Sword in the Storm

  The two men chatted for some time. Conn saw the tension easing from the riders, and when at last they rode away he saw Banouin breathe a sigh of relief. 'That was close,' said the Foreigner.

  'They were planning to rob us?'

  'Indeed they were.'

  'How did you know they were from Gudri?'

  'The cloak brooches. All in the shape of an oak branch.'

  'So, lives were saved by your knowledge of brooches,' said Conn.

  'All knowledge is useful, my friend. But they would only have killed us had we put up a fight. They are not - generally - wanton slayers.'

  Conn smiled. 'Have you considered carrying a weapon? Perhaps there will come a day when you cannot identify a brooch.'

  'I know all the brooches. But tell me, Conn. What would you have done had they tried to rob us?'

  'I would have stabbed the man to the left of the leader,' answered Conn, swiftly.

  'Why him?'

  'Because you would have charged your pony into the leader's mount, causing it to swerve to the right, blocking the others. The only man free to draw his weapon and attack you would have been the rider on the left.'

  Banouin took a deep breath. 'A good assessment. Conn. You are learning fast. Now let us move on.'

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  for THE FIRST FIVE NIGHTS THE TRAVELLERS CAMPED ON OPEN ground, but on the sixth they stayed at a small settlement known to Banouin. Some eighty people had built their homes on the banks of a wide river, earning their living by fishing the waters, or towing barges down to Goriasa. The people here were swarthy, and Banouin told Conn they had originally - many hundreds of years before - journeyed from the eastern mountains, where they had been a nomadic people. They were friendly, and invited Conn and Banouin to join them for their communal meal, taken in a long, wooden hall, thatched with dried grass. At the end of the meal - black bread dipped in fish stew - several musical instruments were brought out and a lean fisherman sang ballads in a deep baritone. When the songs were finished the people stamped their feet in praise, then went off to their homes. Banouin and Conn remained, in the company of the village leader, a powerfully built, black-bearded man, named Camoe. His two young wives cleared away the plates and Camoe offered his visitors jugs of beer. The drink was stale and flat, and Conn barely sipped it.

  'How far are you travelling?' Camoe asked Banouin.

  'All the way to Stone.'

  'Dangerous country you will be passing through,' said Camoe. 'Stone army is advancing on the people of the Perdii river. Big battles coming, I think.'

  'I am well known to the Perdii,' said Banouin. 'Their king, Alea, is an old friend of mine.'

  'Alea is dead,' said Camoe. 'Drowned, they say.'

  'I am sorry to hear that. He was a good man. Who is king now?'

  Camoe shrugged. 'I have not heard. But it is said they have a hundred thousand fighting men waiting to rip the hearts from the Stone men. I think they won't do it. I think this Jasaray is a devil in human form.'

  'He is not a devil,' said Banouin, 'but he is a wily general.'

  'How long before they come here, you think?'

  Banouin spread his hands. 'Two years, maybe. But they won't trouble you, Camoe. They will buy your fish.'

  'They will trouble all of us, Foreigner. I am Gath. I will fight when called.' His gaze flickered to the small pack at Banouin's side. 'This beer turns the stomach. I remember when we had a fine harvest of redfish and we bought several jugs of amber fire. Good days.'

  'It so happens,' said Banouin, 'that I remembered your fondness for it.' Digging into the pack he produced two jugs of uisge that had been wrapped in straw, and tossed one to Camoe. The village leader broke the wax seal and hefted the jug to his lips. He took several swallows.

  'Oh but that is good,' he said. 'It burns wonderfully all the way down. How much do I owe you?'

  'Not a copper coin, my friend. It was good to see you again. There is a second jug in the pack, for you to enjoy when we are gone.'

  Camoe leaned forward and thumped Banouin's shoulder. 'You are too good to be a Stone man. Are you sure you weren't adopted?'

  The travellers slept that night in the hall, and then continued their journey east. The further they travelled the more they heard of the advancing army of Stone. Jasaray was said to be assembling an army of fifteen thousand men. It would be vastly outnumbered by the Perdii.

  'Perhaps they will be crushed,' said Conn, 'their threat ended.'

  'I doubt it,' said Banouin, drawing on the reins and dismounting to give the pony a breather. Conn joined him.

