The Ancient Enemy

by Christopher Rowley

  The next day, the storm had abated and a fishing boat took him down the coast to Tamf. Before setting out he left another message for the Grys Norvory in which he protested about the lack of respect shown him and challenged the Grys to a duel come the summer, when he next returned to Dronned.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  That winter in Tamf was a time that Thru would always look back on as a period bathed in golden light. Between his affair with Nuza and his work, his life was immensely satisfying and full. Never had he felt so alive, so awake to every moment of the day. Despite the problems with Pern Treevi and the guilds in Dronned, it seemed that the future was his to shape.

  Thru and Nuza read together and argued about the meaning of life and the words of the Great Book. They went to meetings of the Questioners, and Thru felt his thinking broadening with each visit.

  "I believe we were made with a purpose in mind, and that purpose is that we fit within the world as it exists. The Spirit is real to me."

  "There is no evidence that the Spirit exists."

  "I can feel the Spirit inside me."

  Nuza would smile, then sigh softly. "So do I."

  They would laugh together.

  "But some of the Questioners would deny it."

  "I understand what they are saying, but I cannot agree with them."

  Thru distrusted the idea that all was the result of chaotic chance. He clung steadfastly to the strength he felt from the Spirit.

  He had come to understand that the Questioners came from many viewpoints and that some groups were larger than others. He knew that many folk who came to the meetings were like him, eager to learn, but certain in their hearts that the Spirit existed.

  Meanwhile Nuza's mother had come to accept the affair. She had not issued an invitation to the house, but she had given up the constant assault on Nuza.

  His room was always hot from the laundry below, so he would weave with the windows wide-open. He put up "Leaf" pattern mats for part of the day, then he would turn to another mat, either "Chooks and Beetles" or "Mussels and Rakes." There was also a new pattern for "Nets and Fishes," one of the oldest styles in existence, but he had to yet to start weaving that one.

  "Mussels and Rakes," with its dramatic touches of high weft detail, was emerging as a masterpiece. His knotting was improving. Still not Mesho, but far above the average. Day by day the pattern became clearer, the shapes took on a lifelike quality, and the work grew strong. Nuza was thrilled with his progress.

  The two lovers ate together, usually roast fish and bushpod bought out of the cookshop on the opposite corner. While they ate they talked of their plans for the summer. It promised to be a very busy time.

  "Creton, that's where I want to be in the spring." Nuza was very definite. "Smaller places down there, like Bilauk, don't get a lot of attention from the troupes and actors. I think we'd get a good reception. We can work our way down as far as Cape Blue before the end of Early Summer Moon. Then we come back up on the inland route and pass through the mining towns in the mountains."

  "I like that plan," said Thru, who in truth would be happy going in any direction. "Creton is said by all to be very beautiful country. But will we get to Dronned for the summer fest?"

  "We'll take passage on a fishing boat. They'll be sailing up to Tamf and Dronned for the summer squid."

  "You think folk will wager again on me in those places we visited last year?"

  "Oh, yes. There will always be challengers for you. Toshak, well that's different. He's known as a product of the academy. You have to be very good with a sword to think about challenging him. But throwing the ball past seventy-seven-run Thru Gillo? Now that is something lots of young mots might dream of doing and telling their friends."

  At Nuza's insistence they went twice a week to take lessons in swordfighting technique with Toshak. They met him on the dueling ground, a flat space just outside the city's western gate, where they drilled with foils and tried the wider-bladed weapons, too.

  Nuza knew that Thru would challenge the Grys Norvory in the summer. There would be a duel with swords, and the Grys had been trained in his youth, as all young aristocrats were. Thru needed further training if he was to stand a chance.

  Toshak's face, compressed by the intensity of the moment, was an image that became imprinted on Thru's mind. The eyes flared wide so the whites were showing, the ears back, the lips pulled taut from the battle cry.

  Toshak had such speed in the advance and retreat and such incredible quickness in flicks and parries that Thru was left amazed. It was no wonder that hardly anyone ever took up Toshak's challenge. Certainly Thru was never able to take more than a point or two from him in a bout. Foil and epee, spadroon and short sword, they were all the same to Toshak.

  At times it was like kyo with Master Sassadzu—the mantra of the pointed hand, direct and light, but unstoppable, the liquid movements that were impossible to counter. Toshak in flow was elemental.

  "You have a steady arm; in time you will learn to use it." Toshak would give Thru no easy passage.

  A few times they met with the rest of the troupe to discuss the next summer. One of the big issues they faced was the need for old Hob to retire soon. One more summer perhaps, that was all that Hob could give to catching Nuza. Beyond that they would need a new brilby, or a kob if one was to be found.

  Nuza got very busy for a while working up new costumes for the summer. She liked to change them and not appear in the exact same catsuits and jumpers year after year. The previous year had been crimson and yellow, the next was to be more summery, more green and maybe even frilly. When she had settled on a design she worked together with her mother to cut and sew the cloth, using the best Mauste wool cloth and Gelden silks.

  The months wore on. Mats mounted up. Finally "Chooks and Beetles" was finished. A glorious object, shimmering with bright color. Nuza took it home and showed it to her mother, Damora, who was stunned by the quality of the work. She saw, as had her daughter, that Thru was indeed gifted.

  Damora, a potter, knew in her bones that something extraordinary was at work. The pattern was the age-old "Chooks and Beetles," but in Thru's hands it had taken on a fresh life. The rendering was superb, and the chooks had a jauntiness that was almost shocking. She took the "Chooks and Beetles" to show friends who she knew had an interest in the art of woven mats. All were impressed. Thru's reputation spread rapidly, and he received visits from a couple of the merchants of Tamf. By then neither Damora nor Cham was complaining any longer about their daughter's unconventional relationship with Thru Gillo.

  Merchant Namp, the bearer of an ancient name in the world of Tamf guilds and politics, came to visit the workroom on South Road. The Grys Namp was a refined soul, and he found the smells on South Road very unpleasant. But when he looked on the work Namp saw at once that the youngster from the Dristen Valley had genuine talent.

  "And this is the same work that Norvory of Dronned claimed had been stolen by you?"

  "This is my fourth piece of this pattern. My mother always kept a 'Chooks and Beetles' mat in the parlor."

  "It is an old, familiar pattern."

  "Yes, but I felt it could be taken further."

  And Merchant Namp agreed that he had done just that. He offered to buy it at once. Nuza turned him down immediately, and persuaded Thru to show the merchant the "Mussels and Rakes," which was now close to completion, too. Namp felt his eyes widen. It was powerful, original work, and it raised the art by a notch or two. This was work as good as any except that of Mesho and Oromi.

  Soon there came a letter from Dronned, this time from Merchant Yadrone. He could take no mats himself, though he hastened to add that his wife had bought a "Leaf" pattern mat and hung it in the inner hall of the house. But traders in Tamf had spread the word that Thru Gillo had woven another "Chooks and Beetles" exactly like that which the Grys Norvory had seized. That Thru Gillo was showing signs of a prodigious talent, and Norvory had been terribly wrong. Norvory had withdrawn from the city to
his country estate at Runglin.

  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.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  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 co
mpletely 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.