The Ancient Enemy (21 page)

Meanwhile, at the Dronned Weavers' Guild it had been suggested that the candidacy of one Thru Gillo be actively considered. Several members were reaching retirement age in the next year. Openings would be available.

Thru read this and felt a surge of triumph. He could succeed; despite everything, he could achieve his dream.

At last "Mussels and Rakes" was done. Thru agreed to let Merchant Namp display the piece in his window and conduct the auction, which would be held at the festival to mark the beginning of summer, the Flower festival of the fifth moon.

In the window "Mussels and Rakes" caught the eye with its boldness. The mussels were luminous in raised weft that gave them lifelike texture against the harsh angles of the rakes. The piece shimmered there and drew a small crowd on most days.

As winter drew on, so the late-winter festivals, of Shooting Stars, and Prince Frost, came upon them. On these festivals the Winter King was symbolically dunked in the village pond to get him to hurry up and get the winter over and done with. Music and dancing, raucous crowds in the streets until late, the festivals were a swirl of color against the dark of late winter.

During these days Thru and Nuza avoided the parties and taverns and withdrew to the room over the laundry and enjoyed long uninterrupted time together. Thru had never imagined himself being this happy. From the depths of rejection in Dronned the previous summer, he had soared somehow to success in almost every aspect of his life.

That spring the troupe headed southwest into the Creton peninsula a hundred miles from Tamf. The land was lovely and green, with mists cloaking the moors. The grey seas lashed into foam at the feet of the startlingly white chalk cliffs. Small villages built of stone and wattle clustered in the valleys, and sheep grazed the hillsides. The weavers of the region worked in wool and specialized in a thick woolen cloth that was highly prized everywhere for outer coats and cloaks.

There were no large cities on the Creton, just villages scattered down the rocky coast and a few coal mining towns in the mountains, so few entertainers took the trouble to wander the flint-paved roads. Nuza's hunch paid off handsomely. The troupe was welcomed everywhere by small, but enthusiastic audiences wherever they stopped.

Thru found plenty of youngsters with powerful shoulders who thought they could get a ball past Seventy-seven-Run Gillo, and his purse soon had the weight of a good number of silver shillings. He'd also met a few throwers of the ball who were so good he'd recommended they try up at Tamf as professionals.

Even Toshak had found a number of challengers. He'd never visited these small places, and every village had at least one mot who reckoned himself an expert with the sword. Mostly they chose to fight with the light spadroon, the favorite blade of the Land because it was so economical in metal. Toshak preferred the flowing style that came with the foil, but he wielded the shorter, broader spadroon just as impeccably.

From Crozett they turned south on the coastal road for Bilauk. That night they camped outside a tiny hamlet called Shaffgums on the Bilauk headland. The folk were happy to see them and applauded the short demonstration that Nuza, Gem, and Hob put on. Then Serling juggled and Toshak performed the sword kyo and they were awed. A jug of fine ale and a pile of toasted pod puppies made of dried fish and flour was their reward.

A long, beautiful sunset ended the day while they built up the fire and made guezme tea. It was cool in the evening, and they pulled coats and blankets around themselves while they talked drowsily about Creton and their plans for the rest of the summer.

Thru was content, his legs were pleasantly tired, and he was looking forward to sleep and the next day's journey down to Bilauk on the bay. He lay back against the wheel of the caravan with Nuza at his side, holding his hand.

The next day dawned clear and bright. They breakfasted, broke camp, and bid farewell to the tiny population of Shaffgums before heading off across the headland and down toward Bilauk Bay. After about an hour they noticed a tall column of smoke rising ahead of them, somewhere down the bay toward Bilauk. The source was hidden from view by the central mass of the headland, which they were still climbing.

"Big fire somewhere," said Hob with a note of wonder.

The cloud of black smoke was awfully thick and roiling high.

"What can be burning?" asked Nuza.

"Something damned big," said Serling, watching the smoke roil up into the sky.

"Fire is just so awful." Gem's lip quivered. "We were burned out of the inn in Gratesfield when I was young. It was the worst night of my life."

"That is very big fire," said Hob, appraising the column of smoke once more.

