Menish handed Awan a bag of gold coins and the man seemed almost surprised it was Menish rather than Azkun who paid him. He was also reluctant to take it.
“You've carried us well and you've earned your pay. Kopth or not, a debt must be paid.”
Awan shrugged and bowed to both Menish and Azkun and accepted the money.
The man who had hailed them from the pier along with a group of guards, and some others met them. This pier had been cleared of other traffic for Menish’s arrival. To Azkun’s eyes the guards were a curious mixture of Anthorian and Vorthenki. They were tall and yellow-haired but their armour was of hide not metal and they wore simple iron caps, not ornate helmets like Althak’s. There was some colour about them, however. Each wore a short surcoat of blue with the golden Ammorl device on it. The man who had hailed them was more Vorthenki in dress. He wore armour and a helmet much like Althak’s, but over his armour he wore a similar surcoat.
“The Ammorl on the blue signifies the Emperor’s personal guard,” explained Althak to Azkun. “He always provides his best honour guard for M’Lord.”
The others that greeted them were not guards, though most of the men carried light swords. They wore long robes of embroidered silk that fluttered in the wind. There were women among them dressed in similar fashion, though several wore brightly coloured trousers rather than long robes and none carried swords.
When Menish turned to face them they all bowed. One of them blew a brief fanfare on a trumpet.
“Welcome to Atonir, Menish,” said one of the robed men as he stepped forward.
“Hello, Treath. How is it with you?”
“We are at peace, and yourself?”
“Pleased to have a sea journey over.” He patted his stomach.
“The Emperor was delighted to hear you were coming. A ship arrived yesterday with the news.” His eyes flicked away from Menish for an instant, lighted on Azkun and returned. Menish nodded. Vorish would have extracted every piece of information from that ship about Azkun. He wondered if he would have much to add. “He suggested you might wish to be shown to apartments to refresh yourselves before meeting him.”
“And get the sea retch out of our guts with some good food no doubt?”
“Of course,” smiled Treath. Menish knew this Treath well, and did not quite like him. The man was always polite but he had always addressed Menish by his name rather than his title. As one of the chief Drinols of Relanor, he was entitled to do that. It was something else. Menish had never trusted him since he had changed sides in the war with Thealum.
There were others here he knew as well; Angoth, chief of Vorish’s household, and Athun, the Drinol of Askonir. The latter was dark-haired, unusual for a Vorthenki. They were all, of course, Relanised Vorthenki. And there was something about the chief guard, the one with the armour, that he recognised.
Menish introduced the rest of his company, mentioned something about how glad he was to be in Atonir again, and they made their way to a row of horses waiting for them at the end of the pier. There were litters for the women, carried by servants. This was a method of transport the Anthorians had always found ridiculous, but the old Relanese had never permitted their women to ride horses. A quick count of the horses told Menish that Vorish had even found the exact number of their company. There was a horse for each man and enough room in the litters for Keashil, Olcish and Tenari.
Since Keashil’s song of Atonir Tenari had become more alive. She no longer stared glumly at Azkun. Her gaze was often upon him, but more often it was somewhere else. Menish thought he saw her almost smile when the fanfare sounded. Perhaps she was beginning to forget whatever had happened to her in the Chasm at last. But she still would not leave Azkun’s side. She ignored the litters and mounted Azkun’s horse behind him. One of the other women let out an exclamation of shocked surprise at the way her skirts rode up, exposing her legs. It was amazing just how Relanese the Vorthenki Invaders had become.
Althak pulled off his cloak and arranged it so that it draped over her legs. Menish nodded his approval. It would not do for her to ride through the streets looking like that.
The guards gathered around their company in a protective circle, and they pushed forward through the archway in the wall and into the crowded streets of the city. Menish found himself riding beside the guard captain.
“I know you from somewhere. Where have I seen you before?” The man smiled.
“You may have seen me at the battle of the Olsha fords years ago, M’Lord. I doubt if you've seen me since then.”
“Of course, I knew I remembered you from somewhere. It was not so much you I remembered as that horse you rode. A fine beast, he could have been sired by Garnar himself. I was sorry when he fell in battle. You were on the left flank weren't you?”
“Yes, Darven was our commander.”
“I thought so. I spoke with Darven a few days ago. He lives in Deenar now, away north. He's done well for himself.”
“I'm pleased to hear it. There are few commanders I was so happy to serve under.” Again Menish was interested to see how Relanese they had become. This was no Vorthenki warrior, the man was a trained soldier, a professional, capable of working in an organised army. He himself had been a part of that transformation when he enlisted Vorthenki auxiliaries to help Vorish fight Thealum. But he had not been to Atonir for some years now, were they so civilised last time he was here?
While Menish talked to the captain of their meeting with Darven, Azkun absorbed the sights and sounds about him as they made their way up the broad avenue that led directly to the walls of the palace. It was lined with tall trees whose leaves were just turning autumnal gold and brown.
Under the trees and in open buildings beyond them were stalls piled high with wares. There were hundreds of people milling about. Most of them were Vorthenki, and they had the height and colouring of Althak. Their clothes were bright in the sunshine, reds and yellows, and they wore bangles and bracelets that sparkled. But others were darker and shorter with almond shaped eyes, more like the Anthorians in form but not in dress. These folk were even more adorned with jewellery and bright colours, as if to make amends for their lack of height. Azkun wondered if they were the remnant of the true Relanese folk, the folk of Gilish.
In the background lurked still another group. They were clothed in old, torn garments and had a sullen look that reminded Azkun of the slaves they had rescued from the pirates.
At one stall nearby a man stood yelling something at the top of his voice. From the little Vorthenki Azkun had picked up he seemed to he extolling the virtues of the carvings that lay in the stall. They passed another where the air was filled with the smell of baking bread. Yet another was piled high with vegetables. Some of these stalls were mobile. A man wheeled a handcart beside them offering some liquid refreshment he carried in big, metal bottles. Others moved among the crowd with baskets of small loaves from the bakery. Everywhere was the sound of voices, some laughing, some serious. A small child wept bitterly not far away, voices were raised in argument at one of the stalls.
In the midst of all this confusion Azkun felt something strange, like a door opening briefly and closing behind his back. Turning, he saw that Tenari was weeping. Slow tears ran down her still blank face, and her gaze was directed steadfastly ahead and not at Azkun.
“Tenari? What is it?” But she gave no sign that she heard him, her mind was as blank as stone.
A commotion erupted as they passed a whole line of stalls and shops that sold nothing but fish. The place reeked of the smell of it and it was even more crowded than the previous stalls. A woman screamed and two men burst through the press of people, struggling together.