"You are still Aeswiren. I believe you can defeat your enemy and regain your throne."
Aeswiren's mocking reply died in his throat. Her intelligence was penetrating. They had discussed many things now. He could not dismiss her idea so easily.
"Well, I must thank you, dear Nuza. Thank you for having such belief in me. Even if you are the last to believe in me."
His head was hanging slightly. It aroused a fury in her.
"No! You cannot surrender. You owe this to the world. Your army has done much harm, but you can heal the wound. You and you alone have the power to do this. Yours is the name those men fight under."
He stared at her for a long moment. Did she know what she asked of him? Or how risky it all was? Nebbeggebben would not be pleased at the arrival of his father on the scene. Gaining the automatic allegiance of the army wasn't guaranteed, either. But he was Aeswiren. She was absolutely right. Those men had sworn their allegiance to him. They knew him as a leader in battle. They would turn to him.
And then, well, he pursed his lips. If he had an army behind him it would be a different world, because he would turn that army around, come back to Shasht, and use it as the core of a force that would rid Shasht of the Old One and the priests in one swoop. Once he had even five thousand battle-hardened soldiers under his command, things would be different. Then the Gzia nobility would find their courage, and they would rise for him and put thirty thousand Gzia swordsmen into the field. Give Aeswiren those kind of numbers, and he'd soon have Bishop Bodo's head on a pike.
"I don't care what you say about your Spirit, the Old Gods must have sent you." He enveloped her in his big arms and hugged her hard to his chest.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
For Simona the first few days were filled with constant apprehension. Thru was hiding in an empty stall in the far corner of the stables. These stalls had no horses but stored a few odd items. Thru made himself a tiny cave, lined with straw, behind an old broken chariot.
However, Simona knew that the stable slaves weren't stupid, and that sooner or later they would discover Thru. He had to come and go to find water and steal food. Each time he moved, he became more vulnerable.
Simona lived moment by moment, always expecting the cry of alarm.
Then, at last, Shalee reported that Hilltop had been provisioned and partially opened for winter use. The upper floors were still sealed. Simona was free to move up there whenever she thought best.
Of course, even with the crisis, the social round in the zobbi had continued. Keeping to her plan, Simona had attended two luncheons and a grand feast for the First Snow thrown by the Count of Ekshash. She had kept a bright smile on her face and ignored gossip about her father, as much as possible. Plenty of wounding jibes still came from the haughty, but ignorant, true-bloods. But she ignored the "sawbones" references and everything else, determined to be seen in society but only briefly, thus camouflaging her existence.
And back at the house she tried not to think about poor Thru, hiding out in the cold dark of the outer stables. He'd told her to trust him, he would not be seen, but still she felt pure terror at the thought that he would be taken by the stable slaves.
Shalee's report brought a blessed relief. That afternoon Simona was scheduled to ride, and after a brisk work out on the park she returned with Silvery to the stables. As usual she stayed to brush the horse and talk to her. They had been apart for far too long. Silvery was her favorite mount, and Simona had been so happy to find her horse in good condition. They shared a special bond. And now, once again, they would be sundered, for Simona would walk up to Hilltop, with a donkey to carry her things.
When the bell rang in the kitchen to announce the late afternoon meal, the stable slaves hurried off. Simona slipped into the darker, remote part of the stables. She searched the stalls, looking for the one holding a broken chariot.
One stall stored blocks of wood, another had some charred beams awaiting reuse, then a row of empty stalls. She was starting to lose hope, when at last, she found it, close to the end of the row.
She stepped inside. There was no sign of Thru, although she did see straw heaped along the back wall.
"Thru?"
No response. He was gone. Then she realized he would have timed his own movements for the moment when the stable slaves went to their supper. Disappointed, and wondering how she was going to get him a message without anyone knowing, she turned to leave the stall and almost ran into a slender figure waiting there.
"Simona?" it said.
"Thru, oh, thank the Gods."
