a whoop of delight and bounded to his feet. Leaning over the gunwale he could see the streamlined shape of the dolphin skimming just beneath the waves, its dorsal fin sometimes cutting the surface like a knife.
“Swim, swim to dragons,” Azkun laughed back with relief. The dragons had heard him. They had done as he had asked, he was still the vessel of their power. “Swim to dragons. Guide us.”
The dolphin moved ahead of the boat and, as Azkun shouted instructions to Shelim on the tiller, led them a little more to the east than their present course. Then, wearily, he lay down on his sleeping furs and slept.
The dolphin led them faithfully for days, and Azkun spent many hours talking to it. As before it was always laughing. Guiding them to Kishalkuz was a joke, the boat was a joke, even itself was a joke. Sometimes Azkun tired of it, for it refused to take anything seriously. When he tried to tell it of the Gashans it simply retorted “land things, not dolphins” and carried on laughing.
Once, when Azkun had been watching the dull grey shape beneath the water carefully, he noticed a mark on its back that had not been present the last time he had seen the dolphin.
“Are you the same dolphin?” he asked.
“All dolphins are one,” it replied with a torrent of meaningless images and laughter. Azkun got no more sense out of it that day.
Meanwhile on board the boat the human members of the expedition passed their time as best they could. Sea voyages, even for Vorthenki, were often boring affairs.
Shelim, who was by unspoken consent master of the ship because he was the most experienced sailor, spent nearly all of his time at the tiller. He took his position seriously, carefully keeping the dolphin in view at all times. He was awed by Azkun, for he had seen him struck by lightning in the storm and had heard the tales of the other things he had done. He nearly always addressed Azkun as ‘M’Lord’ but once his tongue slipped and he called him ‘Lord Kopth’ much to Azkun’s consternation. But he was a gentle fellow and took Azkun’s rebuke well. After that he avoided all references to Kopth, even when sometimes, in the evening, they sat around the little ship stove and he told stories he had heard from his mother. They carried no lamps on this little boat, but the stove cast enough light to eat and talk beside. Shelim's tales aways featured Kopth as a central character in one of his many forms, a bull, a man, or a dragon usually. But Shelim referred to him as ‘The Great Dragon’, which made the bull stories somewhat confusing at times.
Azkun tried to imagine Shelim, a little boy on his mother’s knee in a Vorthenki long house. Would Thalissa have told him such stories he wondered as he looked at his mother in the light of the stove. The warm red glow from the dying embers softened her old face into something like it must have looked when she was younger. He supposed she must have been pretty, but he had no idea of such things. He felt cheated, he had known no childhood, no mother to tell him stories or soothe away his fears and hurts. He had known only the howling gale of the Chasm.
Althak began to avoid Thalissa less and less as the voyage lengthened. They had exchanged their harsh words and Althak’s hatred of her had been shown to be of Menish’s making. She was a sad person. There was a weight of past sorrow on her that showed in her eyes, and Althak could only respond to such sadness with comfort. He began to coax her into eating more, saying gruffly that she ate less than a gull. At first she returned his interest with a scowl, thinking he mocked her, but Althak’s grin was too infectious for her to sustain that. So began a guarded friendship. They worked together when necessary, adjusting the sail under Shelim’s direction and preparing the meals.
Their diet consisted mostly of oat porridge, dried meat and water. From time to time they caught fresh fish and occasionally they snared a sea gull. But as they left land further behind them the gulls became rare and hard to catch. There was not much meat on them anyway. Fish also became less plentiful as they moved out into the great ocean towards the edge of the world.
Tenari had quickly resumed her blank manner when they left the comforts of Atonir. As always she was at Azkun’s side, her solemn stare fixed on him. Thalissa tried to speak with her but she was wary. Tenari ignored her.
For Azkun the voyage was a happy time. The deaths of fish and birds did not bother him, just as the death of the snake had not. The dolphin’s continual and infectious laughter drove out his sombre feelings of guilt. The dragons had heard him and, through the dolphin, were guiding him to them.
When they were fourteen days from Ramuz they saw an island in the distance but the dolphin did not lead them towards it. Twice more on their journey Shelim told them they were near land though they could not see it. He could tell, he said, by the clouds and by the fact that sea birds circled their mast.
But on the thirty-seventh day, when there was some concern about how long their supplies of fresh water would last, Azkun saw a dark spot on the horizon. The dolphin was guiding them directly towards it.
Chapter 32: The Emperor's Plan
That winter in Anthor was severe. For three months the North wind swept across the plains, freezing everything that lay unprotected in its path. Meyathal was sheltered from the worst of it, located as it was in the valley. The cattle were herded off the higher country into the low lands. Even though they enjoyed a winter covering of heavy fur they were only too pleased to leave the wind to ravage the ridges and the wide plains further north. Many of the northerners migrated south for this season, though the toughest simply waited it out. None of the Relanese caravans ventured north of the Lansheral before spring.
It was a time for craft and handiwork for the Anthorians rather than the hectic raiding and herding of the summer. Raiding was legal in winter, but few had the inclination. There was enough to do inside, a hundred repairs and alterations to make to the herdsmen’s equipment, and new gear to fashion. Everyone had to have something new for the spring games, and this year it was to be a real battle rather than just games. Hides and fleeces had been stored over the summer in anticipation of this confinement. Wool was spun and woven into blankets and clothing. New weapons were made. The smithy was a popular place to meet because it was always warm and always busy.
It was also a time for tales and song. Those veterans who had fought beside Menish forty years ago were in constant demand. Many of them had been haranguing people with their accounts of the battle for years, but now they were listened to avidly. People wanted to know what the men of Gashan looked like. Did they use curved swords like the Anthorians or the straight swords of the Vorthenki? Did they ride horses? Did they wear armour? What cattle did they have that could be raided once they were vanquished?
Keashil was also in great demand, for she knew more songs about the battle than anyone had heard before. Menish gave into requests for those songs that exaggerated his victory. It gave them hope and they needed to hope. But he became more and more grim. He knew they were expecting a glorified cattle raid, not the destruction