  'How will the battle be planned?'

  Banouin thought about it. 'Fifteen thousand men means four Panthers and a wing of cavalry. Each Panther is made up of three thousand fighting foot soldiers. The cavalry will be auxiliaries, tribesmen who are enemies of the Perdii. Jasaray will march into Perdii territory and try to coax the enemy into a mass charge. They will break upon his battle lines like water upon rock.'

  'What if they do not attack him in that way?'

  'Then he will raze their villages and settlements, taking their women and children into slavery. He will destroy their crops and cripple their economy. They will have to fight him.'

  Banouin also took the time on the journey to continue teaching Conn more of the Turgon tongue, the language and history of Stone. Defeated in a distant war four hundred years ago, the survivors had fled across the sea to found a new city. They had seen a blazing sign in the sky, a huge rock streaking from the clouds, trailing fire. It struck a wooded hilltop, levelling all the trees. On this newly flattened land they had built a temple, and around it a stockaded town. As the years passed they subdued surrounding tribesmen, and extended their authority. Gradually the wooden town became a stone city, with great walls, and aqueducts, temples and places of learning.

  Conn listened intently, but his attention grew more avid only when Banouin talked of wars and strategies, and of the peoples conquered during the last twenty years. Great had been the suffering, said Banouin, and the destruction.

  'I hate them,' said Conn. 'What they are doing is evil.'

  'In what way evil?' asked Banouin, as they led the six pack ponies slowly along the crest of a series of wooded hills.

  Conn pointed down to a small settlement along the banks of a river. 'Those people have their own lives,' he said, 'each dependent on the skills of his neighbour. They are a community. They live and thrive. It is a good life. I know this, for it is the same among the Rigante. They care for one another. The Stone people will take away what they have by conquest. Surely that is evil?'

  'The question is much wider than that,' said Banouin, reining in his pony. 'Come,' he said, swinging his mount. 'We will take a detour to the high country.'

  'Why?'

  Banouin smiled. 'There are sights there you should see.'

  They rode through the morning and into the afternoon, ever higher. Both riders unfurled their cloaks, for the wind was colder here. By dusk they had reached a thinly wooded ridge of land and Banouin dismounted, leading the ponies into a shallow cave, where he built a fire and prepared a meal of rich stew. In the firelight Conn saw that the walls of the cave were covered with paintings: deer and bison, lion and bear. Here and there were hand prints in faded red, large hands, with long thumbs.

  'Who made these?' he asked Banouin.

  'The Old Ones. There are still some of them living in the high country, hiding from the world. Very few now. Perhaps a hundred or so. They are like us - and yet not like us. They are heavy browed, and have huge jaws.'

  'Ah yes,' said Conn, with a smile, 'the Ugly Folk. They used to dwell near the Seidh woods. Our legends tell how they stole babies and ate them. They were destroyed by Elagareth hundreds of years ago.'

  Banouin shook his head. 'They ate no babies, Conn. They were - and are - a primitive folk, with tools of flint. Leaf eaters, root grubbers. Occasionally they would hunt down a deer and devour its meat raw. But they were not cannibals. I have visited thei
r few remaining settlements. They are a gentle people, with no understanding of the savage violence we carry in our hearts.'

  'So you brought me here to see these paintings?'

  'Not just the paintings. I wanted you to think about the people who roamed these lands for thousands of years, living free, without wars. Then, one day, a new race came, with bright swords of bronze, and bows that could send death over a distance. They slaughtered the people, driving them high into the cold country. Even now if one of the people is seen hunting parties will gather to give chase and do murder. These murderous newcomers took the lands of the people, and settled them, building farms and settlements. You understand?'

  Conn nodded. 'And now a new race has come, with swords of iron.'

  'Exactly. And in a few hundred years some other powerful tribe - or groups of tribes - will descend upon the gentle, peace-loving people of Stone. Then a young man, just like you, will rail against the evil of it.'

  'As he should,' said Conn. 'A man should be ready to fight for his land, his people, and his culture. What are we if we don't? When the wolf attacks our herds, we kill the wolf. We fight to defend what is ours. That is what makes us men.'

