“It is a tool for planning battles, Neathy. I'll show you.” How did he always remember everyone’s name? “If we say that Gashan is this marker,” he produced a tiny figure of a man and stood it upright on the board. “Gashan will advance from the lake up the valley. Anthor is this marker.” Another figure, this one larger, was placed at the other end of the valley. “If Drinagish's fire is set here, perhaps, and Anthor charges, Gashan will retreat back to here.” Vorish made the movements with the markers.
“But what if they scatter into the woods?” asked Drinagish. “They might be able to fight us off from there.”
Vorish was obviously pleased with Drinagish’s question.
“Perhaps that's where I can help,” he said. “If I put some of my people in the woods ready to ambush them and drive them back to you they'll have no hope.”
“There's something I am not sure about,” said Oramol. He was known as one who said little but thought deeply. “How will we light this fire of Drinagish’s?”
“Oh I'm sure something can be worked out,” Vorish assured him. “I've with me a team of engineers. Some people say they're wizards, but they've no magic. They're just clever, like Menish.” He smiled. “They'll devise a way to light Drinagish’s fire. We'll probably have to work out some signal so that the fire is lit during your charge, not after or before. Then we'll put the fear of Anthor into those Gashans!”
Menish saw it all. Not just the battle, but the way he had manoeuvred the clan chiefs. They were prepared to be intimidated by the Emperor’s army, to demand that they fight their own battle in their own way. Vorish had ensured that the strategy he had already planned appeared to be an idea of Drinagish’s as well as letting them charge head on into Gashan. But Menish saw himself at the head of that charge, dying.
“What about the Eye of Duzral?” asked Barvolin. “Menish said they still had the Eye.”
“I'm relying on Anthor’s courage there. We don't know how well they can use the Eye. I suspect they'll forget quickly when our plan begins to work-”
There was a commotion and the clash of steel among the tents outside. A woman’s cry rang out, not of pain but of outrage. They heard the thud of fist on mail.
No orders were passed but Athun and Treath rushed outside while Vorish coolly sipped some of his wine while he waited. There were more sounds of fighting but they returned a few moments later with two of Vorish’s blue surcoated guards who hauled an Anthorian woman between them; one of Vorish’s infantrymen followed, prodded along by Athun. Treath carried a curved sword that was smeared with blood and dust. There was a fresh gash in the infantryman’s leg and he was limping. The woman struggled and kicked. She tried to bite the men who held her and, with some clever footwork, she almost tripped one. All the while she kept up a torrent of abuse which only stopped when she saw Menish and the clan chiefs.
“What is the meaning of this?”
“Sire! I've been insulted, and these brutes have interrupted a death duel!”
“Let the King of Anthor judge this matter,” said Vorish, formally giving Menish charge of the situation. It was no good the Emperor trying to dispense justice to an Anthorian woman.
“Release the woman,” said Menish. The guards released her as if she were a viper; and she glared venom at them. “Let the injured party speak first.”
The infantryman stumbled forward. There was also a graze on his arm, which turned into a cut where it met a bracelet, and a swelling on his face. He looked to Vorish first, but Vorish gestured towards Menish.
“M’Lord, this woman told me I'd pitched my tent wrongly. I told her it was correctly pitched. At that she drew her sword and tried to kill me. I only had my shield to defend myself and I'd be dead now if I'd not been rescued.”
Menish had been making an effort to recognise the woman. Althak would have remembered her name easily but Althak was not here. This time, however, he managed to recall her face. She was of the Thonyar clan, visiting Meyathal until they travelled to Gildenthal. He thought she was quite wealthy.
“Mara,” he fervently hoped that was her name, “is this true?”
“This barbarian had pitched his tent with the door facing east rather than south. Knowing them to be ignorant brutes and feeling pity for them I politely pointed out the error.” Menish could guess how politely. “In return he insulted me.”
“What words were used?” he asked the infantryman. “How did she tell you your tent was set wrongly?”
“She said, ‘You barbarians have the manners and knowledge of horse dung. The door must be on the south side, but you're as ignorant as the flies that hover about you.’” Menish noticed Drinagish grinning, threw a glance at Adhara who nudged him to a respectfully concerned expression.
“And what did he say in reply?” Menish asked Mara.
“Sire, I can't foul my lips to repeat it. Let him say it again and I'll tell you if it's the truth. After that I'll take pleasure in hacking out his tongue!”
Menish turned to the man. He assumed he would evade the question but he did not.
“All I said was, ‘a woman’s place is to keep her mouth shut and her legs open.’”
There was an outcry among the clan chiefs. Yarva began to draw her sword but Menish said “Wait!”
“That's near enough to it,” said Mara, her eyes flashing with rage.
“Flame of Aton! How are we going to work together against Gashan if we squabble amongst ourselves? You were wrong to attack him, Mara. This was no death duel. This was attempted murder. He did not have a sword.”
“He should have thought of that before he insulted me.”
“You must understand, their customs are different from ours,” Menish spoke to her in Anthorian, hoping she would follow suit rather than aggravating the situation with further abuse.
“Yes, and their customs are foul. Do you want us to supply them with maidens to slaughter?”
“They do not sacrifice maidens in Relanor.”
“They still buy and sell their women like cattle.”
“They're not buying and selling women now, Mara. You've wounded this man. I judge that you have had your honour satisfied. Leave the camp and cause no more trouble.”
The clan chiefs looked uneasy. Vorish’s man had delivered a grievous insult, but they saw Menish’s difficulty. Mara’s anger blazed to new heights.
“You find against me? What evil is this? Treachery from our own King before a council of clan chiefs! To what depths has Anthor sunk? But I'm not the first to feel the sting of your faithlessness, Son of Kizish. Your father would rise from the dead and cut you down if he knew. Your whoring in Relanor has got you an Emperor of your flesh, and now you bring him and his Vorthenki filth to rape our lands!”
She would have lunged at him but the guards grabbed at her and held her back.
“Who's hurling insults now?” stormed Barvolin, rising to his feet. His face flushed with anger. Menish was too shocked to speak. “How dare you insult our King before our visitors, before the Emperor himself? Are you trying to force a death duel with the King? Sire, I offer my own sword to settle this on your behalf.”
“Let him deny it,” spat Mara. “I only repeat what any woman knows who has been at Meyathal for the last few weeks.”
The Drinols had been looking confused for the last few minutes. They did not understand the Anthorian tongue well enough to follow what was being said. But all of the Anthorians, and Vorish, had understood perfectly. They looked at Yarva, Neathy and Adhara for confirmation. Adhara stared at her knees. Her hands covered most of her face. Neathy looked frightened. It was Yarva who spoke.
“She speaks the truth, though she still insults the King.”
“It's the truth,” said Vorish. “Menish is my father.”
“You knew?” said Menish aghast. “How did you know?”
Vorish shrugged, “It was something that became obvious to me years ago.”
“And you told them?”
“I didn't tell them.” Vorish looked past Menish, and Menish followed his gaze.
“I told them,” said Adhara.
Chapter 33: The Dragons of Kishalkuz
