The starkness and sheer alien quality of these mud-brick towns hit him every day. Endless squalid streets, clouds of dust, swarms of flies, no trees. To Thru it was a landscape from hell.
It brought on a sense of desolation, a withering of hope. No wonder the men drank the fiery spirits of alcohol and fought each other in senseless rage outside the grogshops. Theirs was a life of toil and hunger, deprivation and grief.
At this level of life one never saw the rulers, the wealthy in the carriages and covered wagons. At this level, even the meanest servants of Janbur Gsekk were regarded as lordlings in their own right.
But amid the violence and desolate loneliness, he had one fragile hope to cling to. The Euchre rode the canal and they were going all the way to Shesh, which was Gevuv's home. Shesh was the name of both a town and a region known for beautiful countryside. This information he had gleaned from Gevuv one evening. And he immediately put it together with another word that he had learned by accident from Janbur Gsekk. The Shashti word "Zob" was often used for a small country estate. Nobles went to their "zobbi" for periods of relaxation. They usually contained a game park for hunting and a stream for trout fishing. According to Riro, Shesh was surrounded by forest. It was a special place. Riro liked it.
Obviously there would be many zobbi around Shesh, but he knew that Simona of the Gsekk had often mentioned that she had loved to ride in Shesh Zob, a country place belonging to her family with an enclosed parkland where a woman could ride a horse in private, and thus escape the rules of purdah. Simona had often said that if she could she would withdraw to Shesh Zob and stay there forever.
Thru had decided to find Simona's Shesh Zob. Perhaps she would be there. Or possibly he could devise some way of sending her a message. She was the only person that he knew in this hostile land who might befriend him.
Not much of a plan, but it was better than sitting on the Euchre until he was taken to be castrated. Then he would be exposed and soon placed in the hands of the priests.
Of course, running off was not without dangers. Riro had told him that Gevuv would notify the authorities, and the slave catchers would take him in time. Slave catchers roamed the cities constantly. Runaways were often blinded and sold down as animal-slaves. Thru had seen plenty of animal-slaves, too. They often worked in the locks, chained to the capstans used to raise the doors of the lock. Their faces were usually broken by a brand.
Although this was a terrible fate, if he was captured he would be sacrificed on the altar of the Great God.
So he had to run, and stay in hiding in the woods around Shesh until he could identify Simona's Zob. Not an easy task, for a strange slave could not just walk into a fine house and ask questions. He'd be lucky not to be whipped for his insolence.
He needed to plan carefully.
Suddenly an eruption of loud noise came from the wharf. Thru looked out and saw a circle of youths had gathered around a fight.
The smaller of the two in the fight was Riro. Riro was too good at dice. It often got him into trouble. The bigger boy he was fighting had lost his temper at losing so much.
Thru watched carefully. Riro fought with energy but no skill. The bigger boy had no skill either so the fight was a windmill of punches that mostly missed or banged off the backs of heads. They clutched at each other. Riro was thrown and the bigger boy was on him and it was quickly getting ugly for Riro.
Thru stepped ashore, turned an empty barrel on its side, and set it rolling across the wharf, right into the fight. The boys scattered, the boy punching Riro jumped back, and Riro rolled out of the way.
But he wasn't quick enough, and two other boys grabbed Riro and held him while the bigger boy came forward ready to punch his victim some more.
Thru materialized out of the dusk.
"Do you really need three to fight this little fellow?"
The bigger boy was a burly youth, he didn't back down.
"Why don't you take your nose out of this? This is between the short stuff and me."
"Well, it was, but now you've got two friends holding him."
"So? What do you care, you weirdo?"
"I guess I just like to see things fought fair. So let him go."
The bigger boy unshipped a clasp knife that opened with a smooth snap. "Go fuck your mother!" he snarled.
Surprised a little by such bravado in a boy of no more than twelve years, Thru took up the stance of kyo, hands extended, relaxed, knees slightly bent.
The boy slashed at him, but Thru did not remain in place to be cut. He shimmied away from the steel, and the boy turned in the air, thrown over a hip while the knife hand was held, bent, and the knife fell free.
Thru caught the blade and spun around with the knife in his hand.
The boy on the deck got back to his feet a little slowly. He'd landed hard, and he'd never seen such speed in a fighter. Worse, his knife was now in his opponent's hand. The two behind Riro moved away as if he was a source of contagion.
"That's better," said Thru. "There's no need for fighting. What was it about anyway?"
"The short stuff was cheating!"
"I was not," said Riro, enraged by this unjust charge. "I didn't bring the dice. They're not weighted. We tried them."
"Nobody wins all the time like you do. You must be cheating."
"You just don't watch me. I don't bet all the time like you. I wait until I feel the luck. I know what I am doing, you drink spirit, you don't know what you're doing."
"Hey, shut up, you little piece of..."
"Enough!" said Thru. "Does anyone else here back up your claim that Riro cheated?"
The other boys and youths shuffled their feet. Riro was well liked among the canal kin but the smaller boys were too afraid of big Hen and his friends to speak. Then one of them found his courage.
