excitement and then swearing at the pain of scorched fingers as the line ran through them. Together they slowed the heavy run of the fish. The skiff was moving out into the lake as the fish sought the deep water, dragging them with it.
‘In Baal’s holy name, stop him, Huy,’ Lannon panted. ‘Don’t let him get out there and sound on us, we’ll lose him for a certainty. And they threw their combined weight on the line. The muscles in Huy’s arms and shoulders bunched and corded like a sack of pythons, and the fish turned.
They brought him up swirling and kicking in circles under the skiff and when his huge whiskered head broke the surface Lannon shouted, ‘Hold him!’ And Huy took a turn of the line about his wrist and braced his body against the weight, the skiff heeling dangerously as Lannon snatched up the killing club and aimed a blow at the glistening black head.
The surface exploded as the fish went into its death-throes, and water cascaded over them drenching them both.
‘Hit him!’ yelled Huy. ‘Kill him!’ And half blinded with spray, Lannon hammered at the enormous snout. Some of the blows were wild, crunching against the side of the skiff and splintering the planking.
‘Not the boat, you fool. Hit the fish! ’ shouted Huy, and at last the fish was dead, hanging in the water beside the boat.
Laughing and panting and cursing, they got a heavy line through its gills and dragged it aboard, slithering in over the gunwale, slimy and black with a belly of bright silver, and bulging eyes. The whiskers above its gaping mouth still twitched and quivered as it filled the bottom of the boat, twice as long as Huy and with a body too thick to encompass within the circle of his arms.
‘It’s a monster,’ panted Huy. ‘The biggest I have ever seen.’
‘You called me a fool,’ said Lannon.
‘Nay, Majesty, I was talking to myself,’ grinned Huy, and he unstoppered the amphora and poured wine for them.
Lannon lifted his bowl to Huy, and grinned at him over the rim.
‘Fly for me, bird of the sun.’
‘Roar for me, Gry-Lion.’ And they drained the bowls at the same time, then laughed together like children.
‘It has been too long, Huy,’ Lannon told him. ‘We must do this more often. We grow old too swiftly, you and I, our cares and duties envelop us and we are caught in a web of our own making.’ A shadow passed across Lannon’s eyes, and he sighed. ‘I have been happy these last few days, truly happy for the first time in many years.’ He looked up at Huy almost shyly. ‘You are good for me, old friend.’
He reached out and clasped Huy’s shoulder awkwardly. ‘I do not know what I would do without you. Don’t ever desert me, Huy.’
Huy flushed, clumsy in his embarrassment, this was a mood of Lannon’s to which he was unaccustomed. ‘Nay, Majesty,’ he answered huskily, ‘I will be with you always.’ And Lannon dropped his hand and laughed, echoing Huy’s embarrassment.
‘Sweet Baal, but we grow sentimental as girls - is it old age do you think, Huy?’ He rinsed his wine bowl over the side, making a great show of it, and avoiding Huy’s eyes. ‘There are still fish in the lake, and an hour or two of the day left, let us use it.’
In the dusk they returned to where their old shack stood, neglected and forlorn beneath the graceful ivory palms above the beach. As Huy poled the skiff around the point of the island, and they cleared the reed banks, they saw the galley lying at anchor in the bay. The royal standard of house Barca stood at her masthead, and there were lamps burning at stem and stern. The reflections of the lamps danced on the dark waters, and the sound of voices carried clearly to them.
Huy stopped the skiff and leaned on the pole, and in silence they stared at the long ship. Then Lannon spoke.
‘The world has found us out, Huy.’ And his voice was tired and resigned. ‘Hail them for me.’
The lamp hanging in its chain from the roof of the stern cabin lit their faces unnaturally, highlighting cheeks and noses but leaving the eyes in shadow. Their faces were grim as they gathered about the table, and listened to the messenger from the north. Although he was young, an ensign in his first year of military service, yet he had the poise of high birth and he gave his report lucidly.
He described the ripples of unrest that had lapped along the northern borders in the last few weeks, small incidents, movements of large bodies of men seen at a distance, the smoke and fires of vast encampments. Spies reported rumours of strange occurrences, of a new god with the talons of an eagle and the claws of a lion, who would lead the tribes to a land of grass and water. Scouts had watched the sailing of many Drav vessels along the eastern reaches of the great river, an unusual coming and going, talk of secret meetings between nobody knew whom.
There was a restlessness, a vast stirring and muttering, a sense of pressures and tensions building, of secret affairs afoot. The itching of storm clouds gathering and lightning brewing. Things felt but not understood, signs pointing into the unknown.
Lannon listened quietly, frowning a little, his chin propped on his fist and his eyes in shadow.
‘My commander bids me tell you of his fears that you might find all this fancy and starting at the hooting of owls.’
‘No.’ Lannon brushed aside the boy’s plea for his report to be taken seriously. ‘I know old Marmon better than that. He does not call out snake for an earthworm.’
‘There is more,’ said the boy, and he laid a leather bag upon the table. He loosed the drawstring and shook out a number of metal objects.
‘One of the river patrols surprised a party of pagans attempting to cross in the night. They carried these, all of them.’
Lannon picked up one of the heavy spear-heads, and examined it curiously. The shape and workmanship were distinctive and he glanced up at Huy.