Thru chuckled. Simona's Gods had nothing to do with it.
They embraced, she was transported by his hug. She hadn't touched a human being for so long. Or felt any love or affection other than the kindly benevolence of Aunt Piggili. But her warm emotions faded as she realized that Thru was thinner than she remembered and from his hard shoulders to the lean hunger in his face he was male.
It was a shock, because they had embraced before and she had spent many days and nights alone with him. However, back then he had been completely alien, and she had missed the masculine component. Now she felt uncomfortable and moved away with a little start. A life's training in the mores of purdah brought on an inevitable reaction.
Thru let her go.
"I didn't mean to startle you. I heard someone coming so I moved."
"I'm just so glad to find you. I was worried that you wouldn't be here. Listen, the house at Hilltop is provisioned and ready. I'm going up there tomorrow. I travel alone with just a donkey to carry the bags. Shalee is the only one who really knows anything about this. But there should be enough food for us to survive the winter."
"Thank you, Simona. I put my trust in you."
"Yes, well, the big problem will be staying warm."
"We will find what we need. As long as there is some food, we will be all right."
His quiet confidence encouraged her greatly. They made their plans, exchanged another, more formal sort of hug, and she left well before the stable slaves finished their second cups of chai and were chased out of the cosy kitchens by the house slaves.
She slept that night more soundly than she had in days.
After packing her things she met with Shalee to review the plan. The zob would remain open, but invitations would now be returned. Parties in these later stages of the festival, after First Snow were much less important. She had shown her face at enough events and said greetings with aunts and uncles of the Gsekk clan. From here on she could safely shut herself away and avoid seeing anyone. If anyone was to ask, she had gone back to the city.
The donkey was loaded by Shalee himself, round the back of the little private garden that he kept near the buttery. She went up the walled lane to the back road. As far as they could tell, no one saw her leave.
In a few more days, when the festival was truly over, Shalee would send a maid in a carriage over to Aunt Piggili's house and he would announce that Simona had left the zob. Then the zob would be "closed down" except for the slaves and servants' quarters.
Simona walked quickly up the north trail. She wore riding breeches under her heavy robe and leather boots with felt bootees inside. Around her there was still a little snow on the ground, although much of the first fall had melted away. There would be more, and soon, and then this trail would be impassable.
The path wound past the woodlots. She paused beside an ancient ash pollard and looked back to the zob. The chimneys thrust up from the heavy roof, a glass window on the west side caught a gleam from the sun, and for a moment she saw a rainbow in the glitter. Leaving the house brought an ache to her heart. This was the place she had always been happiest. Now it was denied to her again, perhaps forever. Suddenly she seemed very alone in the winter landscape with nothing but trees all about. She went on.
And then, perhaps an hour later, she spotted him coming down the trail toward her. In the light of day she could see the changes that the past year had wrought in him. His face had fresh scars and a lean bitte
rness that had not been there before.
"I scouted up toward the house. No one is there."
"You went all the way to Hilltop?"
"No, only to the second ridge. The house is quiet."
Which meant he had covered about ten miles already that day. Simona recalled the endurance he'd shown during their week together in the Land, traveling alone, learning each other's language. It was the same Thru.
And he lived! But Nuza did not know.
Now, oddly, they went along in silence, with only the wind's soft howl through the bare branches. Simona was trapped with her dilemma once again. She had not told Thru about Nuza being in the city. She had not told him because she knew that if she did, he would go back to the city and try and find her. Simona had seen something of the passion in Nuza's heart and understood that Thru would be the same. Nothing except his own death would hold him back once he knew.
So she could not tell him, because if he left the mountains he would be killed. The priests would be tearing up the whole country, sifting out rebellious elements.
And selfishly she feared that if Thru left her, then she would be left alone on the mountain.