"Riro speaks the truth. He doesn't cheat."
The others nodded and mumbled agreement.
Hen snarled at them, but they took no notice.
"Seems like you were wrong, then. Unless you've got proof that the dice were weighted or that Riro was cheating, you've got no right to go after him."
Hen and his friends withdrew. Thru watched them leave. The party was over, the game finished. The boys drifted back to the canal boats, warehouses, and dock buildings where they worked.
"Thank you, Thru," said Riro as they walked back toward Euchre.
"You weren't really cheating were you?"
"No, I don't cheat. They were just sore losers."
Later, before turning in, Thru looked back across the dock, the warehouses, and the dusty, endless streets beyond. Everyone in this sad place was a loser as far as he could see, and what they had lost was the world itself.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
After Aeswiren returned from his disturbing visit with the Old One, Nuza was moved to new rooms, a suite on the far side of the palace. Her security guards were increased and monitored by operatives of the Hand. The rooms were warm and blessed with a grand view to the west. Each day they were lit spectacularly by the setting sun. They looked out across the Shalba and the parklands of the Outer Shalba, and she amused herself by counting the spires and turrets of the great houses there.
In the afternoon of the second day, the Emperor came to visit her. He greeted her in the language of the Land, his usage was often clumsy, but steadily improving. Her heart had been touched by the effort she could see that he was making.
"I hope you like rooms. They are safer for you now."
"They are nice rooms, but I don't quite understand. You are Emperor, correct?"
"Yes."
"But you cannot keep me safe."
"It is"—he groped for the words—"explain, hard." Indeed, he thought, no Emperor had been freed from the curse of the priesthood. "Powerful are priests."
"But you rule?"
"I rule, but I must my back watch."
Aeswiren did not fear rebellion among the people. His policies had encouraged trade among the cities and growth in skilled cr
afts and industries. Even the old nobility had given up their rebellious ways. Aeswiren had brought more of the stability that they'd enjoyed under Norgeeben. The terrible chaos of the previous dynasty still haunted many great families. No, it was not rebellion among his fractious people that he feared, Aeswiren feared murder. That was the way the Gold Tops would choose.
Nuza struggled to comprehend the idea that the priests might wish to kill the Emperor. In the Land, Kings ruled by custom and tradition and with reference to the wisdom of the Assenzi. There were no priests, though mots in search of holiness would remove to the fanes of the spirit. They would dedicate their lives to the quiet pursuit of meditation, and work to keep the fanes and temples in good repair. To imagine such mots and mors attempting to kill the King of Tamf was very difficult.
Moreover she understood how great Aeswiren's power was. She had lived within this vast structure for months. He was the man in whose name the whole huge machine of the empire churned onwards.
"Nice rooms," said Aeswiren, trying to turn the conversation to a more cheerful concern. "I hope you will be able to practice here."
Out the window the trees of the Shalba glittered bare and cold in the morning sun. On the right was the graceful vault of the tomb of Norgeeben. The gallery was a long space, ten feet wide, that ran along the side of the palace windows. The floor was smooth white marble.
"Thank you for your kindness."
Aeswiren stayed, drank tea with her, and did his best to converse. She peppered him with questions about his empire and its ways. She found slavery very difficult to understand. The many grades of slavery were confusing: house servants and noble eunuchs at the top of the chain, animal-slaves who scrubbed the public places at the bottom.
"But how can a person 'own' another person. It seems completely against the teachings of the spirit. We learn that each person is a unique being. Each person has a spirit that sanctifies him or her. Nobody can belong to another individual; although it can be argued that everyone should belong to everyone else, but only in the way of love and the spirit."
Alas, shrugged Aeswiren. If only such a thing could be true. "Our God is different. There have always been slaves."
Nuza shook her head after a moment. "Then they cannot be Gods. No god would sanction such a thing."
The mor had a way of driving straight to a point that no subject of Aeswiren would have considered. Men had always owned other men, men had always owned women. Thus it was in Shasht and always had been. The Gods had nothing to do with it. The Gods of Shasht had once been a cryptic crew, fond of festivals and sacrificial lamb. But that was long ago, before the coming of He Who Eats, the Great God.
Later, as the afternoon light turned golden, Nuza practiced in the gallery and Aeswiren watched, entranced. As he watched, his mind tore at the knotty questions that obsessed him.
This creature with its unhuman face, had yet beguiled him with grace of movement and then with its serious, sweet intelligence. He felt as if he were in the presence of an angel. No woman had so touched him, at least not since his second wife, the mother of Nebbeggebben, that evil child turned monstrous man.
No, he had not been lucky in his choice of women.
But this was not a woman, this was a mor, a being of another race, though female enough in her breasts and buttocks to stir the strangest erotic thoughts. The alien angles to her face, the soft grey fur, they might have put him off once, but now only attracted him even more. He was not a man of sentiment, nor in recent years had he been a man of passion, but this creature stirred him.
She finished her exercises and turned back to him.
"When I was brought here, there were seven other mots on the ship. I have not seen them since I arrived. Could I see them?"
