The Ancient Enemy

by Christopher Rowley

  The tavern team had been boosted by the importation of a trio of high-quality throwers brought in with Pern Treevi's money. It was clear to anyone who knew the game that these young throwers were far too good for the village boys. Even when the Warkeen team got wood to the ball it usually flew off behind for no run and once or twice flew straight back and rapped off the red-painted tree trunk for a strike.

  The Warkeen team, first to bat, was in danger of being routed. Kels Geliver was dismissed early for just eight runs when the score was twenty-one. It looked as if they might be all out for forty or less, and would certainly lose to Meever's.

  Then Thru went in. He took up the bat and measured himself on the hitting crease. Behind him loomed the red zone, the target for the throwers. Ahead of him the throwers were waiting on the line, and beyond them the fielders were waiting.

  Far beyond them was the line of white stakes marking the boundary to which he could hit, for a full 180 degrees in front of him. Every ball struck across the boundary line would be a run. Every ball that went past him and struck the red zone on the tree would add a strike. Every ball that he hit high and was caught was also a strike and every batter had four strikes.

  The first ball came whizzing in. Thru judged it in the split second he saw it and swung.

  Crack! came the sound of the perfectly struck ball, and it soared into the sky while fielders backed up and ran for the boundary.

  There was a cheer from the crowd as the ball wafted safely across the boundary and into the trees.

  Thru was on the scoreboard.

  And in came the next.

  Crack!

  Thus it went and Thru moved in the kyo of the game. He watched, judged, and began the swing in the same moment. His motion was fluid and seemed effortless. The bat never felt heavy in his hands. Only occasionally was he forced to a defensive stroke, and those he always got down so that they bounced out into the field of play and did not offer up a catch.

  He had passed ten before the first ball got past him and hit the red zone. He reached twenty-five before a catch put him halfway out. The third point was taken by a ball that clipped the top of the bat's blade and then slapped the red trunk on its way to the rear. By then he'd struck forty and was settled in and quite deadly.

  The throwers were tiring. Thru had taken the starch out of them with an hour-long stand at the tree. As they tired, so they threw wide more often and Thru rested his arms and waited for the ball that would suit him best. When such a ball came he brought the bat around with the sweet swing that as often as not sent such a ball right out of the playing zone.

  He struck up fifty after an hour and a half, and the throwers from Dronned were relieved by Pek Pilss, Rindo Yuster, and more familiar names from Meever's ranks. Unfortunately, they were not nearly as good as the pros up from Dronned, and Thru's bat continued to deal with them harshly.

  He passed sixty and went on. Now the excitement in the crowd was swelling. Thru was hitting up a record number for a game played at this level. More folk were coming out of the village and even riding down from neighboring Juno, up the river, to see history in the making.

  The Meever's throwers were in desperate straits. They ran to the line and hurled the small white balls at the tree, but Thru struck them back with graceful fury. Fielders ran hither and yon, wearing themselves to a frazzle. Thru played more defensive strokes as the time wore on, and he tired, but he avoided skying the ball and giving up that final out. Nor could the throwers get past him and strike the red zone.

  And where a ball came wide, but was in his reach for a deflection shot, he would try his skill. Few fielders were stationed in reach of the near and farside parts of the field, and a well-deflected ball might easily bounce to the boundary before a fielder could run across from his more central position.

  At seventy he paused for a large drink of water. The throwers were just as glad of the break. There was a hum of excitement in the crowd around the ball field.

  He resumed and went on to seventy-seven, where he finally got under a ball and skyed it high, which allowed a catch by Pills.

  Thru stepped out with Warkeen on ninety-eight runs. A solid enough score, but there were plenty of batters to come. It looked as if Warkeen could run up a comfortable 150 or so. A score that would be very hard for the Meever's Tavern team to approach.

  Thru stood back behind the nets and the throng of the cognoscenti watching the batting tree. The congratulations poured in; he nodded and thanked folk and tried just to enjoy the moment. Seventy-seven runs in a single inning! It was a record, a tremendous record, far in advance of the old one, and the cheers and the sense of accomplishment were heady. It was almost like drinking one's first mug of ale after a long time without, and he felt a little giddy.

