They saw our stone towers, the strong ones, the ruinous ones, all laid out in streets. And the old city wall reduced to rubble. They marvelled.
Dresyl and Yuli skirted Embruddock alone. They saw how square our towers are, with walls sloping inwards all the way up, so that the room on the top floor is always smaller than those below. How we keep our animals in the bottom floor for warmth — up the ramp to save them in case the Voral floods. They saw all the animal skulls, brightly painted and facing out, to scare intruders. We always had a sorceress, didn’t we, friends? At this period, it was Loil Bry.
Well, the cousin-brothers also saw two aged sentries up on top of the big tower — this very tower, friends — and in no time they had nipped in and despatched the greybeards. Blood flowed, I have to tell.
‘The flower,’ someone called.
Oh, yes. The flower was important. Remember how the lake people said that the cousin-brothers would meet with the same destiny? Yet when Dresyl grinned and said, ‘We will do well ruling this town, brother,’ Yuli was looking at the little flowers at his feet, flowers with pale petals — probably scantiom.
‘A good climate,’ he said, in surprise, and plucked the flower and ate it.
They were scared when they first heard the Hour-Whistler blow, for that famous geyser, known to all, was not known to them. They recovered, and then disposed their forces so as to be prepared for the time when both sentinels were set and the hunters of Embruddock returned home, bearing with them the spoils of the chase, all unsuspecting.
Laintal Ay roused at this point. There were battles in the past that was like a dream, and one was about to be described. But the new storyteller said, ‘Friends, we all had ancestors in the battle that followed, and all have gone since to the world of gossies, even if they were not despatched prematurely on that occasion. Suffice it to say that all present acquitted themselves valiantly.’
But he, being youthful, could not dismiss the exciting part so lightly and continued despite himself, eyes glowing.
Those innocent and heroic hunters were surprised by Yuli’s stratagem. Fire suddenly bloomed from the top of the herb tower, and tall flowers of flame rose into the evening air. The hunters naturally shouted out with alarm, dropped their weapons, and ran forward to see what could be done.
Spears and stones rained down on them from the top of the neighbouring tower. Armed invaders appeared from concealment, shouting and thrusting their spears at unguarded bodies. Our hunters slipped and fell in their own blood, but some invaders they managed to slay.
Our town contained more armed men than the cousin-brothers calculated for. Those were the brave corpsmen. They appeared from everywhere. But the invaders were desperate and hid in houses they had taken over. Young boys also were forced to fight, including some of you here, now past your prime.
The fire spread. Sparks streamed overhead like husks at a winnowing, as if they would light the sky. Carnage grew in the streets and ditches. Our women took up swords from the dead to fight off the living.
All acquitted themselves valiantly. But boldness and desperation won the day — not to mention the leadership of him who this day went down to the world of the gossies to be with his ancestors. Eventually, the defenders threw down their weapons and rushed away in the gathering dark, screaming.
Dresyl’s blood was up. An avenging fury rose on his brow. He had seen Big Afardl slain beside him — and from behind — and by a woman at that.
‘That was my good old grandmother!’ cried Aoz Roon, and laughter and cheers rose on all sides. ‘There was always courage in our family. We are of Embruddock stock, and not of Oldorando.’
Dresyl could scarcely be recognised for his fury. His face turned black. He ordered his company to hunt down and kill every surviving man of Embruddock. The women were to be gathered into the stable of this very tower, friends. What a terrible day that was in our annals…
But the victorious men, led by Yuli, took Dresyl forcibly and said to him that there must be no more killing. Killing brought bitterness. From the morrow, all must live in peace, to make a strong tribe, or there were not enough souls to survive.
These wise words meant nothing to Dresyl. He struggled until Baruin brought a bucket of cold water and flung it over him. Then he fell down as if in a swoon, and slept that dreamless sleep which comes only after battle.
Baruin said to Yuli, ‘You sleep too, with Dresyl and the others. I will keep watch, in case we are surprised by a counterattack.’
But Little Yuli was unable to sleep. He said nothing to Baruin, but he had been wounded, and his head was light. He felt himself near to death, and staggered outside to die under Wutra’s sky, into which Freyr was already preparing to ascend, for it was the third quarter. He walked down the main street here, where grass grew coarse among streams of mud. Freyr-dawn was the colour of mud, and he saw a scavenging hound slink away, full-bellied, from the corpse of one of his fellow hunters. He leaned against a crumbling wall, breathing deep.
Opposite him was the temple — ruined then as now. He stared without understanding at the decorations engraved in the stone. Remember, in those days, before Loil Bry civilised him, Yuli was by way of being a barbarian. Rats snicked in at the doorway. He moved to the temple hearing only a rushing in his ears. In his hand he held a sword taken from a fallen adversary — a better weapon than any he possessed, made of good dark metal here in our forges. This he held before him as he kicked in the door.
Inside, tethered milch sows and goats scuffled. Field implements used to be stored there in those days. Looking about, Yuli saw a trapdoor in the floor, and heard voices whispering.
Taking hold of the iron ring, he heaved up the door. Down in the pool of darkness under his feet, a smoking lamp burned.
‘Who’s there?’ someone called. A man’s voice, and I expect you know whose it was.
It was Wall Ein Den, then Lord of Embruddock, and well-remembered by us all. You can picture him, tall and upright, though his youth had fled, with a long black moustache and no beard. All remarked on his eyes, which could outstare the boldest, and his haggardly handsome face, which in its time moved women to tears. This was the historic meeting between him, the old lord, and Little Yuli.
Little Yuli went slowly down the steps to him, almost as if recognising him. Some of the masters of corps were there with Lord Wall Ein, but they did not dare speak as Yuli came down, very pale, clasping his sword.
Lord Wall Ein said, ‘If you are a savage, then murder is your business, and you had best get it over with. I command you to kill me first.’
‘What else do you deserve, hiding in a cellar?’
‘We are old, and powerless in battle. Once it was otherwise.’
They confronted each other. Nobody moved.
With a great effort, Yuli spoke, and his voice seemed to him to come from far away. ‘Old man, why do you leave this great town so poorly guarded?’
Lord Wall Ein replied with his usual authority. ‘It was not always thus, or you and your men would have met a different reception, you with your poor weapons. Many centuries ago, the Land of Embruddock was great, stretching north to the Quzints and south almost as far as the sea. Then Great King Denniss ruled, but the cold came and destroyed what he had wrought. Now we are fewer than ever we were, for only last year, in the first quarter, we were raided by the white phagors riding like the wind on their giant mounts. Many of our best warriors, including my son, were killed defending Embruddock, and now sink towards the original boulder.’
He sighed, and added, ‘Perhaps you read the legend carved on this building, if you can read. It says, “First phagors, then men.” It was for that legend and other matters that our priesthood was slain, two generations ago. Men must be first, always. Yet some days I wonder if the prophecy will not come true.’