There was time to prepare a great feast for that evening, and enough room to hold it on what was left of the games field. Vorish’s men did not come, he had arranged for them to gather on the other side of their camp from the Anthorians otherwise there would simply not have been room.
At the Anthorian feast they raised yak tail standards and built a great bonfire. Cows and yaks were butchered and set roasting on them, skins of ambroth were opened and distributed, and a roped off area was prepared for Drinagish’s display. The cost of the feasting was largely borne by Menish, one of the reasons people were not allowed to raid his herds, but the clan chiefs contributed too. Menish did not mind the cost. It was his duty as King to provide for his people on occasions like this, just as it was his duty to lead them into battle and judge their most difficult disputes.
When the feast began he and Adhara moved among them, carrying their meat with them, stopping and talking to everyone they could. Menish saw Aronyar and Tela and greeted them with pleasure. Even Marayhir had a smile and a nod for the King. He saw Mara once, but she did not return his smile. It was moments like these that he felt how much he loved his people. They were still asking how many cattle the Gashans had, still wondering why Vorish had come when they could surely take care of this business themselves. They were naive and foolish, but he loved them anyway. He heard Adhara laughing with Vangrith over some clever raid one of the northerners had made last summer. Vangrith seemed to have forgotten how offended she had been when Menish had last spoken to her. At length, when most people had finished eating and were moving into the heavy drinking phase of the evening, Menish returned to the bonfire and climbed onto a horse. Bolythak was on horseback beside him and unfurled his standard over his head.
Most people saw the standard and, realising Menish was going to speak, stopped talking to their neighbours. But Menish still had to shout to make himself heard over the din.
“Offspring of the Heroes of Ristalshuz!” A murmur of a cheer went through them. They had eaten and drunk well at his expense. Many of them had just spoken personally to the King. With the exception of Mara most of them felt warm towards Menish at that moment, even the women who knew of his crime seemed to have forgotten it now. “Have you all eaten well?” There was a resounding chorus of yeses, a few bantering noes which were ignored and, just as they faded away, a loud belch from somewhere over on Menish’s left. It was greeted with a roar of laughter. Menish could not see who was responsible. “It sounds as though someone has!” More laughter. “Before I weary you with words Drinagish, my nephew and heir, as you all know, has asked that he give you a little entertainment first.” He waved his arm towards Drinagish who was waiting at one corner of the field. Menish could not see the rest of his guard, except for Neathy who was standing near him with a Relanese trumpet in one hand and Drinagish’s standard in the other.
At Menish’s signal Neathy raised the trumpet and blew it. The Relanese trumpet sounded quite different from the traditional Anthorian yak horn, which could only produce a single, honking sound. The trumpet was capable of a number of notes depending on how it was blown. The first note was the signal for Drinagish’s horse to leap forward. He started with some trick riding that was common in Anthor. He rode around the perimeter of the field, turning backwards in the saddle, swinging underneath the horse and back up the other side. It was something any ten-year-old could do, but the better trick riders always did these things to warm up for their better tricks. Drinagish did one fancy trick, standing up on the horse’s back and somersaulting. The crowd cheered him for that one, and Menish was surprised. He had not realised that Drinagish was that good. Or was it something he had learned under Athun?
The trumpet blared again and seven riders galloped from behind the bonfire. They rode straight at Drinagish, swords drawn and yelling battle cries. There was a murmur of confusion from the crowd, but Drinagish sat calmly on his horse. Just before they reached him the horn blew again. As one the riders stopped dead. The horn blew again, a higher note, and they turned to form a circle, including Drinagish. The horses began to trot around the circle, nose to tail, moving slowly at first, then faster and faster. Menish was impressed already. Athun had not been just training the riders, he had been training the horses as well. There were few horses Menish had ridden that could maintain a strict formation at that speed.
Then Neathy sounded the horn again. Two of the riders opposite each other in the circle exchanged places by crossing through the middle. Another blast on the horn, a different note this time, and two more riders crossed the circle. It took a few moments for the crowd to register what was happening. Neathy blew again, and this time they were watching. Two riders, one of them was Drinagish, broke out of the circle, crossed the centre and exchanged places. The others kept up their speed. A cheer went up from around the perimeter of the field. Menish heard someone offering a wager on who would miss the timing first.
Once more Neathy’s horn blew and once more the riders changed places. Menish was not sure how many people realised the significance of the horn blasts. Each pair of riders had been given a note, when Neathy blew their note they had to change with perfect timing. It involved recognising their signal and acting immediately, just as they would have to in a battle.
But now it changed. Neathy still blew as before, but the riders had drawn their swords and strapped their shields to their wrists. Instead of just changing places the riders would swing their swords at each other as their paths crossed. As far as Menish could see these were not the predefined slashes and parries of the sword dance game, they were more like the real thing. He supposed the swords were blunt. One of the spring games events was a form of jousting with riders charging each other with blunt swords. It was good entertainment, but the participants were generally regarded as mad. Wagers were being exchanged thick and fast now. This was the kind of thing they loved, and it was new.
Of course, sooner or later, it had to end by one of the riders being knocked off his horse. Drinagish was exchanging places with his opposite rider, there was a blurred sword movement, a raised shield arm and a thud, the other rider landed in the dust.
The crowd roared its delight as the other rider, Barvolin’s grandson Menish thought, climbed to his feet and dusted himself off. Someone caught his horse for him and he climbed back on. Even those who had lost their bets looked pleased.
The riders were not finished yet. They reformed their circle and continued their ride, but this time it was different again. They wove a complex pattern, guided by Neathy’s signals, where it seemed that four of them were changing places at once. Menish had not quite seen how it worked when Vorish touched his arm, he had climbed onto a horse and moved alongside him.
“They've learned it well,” said Vorish.
“It's a clever idea. It makes them learn the trumpet signals.”
“Not to mention excellent horsemanship. The Vorthenki take longer to learn it. Drinagish and his friends only had to learn the trumpet signals.”
“And the cooperation to obey them.”
“Of course.” Vorish fixed his eyes on Menish. “I want Drinagish to lead the charge.”
“What did you say?” Menish was still trying to make sense of the pattern the horsemen were weaving, he must have misheard Vorish.
“I want Drinagish to lead the charge.”
“That's impossible, you know it is. I must lead them.”
“You'll be on the hillside with me. From there we'll control the battle. With Drinagish at the head of the Anthorians we'll be able to control the start of the charge with the trumpet signal.”
“I know the trumpet calls. I taught them to you!”
“Yes, and your place is with me. This is not a cattle raid, Menish.”