was amicable. Sometimes it was not. Menish had authority over them, but only because they permitted it. Often he thought they only allowed him to be King so that they could pass their most difficult disputes to him. There were five clan chiefs. Barvolin of Elarybol, Oramol of Gratha and Amralen of Rithyhir were all men a little younger than Menish. Barvolin had fought in the last battle with Gashan in Menish’s company. Yarva of Thonyar was too young to have fought, but she claimed she remembered the battle. Krithyol of Romeryhil had taken up his chieftainship two years before and Menish still did not know him well.
As well as the clan chiefs Menish had also brought Adhara, Drinagish, Bolythak and Neathy. As he looked around the table he reflected that Hrangil, Grath and Althak would have been here. But they were dead. Grath and Hrangil were, definitely. And Althak probably was by now. No one had ever returned from searching for the dragon isle. It made him weary. They were planning the battle he would die in, and many of his old friends were already dead.
He shook off these morbid thoughts. He still had Adhara. He still had Vorish. He was pleased with Drinagish, he would make a passable king, perhaps even a good one when he was used to it. But there might not be an Anthor for him to be king of, even if he survived the battle.
“Welcome, all of you,” said Vorish. “Please sit down. Have something to drink and there is food. Talking is hungry work.”
A servant poured wine or ambroth, as requested, and the ambroth was good, not the usual rough variety one took on journeys.
The food, however, was dried, except for the fresh meat. Even the Emperor could not arrange for fresh fruit on a spring journey. Menish resolved to see if he could find something better for Vorish’s table tomorrow.
“It's good to be in Anthor again, though I'd rather it was not for battle. I'd rather attend your spring games but,” he shrugged, “I'm always too busy. I used to delight in them in my youth, although I usually lost whatever I wagered.” Menish did not miss the casual way he reminded the clan chiefs that Anthor had once been his home.
“I've given this battle much thought, but no doubt so have you. What do the clan chiefs say?” He already knew what Menish thought.
“I fought Gashans last time, by Menish’s side,” said Barvolin. He was the most relaxed in the Emperor’s presence of the clan chiefs. Barvolin had been initiated into the Sons of Gilish at about the same time Menish had, and he had been a great friend of Hrangil. “There are two problems, they can throw fire and they have the Eye of Duzral. But we beat them last time. We can do it again.”
“We can do it by ourselves,” said Krithyol. “Anthorians are brave fighters.”
“Yes, I agree,” said Yarva. “You need not have brought all this.” She gestured vaguely to the tent, presumably indicating the army outside.
“Amralen? Oramol? What are your thoughts?” asked Vorish.
Amralen shifted on his cushion. He looked uncomfortable.
“Anthorians are brave, but to fight fire we have to be more than brave. I wasn't at the last battle, but everything I've heard says it was not just bravery that won. Menish was brave, everyone who fought there was brave. But Menish was clever. To win this battle we have to be both brave and clever. It's like a duel where the two fighters are matched. One will win because he knows a throw or a twist of the sword the other doesn't. When the fighters are not matched, the smaller one will sometimes know a trick the larger one doesn't.”
“I agree with Amralen,” nodded Oramol. “We have to be clever.”
“And we have to be brave, “ said Vorish. “I also agree with Amralen.”
“But you've brought your army,” said Krithyol.
“I brought a few men, they may be of use. Barvolin wisely mentioned that the Gashans can throw fire. This is what I've been thinking about most.”
“We're not afraid of fire,” said Yarva.
“Of course not. I know Anthorians well enough. You're afraid of nothing,” said Vorish. He sounded as though he meant it. Menish said nothing. He saw what Vorish was doing. “But as Amralen said, to beat them we'll have to be clever.”
“You mean think of some strategy?” asked Barvolin. “That won't help us much. Remember that our people like to meet their enemies head on. We don't have trumpet calls that each is trained to obey like the old Relanese did.”
“The Relanese still do use trumpet calls,” said Menish. “Vorish’s army is trained to understand them.”
“That's true,” said Vorish. “It may be useful. But this battle must be fought in the Anthorian way. It's your fight. I've only come to see if I can help.” He had disarmed their fears now. “I keep thinking about this fire they throw. The thing that I keep thinking about is how surprised they would be if we could throw fire back at them.”
“They certainly would,” said Amralen. “We would drive them before us like dogs. Chase them into the lake!”
“Yes, but we can't throw fire at them, can we?” asked Drinagish. Menish was pleased he had spoken up, but he wondered what Vorish was leading to.
“Of course we can't,” said Vorish. “But I wish we could. If we could just let them think we could throw it.”
“Ah, I see what you mean,” said Yarva. “It might make no difference if we could actually throw it or not. The panic we would cause would be enough.”
“Yes, imagine it,” said Athun, speaking for the first time. “Poor devils seeing a horde of Anthorians charging at them and throwing fire. I would run for my life!”
There was a murmur of laughter.
“But this is idleness,” said Adhara. “We can't convince them we can throw fire unless we can actually do it. And we know we can't.”
“Well, how could we convince them we were throwing fire?” asked Vorish. “What does this fire look like when it's thrown?”
“It's difficult to describe,” said Menish. He had told him this often enough before. Why was he asking again? Vorish never forgot anything. “You see the ground burst into flame in front of you. One moment there's nothing there, the next there's a great fire.”
“Do you see anything before it flames?”
“The Gashans had some strange devices with them, I wondered if they were part of the magic. Once I thought I saw flame flying through the air before it struck. But I had other things to think about.”
“I remember it,” said Barvolin. “It was just like that. Nothing, and then whoosh! A huge flame where there was nothing.”
Vorish nodded.
“If we could make one of those explode in front of the Gashans we would terrify them. How could we make one?”
“Something that burns quickly…” said Theyul. He trailed off hesitantly.
“Drinagish, you must have some idea.”
“Something planted in their path?” said Drinagish. “We could use pitch, that burns well.”
Vorish’s eyes gleamed.
“Yes, that's what we need! A bucket of pitch in their path. If that burst alight just as they approached it we'd have them frightened.”
“Yes, they would think it was us throwing it,” said Yarva, excited at the idea.
“And we would drive them before us!” said Krithyol.
“Into the lake!” laughed Vorish. But Menish thought it was not going to be that easy. The clan chiefs were still thinking of cattle raids, not battles. And what was Vorish thinking of? “Here, let me show you this.” He lifted a board onto the table. It was painted with strange designs, but Menish recognised it. It was a plan of the battlefield. “I had this made in Atonir by questioning people who were in the last battle. It's a picture of the battlefield as if you were a bird flying high above. This is the river, see? And here is the lake away down here. This area is the battle plain and there are wooded hills either side here and here.” The clan chiefs crowded around it, Menish noticed the Drinols did not. They had seen this before.
“What's it for?” asked Neathy.