  It was a good time to fall back on his training with Master Utnapishtim. The kyo of breath and relaxation, the way to the calm place.

  He had found a unique fusion of the kyo and the swing of the bat, something to bless the Spirit for conferring upon him.

  So he let the adulation wash around him, understanding that it was as much for the moment as it was for him.

  And you had to wonder at the lot of them, getting this worked up about such a trivial pastime. Except that it pleased the eye of many on a warm afternoon in the lazy summer to watch young mots striking the small white ball for the distant boundary.

  So much passion for such a simple thing!

  Pern had been much in evidence behind the tree while Warkeen were tumbling badly in the early going. Iallia and her friends had taken a position on the raised bench behind the line.

  As Thru struck his first fifteen Pern clung to his good humor. As Thru struck into the twenties before giving up a second strike, Pern became less amused. By the fortieth run, Pern was scowling and having notes taken of the quality of the throwing by the pros he'd hired up from Dronned.

  Pern stayed for the fifty, but could not bring himself to join in the applause that was ringing around the small crowd. As the score continued building Pern scowled openly, groaned, and threw a fist into the sky. He departed at sixty-two, suddenly snapping and ordering up his flashy coach, pulled by a team of donkeys.

  He left with harsh cracks of the whip over the heads of the animals. Before he left he had his hired tough, Ulghrum, pluck Iallia from her place on the high bench and put her in the coach, despite her protests.

  The match was the crowning moment of the season for the village of Warkeen. The village team's best throwers were not as good as the mots from Dronned, but they were good enough to maintain the lead. That night the revelers kept it up way into the wee hours of morning. Thru enjoyed an ale or two himself, then retired and fell asleep, worn-out by the strong emotions of the day.

  A few days later the lawsuit brought by Pern Treevi was heard by the traveling Circuit Judge sent out from the Royal Court in Dronned. The court sat in the constable's office, which was hot and crowded when all the Gillos, plus Pern Treevi and his team of legal advocates, were gathered inside.

  The judge gaveled the session into order and began an examination of the papers. He searched through them, studied the deed, checked the seal for authenticity with a book of seals, and looked up.

  "These papers as presented by Ware Gillo appear to be correct and in order."

  Arguments were then presented by the legal advocates. These arguments were laced with airy verbiage and long, complex references to ancient laws governing the construction and maintenance of seaponds.

  The judge listened patiently for several hours. When the Treevi lawyers had finally finished their presentation the judge referred to several notes. Then he called the lawyers forward and peppered them with questions.

  "Where, in all this train of argument, do you make the case that Ware Gillo's deed to the seapond in question is without merit?"

  The lawyers hemmed and hawed, one or two began long perorations, but the judge cut them short.

  "Have you any evidence that invalidates this deed?" He
raised the deed and showed it to them.

  There was no such evidence.

  After a short summation of the case the judge announced that he had found in favor of Ware Gillo. The seapond belonged to Ware Gillo, by clear title and deed.

  Outside the constable's office Pern Treevi and his friends gathered in an angry group and raked the Gillos with hard stares. Ware and Thru brought up the rear of the Gillo family and returned the hard stares with smiles, ignoring the malice directed toward them.

  There was a long, loud celebration at the Gillo house that night, and Thru found himself receiving the attention of several of the young mors who were present, as well as indulgent smiles from mothers and grandmothers. His own mother, meanwhile, watched him with an anxious eye.

  He knew she was desperate to have him fall in love with a family mor and settle and live in the community, adding to her kin-group. Going off to Dronned opened up all sorts of other possibilities, none of which she liked to consider.

  But Thru remained unmoved throughout it all. He was happy to talk, cheerful and open, and yet he did not call on the young mors afterward.

  He finished the great "Chooks and Beetles" mat and laid it up with the others, then decided on a final hike up to Cormorant Rock, just to see the great view of the land once more before heading south to Dronned.

