The Ancient Enemy (29 page)

Gradually they pieced together the events leading to the destruction of Tamf. The city had received warnings from Creton. Preparations had been made. The battle for the walls had been fierce and by no means one-sided. Many men had been killed or wounded, but they were skilled in the manner of such assaults and soon found a way to stretch the defenders and then mount the walls at two separate places. Once they were inside, panic and lack of discipline had undone the defenders.

All over Sonf parties of mors, children, and the elderly were setting out, heading inland to Ajutan. With them went the flocks of chooks and all the domestic animals. Anything they left would be slaughtered at once if Man came. Many folk promised not to stop until they reached Lushtan in the Farblows.

Word of the horror at Tamf and down in Creton had spread right across the Land now, and the folk everywhere were in motion. It was as if an anthill had been kicked over. Man had come to kill them.

One terrible image that stayed in the mind was that of the slow-moving columns of refugees that had been captured after the fall of Tamf. They had set out too late and swift-marching forces of men had caught them up. Terrible scenes had taken place as the men beat the folk into submission, then drove them with the whip back to Tamf.

The next day the troupe reached Sonf. The central part of the village was filled with a crowd of mots and brilbies, most carrying weapons. Rumors abounded, most of them wild exaggerations of the casualties incurred in Creton and Tamf.

Toshak waded through the crowds and sent in a message from the door of the inn, which had become the King's headquarters.

His presence was welcomed, as was that of the others. King Rolf of Tamf was eager to hear about Creton and to meet the famous swordsmot Toshak.

The King had been twice wounded in the fighting inside the city and was lying on a cot along the wall. He struggled to sit up to greet them. His advisors fussed until he shooed them back.

"Speak, Toshak. You are a graduate of Sulmo; you know more of these matters of war than do I."

Toshak gave an oral report of the events in Bilauk and Harfield, then the King asked questions of Nuza and Thru, and absorbed their news with pursed lips. It filled in the picture he had already received from the first warnings. Coastal places had been hit, the folk either slaughtered completely as at Bilauk or fled inland.

"Great Toshak, your fame precedes you, but your words do not help the pain in our heart. Terrible slaughters have occurred in Creton. My folk cry out for justice and retribution. We are massing here, I have more than a thousand mots already, but we have few ideas. When we tried to keep the men from climbing our wall, they tricked us with a diversion and got onto the wall in two separate places."

"They are well trained, Your Majesty. Veterans of many wars I'd say."

The King put his hand to his chin, as if for reassurance. King Rolf was the fourteenth king of that name in Tamf and had no more expected this war than any of his predecessors. It had been a long time since there had even been serious trouble with bandits in Tamf or Sonf.

"How should I proceed? What do you suggest?"

"We have much to learn, Your Majesty. And we do not have much time to learn it in."

The King sighed, heavily. "You believe they have come to invade the Land?"

"They have come to annihilate us."

The King stared back at him for a moment. This terrifying realization haunted them all. They were fighting for their very survival.

"Great Toshak, I can see that you have been thinking about this matter. And I am glad, for I can see only the prospect of taking the mots of this muster and going to Tamf and fighting these men."

"No, Your Majesty. I would suggest that you take your men to Dronned and join forces with King Belit. We shall need the largest army we can muster. And we shall have to train that army. It is pointless attacking the men until our mots can perform a few battlefield maneuvers. That takes time to learn."

The King shook his head a moment, not liking these words.

"We have to fight them. If we do not, they will take the Land."

"Yes, Your Majesty, we must fight them, but we must fight wisely, and carefully. They will defeat us otherwise and destroy us forever. We are not ready to meet them like the ram, horns on horns. They will cut us down for meat. We must fight them as the smoke fights the ram, filling their lungs and choking them. We take away their air, they will lose the will to fight."

King Rolf had been on the walls of Tamf and had fought his way through the city afterward to escape. He understood the truth in Toshak's words.

"We will be like pyluk, skulking in the forests."

"Even that, if we have to. All that counts is that we build our army and prepare. We must fight again, and we must win."

