The Forge in the Forest (47 page)

But it was the gaggle of houses in the notch where cliff and wall dipped down together toward the wide harbor that caught Elof s eye. Many of them seemed to be built boatlike in wood after the fashion of his own home village,

their roofs of scaly wooden tiles tar-blackened over high crested gables. Their walls were painted in many colors faded to lightness, and it seemed to him, straining his eyes over the distance, that some bore bright designs, leaping and curling shapes that could be very like the waterbeast patterns he remembered.

"It seems there are seamen here," said Kermorvan. "Probably of northern stock… But where are their boats?"

Roe shaded his eyes. "There's some masts in the harbor…"

Kermorvan frowned at the small dark streaks within the great breakwater. "Indeed, but only a few, and small; light fishing boats, they could be. A city this size should have greater ships than that, if only to bring in produce from fields that stretch as far as these. It would be far cheaper and faster than drawing it by road…"

"But are all these fields in use?" Ils gestured to the ones nearest her, and Elof saw that though they were still clearly hedged off, they had not been cultivated at all for some time; the hedges contained a tangled riot of growth, chiefly weeds.

"Strange," muttered Kermorvan. "And no beasts in any field I can see, no sound or movement from the farms, no smoke from their chimneys…"

"This is all too like what we found before Kerbryhaine," said Elof uneasily.

"Yet there was a siege, and here, as we can see, is none. Nor any other cause. Could it be that their stock has failed, their people dwindled? If so… But the sooner we come there, the sooner we will learn. Make haste!"

Ancient and noble as Kerbryhaine was, to Elof now it seemed young against the venerable crag that rose before them, frail and slight against those strong walls scarred by an age of wind and weather. And though the city below might seem more jumbled and less august, it spoke more truly to him of long ages of life and growth than did the unchanging face of the west.

"Perhaps that is so," Kermorvan admitted. "In the thousand years since its foundation we have striven to keep Kerbryhaine fair, and so built more or less strictly in the fashion of what has gone before. But this city was where man first dwelt in all these lands. Few buildings, even the palace, could have stood so long. You look upon a city that grew like a living body, that was built and rebuilt over and over again down all the long years. Why do you shiver?"

Elof smiled, somewhat shamefacedly. "You spoke of years, of the first coming of men to this land. I cannot take them so lightly, seeing them embodied before me. I am a smith, well used to looking deep into the past, delving for ancient learning. Yet even I am awed by the passage of five thousand years."

Kermorvan's eyes gleamed. "And the last thousand wholly apart, alone, as we were. I believe these last strong walls could be no older than that, and many of these buildings also; as if the city was swelled then by refugees… Will they have changed, I wonder? Do men of southern and northern kindred dwell together still as they did in Morvan? Who rules here, since Korentyn was lost to them and had no heir? A thousand questions await answer!"

Roc shook his head. "But the first one's got to be whether or not they shoot at strangers! Even ones that might be kin. Or king."

"I had considered that. Best we make ourselves known at first only as men of the west. Call me Kermorvan still, but not by my given name—"

A rush and whistle cut the air. He had already dropped to a fighting crouch, his sword half-drawn in a single fluid move, before the arrow struck into the ground at his feet; but then he stood, and moved no more. Ils cursed and snatched her axe, then like Kermorvan she stopped, frozen, as she was. Elof s hand was on his sword, but he too made no move to draw; he also had seen the hedges stirring along the other side from whence the arrow had come. They were outflanked by a band of unknown number, and they might all have bows. Behind he heard Roc breathing heavily, and his muttered words. "Rush 'em! Fight 'em, like we did before!"

"No!" breathed Elof. "Hold your hand, Kermorvan is right! We have not come all this way to our lost kin only to slay or be slain by them, have we?"

Roc snapped his fingers. "Aye, well…" But there he stopped, for he too had heard lis' strangled cry. He stared with the others at that arrow, and saw that the fletches it bore were striped in black and white. And out from behind the hedge, that perfect ambush, there arose a dozen tall warriors of the Ekwesh, bows in hand.

Elof's fingers convulsed upon his hilt, but there was nothing he could do save think this a bad dream. Yet there they were as he had first struggled against them when they took his village, as he had last seen them at the ambush in the wood; tall men in armor of stiffened black leather, faces writhing with cicatrized serpent markings and the scars of war. The bows were very steady in their hands; they would not miss.