For Thru this was a happy silence. He had found Simona. His plan, ever since leaving the city, had been to find her. He strode along, impervious to the cold. He'd caught a rabbit that morning and eaten some of it raw. The rest was cached up a tree along the way. He planned to cook it that night. Back home it would have been risky to cache meat up a tree like that. Not that cats would touch it, but coons and grey foxes could both climb. However, scavengers like that did not exist in the bare woods of Shasht. With only the occasional fox, some small woodland cats, and distant wolves to the north, he was sure his kill would still be there when they reached the tree.
Simona seemed in reasonable spirits, although he knew she must be worried for her father's sake. She had described what was going on in the city to him when they were first together, in the snow that day. The Red Tops were out hunting for deviants and slackers, fodder for the altar of the Great God.
Thru had nodded. Now even the men of Shasht knew what it was like to be fugitive in this accursed land. It seemed fitting, somehow.
They came over the first ridgeline. The second ridge rose up ahead of them, higher than the first, flecked with patches of snow.
"I've been thinking," she said. "It might be best if we moved on to Mount Beegamuus right away. We can use the donkey to carry provisions."
"Beegamuus is the farther place you mentioned?"
"Yes. It is seven miles past Hilltop to Mount Beegamuus. The lodge there is small, just a couple of rooms, but there is a chimney. It is used in summer sometimes, but not much lately. I stayed up there once by myself, when I was fifteen. My mother was very cross with me when she found out. It was wonderful up there, though. I was completely alone, and I didn't have to worry about anyone watching me."
Thru marveled at such strange problems. The world of purdah and sexual exclusion was difficult for him to understand.
"So we stay in first house just one night?"
"Yes, then go on to Beegamuus, before the snow gets deep."
"You think they're less likely to go all the way to Beegamuus than to Hilltop?"
"If they come to Hilltop they will find nothing. They will not know about Beegamuus."
Not unless they tortured Shalee, of course. But if they found Hilltop empty, they would face another seven miles of travel through deep snow to reach the higher lodge.
Thru nodded. If the enemy learned of his existence, they would come all the way to the highest mountain in Shasht. But if they sought only Simona, then perhaps they would be deterred by more hard slogging through deep snow. It could work, but he would keep his eyes open anyway.
"We will have to make several journeys to take the food from Hilltop to Beegamuus."
"A donkey will be a help."
"We'll have to feed him through the winter, too."
"There must be feed for him at first house, yes?"
Thus engrossed in the details of their planning, they crossed the Spelt stream on the high bridge and then wound their way up the steep slope to Hilltop. Along the way they paused by Thru's cache tree. He astonished her by climbing into the branches and coming down with a small parcel tied up in hide.
"A rabbit I took this morning. We'll eat it tonight."
Soon they came in sight of the house. Thru whistled to himself. Hilltop was as big as Pern Treevi's showy house back home. It had two floors under a long roof, which he could see was steeply pitched to keep the snow off. Verandahs surrounded the ground floor, and the front steps were cut from white stone. It was lavish. Perhaps small compared to the zob, with its three separate wings, but impressive to a simple village mot.
The house was dark, but the door was unlocked. The shutters were not locked, either. They soon opened things up a little.
Thru examined the supplies that Shalee had had brought up. The old slave had been very thorough. The storeroom contained sacks of wheat, sacks of oats, two whole hard cheeses each three feet across, five wheels of dried sausage, a barrel of dried apples, another of dried prunes, two large crocks of cooking oil, a stone jar of salt, and a sack of black tea. There was even a sack of good tinder! Shalee had thought of almost everything. Thru judged that it would be just enough to get the two of them through the winter if it was augmented with a few rabbits.
For an hour or more they busied themselves gathering wood from the surrounding trees. Hilltop hadn't been used in recent years with Simona's family away in the Land, so a lot of fallen wood was available. They built a fire in the fireplace in the kitchen. Simona made griddle cakes, and Thru roasted the rabbit. Later they slept, rolled up in their blankets on the kitchen floor.