Everything was so much better, and so much worse. Simona leaned against the rail of the luxurious women's gallery that extended off the stern of the flagship. Protected from male eyes by a heavy awning, the women could stand in the open and take deep breaths of the fresh sea air.

After being cooped up in the fetid conditions of the
Growler's
women's deck, it was a fantastic luxury. Just another example of how their lives had been improved by leaving the
Growler
.

Even more importantly, Simona and Chiknulba were sheltered beneath the wings of Juguba Heuze, the admiral's wife. Juguba came from humble stock. Her position depended on the survival of her husband, and Filek Biswas had saved his life. As a result, Filek's womenfolk were to receive the best treatment from everyone aboard
Anvil's
women's deck.

Juguba went so far as to speak to some Gsekk matriarchs and ensure that Chiknulba was treated with full and proper respect by these haughty ladies.

Now Chiknulba and her pathetic unwed daughter shared a small cabin and enjoyed gallery privileges. They stood in the first quadrant in the daily lines for meals. They were even allowed to dip water from the big brass bucket delivered to Juguba Heuze every morning.

Juguba ruled the women's deck with a firm hand, however, and at least once a week her niece, Amrusa, handed out a whipping to some poor sister who had broken the rules and been convicted. Petty thefts, reported insults, and curse calling against Juguba were the usual crimes. Everyone realized that they needed Juguba's affections and behaved accordingly. Chiknulba had sensed that Juguba enjoyed receiving worship and indulged her whenever possible.

Simona hated to see her mother become a groveler, but she also understood why poor Chiknulba would do it. They remained aboard the
Anvil
only as long as they enjoyed the favor of Juguba Heuze. Without that favor they'd be going back to the nightmarish, poverty-stricken existence of the
Growler
.

There was no other choice until they could get off the ships, and even then it would be years before they had the chance to live as they once had, in reasonable comfort with access to the open air. Until then, Chiknulba would trim her sails to the prevailing winds. She'd learned her lesson from Vli Shuzt. If bowing and scraping was what it took, then Chiknulba of the Gsekk would be happy to do it.

But for all the luxury Simona wanted nothing more than to be sent back to the
Growler
, where Rukkh could come and look upon her. Where he could promise her marriage in his eyes.

Simona had realized that Rukkh might be the last chance she would get of reaching the safety of legal marriage. Single women were not considered part of Shasht society. Dire things happened to them.

Also at work, as she herself sometimes reflected on bitterly, was her need to have a man, any man, almost. She wanted to feel more than just this empty longing for fulfillment on a physical level. No amount of prayer made this desire go away.

Rukkh was her way out, but now she would not see Rukkh, unless he came to her after the landing. And that might not be possible, since he would be under military orders.

Later, when things were sorted out in the new colony and Filek's improved status confirmed, it would be impossible for her to be shown to Rukkh. They would go on showing her to men of her own class, who would look on her and yet turn away because of the strawberry mark.

Simona felt a familiar choking despair rising up. She looked out over the rail and into the blue waters. The land was visible, just a mile away. A green blur of slopes, a distant set of hills, but it might as well have been a thousand miles distant, for she could not reach it. It would remain there, verdant, inviting, cloaked in mists that spoke of the freshness of morning, and always out of reach.

It would be months before the first purdah building was completed and women could be safely moved ashore. Simona could hardly wait for that day, and yet she dreaded it, too, because it would sever her line to Rukkh.

Oh,
she thought,
to be back home in Shasht and in my old life.
Simona thought she'd give anything for that. To be able to ride up at Shesh Zob. To walk in the woods, to swim in the lake, to live completely free of restraint.

She turned away. It was not wise to stay too long on the gallery, or someone would comment upon it to Juguba.

While his wife and daughter were enjoying an enormous increase in the quality of their lives, Filek Biswas, too, had found himself elevated in the world. He continued to tend Admiral Heuze, whose stump healed quickly.

Thanks to the admiral's explicit orders, the
Anvil's
ship's surgeon and his staff were still kept at arm's length. The admiral had appointed Filek as his personal surgeon, and in his position he was quite capable of making that appointment.