  As he went northward on the trail he had the feeling that someone was following him. At a sudden turn in the trail where it hooked around a crag, he ran ahead and climbed to the ridgeline some two hundred feet above. He crouched immobile behind a tree and watched the trail below.

  After a little while he saw Ulghrum, Pern's hired heavyweight, stealing along the trail. Ulghrum slowed when he realized that there was no sign ahead of Thru. He slipped off the trail and hid himself behind some bushes.

  Thru thought about this and its implications. None were good. He doubled back behind Ulghrum and got into a position where he could watch. Ulghrum stealthily crept back to the trail and looked up and down, then he crossed it and began to climb the mossy soil under the trees. As Thru watched, Ulghrum carefully tracked up the ridgeline until he came on Thru's tracks near the top.

  Ulghrum immediately hid himself.

  Thru nocked an arrow and waited.

  After several minutes had gone by he saw Ulghrum leave cover and start to move along the ridgeline, following Thru's trail. Ulghrum had drawn his own bow and nocked an arrow.

  There was no doubt in Thru's mind that Ulghrum planned to kill him.

  Still, he could not take the mot's life without breaking the law. It would be murder to kill Ulghrum. And there were no witnesses to a plea of self-defense.

  Therefore, he released his arrow from hiding and at a long range. The arrow sank into the tree above Ulghrum's head, just where he'd wanted it. Ulghrum went to ground, but he did not know where Thru was, only the direction.

  While he studied the ground desperately trying to spot Thru, Thru had already moved and was within easy bowshot.

  "Set the bow down, very slowly," Thru called when he was ready. "Do it right now or you die."

  Ulghrum stiffened, then laid down his bow.

  "Keep your hands well up."

  "Why are you threatening me, whoever you are? Are you a robber?"

  "Why are you following me with a drawn bow, Ulghrum?"

  "I'm just out hunting. There are rabbits up here."

  "That's why you followed me?"

  "I never saw your trail, stranger."

  Thru laughed. "Make sure you stay off my trail, Ulghrum."

  Thru watched until Ulghrum had retreated, leaving his bow behind. Then he took the bow and pitched it off the ridgeline down into a tangled mass of spine bush.

  Thru went home and thought it all through very carefully. He was about to leave the village, and though he would come back, he was shifting away from the place of his birth. When he was gone there would be less opportunity for him to rub Pern the wrong way. Thru was sure that Pern's hate was directed at Thru himself, far more than at the other members of his family. Pern was pursuing lawsuits against two other Warkeen families over their seapond. There was no particular animus against Ware Gillo.

  He decided to take no action other than telling his father, just in case Pern tried again with more success, and to be sure that the other families engaged in altercations with Pern could be warned. Ware understood, and agreed with Thru's conclusions.

  "Pern hates you, young Thru. You outshine him, and he can't stand that. You will have nothing but trouble from him, that's plain as day. What if his thugs follow you to Dronned?"

  "I will be hard to find I would think."

  Ware laughed. "I don't think so, my son. Dronned's not that big a place, and when folk are determined they can find you. A little silver spread around always helps wag the tongues."

  "But why would he bother when I will be so far away? It's thirty miles to Dronned. I'll be out of his hair and out of his mind. Besides, what's to be done? Should I waylay Pern and beat him senseless? That would only hasten his hate. Should I kill him? That would only make me outlaw. I would prefer to live with the Spirit."

  Thru shrugged. "No. It is better I do nothing. Let him feel my contempt until I leave. He may even comfort himself by imagining that I have run away in fear of him. Let him assuage his pride with that thought and thereby end this whole thing."

  Ware nodded agreement. His son spoke words of wisdom, but still he was not so sure that Pern Treevi's urge to revenge himself on Thru would end so quietly.

  Two days later, Thru set out with a small donkey cart laden with his weaves and two packs stuffed with his possessions, everything from his clothing to his books.

  In addition he had a number of samples of waterbush fiber from friends of the Gillos. These were to be shown to Merchant Yadrone in Dronned. Yadrone was a well-known figure in the Dristen Valley villages.