  'Indeed it is,' agreed Banouin. 'But before there were men it was the wolf who kept the herds strong. By killing the weak and the old, by controlling the numbers so that the herds did not grow so large that they ate all the grass. Nature in balance, Connavar.'

  Conn laughed aloud. 'If I take what you suggest to its logical conclusion then when a robber comes to my home I allow him to take all that is mine. I do nothing. I let him rape my wife, slay my children and steal my belongings. This is not a philosophy I can embrace.'

  'Nor I,' said Banouin. 'But now we come to the crux of the question. I am not saying do not fight. I am saying do not hate. It is not war that leads to murderous excesses, but hate. Whole villages, cities, peoples wiped out. Hatred is like a plague. It is all-consuming, and it springs from man to man. Our enemies become demons, their wives the mothers of demons, their children infant demons. You understand? We tell stories of our enemies eating babes - as was done with the people. Our hearts turn dark and, in turn, we visit a terrible retribution upon those we now hate. But hatred never dies, Conn. We plant the seeds of it in every action inspired by it. Kill a man, and his son will grow to hate you and seek revenge. When he obtains that revenge your son will learn to hate him. Can you see what I am saying?'

  'No,' admitted Conn. 'It is necessary to hate one's enemies. If we don't hate them, how can we kill them?'

  Banouin sighed, and Conn could see he was disappointed. They sat in silence for a while, and ate the stew. Banouin cleaned the dishes and returned them to the pack. Conn spread his blankets and lay down by the fire.

  The little merchant sat beside the blaze for a while. 'There are only three ways to deal with an enemy,' he said. 'Destroy him, run away from him, or befriend him. The man who has come to hate you will never befriend you.'

  Then he too lay down, and pulled his blanket over him.

  Conn rolled over and looked at the wall paintings in the flickering light of the fire.

  The one abiding truth he did know was that the strong would always conquer the weak.

  When the Stone army comes, he thought, the Rigante will be strong.

  Eight days later the travellers reached the outer borders of Gath land. To the north-west were the high settlements of the Ostro. 'We will visit them on our return,' said Banouin. 'It will be good experience for you. The Ostro are born to trade, and like nothing better than to haggle for hours for the finest prices.' The smile faded from his face and he drew in a deep breath. 'But for now we must endure the lands of the Perdii.'

  Ahead of them lay the wide expanse of the Perdii river, and beyond it a range of high, wooded hills. It was mid-afternoon as the riders rode their weary ponies down to a settlement on the riverbank. Across the fast-flowing water, moored to the far bank was a flat-bottomed ferry. There was no sign of a ferryman. Conn transferred his gaze to the settlement. The eleven homes at the riverside were crudely and carelessly constructed, some from green timbers that had warped as they dried, leaving great gaps that had been plugged by clay. Beyond them was a more solid log-built structure with a sod roof. Here there was a paddock. Banouin rode to it, slid open the rail bar, and led the ponies inside. As Conn dismounted Banouin moved in close. 'The men here are not to be trusted,' he said. 'There are robbers and thieves among them. Tempers are always short. Follow my lead and be careful what you say and do.'

  'Perhaps we should have camped in the hills,' said Conn.

  'We were spotted yesterday. Nowhere here is completely safe, but I did not want to be surprised in open country.' He forced a smile. 'Do not be too concerned, my friend. I have passed this way before without incident. I am only saying we should be wary.'

  Conn said nothing. He could see the tension in the little merchant. Banouin was a tough man, not given to groundless fears. Conn scanned the buildings. Young children were playing in the mud by the riverbank, and a woman was sitting on a rock close by, sewing a patch onto a threadbare cloak. She was wearing a simple dress that had once been blue, but was now a washed-out grey. Her hair was long and filthy, her skin dry. Everything about her spoke of loss and defeat. Conn looked away.

  Banouin gestured to Conn, and the two men strolled to the log dwelling. There was no door, merely a long cowhide hanging over a pole. Pushing it aside they entered the single room. Four men were sitting at a table, gambling with painted knucklebone dice. One glanced up as the newcomers entered. His head was huge and totally bald, his eyes small and dark. 'You'll be wanting the ferry,' he said. 'Dovis and his brother took some cattle to market. They won't be back until tomorrow.'