The priests had accepted Filek's move and had made no protest. Heuze was a good ship commander, and his squadron had performed well throughout the mission. Heuze also had good relations with Nebbeggebben, the Imperial Scion. So Heuze was indulged by the yellow tops. The surgeon, Biswas, would be watched carefully and his dossier expanded. Someday they would take him, but not yet.

At first the admiral had simply been grateful for Filek's medical skill.

"No pain!" he said over and over. "Didn't feel a damned thing."

Then, over the next few days, the admiral grew fond of talking with Biswas while Filek kept the stump clean and dressed. Admiral Heuze had found, as he might have expected, that Filek Biswas was a very cultured man, attuned to the life of the great city. In other words, someone to talk to.

Heuze himself had grown up in the city in a good family and recalled that wonderful social round. Being at sea a lot removed him from the glamorous scene, but he remained a devotee of the great arts: the chorales, the orchestras, and the theaters. He tried to attend such events whenever he was lucky enough to be posted to the city.

Regrettably, the admiral had to admit, he got to the theater relatively rarely now. In recent times the pressure to feed the shipyards in Shasht had kept him working the Bekwana route. He'd spent far too much time in those frigid waters, fetching the very materials they'd built this damned great fleet from.

And so, that afternoon, as his daughter gloomed alone several decks farther down, Filek sat down to dine with the admiral, alone in the grand cabin. Filek had sensed the admiral's hunger for the world of culture and had been able to tease it along a bit with stories of great performances he had seen at the theater or participated in at the chorales.

On this occasion he could see that the admiral was especially excited about something. Then the servants brought in platters of hot moogah and steamed pudding bread.

"Biswas, you're a man with an interest in the artistic side of things. I have something to show you, just as soon as we've cleared our plates. Damned fine moogah tonight, don't you think?"

Ship's moogah was a stir of onions and meat scraps flavored with hot peppers and served over the steamed bread pudding. The result was very filling.

"Excellent, Admiral."

Filek spooned up the heavy stuff, thick with fat. It was a welcome change from the biscuit and rancid cheese that was all they'd been eating a few weeks before.

"Here, have some of this grog." The admiral poured a generous dollop into Filek's mug. He took a sip. It was sweetened and mixed strong, the way the admiral liked it, and Filek felt light-headed almost at once. Filek had never been a man for strong spirits.

"Ah, very good," he said, setting the mug down carefully.

They ate steadily while the admiral discoursed on the situation ashore, where things were going more slowly than they should have.

"And if something isn't done to speed up those buildings, then I think Master Muis will be losing some prize possessions between his legs and going down to the slave quarters." He laughed.

Filek nodded and smiled and shivered inside. Muis was the builder in charge of erecting the sheds for the camp. In the old world he'd been the architect of the new Imperial City buildings in Shasht. Somewhere he'd fallen afoul of the highest authority, for now he risked his manhood for some stinking sheds built from scavenged beams on this wild, though beautiful shore.

The admiral concluded his thoughts on the situation ashore and took a pull on his grog.

"So, that's my scuttlebutt. What's yours, Biswas. What's been going on in the surgery? Or the rest of the damned ship for that matter. Jarls won't tell me a thing. Can't wait until I can finally get up and move around again. Been lying around in here for far too long."

"In the surgery we've had fewer operations. We seem to have sewn up everyone who survived the fight."

"Indeed, that's good news."

"Far higher casualties than I was expecting."

"Yes, well let us say that high command is thinking furiously about that. The damned, fornicating monkeys put up quite a fight for the little city."

"It is a city isn't it?"

"By all accounts. I've yet to go ashore myself, either."

"I wasn't expecting a city."

"Heh, don't tell anyone this, but nor were the priests."

Filek chuckled, but carefully. This was a dangerous area for someone in his position. For all he knew, Heuze was a creature of the priests, and they were using him to test Filek Biswas for rebellious taint. But the admiral plowed on into the priest-infested waters.