There was a sudden hiss and a whirl above, and next moment Elof was enveloped in damp rope, foul with fish-scales and salt. A net had been cast over them all, and even as Elof struggled to draw and slash at it, dark shapes rushed up and seized his arms. From then on the tussle was without hope, though he fought and struggled for his pride's sake; at last he was bound and tied and lay threshing, hearing other sounds of struggle only a foot or two away, unable to see or help. A ghastly gargling shriek chilled him, and the sound of threshing in the dust. But at last the net was plucked from him, and a hard brown hand hauled him to his knees. He looked up, and had a terrible shock, for the face above him was too much like the old chieftain who had so nearly had him slaughtered. The likeness was of type; this was quite a young man, grinning through filed teeth.

"
Orn
! We have you!" He slapped one of their great copper-edged clubs into his palm. "Obey, march, you live! For now. To the city, go!
Kianhnu nat'deh
!"

Their packs and weapons were plucked from them,

given no more than a perfunctory glance and passed to others to carry. With spearhead and dagger at their kidneys, arms bound, legs hobbled, they were pushed forward along the road as they had been going, toward the sunlit walls ahead. The young warrior caressed the patterns painted upon his breastplate, and grinned again. "You think we fools, not to watch road? Word come, we watch all ways." He jerked a thumb at the city of Mor-vannec. "This ours now."

Chapter Ten
- The Flames Mount

The travelers were driven along at a brisk trot, too dazed at first to take in what was happening. Elof could hardly make sense of it: it had come about with the suddenness and utter unreality of nightmare. The Ekwesh had barely conquered half the west, and that chiefly by their overwhelming strength upon the sea; how could they have reached the east? How could they have overcome so massive a burg, so much greater than Kerbryhaine, without leaving any scars of siege and strife?

For a moment he wondered crazily if time in the Forest had deceived them more thoroughly than they thought, and decades, even centuries had passed during their few brief months there; but that he could not credit. In his bewilderment he stumbled, and at once felt a sharp sting in his back, a trickle of warm blood ran down beneath his tunic. The pain jerked him back to cold awareness of the immediate danger. He was being goaded along as once he had goaded cattle, and to much the same end, perhaps. He smiled thinly to himself. Once he had refused life as an Ekwesh thrall, knowing it might lead only to being ritually slaughtered and eaten. What else could he expect, now? But the time between had been worth it, come what may; and if he could not hope to find Kara, what else was there for him? It was for his friends he was most anxious. If he had managed
to
slay one
of
the ambushers, as had Kermorvan, might it have tipped the balance, given them a chance to fight? No; they were too many, too well-armed, and there was also the net. A fight would have earned them nothing but the finality of a quicker death; he was not ready to embrace that yet. While he breathed he must hope, and be alert for any careless move by his foes, any chance the others might take.

He risked a glance at Kermorvan, and was dismayed. The tall man also walked as if in a dream, his hands bound at his back, torn and bloody from the net. Roc was behind him, out of sight, but Elof could just see Ils at the corner of his eye; she too was bound, and rage boiled up in him at the grinning Ekwesh who drove her along, for every so often he would crack the rope's end across her broad thigh. When he tired of that he began to rummage in one of their packs that he was carrying; Elof s heart sank at the thought of all they might find in his. And what Kermorvan's held…

But then the young chieftain turned, barking a command that wiped the grin from the warrior's face, and hit him a ringing blow on the arm with his white baton, another on the ear when he answered sullenly. The warrior cringed, muttered something in their guttural tongue, and let go of the pack. Kermorvan laughed coldly. "Stiff discipline, if naught else! Booty goes untouched to the chieftains for due division, is that not so?" His neckrope was jerked, and he fell silent.

The reproved warrior subsided into sullenness, and then, to Elof s horror, he began to work out his anger in a crueler game. Every so often he would jerk Ils' rope, so that she stumbled back against the blade in his hand. She did not cry out, only caught her breath and bit her lip, but within a few minutes the back of her jerkin was cut and bloody. Elof was ready to kick out at him, whatever the cost, when the chieftain looked around again and growled a few words: the warrior swallowed, and passed her rope to another.

