One evening, when they had not found a thal to sleep in and lay instead in a hollow off the road around an open fire, Althak asked Menish if he really hoped to win this war with Gashan. Menish had been careful not to tax him with plans and strategies yet, for he was still weak from the poison.
“I won't have them devastate Anthor unchallenged.”
“I've heard them say you'll beat them just as you did last time.”
“You don't think it possible?”
“You've said it yourself. It was a trick that they'll watch for again. And they have this Duzral Eye-”
“I can't think of the Eye. It failed Telish. It may fail them. Speaking of the Eye is profitless. All we can do is to fight them the best way we know.”
Unexpectedly Althak placed a hand on Menish’s shoulder and gripped it firmly.
“Yes, M’Lord, that's all we can do, fight them the best way we know.” There was a hoarseness in his voice and his eyes gleamed in the firelight. Abruptly he rose and walked off into the darkness, and Menish did not see him until he awoke the next morning.
Just before they reached Meyathal they met a small party of riders approaching them on the road. While they were still too distant to recognise one of their number let out a long, piercing cry. A horn sounded and the group galloped towards them.
It was Adhara, Drinagish and a few others from Meyathal. They had set out looking for Menish on the road when a rider had brought them news. Their meeting was not as dramatic as it had been the last time. Menish and Adhara rode up to each other and clasped hands. Menish could see the look of worry on her face.
“You know my news?”
“Yes, the rider came this morning. It's war with Gashan.”
Menish nodded.
“At least you're safe, for a time,” she said. He could see there was more she wished to say, but not here. “If we make haste we can reach home tonight.”
After a few words of greeting to the others, they rode on towards Meyathal. Menish noticed Tenari among Adhara’s party. He did not see her at first for she was dressed in Anthorian garb, even sporting a pair of silver bracelets. They had given her a leather jerkin but no sword. It was just as well, he supposed. No one knew what to make of her. Her attitude was as impassive as ever, her silent stare at Azkun resumed immediately. Menish wondered what she had looked at while Azkun was gone.
Azkun appeared discomforted by her presence, which was not surprising considering the performance she had made when they had left her behind. But he appeared to be trying to accept her back into his company in spite of his fear of her. Perhaps he had decided that she was not one of the Monnar, it was difficult to see any similarity between her and the old man they had met in the marsh.
Olcish also rode in their company. He seemed pleased to see Althak, chattering away to him about what he had been doing while they had been in Gashan. He slept in the men’s lodge now, and Adhara had taught him to wrestle in the Anthorian fashion. Menish guessed that she had done so of necessity. Olcish was small for his age and would need to be able to hold his own among his peers.
They rode on until well after sunset and, by the light of the waning moon, Menish passed through the gates of Meyathal. The smithy shop was working late, an orange glow spilled from its doorway and the sound of hammering could be heard. New swords, thought Menish, new shields and new helmets for the war. He felt he should be excited by the thought, but he was not.
Several stable hands roused themselves to attend to their horses. Menish could see their fresh, young faces in the glow of the lamps they carried, eager for news and delighted at the prospect of war. They were so young, he thought. Surely they were not old enough to ride into battle. But swords hung at their hips, real ones, not the wooden ones children played with, and two of them wore new helmets.
Menish clapped one on the shoulder and complimented her on her helmet before he made his way through the great doors. He tried to sound encouraging but he suddenly felt tired and his leg had begun to ache.
He told Yarol to have food and ambroth sent to his rooms and to bring hot water for a bath. That would remove the grime of Gashan that still clung to him and it would soothe his leg. If he had had his own way he would have gone straight to his rooms, but there were people to greet, people who had waited up in case he returned that evening. They had been anxious for him and he could not ignore them.
But he avoided repeating his account of Gashan. That could wait, they had heard most it from the messenger anyway. He would tell them the entire tale tomorrow, otherwise he would be repeating it endlessly to those who wanted to hear it from his own lips.
By the time he reached the rooms in the south wing of the palace he shared with Adhara the fire was burning brightly on the hearth. On the low table lay a platter of food, a roasted haunch of beef and some bread; beside it stood a flask of ambroth.
“So they let you go at last.” Adhara sat on the embroidered cushions that surrounded the table. She had changed from her tunic and breeches into a flowing, woollen gown that she had bought from a Relanese merchant. It was not the sort of thing she would be seen wearing except here in their private rooms, but it was comfortable to wear it in the evenings, she claimed, and it was warm.
Everywhere he looked in this room was a mixture of the Relanese and the Anthorian that lay in them both. The floor was covered with skins and rugs and the walls were hung with weapons, but behind the weapons the walls were solid Relanese stonework, carved in places with firebird symbols. Relanese ladies with nothing better to do had embroidered the cushions around the table. Adhara’s gown was Relanese, though she had found one of a dull colour and with only a little embroidery on the cuffs; she did not want to look like a peacock.
Beyond this room was a Relanese style bathroom that was even now being filled using an ingenious piping system. In another room stood a real Relanese bed with carved legs and a mattress of horsehair. Such beds were rare in Relanor now. Vorish had one and so did several of his Drinols, but Menish knew of no others. This one had come from Atonir in Menish’s grandfather’s time.
Menish grunted a reply to Adhara’s question. “Help me off with this jerkin will you?” They were always a curse to get in and out of. Vorish had spoken of a new way of fastening them down the front, he wished he had obtained a new one while he had been in Atonir. After a struggle they removed the jerkin and Menish hauled off his boots. Adhara picked them up, opened the shutter and tossed them out the window.
“My boots!”
“You’ve others, and those stink. Phew, it’s not just the boots. You must have rolled in that Gashan slime.”
“I had to wade chest deep in it. No, before you try and strip me naked I am going to eat something.” He sat down on the cushions and broke off a piece of the meat.
“You certainly need that bath,” she said as she poured them both ambroth.
“And you are disrespectful to the King of Anthor.”
“The King of Anthor is stuck with me.”
“Did anything happen while I was away?”
“The usual things. Marayhir is still saying you raided his cattle. I was going to offer to duel with him to prove the truth but your news came.”
“Drinagish should do any duelling.”
“Am I not regent while you are away?”
“Yes, yes, but-”
“But you think I'm too old to beat Marayhir,” she was annoyed.
“You could not wrestle him, that would be unseemly, so it would have to be a blood duel with weapons. He's old, but he still has his strength, and he's cunning. Drinagish would have less trouble beating him, that's all I meant.”