“Nor in Relanor I am told,” smiled Keashil. Her smile was strange for her eyes did not smile, only her mouth. It looked counterfeit. “But it is not prohibited in Golshuz.”
“It's not meet that women should know the great secrets!”
“Didn't Sheagil know them?”
Hrangil muttered something but would not answer.
“In Anthor the women have their own secrets,” said Drinagish. “It's difficult enough to keep them to those. Tell them not of Golshuz!” He laughed grimly.
“No more of this,” said Menish. “Our friend doesn't claim to be Gilish, he talks too much of dragons anyway.”
“Perhaps…” Althak hesitated. “Perhaps he is Kopth.” He almost winced as he said it. Anticipating Menish’s reply.
But Menish simply looked at him and said, “Don't speak of Kopth to me, Althak.”
“I am not a dragon. I am a man. Do I look like a dragon?”
But even as he said it Azkun wondered. If he were the dragon called Kopth in human form would he know? Althak had said Kopth could take on any form he wished. What if he had chosen the form of a man who did not know he was Kopth? These thoughts made his head ache and he closed his eyes.
“Let him alone,” said Menish kindly. He laid a refreshingly cool hand on Azkun’s forehead. “We can torment him with our speculations when he's well. Until then we must leave him to Tenari.” He looked at Tenari for a moment, puzzled. Then he reached out, took her hand, and placed it on Azkun’s forehead. It felt like ice, and soothed his ache better than Menish’s hand. With a sigh and a shake of his head Menish rose to his feet and walked out of Azkun’s range of vision.
Menish crossed the deck to stand at the gunwale and look across at the now calm sea to the grey coastline in the distance. Hrangil, it seemed, still wanted Azkun to be Gilish after all. Menish was disappointed in Althak’s comment about Kopth. The last thing he wanted was more gods for Azkun to be.
But Menish knew who Azkun was. He was the son of Thalissa and some man she had seduced. He was neither Gilish, nor Kopth. He was simply a piece of derelict humanity thrown up from the Chasm. To see him lying injured on the deck, to speak with him, it was almost impossible to believe he had stood in dragon fire.
Yet he had seen it for himself, the dragon fire, the lightning, and the fact that he did not eat. He remembered the way he had screamed when Menish had chopped at the pirate’s hand, the way he had clutched at his throat and side when the others had killed the pig, as if he had been wounded himself. Did he feel the hurts of others? And how had he known about Thalissa in Lianar?
Menish looked ahead of the ship, along the coast. Somewhere away to the south lay Atonir and Vorish. Vorish would have better answers than he had. Menish wondered how much he should tell the Emperor about his mother. He suspected that Vorish would find out. He was a man one could not easily keep secrets from.
Chapter 12: Deenar
As they sailed on southward, Menish began to worry about Drinagish. The weather was rough and the sea retch held him cruelly. Althak coaxed him into accepting a concoction of herbs he had brewed on the little stove on the deck, but it did no good. Hrangil, who had sailed more than the other two Anthorians, was badly afflicted himself. All he could suggest was that Drinagish drink himself into a stupor, a remedy that Drinagish was eager to try.
Menish was surprisingly at ease with his own stomach. It was as if the sea were content to torture him by discomforting his friends. Even so he found he was often clamping his jaws and willing down sickness, or giving in and emptying his stomach into the waves that tormented it. He ate very little and felt weak with lack of nourishment.
The sailors’ attitude to Azkun had changed. There was no doubt in Shelim’s mind, or even Awan’s, and Menish had thought the captain a sensible man, that Azkun had calmed the storm. They had seen him blasted by lightning and live, and they were, after all, only simple folk. None of them had fought the men of Gashan. None of them had seen the Emperor slain by magic fire and then beaten the fire by their own wits like Menish had. For them Althak’s suggestion that Azkun might be the manifestation of Kopth was the only explanation.
He puzzled them, of course, for he did not look like a god. Althak, with his jewelled belt and winged helmet, was much more their ideal. Menish was aware that most of the sailors assumed that Althak was the chief of his company. By comparison the Anthorians were drab little men, which implied that they were poor.
And the unkempt fellow with the ill fitting clothes and bare feet? He was a slave, of course. That was what they had assumed at first. But now they nodded politely to him as he passed. They brought him offerings of food, fresh fish they caught on lines hung over the sides of the boat, and it was amusing to see Azkun try and explain why he did not eat. This knowledge only increased their awe of him. After that Menish noticed that there was usually a sailor watching Azkun, perhaps to see if what he said about not eating was true. They were credulous folk but they were not stupid.
Although food was not an acceptable gift they found other things to give vent to their generosity. Omoth, with a shyness that contrasted with his bulk, handed him a small, jewelled dagger he owned with some halting Relanese speech. Azkun plainly did not want it, Menish could see that, and he tried to tell Omoth of his aversion to killing. But the man could not understand enough of his language. Menish, himself, did not follow it even though he understood the words. Omoth looked so downcast when he realised that Azkun refused his gift that Azkun relented and accepted it after all. So now he wore a Vorthenki dagger on his belt.
Menish was still concerned about Azkun’s injuries and he and Hrangil checked them from time to time. Hrangil, however, had taken to speaking with a knowing smile of Azkun. As if he were privy to some information that was denied to Menish, yet was known to Azkun. He hinted at some secrets that were held by the Sons of Gilish, things that were not written in the Mish-Tal. Menish snapped at him once in irritation, but the knowing smile persisted.
Althak also irritated him, though Menish could give no good reason why. He did not show Azkun the deference of the sailors, but the very fact that he was one of them, a Vorthenki, was enough. It was a fact Menish usually tried to ignore, but Althak had suggested Azkun was his foul dragon god. He felt as if a trust had been betrayed.
As for Azkun himself, his injuries were healing. He was soon up and about. He complained of headaches now and then but he seemed well enough. Surprisingly, Tenari had stirred herself to care for Azkun. She showed some skill in bathing the cut on his head with ambroth and securing the strips of cloth they had bandaged him with. Menish wondered if, perhaps, she had worked with the sick before her ordeal in the Chasm. Still she did not speak, as if the Chasm had sealed her lips forever.
Rather than endure his own company, which only made him think of his stomach, he sat with Keashil and Olcish by the main mast. Keashil had lifted Althak’s harp onto her lap and was plucking the strings in a lazy, experimental way. Just to get the feel of the instrument again, she told Menish.
Presently her fingers began to pluck more swiftly and surely. Gentle notes swam over the noise of the tossing sea and seemed to blend with the swish of the waves. Olcish smiled and began thumping his fists on the deck, picking up her rhythm in a skilful pattern. Her music caught the ear with quick, rippling sequences like sunshine on water and low, sad parts that made Menish think of deep, rolling waves. He nodded in approval. Here was one who could do anything with a harp. Althak could play, but not like this.
She began to sing.
Menish had heard the song many times before, and he had heard it sung well, but Keashil was truly gifted in her voice. The song told of Bolythak and Harana, an ancient king of Anthor and a princess of Relanor who fell in love and strengthened the bonds between the two lands.