"What's this then?" jeered Roc. "Manners 'mong the maneaters?"

"You mistake him," said Kermorvan dryly, ignoring the tugs on the rope. "It is not we who concern him, but discipline; now is not the time for such games. Also…" He fell silent suddenly, but his blue-gray eyes flashed a look of startling intensity to the others. Elof gave a curt nod of understanding, for the same thought had occurred to him. He had assumed they were being kept alive as thralls; but it looked very much as if there was some command to deliver them unharmed, perhaps to be questioned. The flick of a rope would not matter, but a stray stab might go too deep, or loss of blood weaken. The reluctance to slay might prove a valuable weakness, should some chance of escape appear.

But none did. The vigilance was unwavering, the pace unrelenting, rope and blade ready to punish the slightest hesitation or stumble. And stumble they did, weary and dismayed in the growing twilight. After what seemed like a limping eternity there came a harsh command, and the company halted so suddenly that the captives were caught by their ropes; Elof fell to his knees, and was driven aside with blows and kicks. Looking up, he saw the outer walls of the city looming in the darkening sky ahead, startlingly near; the Ekwesh had set a murderous pace. Yet now they were squatting by the roadside, talking softly among themselves, as if waiting for something. He raised tired eyes to the city, and saw that the road they had taken led to an arch in the wall, a small side gate compared to those he had seen from afar. There they waited while darkness advanced and the first stars appeared; he was surprised how few lights showed above the walls. Even in the palace only a few windows glowed. When the last daylight was gone the chieftain sprang up, and the weary prisoners were hauled to their feet and herded down toward the darkened gate.

Ahead they heard a booming blow, a curt exchange of words, and the creak of a port opening. Torchlight glowed on the red-brown skins, set fire in the dark eyes that surrounded the travelers, fierce and pitiless. Elof felt that there was something out of the ordinary about these men; they were as hard as any Ekwesh he had ever seen, but they seemed quieter, more formidable, than the yelling clansmen of the raider ships or that first ambush in the west. Also, few save some with chieftain's markings were young. These were picked men, veterans, and something else also. It came to him as he and the others were bundled through the little port and into a darkened, empty street flanked by featureless silhouettes of tall buildings: the inner calm of these Ekwesh was the calm of fanaticism. Old warriors, young leaders—that fitted both only too well. It reminded him of the Mastersmith.

More Ekwesh formed up around them now, a whole column, and at the chieftain's word the ropes were jerked violently. The travelers found themselves dragged forward now over a road of smooth cobbles, and swiftly. Around them their guards broke into a trot, but Elof quickly realized they were more concerned with watching the sides of the street than the captives. Sweat stung his eyes, and he could make out no more there than high walls and looming shapes, dark against darkness. Suddenly the column swerved sharply, sandals slapping on the cobbles, and turned off the broad street into a bewildering succession of winding lanes and alleys. They were dark, without even a spill from lit windows; one or two Ekwesh slipped on loose stones and fell cursing while the runners poured over them. With the stupidity of fatigue Elof wondered why they did not carry linklights. Could it be that they did not want to be seen? Or was it him and the others they wished to conceal? But from whom? And why?

The moon came out from behind the clouds then, and by its light Elof looked his first upon the face of the city. The lane they ran in was bounded by two tall buildings, joined by a curious arched bridge, roofed in and windowed. Beyond these ran walls of some light stone, only a head or so higher than a man, topped by spikes that seemed more decorative than effective and broken by many arches and gates. Behind these walls on either side rose remarkable buildings of the same stone, with between them spaces of what seemed to be greenery and garden, with trees that were tall and fair. One edifice rose to their right, many times higher than the wall; arched windows, very tall and graceful with leaded panes, filled its frontage from the wall to the roof, and atop the great bay in the center a carved eagle spread its weatherstained wings. Opposite it, almost against the wall, stood a lower building with many small windows between which ran bands of carving, startling and very skillful, images of animals and flowers mingled with grotesque human caricatures. Harried as he was, he strove to take it in; its sheer exuberance captivated him. It was civilized craft, worlds away from the grim vitality of the black and white Ekwesh emblems, yet it seemed quite recent, clean-edged and unweathered. His suspicions were confirmed. If this city did now belong to the sea-raiders, it had not done so for long.