Darven’s menfolk now entered the house. Most were dressed in armour and helmets. Their swords and axes hung from their belts. A feast in a Vorthenki house was a strange thing, a mixture of celebration and brawling. One did not venture there unarmed.
By tradition each man, from the greatest to the least, told who he was and cut some of the meat from the beast. The order in which they came forward reflected their status in the company, as well as the choice and the amount of meat they could take. To the Vorthenki this was vitally important and a man would fight for a place. They mostly wrestled with each other but for the important places, such as that of the chief, or when two men hated each other, swords were drawn and blood was let.
While such duels were easily controlled in the confines of a single house or village ruled by one chief, the situation became delicate and often alarming when guests of other houses were present. The order had to be established and often this turned into an all out battle. Bitter feuds had arisen solely because of this custom. Menish could not criticise. His own people feuded and duelled on the smallest pretext, though they rarely allowed such things to interrupt a feast.
Darven indicated that Menish should get his meat first, again honouring him, but Menish would not see his host diminished in his own house and insisted that he precede him. So Darven rose and briefly announced that he had bested Arith and fought Thealum at the Olsha fords. He cut a large hunk of meat and seated himself, passing some of the meat to the woman at his feet as well as a portion to Keashil and Frethi.
Menish followed, announcing that he was King of Anthor and made sure he took enough meat for the woman who served him as well as for himself.
He had no idea what would happen next. Althak, of course, was well able to cope, but Hrangil could be dismissed as an old man and left to the end. Drinagish was liable to challenge one of Darven’s men and start a fight.
It was Althak who solved these problems. He stood next and looked carefully at the other warriors in the room. One of them stood, a big man with Darven’s red hair, but not as big as Althak. The two glared at each other for a moment and the red-haired man sat down.
“I am Althak, son of the house of Amoldon. I fought at the Olsha fords and in other battles against Thealum. My sword has killed more than fifty men.” A murmur went through the warriors. The number, when Menish thought about it, was about right. It seemed a lot of dead men, even if they were mostly Thealum's cronies and pirates. “But I give my place to my friends who are greater than I.” He nodded to Hrangil and then Drinagish who came forward in silence. They were Anthorians and not used to bragging of their deeds.
Althak next looked at Azkun who shook his head and Menish pitied the woman who served him. Althak took his own portion next and sat down. The giving up of his place to others was not unprecedented, although it was unusual. Menish had heard of it happening before.
One by one the other men came forward, starting with the one who would have preceded Althak. Omoth the sailor was among them. Some were brief and some were lengthy in their descriptions of their deeds. One man accredited himself with winning most of the battles Menish had ever heard of. Someone told him to get his portion and sit down eventually. There was one of these in every Vorthenki house, Althak muttered.
When all of the warriors had taken their food the carcass was left to the children and the rest of the women.
The meat was well cooked and good. Menish remembered belatedly that he had not fed the woman at his feet and hurriedly passed some meat to her. She thanked him perfunctorily but she was clearly used to more indulgent treatment. Menish noticed Althak distributing some of his meat to Azkun’s woman who received it gratefully. She rewarded Althak by flirting with him in a manner Menish found disgusting, he looked away.
Darven asked Keashil for a song and she played the story of an ancient Vorthenki hero. Menish had heard it before. It had been a popular song among the Vorthenki soldiers in the war against Thealum.
It told the story of Rith, who fell from grace and was cast out of Kishalkuz at the edge of the world. He was doomed to wander the earth forever homeless and harried by his brothers, the four winds. Like most Vorthenki songs the story line was vague and clouded with obscure descriptions and irrelevant battles, but Keashil sang well, her voice blending with the notes of Althak’s harp. The dingy hall echoed with melody, though the walls were hardly smooth enough for that. It was the clarity of her voice that formed the illusion of an echo. Her sightless eyes glittered with tears in the firelight by the time her song had finished. Menish was reminded that her husband had called sometimes himself Rith.
She followed the song of Rith with another, this time in the Relanese tongue. Menish had not heard it before and guessed it must be a song of Golshuz. Surprisingly Frethi and some of the other women joined her in this song. They did not sing nearly as well as Keashil but Menish had heard worse. Frethi made a passable attempt at harmonising with the others.
A crash rent the song as the door slammed open. The women faltered and were silent. The last chord Keashil had strummed quivering in the air like a held breath. All heads in the room turned towards the door, those nearest to it rising and reaching for their weapons. But the figure that entered was unarmed. He sprang through the door like an animal, baring his teeth at the warriors and snarling.
In spite of the fact that he carried no weapons the warriors stood back from him. They were afraid. Menish turned to Darven and saw that he too was anxious.
“What's this?”
“He's one of my house, but a korolith owns him. It's an evil thing and it makes him live as a wild man. We dare not touch him.” He shivered. “Who knows, the korolith may choose to enter any man. We dare not provoke it.”
Before Menish could form his reply the man threw back his head and let out an awful howl. One of the women shrieked and Frethi bundled them all back into the women’s enclosure, sweeping the children in too.
The man, or the korolith, crouched in the middle of the warriors, who drew back from him. A evil smile played across his face as he looked at one steadily, stalking towards him like a cat. Without warning he sprang at his victim. The man threw up his hands, he seemed to have forgotten the axe that hung at his belt. Both collapsed and rolled on the floor, the warrior crying for help but his fellows did not dare.
After a short struggle the warrior thrust the korolith away, wiping a bloody hand on his cloak for he had been bitten. The korolith resumed his crouching stare in the centre of the ring of warriors, his evil smile savouring their fear of him.
“Can you not bind him?”
“We dare not. The man who bound him would surely be the next owned by the korolith.”
What happened next was always confused in Menish’s mind. The korolith had shifted his attention to Azkun. Suddenly his face writhed with pain and he leapt, but not towards Azkun. One warrior dodged from his path and the korolith ignored him. In two leaps he had thrown himself into the fire.
Before anyone could act Menish heard Azkun’s voice, a cry of sheer agony. He rushed forward, heedless of the fire, wading through it as though it were water. His clothes burst into flame but that, also, he ignored. The next moment he had dragged the korolith from the flames and was shouting, his clothes still ablaze and his new boots blackened and charred. Menish did not hear what he said. He was too busy calling for the priestess for he knew she would be a healer. Althak beat out the flames in Azkun's clothes.