"Could they be burning the fields of stubble?" Nuza suggested.

"Not in spring," said Thru, more familiar with the farmer's round than Nuza. "And besides that's black smoke, means wood is burning. Lots of wood."

"The forest, then?" said Nuza, still searching.

"Has it been that dry here?" said Serling. "It was normal enough in Tamf."

There had been steady rain for a week early in the month. It seemed impossible that Creton had been spared the downpour.

With rising concern, they hurried their steps up the winding road. A breeze from the sea began to take the smoke inland, and so the column became an ominous dark finger curving over the Land.

When they reached the top they gazed out across the broad waters below. The column of smoke was rising from Bilauk itself, far down the bay. That meant it was a bigger fire than anything they had imagined. Thick clouds of black smoke billowed up from the edge of the bay. The whole village was on fire.

And yet that was not the greatest cause for their consternation. Far more astonishing was the ship they saw in the middle of the bay, under sail and moving swiftly out into the open sea.

A mountain of white canvas rose up three tall masts, each of which boasted a long pennon, trailing off in the wind. Beneath the canvas was an exposed side of long dark wood that was ten or twenty times the size of the biggest cog ever built by the folk of the Land.

"It's the vision that I heard of aboard the
Dory Alma
," said Thru. "Captain Murflut told me they'd seen a giant ship like this, a mountain of sails they called it. They saw it on the western banks—and now we see it here."

Toshak was examining the ship through a small brass spyglass that he kept in his pack.

"There are mots on that ship, I can just make them out. It is not a vision. It is real."

Nuza wrenched her eyes away from the great ship. "What is it doing here?"

"Are they raiders?" said Gem with a tremor in his voice. Raiders were known from the ancient legends, back in the days when the northern folk had sailed south and assaulted towns on the coasts. Outlaws in longships had once plundered the coasts, but this had all ended long ago, when the peace of the five Kings of the North was established.

"Come," said Toshak, pocketing his spyglass as the great ship disappeared past the southern headland. "We must hurry. The folk in Bilauk will need help."

"But what about the vision ship. What is it?"

"I know not, but it is real. The water breaks under its bows just as it would a ship one-tenth its size."

Shaking his head in amazement, Thru picked up his pace, and together they all began jogging along the road. Fortunately, it was mostly downhill.

As they got closer to the village the smell hit them. The fire was well and truly in control of poor Bilauk. The tightly packed houses of wood and stone, close set along the alleys around the harbor, were ablaze.

They reached the outskirts of the village. Flames were licking up from the town hall and the big fish warehouse. The smaller houses were already falling in flaming ruins. The smoke made them cough and gasp as they struggled down the streets.

Then they started to find bodies; a few mots and mors scattered through the town, usually with arrow and spear wounds, sometimes with smashed skulls. An old mor was huddled in the gutter outside her house, her neck almost completely severed by a savage blow. Her blood had run down the gutter and pooled lower down the street.

The doors to the houses were broken open, and smoke was rising from the windows.

Thru turned away in horror from an alley entrance, where five young mots had died after putting up a struggle. Blood was spattered all over the walls on either side, and great gouts of it had run in the gutters. The mots had been killed and their bodies mutilated: limbs hewn off, heads removed.

The horror of the scene made Gem sob openly. Thru felt his reason challenged. Why would anyone kill like this? Even pyluk would not kill so many. Once they had enough to fill their bellies, pyluk would have stopped to divvy up the meat.

Here and there, a few houses had escaped the general conflagration. A cluster of them lay at the end of one alley, protected by their stone walls and slate roofs. Still they had been devastated. Doors were broken open, shutters ripped off.

As they watched, a survivor stumbled from one of these houses, a middle-aged mor with her shift torn and stained with blood.

"What happened here?" said Nuza reaching out to the mor.

The mor could only stare back at them with eyes so big they seemed to stand out of her head. She spread her hands aimlessly and wept.

"All dead," was all she could say. "Dead, all dead. All dead."

Gem was trembling. "Who were they?"

The woman gave an inarticulate cry and darted back into the ruined house.

