Few of the Anthorians had ever seen heavy cavalry before. Their own fighting methods, developing from raiding, required lightly armed horseman who could move quickly. But the Relanese had always used large horses capable of carrying a warrior covered in armour. When they charged they made the ground shake.
Vorish’s forces looked to be under the command of four Drinols, judging by the standards displayed, and Vorish had brought his personal guard with him as well. It was a humbling experience for Menish, reminding him that he was but a vassal to Vorish. Any of his Drinols were as powerful as the King of Anthor judging by the size of the force they could muster.
But none of his Drinols were the Emperor’s father. He could not help looking at Vorish afresh. Was there a resemblance? Vorish’s eyes were like his own, or he thought so. He could not remember exactly what Vorish looked like now. His nose was like Drinagish’s, but that was nonsense. Drinagish was only related to Menish through Adhara.
Vorish greeted him warmly, but his smile quickly faded. “You went to Gashan in spite of my orders.”
“I had no choice, you know that.”
“All would have been lost if you'd died there. Althak said you almost did.”
“He almost did. I expect to live a little longer.”
Menish signalled his escort to fall in with Vorish’s personal guard while he and Adhara rode beside the Emperor.
“Did Holdarish and Mora treat you well?”
“Yes, they made me very welcome. Mora was not so warm, but she tried to hide her thoughts from me.”
“She'd like to see Sonalish again.”
“And she will not go to Atonir. Sonalish will not go to Kronithal either. Anthorian women are so stubborn!” Vorish laughed. “Perhaps I can arrange for them to meet at the Lansheral. They could clasp hands through the gate in the wall, neither leaving their own lands.”
“Are they coming to the battle?”
“Holdarish and Mora? I think so. Holdarish would prefer to stay and count his wealth, Mora wants to kill Gashans.”
“Sonalish didn't want to come?” asked Adhara.
“No, Relanese women don't fight,” said the Emperor.
“What if Atonir is attacked?”
“It's well defended. Angoth remains in charge of twelve thousand men there. Let's hope they will not have to fight Gashan at their walls.”
“You have hope?” asked Menish. “Surely you're not waiting for Azkun’s dragons.”
“No, neither am I waiting for help from Kiveli.” He grinned at Adhara and Menish realised that he had even gained access to the secrets of the women of Anthor. Was anything hidden from him? “I didn't bring all these with me to watch dragons or whatever defeat our enemies for us.”
“But the Gashans have the Eye.”
He shrugged and they rode towards Meyathal.
Vorish’s men set up a vast camp on the flat area on the other side of the river from Meyathal. Their tents intrigued the Anthorians. They were made of canvas rather than felt, and they were square, which was absurd. These Relanese or Vorthenki, or whatever they were, did not know how to make a tent that would survive a northern winter. Did they really know how to fight? There were comments about their horsemanship, how they did not sit properly, and why did that one scowl at everyone?
But Menish was, as always, impressed with Vorish’s tight organisation. Tents were going up everywhere, but there was a disciplined pattern to it all. Those that were not setting up tents were unpacking wagons, starting cooking fires and digging latrines. Oxen were being slaughtered for the evening meal down by the river. All was going smoothly, with hardly an order given.
It was not until that evening that Menish learned more of Vorish’s plans. A council of Vorish’s Drinols and Menish’s clan chiefs was arranged to meet in Vorish’s tent.
Menish was surprised when he entered the council tent. He had lived in similar tents during the campaign against Thealum and he expected them to be Spartan inside. But Vorish had every luxury. There were bright hangings on the walls, rich floor coverings scattered with embroidered cushions and low tables of wood inlaid with shell. There were also wrought bronze candle holders suspended from the roof and their flickering candles set shadows dancing on the walls.
Vorish’s Drinols, Treath, Athun, Theyul of Kromere and Haramath of Azmere, were already seated when Menish entered with his clan chiefs. Treath and Athun Menish knew well. Haramath looked familiar, and he was polite enough to greet Menish as ‘Sire’. He looked about Darven’s age so he had probably been in the war with Thealum. Theyul was younger, probably too young for Menish to have met before. He seemed very Relanese in his dress. Where Haramath wore finely worked bracelets and embroidered trousers, Theyul wore little jewellery and the flowing court robes of the Relanese.
The clan chiefs, of course, were old friends, and old enemies, of Menish. He met them every year before the spring games where they discussed disputes between the clans, of which there were many. Sometimes the debate was amicable. Sometimes it was not. Menish had authority over them, but only because they permitted it. Often he thought they only allowed him to be King so that they could pass their most difficult disputes to him. There were five clan chiefs. Barvolin of Elarybol, Oramol of Gratha and Amralen of Rithyhir were all men a little younger than Menish. Barvolin had fought in the last battle with Gashan in Menish’s company. Yarva of Thonyar was too young to have fought, but she claimed she remembered the battle. Krithyol of Romeryhil had taken up his chieftainship two years before and Menish still did not know him well.
As well as the clan chiefs Menish had also brought Adhara, Drinagish, Bolythak and Neathy. As he looked around the table he reflected that Hrangil, Grath and Althak would have been here. But they were dead. Grath and Hrangil were, definitely. And Althak probably was by now. No one had ever returned from searching for the dragon isle. It made him weary. They were planning the battle he would die in, and many of his old friends were already dead.
He shook off these morbid thoughts. He still had Adhara. He still had Vorish. He was pleased with Drinagish, he would make a passable king, perhaps even a good one when he was used to it. But there might not be an Anthor for him to be king of, even if he survived the battle.
“Welcome, all of you,” said Vorish. “Please sit down. Have something to drink and there is food. Talking is hungry work.”
A servant poured wine or ambroth, as requested, and the ambroth was good, not the usual rough variety one took on journeys.
The food, however, was dried, except for the fresh meat. Even the Emperor could not arrange for fresh fruit on a spring journey. Menish resolved to see if he could find something better for Vorish’s table tomorrow.
“It's good to be in Anthor again, though I'd rather it was not for battle. I'd rather attend your spring games but,” he shrugged, “I'm always too busy. I used to delight in them in my youth, although I usually lost whatever I wagered.” Menish did not miss the casual way he reminded the clan chiefs that Anthor had once been his home.
“I've given this battle much thought, but no doubt so have you. What do the clan chiefs say?” He already knew what Menish thought.
“I fought Gashans last time, by Menish’s side,” said Barvolin. He was the most relaxed in the Emperor’s presence of the clan chiefs. Barvolin had been initiated into the Sons of Gilish at about the same time Menish had, and he had been a great friend of Hrangil. “There are two problems, they can throw fire and they have the Eye of Duzral. But we beat them last time. We can do it again.”
“We can do it by ourselves,” said Krithyol. “Anthorians are brave fighters.”
“Yes, I agree,” said Yarva. “You need not have brought all this.” She gestured vaguely to the tent, presumably indicating the army outside.