The Ancient Enemy (38 page)

"You were not alone in that, my old friend. This is the one nightmare that none of us predicted."

"Yes," said Melidofulo, though he knew well that Utnapishtim had. In fact, he advocated a greater degree of awareness of danger. "We should have kept our weapons sharp, our watch on the sea alert."

Utnapishtim said nothing. Graedon was busy with his papers, and did not look up.

Melidofulo shrugged. "Well, at least I think we can say that the folk of the Land have begun to respond effectively to the threat. Even the chooks have come back from the hills and are working in the polder. The harvest will be good."

"But only if we are still here to harvest it. The enemy will attack before then. We will have to hold them away from the polder."

"It will be difficult to protect the polder with only a few thousand mots."

"Fresh polder will have to be created in the higher valleys," said Graedon, looking up from the papers. "Hard work, building high-country polder, and difficult to do over the winter. Hunger is certain, starvation is not. Fortunately, we know so much more about our enemy now, we can predict some of his actions."

"The Spirit be praised for sending us that young woman. She confirmed that the fleet is hungry and has been for a while. Even with the loss of a third of their number, they will run short of food before winter's snows are upon us. So we can be sure they will land and go after our own stores of food."

"So we cannot avoid meeting them in battle. There is no other conclusion possible."

"Yes," said Melidofulo. "We must go through with this madness of turning our society into an armed camp."

Utnapishtim allowed himself a tiny tremor of a smile. Melidofulo, like the rest of the Assenzi, was struggling to overcome the mental habits of a lifetime spanning tens of thousands of years.

"Undoubtedly true, my friend."

Graedon saw his opening.

"I can report completion of the second order for arrowheads. We've put ten thousand steel points into the hands of the fletchers. That's with five thousand spearheads and more than three thousand sword bars."

"There, you see Meli? We have already been transformed into an armed camp, and neither of us was aware of it."

This mild sally produced a tiny grunt from Melidofulo before he turned back to his greatest source of anxiety.

"The more we learn about the civilization that the woman represents, the more I fear for our future."

Utnapishtim tried to reassure Melidofulo.

"Shasht lies on the far side of the world. It took this fleet more than a year and a half to reach our shores, and it would take a similar length of time to return. They will not be resupplied very often. That gives us our chance for survival. But we must still defeat them before winter if we are to save the harvest from the coastal polder and seaponds."

"It is time for Thru Gillo to report," Graedon commented.

"Good," said Utnapishtim. "He can usually be relied on to bring some fresh food for thought." Graedon was usually right almost to the second when it came to these things. Sure enough, Thru Gillo knocked on the door a few moments later.

"Ah," Utnapishtim waved him in. "Welcome, Thru Gillo, it is always good to see you."

"Masters." Thru bowed to each of them.

"What news have you for us?"

"Well, vocabulary has increased by thirty words today, but it is still difficult, because we ask more detailed questions now."

"That will continue for a while. There's a lot we need to know quickly."

"She understands the position we are in and remains cooperative. She has told me many times that she was horrified by what happened. She will help us if she can."

"And how do you find her spirits?" asked Melidofulo.

"They vary with the days. She is in the grip of strong emotions. As you know she tried to kill herself by throwing herself off a ship. Now she feels completely cut off from her own kind."

"The Spirit meant for her to do this work," said Melidofulo.

"That's what I tell her, myself," Thru agreed. "It is surely the Spirit that sent her to us, nobody else would have been half so well informed. She tells us everything that she knows about their cities, their arts, their festivals..." Thru was waving his hands, caught up with enthusiasm. He saw the look on their faces and stopped.

"Their world is terrifying, Masters. They are governed by little more than their greed. They have exhausted their land with their numbers. She describes areas that are now desert, where once there grew forests and farms.

"Shasht is dying." Just saying that name was enough to send a shiver through Thru's bones. "They have no large animals like our elk and moose. There are no bears, not even many wolves, and the cultivated area covers all the land. They cannot spare anything for the creatures of the wild."