After Hilltop, the lodge on Mount Beegamuus was sturdy but less lavish. However, Thru saw that with a little work it would offer them shelter through the worst of the winter.
The good weather lasted another week and all the snow from the First Fall melted away. Thru used that period well. They brought over food and some fuel from Hilltop. They scoured the nearby woods for firewood, and they brought down hides from a storeroom and nailed them up inside the shutters. They filled cracks and gaps in the exterior walls with mud and mashed oak leaves. They cut and transported bundles of reeds from the pond a mile to the north and laid them across the floors on the second floor to help hold the heat in the ground floor. Thru trapped mice around the storage bins. Simona was not ready to eat mice, not even when they were cleaned and grilled thoroughly, but Thru had grown accustomed to eating just about anything during his life in the wilds of Shasht.
Day in and day out they worked. Mount Beegamuus lodge was set well above Hilltop at an elevation higher than most of the purple hills to the east. Only a few other small mountains to the west stood higher than Beegamuus. Up on the mountain Thru understood that their survival depended on getting all their preparations done before the snow really became thick. Therefore, every minute of daylight was precious.
Thru stacked the wood, but only split a small amount. That was something that could be left to later. They bundled twigs and kindling, though, and stacked them as high as the roof on the west side of the house. They were fortunate in discovering some large limbs that had been on the ground for a few years. Dried out, cut, and stacked they would burn well.
Rummaging through Hilltop's endless storage closets, Thru found a small bow, with a quiver of a dozen arrows. Not a warrior's weapon, the bow was for a child or a young woman, and the wood and arrows were still good. For small game it was perfectly adequate for someone as skillful in the woods as Thru Gillo.
A light snow fell on the morning of the sixth day, and a nip chilled the air that night. Thru went over to Hilltop once more for a final search of useful things. Once deep snow fell, it would be very hard to get to Hilltop from Beegamuus.
Thru was already planning to make snowshoes and had found some tools in an upstairs drawer at Hilltop. He had also
found a good supply of tight twine, waxed twine, and light rope. The rope interested him because it was woven of flax linen.
In another upstairs room at Hilltop he had found some thread and yarn. These were formerly used by the genteel women of the house, who would weave and embroider on the south gallery while Gsekk men rode the woods in search of game. The colors were faded a little, but kept in the darkened room, the damage was slight. He ran his hands over the spools of yarn. The red threads were still bright. The feel of the coarse thread under his fingers was similar to that of waterbush fiber.
That day he investigated the cellars again. Hilltop had been built seven hundred years before, by the Baron Gsekk of his day. Vast amounts of stuff was hoarded away. The attics were extensive. Beds, wardrobes, chairs of all sizes and shapes.
And in one room, underneath a pile of cloth, he found a loom. He recognized it instantly. It had a shedding stick and heddle rod. The frame was made of oak, the working parts were in lighter woods. Closer investigation revealed that the heddle rod needed replacing. He thought that he could do that with one of the straight rods he'd taken from the wood store in the carpenter's shop out by the stable.
Thru removed the cloth and debris that covered the frame. Then he pulled the loom to pieces. The oak frame was the only heavy part. He let the donkey bring that over to Beegamuus while he himself carried the thread, spindles, shed stick, and heddle, plus many other smaller items.
The next day heavy and moist southern air blew in. That evening grew colder and during the night heavy snowflakes began falling from skies covered in hurrying cloud. By morning it was a foot deep. By mid afternoon two feet had fallen. True winter had arrived.
Thru spent part of the day setting up the loom in a corner. He replaced the broken heddle rod and then added another pair. For the kind of work he had in mind, he would need a complex setting. Whereas he had usually worked with a weaving frame, or weighted warp loom when weaving before, he had been turning toward the use of shedding and heddle as a way of improving the consistency of his textures. Mesho had worked that way, and his art was the highest ever reached in those terms.
The Shasht War Page 34