Toshak sprang forward and caught her at the last moment and pulled her out, weeping and screeching. Nuza leading the distraught mor by the hand, Toshak behind to prevent her running back, they headed for the harbor in the center of the village, where the jetty jutted forth in the middle of a broad paved area. This was where fish were landed, boats hauled up, and folk could stroll and look at the sea. If anyone else had survived, perhaps they would gather there.

There was an irregular heap at the point where the jetty joined the land. Gem drifted over toward it, then gave a scream and staggered back before falling to his knees and vomiting. The heap contained the heads of mots, mors, brilbies, chooks, and even donkeys. There was blood all over that part of the dock.

Nuza dropped down beside the hideous pile, and began to pray.

"Who do you pray for, Lady?" said Toshak.

"I pray for the souls of those who did this, for they are lost in darkness."

Thru saw the dead eyes of a dozen mots and mors staring back at him, and shuddered with horror and sorrow in equal part. A chill passed through him as if his very heart had suddenly been exposed to ice.

Who could have done this? Who were these enemies who would kill so wantonly?

"Where are the bodies?" said Serling suddenly. "All I see are their heads."

Simona stirred and opened her eyes. She was still aboard the Imperial ship
Growler
. Still swinging in her hammock in the dark, crowded heat of the women's deck.

The stench, the noise, the vibrations of 450 women cooped up for ten months in the belly of the ship—by the pure skin of the Great God, Simona wished she were somewhere else. And, of course, being young and of little worth, she never got to use a porthole. Those were reserved for the grandmothers of the elite. They had their health as an excuse, and used it tenaciously.

Simona could feel the ship moving heavily through the water, a crisper thud with each wave. The
Growler
was under way and breaking through stiff seas. Something had happened: They had changed direction, or else a storm was coming up. The huge wooden members that held the decks together were creaking in a way that Simona had learned meant they were moving fast, usually with the wind coming from the west.

She wondered where they were going in such a hurry. For months they had simply patrolled up and down the ocean far off the coast of the New Land. Nothing but tantalizing stories and a few scraps of limp vegetation had come their way. Food was running low, even the fishing was poor.

Were they going to the New Land, finally, at long bloody last?

Oh let it be the New Land, at last! Let it be release from the women's deck. If she had known beforehand how long this confinement would last, she would have begged her father to leave her behind. Marry her off to Master Pilpio, anything, but save her from having to go on this accursed voyage, packed in the ship like pigs in a pen. Simona had never experienced anything so degrading.

Mother, of course, was enduring it like a stoic, as she always did, but Simona was heartily sick of it all. Months and months of being cooped up in this huge harem! It was horrible. And at night the men came in to enjoy the rites of the rut. The cries of the women, the exulting roars of the warriors, all of it made Simona feel ill.

At least back home a woman was mistress of her house, her garden, and her kitchen. The man was the master, of course, but he entered her domain when he came into his house. She had some standing. Aboard the ship she had nothing but her body and ten square feet to rest it in.

On ship the women couldn't even cook the wretched stuff they dared to call food. Endless pease porridge, horrible old salt pork, some of it all gristle and bone, biscuit of indifferent quality, it was monotonous and bland. But all the cooking was done in the ship's galley, where the work was reserved for men, indifferent cooks who did little to improve the raw materials given them by the Emperor.

The ship was beginning to dip its nose each time it crested a swell, a sure indication that they were entering heavier weather. Simona saw that Puty and Panala were gone, their hammocks stowed on the hooks above. That gave Simona an unusually large area of personal space. She took advantage of it to perform some stretching exercises and finished with two dozen push-ups done in sets of twelve. It was the only physical exercise available to her, or anyone else on the women's deck, and she used every opportunity. Simona had always been an outdoors person. At home she had done her utmost to spend most of her time at the family's country estate, Shesh Zob, where purdah was a much gentler affair. The males on the estate were eunuch and under the Law of Orbaz, so she was free to ride her horses properly, and not sidesaddle as was required in company. She was free to run, to hunt in the forest with the bow, to swim in the lake and many other things that would earn her a death sentence were she to do them beyond the walls of her father's estate.