"Did you ask her about the origins of the official religion?"

"Yes, Master Utnapishtim. The Great God was set in place by the first emperor, Kadawak."

"Ah, as we thought, Graedon. The religion came with the state." Certain suspicions were forming in Utnapishtim's mind.

"What did she say of the older religious beliefs?" asked Melidofulo.

"She says that the priests of Orbazt Subuus preach that the Great God came and devoured the other gods. He was hungry, and he cut them down and made food of them."

"It is a strangely bloodthirsty society, from what we have learned, is it not?" murmured Utnapishtim.

"Horrible," said Melidofulo. "Their priests sacrifice thousands of people on the altars of this dreadful god."

"Yes, exactly. Not unheard of in the ancient histories of man, but in this case there seems to be an edge to it." Utnapishtim's suspicions had hardened completely now.

"Graedon?" he said suddenly. "What do you recall of the last days of Karnemin?"

"Karnemin?" Graedon and Melidofulo's heads came up with a jerk.

"That is a fell name to bring up at this moment," said Melidofulo. "Karnemin has been dead nigh on ninety thousand years. He was seen to fall into the crevasse, was lost in the ice."

"So it was believed by most of us at the time. But not by all. Some of us have long harbored a suspicion that what we saw then was an illusion, perhaps a slave of Karnemin's tricked out to appear like him. Long have I wondered if he had somehow survived and escaped beyond our reach."

Graedon was nodding slowly. "Yes, Master Utnapishtim, I also sense some extra hand at the tiller of this engine of destruction. If he lived, then possibly he guides it."

"We need to know much more." Melidofulo was frowning.

"This young woman is very well-read. Indeed we are fortunate that her knowledge of her own world is so extensive. We will want to know everything she knows about the history of the empire."

"Well," Thru began. "She has told me before that the empire began with Kadawak. He was also the High Priest of the Great God. When he died they slew a thousand captive warriors and drenched the stone of his pyramid with their blood...."

The questioning continued for a while until Thru had passed on everything he had discovered in the last day or so.

Eventually Thru left the Assenzi and hurried out into the rain. His path took him to the Laughing Fish in search of some of the evening chowder. There, he found Toshak, but both of them were too late for dinner.

They took mugs of ale and sat together in a corner. Other mots, seeing who they were, left them alone.

"How is our prisoner?" said Toshak after a moment.

"She tries very hard. Sometimes I think she despairs, but at other times she is almost happy."

"It must be difficult for her." Toshak set down his mug. "Well, so it is for all of us. Our army progresses, but by the Spirit we have a long way to go."

"Can we meet them in battle, when it comes?"

"I hope so, young Thru, I hope so. If we can face them on favorable ground, perhaps."

They sipped.

"It is strange how fate has thrown us together, Thru Gillo. I want you to know that I wish you and Nuza well. Someday I hope you two can wed."

Thru felt his eyebrows zoom upward at hearing this.

"Well, I thank you, friend Toshak."

"And meanwhile we have a war to win."

Through the night there was a steady rain, and heavy clouds were in motion at dawn. Later they began to clear, but the wind died away to almost nothing, and a thick mist rose from the sea.

Admiral Heuze decided it was time.

The ships moved into the bay and began to work their way cautiously shoreward. Six ships were involved in the operation, led by the
Anvil
. Heuze wanted the glory of this action firmly attached to his own name. Behind
Anvil
stretched
Grampus
,
Crusher
,
Growler
,
Tooth
, and at the rear
Sword
. The mists covered them well, and they were within a mile of the shore before the beacons blazed from the tops of the headlands.

The ships hove to immediately and set down their boats. Hundreds of men climbed in, and the rowers took up their oars and drove the boats toward the shore. As they came, the warriors chanted a rhythmic war song, seeking strength from sword and spear. Each man swore to the Great God to use them well upon the enemy.