  Altogether the little donkey had quite enough to carry as they moved away down the south road, quite a few of Thru's friends coming with him on the first few miles. Pern would not dare make a move against Thru on the trail with so many to witness. Afterward Thru waved them good-bye and went on to spend the night in the village of Sheen. The next day he went on down the coast road toward Dronned, amongst a constant traffic of carts and other travelers and stopped worrying about Pern Treevi's plots and machinations.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  When Thru arrived in Dronned, the grey walls were draped in bright tapestries in preparation for the upcoming midsummer festival. Atop the towers flew all the city's banners, dominated by the arms of the royal family—four black crows on a green flag. Also clearly visible was the long white pennon that marked the presence of an Assenzi in the city, in this case the very wise Melidofulo.

  Dronned sprawled beyond its wall on the northern side, and Thru strode through a suburb of well-built wood-and-stone houses. Within the walls, the buildings were tall and narrow, built of stone and roofed in slate. The streets were paved, well drained, and clean. Travelers always remarked on how clean-smelling Dronned was.

  And yet, the street life in the city was frantic by comparison with Warkeen Village. Traders and tradesmen were in constant motion. Dronned was an important center for several crafts and guilds, with weavers, ironworkers, and potters the most heavily represented. Shops and stalls lined the most important streets and were visited by large numbers of customers. There were mors by the hundreds, all out to buy supplies for villages in the surrounding region. While shoppers shopped, others relaxed in the beer gardens in all the important squares, where there were to be found troupes of musicians, jugglers, and mimes.

  In the great market by the river, the permanent shops and emporia were all open and filled with early arrivals. The festival brought in folk from far and wide, and they would also attend the market. Then the great space would blossom with dozens of stalls and stands set up by the fiber merchants. In the meantime the merchants got ready, laying in a provision of everything from ornamental tile to brightl
y colored house mats.

  Thru stalked around the market once, peering in the windows at the goods within: fine silk from Mauste, rugs from the Farblow Hills, copper pans from Ajutan. He came across an office that listed lodgings available and realized quite quickly that rents in the Quarters, as the parts inside the walls were called, were too high for him. Rents in the northern suburb were lower, and so he turned back and tried along the leafy roads and lanes.

  He passed the Laughing Fish Tavern and the old ball field where he'd played in that memorable championship game. But the memories of that day were mixed, and he shook his head and went on.

  He was in luck, and soon found a nice room in a house on Garth Road. He had a view of the ball field and the distant royal park. The roofs of the palace were visible through the trees. Garth Road was lined with tenements, mostly three stories tall. In them lived many of the working folk of the city, most of them young and single.

  The house had seven rented rooms, one of which happened to be empty when he called. The owner was a plump mor named Kussha, who lived in the building across the road. She was a cheerful sort, who pressed sweet cakes on him while they discussed his possible tenancy in her house. She was well used to young mots like Thru, come to the city to try their hands at the craft of one thing or another. She took a liking to him at once and showed him the room that she had free.

  Thru liked the feel of the house, which was built on timbers of oak and foundations of stone. His small room at the back of the top floor didn't have much floor space, but he had a bed, a chair, and a small table on which to rest a lamp.

  He paid Kussha some of his precious hoard of silver for the room then she showed him her lock-up, a storeroom in the cellar with a very stout door and a heavy iron lock. There he left his mats and his bow and the quiver with its dozen steel points.

  In the room he hung his cloak on the hook on the back of the door. He put his few books under the bed, except for the Book of the Spirit, from which he read a few short pieces, seeking some kind of blessing for the room and his time in it. Then he meditated while sitting quietly on the cot, trying to let the great Spirit fill him with its wisdom. While in that quiet state he listened to the sounds of the empty house. A breeze rattled the shutters. Outside there came the clop of a donkey's hooves in the street. Later he put up the Spirit sign that Ual had given him on his tenth birthday, a small disc of polished wood with the words of the benediction carved into its rim. It hung on the wall from a hook, near the table with the jug and washbasin.