Aeswiren bit his lip for a moment. "No. I am afraid they were killed by the priests."
Nuza closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.
"You could not prevent this?"
"No. Nor did I know what I know now."
"So, I am alone in this city?"
"Well, actually, no. There are some other mots, but they escaped the priests."
Her eyebrows shot up and down.
"Where are they?"
"I don't know. My agents are trying to find them now. We want to take them to a place of safety."
"You don't know?"
"Not yet, but soon, I think. We had some word the other day. They were alive, safe so far."
"I want to see them!"
"You will, just as soon as I find them."
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
When they moored in Embun, the last stop before Shesh, Thru waited until the early hours of morning and then he rose and slipped over the side. Red Kemm was in the northern sky, the moon was rising in the east and looked enormous. He wore his boots, coat, and hat and carried a piece of cheese, some dried apples, and a chunk of bread left over from the evening meal. He also took the kitchen knife and a roll of twine.
Thru couldn't bring himself to say good-bye to little Riro, not because he feared Riro would betray him, but because he and the boy had become good friends and he knew that Riro would grieve over his going. Alas, there was no choice in the matter for Thru.
Alone in the dark muddy streets of the village, he felt acutely vulnerable. He kept to the shadows and back streets, avoiding the lanterns hung at the major intersections. All the time he kept a wary eye for the slave takers, who he knew roamed the night with their dogs and nets, hunting for slaves out of their homes after curfew.
After a couple of miles of dodging, he had a stroke of luck on a broad avenue, heading east. A large drive train of forty wagons and dozens of smaller carts headed for the zobbi hills. The entire road was dominated by drovers and drovers' boys whipping the animals to get the wagons rolling. Merchants and peddlers of every description filled the wagon train.
Thru simply joined the throng, and ran alongside the ox teams as if he were just another slave getting the oxen up to speed. No one appeared to notice him.
And so he walked right out of the village, even going directly past one gang of slave takers, with fierce man-hounds straining on the leash. These grizzled men, who scanned the wagon train for runaways, missed him completely, since he blended in among the ragged boys who scurried up and down the flanks of the train.
The moon rose ahead of them, and the houses gave way at last to open fields. It was a cheerless view, however, for the landscape was flat and empty of cover with no trees. Several miles away the mountains were dim masses of darkness against the sky.
The caravan trundled onward, the drovers talking to each other in the softer cadences of hill country Shashti, with a distinctive burr in the accent. Thru took up a position behind a wagon, walking with his bundle on his back just like many other slaves up and down the train. The road ran straight toward the hills. The drovers talked about a big festival that would be held the following week. Most of the wagons took provisions up to the zobbi of Cashu. Wealthy families would arrive shortly for the early winter festival of "First Snow." And of course everyone was betting on whether there'd be snow by then. Usually there was, but not always, which was good for the Almanac industry. It was also beneficial to the bookmakers. Gambling was endemic in Shasht.
"We be taking the festival at Heemp's House, over in the Gelmen Valley," said one drover behind him.
"A good board they set by all accounts," said another voice.
"That they do," said the first.
"Haw!" said a ragged slave passing Thru. "Lucky for those who get to eat in Heemp's kitchens."
The slave gave Thru a nudge. Thru looked sidelong at the grinning face.
"Be lucky if we even see some scraps!" said the man in a cheerful tone. Thru shrugged, the slave hurried on.
"You'll see no scraps from me, you scurvy dog!" called the drover.
The slave had seen nothing overtly strange about Thru in the dark. But dawn would bring a much greater risk of discovery. He had to sneak away before the light gr
ew strong.
An hour went by and another. Still, they passed nothing but endless flat fields, bare of anything but stubble. It would be difficult to run without being seen. He began to despair when at last the road curved to the right of the valley and soon climbed into the hills.
After another mile the road grew steep, then began to curve back on itself as it climbed. Above them loomed dark crags.
Suddenly, picked out in a moonbeam, Thru saw a single tree, standing out of a crag. He took a breath, feeling just a little better for it.
A little later there were more trees mostly scattered on the ridgelines. The land by the road was given over to grass and sheep. Shepherd dogs barked back and forth. There was no likelihood of escape in such a bare setting. Thru began to grow concerned again.
Now the road turned about the base of a great crag. On top of the crag Thru saw a tower silhouetted against the light of the moon. The solitary structure was stark and forbidding. Thru wondered if it was a beacon for times of danger, or a military outpost against bandits that Riro had spoken of, who were said to terrorize the hills. Behind the crag a narrow bridge of rock and trees connected to the hills.
The road wound down into a narrow valley, where trees at last turned into a forest. But dawn could not be long in coming.
The road ran beside an unchanneled stream, its bed filled with great rocks. On the other side, the pines stood twenty steps from the road. Thru drifted over to the edge of the paved road. Ahead were stacked boulders and beside them a group of young trees. Fighting the urge to turn around and look to see if anyone was watching him, he stepped off the road and knelt down behind the trees as if to tie a boot lace. The wagons rumbled by on his left; no voice called to him; no one seemed to have noticed.
The Shasht War Page 26