The boats sliced through the water while the chant went on, its harsh sound designed to terrify the enemy before the soldiers of Shasht even showed themselves upon the field.

The red tops began to pound their drums, and the boats surged forward, over the last few hundred yards.

As the boats came in toward the beach, Rukkh noted that it was a remarkably still day. The mist obscured the beach and made the town invisible, though he could see the sand dunes that rose behind the beach as a series of pale yellow curves with no outlines. The alien strand, a curve of sand and pebbles, awaited him.

He stopped chanting to take war snuff, caressed his snuff-egg, and pressed it back inside his tunic. On his arms and legs he wore leather armor, and in the middle of the chest a small breastplate of steel. These precautions were the result of the previous fighting with the monkeys, who had shown that they could be dangerous with sword and spear. The high command were worried about casualties now. The plague had run a scythe through the ranks of the warriors, so the survivors were unusually precious.

But Rukkh had fought the monkeys. He knew what they were capable of. Relatively easy meat to kill, compared with men. He still didn't feel he needed this much armor.

The chanting continued right up to the moment they beached and jumped over the side, while the rowers crouched down to get out of their way.

The dunes at the top of the beach were more clearly visible. Sandy yellow masses, they were topped with fringes of long grass. For some reason the sight brought up old memories for Rukkh, of the dunes behind the farm where his father fought the dry, ruined land for their living. He was running barefoot on the dunes, making sure to escape his older brother. Scmakkh was not a nice brother to have, especially when he was fourteen and Rukkh was only nine.

He laughed bitterly inside at the memories. He had killed his older brother when the time came. He had never regretted it.

The water was cold around the ankles, but they were soon past that and scrambling up the beach in their hobnailed sandals. When they came out on a level part of the beach the red tops started banging the drums again and the chant for Orbazt Subuus came rolling forth once more and echoed off the face of the dunes.

The men quickly formed up in companies. Emjex was the new company captain, Cauta having died in the plague. Burok and Hugga were the same sergeants they'd always had. Why was it that so few sergeants had died of the damned plague? If they could have lost anyone else, Rukkh would have nominated Burok for the honor.

Forjal was on his right, as always, but poor old Hukkit had died in that fight with the monkeys. There were lots of other missing faces, mostly from the plague.

Burok was shouting for them to close up and get in line. They already were in line, but Burok wasn't looking at them, he was looking to Emjex, making sure the new captain heard old Burok roaring.

They marched up the beach in files set six feet apart, shields deployed, spears held ready. Burok stomped by, scattering shingle, his heavy shoulders heaving under the dogskin he wore over his helmet.

Burok roared again, demanding more zest in their step. Rukkh increased his pace and kept abreast of the line as they double-timed up the slope. Behind them more boats were beaching and more sergeants were bellowing as their men formed up.

Scouts had gone ahead into the dunes. One of them appeared briefly on top of a dune to wave his red semaphore sticks. More orders came immediately.

The men turned to their left and began to double-time along the beach, parallel to the dunes, through the thick mist. Burok had told them that they were going to capture a big monkey place that day. Opportunities for loot would be plentiful.

Scouts came running by, bows over their backs, semaphore sticks in their hands. A minute later they heard more orders being relayed down the chain of command. Burok bellowed for the squad to halt and form up ready to receive the enemy from the direction of the dune.

They turned and dressed themselves right on the new line, six feet between each man in every direction. Burok snarled imprecations at Catlonga, who was slightly out of position. There was nothing new about this, and it was even vaguely comforting to hear the familiar cadences of Burok in full flow.

The first arrows, looping out of the fog at them, were still a little bit of a shock. It was always the case. Having arrows and rocks directed your way was never a comforting thing.

The arrows fell among them with a soft collective whistle. Burok's voice roared again, and their shields snapped up at once while they readied their spears.

Captain Emjex was bellowing about somebody's Goddamned, fornicating, useless sense of position. Lieutenant Chaff relayed the complaints. Sergeant Hugga took them to the source and commenced yelling in the face of Blukubo.