  'Thank you,' said Banouin, with a friendly smile.

  'You want to play?'

  'Perhaps later. We need to tend to our ponies.'

  'I saw them,' said the man, rising from his chair and stretching his back. He was big, several inches over six feet, and his bearskin jerkin served to make him look even more formidable. 'Heavily laden. You're the merchant, Banouin.'

  'Yes. Have we met?'

  'No. I recognized you from the blue hat. You should join us. It would be friendly. Don't you want to be friendly?'

  'I am always friendly,' said Banouin. 'But I am a terrible gambler. Luck never favours my throws.' Turning away he walked back to the door.

  'Perhaps your lady friend would like to play? A long time since we had such pretty company,' said the man. The others laughed.

  'Indeed I would,' said Conn, with a smile. 'Knucklebones is a great favourite among my people.' He walked across to stand before the big man, and when he spoke it was with easy familiarity. 'Before we play we first need to understand one another. I am a stranger here, and unused to your customs. But I am a fast learner. Now, we have not met before and yet you insult me. Back home I would have killed you.' Conn smiled and tapped the big man's chest. 'I would have cut out your heart. But what I must consider is that I am in a different land. Here it is obviously customary to engage in banter with strangers. Am I right, you fat, ugly mound of cow shit?'

  The big man's jaw dropped, and his eyes narrowed. With a foul curse he lunged at the Rigante. Conn did not move back. Instead he whipped a straight left into the man's face, following it with a right cross that sent him spinning across the table, which upended, spilling knucklebones and copper coins into the dirt. The big man came up fast, but Conn had moved in and thundered a right into his face that split the skin under his eye. He grabbed Conn's tunic and tried to haul him into a rib-snapping bear hug.

  Conn head-butted him in the nose. The man cried out and fell back. Conn hit him with two straight lefts, followed by a right uppercut to the belly. Air whooshed from the man's lungs and he bent double - straight into Conn's rising knee.

  The big man slumped to the floor unconscious.

  The first of the other men surged to his feet, and froze as Conn's knife touched his throat, prick
ing the skin and causing blood to ooze onto his filthy shirt. 'Where I come from,' said Conn, conversationally, 'it is considered wise to know the nature of a man before making him an enemy. Here, in this stinking cesspit, you obviously have other ideas. The question is, do I cut your throat and kill your friends, or do I wander out and see to my ponies? Do you have any thoughts, scum-breath?' The knife blade pricked deeper.

  'See ... to the . . . ponies?' ventured the man.

  Conn smiled and turned his attention to the other two, who were sitting very quietly watching him. 'What about you? Do you disagree?' The men shook their heads.

  'Excellent! Then we all understand one another.' Conn sheathed his blade, turned his back and strode to where Banouin waited.

  As they stepped outside Conn glanced at his companion. 'I am sorry, Foreigner. I do not have your diplomatic skills.'

  'You have nothing to apologize for. Diplomacy must always be backed by strength. You handled that situation well. There was no other way. They were spoiling for a fight. Now, perhaps, they will think again. However, if you will permit a criticism, the first right cross was a little clumsy. You hit him off your back foot. It robbed the blow of real power. I thought I taught you better than that.'

  Conn laughed.

  'What would I do without you, teacher?'

  'Fairly well, from what I've seen,' replied Banouin.

  Removing saddles and packs from the eight ponies they groomed them, forked hay into the paddock, and fetched water from the river. Then Banouin made a camp beneath a spreading oak, preparing a small fire. The night was clear, the stars bright.

  Soon after sunset a young woman approached them. She was scrawny, her clothes ragged. For a share of their meal she promised to 'pleasure' both of them.

  'That is very kind,' said Banouin. 'But you are welcome to join us anyway. It would be nice to entertain a guest.'

  The girl stood for a moment. 'I have a child,' she said.

  'Bring the child also,' said Banouin.

  The girl moved away to a nearby hovel, and returned carrying a toddler. Banouin prepared a broth, seasoned it with spices, then produced two flat loaves which they had bought the previous day in a settlement to the west. The girl said nothing throughout the meal, and Conn noticed that she fed the toddler before devouring her own broth and bread.