by Jack Vance
Aillas paid over a silver florin. "Bring us ale, out under the tree."
The three sat at a table and refreshed themselves in the cool breeze of late afternoon. The throngs had dwindled to a trickle of late-comers hoping to drive hard bargains, and scavengers. Music was quiet; vendors packed their goods; acrobats, contortionists, mimes and jugglers had gone their ways. The Grand Fair formally ended on the morrow, but already pavilions were being struck and booths disassembled; carts and wagons trundled off the common to the road and so away: to north, east, south and west. In front of the Black Bull passed the flamboyant wagon of Dr. Fidelius, drawn by a pair of black two-headed horses, and driven by a dashing young gentleman of striking appearance.
Yane pointed in amazement at the horses. "See the marvels! Are they freaks, or works of magic?"
"For myself," said Cargus, "I would prefer something less ostentatious."
Aillas jumped to his feet to look after the wagon. He turned back to his fellows. "Did you notice the driver?"
"Certainly. A young grandee on a lark."
"Or some wild young dartling with pretensions to gentility."
Aillas thoughtfully resumed his seat. "I have seen him before— under strange circumstances." He raised his mug only to find it empty. "Boy! Bring more ale! We will drink, then we shall follow Never-fail at least to the edge of town."
The three sat in silence, looking across the traffic of street and common. The serving-boy brought them ale; at the same moment a tall sandy-haired man with a wild and somewhat distracted look came striding along the street. He halted and spoke urgently to the boy. "I am Dr. Fidelius; has my wagon passed by? It would be drawn by a team of black two-headed horses!"
"I have not seen your wagon, sir. I have been busy fetching ale for these gentlemen."
Aillas spoke. "Sir, your wagon passed only minutes ago."
"And did you notice the driver?"
"1 took special heed of him: a man of about your own age, with dark hair, good features and a manner which was notably bold or even reckless. 1 feel that I have seen him before, but I cannot remember where."
Yane pointed. "He drove away yonder, south along knield Way."
"Then he will be stopped at Cambermouth." He looked back to Aillas. "If I used the name Faude Carfilhiot would that bring shape to your memory?"
"It would indeed." Aillas thought back across an age of toil, flight and wandering. "I saw him once at his castle."
"You have verified my worst fears. Boy, can you get me a horse?"
"I can go to the ostler, sir. The better the horse, the more coin he will ask."
Shimrod tossed a gold crown upon the table. "Bring his best, and in haste."
The boy ran off. Shimrod sat upon a bench to wait. Aillas appraised him sidelong. "What, when you catch him at Slange?"
"I will do what must be done."
"You will have your hands full. He is strong and no doubt well armed."
"I have no choice. He has kidnapped two children who are dear to me, and he might well do them harm."
"I would believe anything of Carfilhiot," said Aiilas. He considered his own circumstances and came to a decision. He rose to his feet. "I will ride with you to Slange. My own quest can wait an hour or two." The Never-fail still dangled from his wrist. He glanced at the index, then again, incredulously. "Look you, at the tooth!"
"Now it points south!"
Aillas turned slowly to Shimrod. "Carfilhiot drove south with two children: what are their names?"
"Glyneth and Dhrun."
The four men rode south in the light of the westering sun, and folk along the road, hearing the pound of hooves, moved to the side to let the riders pass, then turned to wonder why men should ride so hard at sundown along Icnield Way.
Across the heath rode the four and up Riverside Heights where they drew their snorting horses up short. The Cambermouth glared incandescent in the light of the setting sun. The ferry had not waited for full ebb. In order to make full use of daylight it had left Slange at the turn of the tide and already was halfway across the river. Last aboard was the wagon of Dr. Fidelius. A man standing at the side of the wagon might have been Faude Carfilhiot.
The four rode down the hill to Slange, to learn that the ferry would turn north sometime after midnight, when the tide was once more at flood, and would not cross to Cogstone Landing until sunrise.
Aillas asked the dock attendant: "Is there no other way across the water?"
"Not with your horses; no indeed, sir!"
"Then, can we cross afoot, and at once?"
"Nor neither afoot, sir. There's no wind to fill a sail, and no one would row you across with the current at full ebb, neither for silver nor gold. He'd end up on Whanish Isle, or beyond. Come back by sunrise and ride in comfort."
Back on the heights they watched the ferry dock at Cogstone. The wagon rolled ashore, moved up the road and out of sight into the dusk.
"There they go," said Shimrod flatly. "We can't hope to catch them now, the horses will run all night. But,I know his destination."
"Tintzin Fyral?"
"First he will stop at Faroli to visit the magician Tamurello."
"Where is Faroli?"
"In the forest, not too far away. I can communicate with Tamurello from Avallon, through one Triptomologius. At the very least he will see to the safety of Glyneth and Dhrun if Carfilhiot brings them to Faroli."
"Meanwhile they are at his mercy."
"So they are."
Icnield Way, parchment-pale in the moonlight, crossed a land dark and silent, with no glimmer of light to be seen on either hand. South along the way the two-headed horses pulled the wagon of Dr. Fidelius, with wild eyes and flaring nostrils, mad with hate for the being who drove them as they had never been driven before.
At midnight Carfilhiot pulled to a halt beside a stream. As the horses drank and cropped grass beside the road, he went to the back of the wagon and opened the door. "How goes it in there?"
After a pause Dhrun spoke from the darkness: "Well enough."
"If you want to drink, or ease yourselves, come down, but try no tricks as I lack patience."
Glyneth and Dhrun whispered together, and agreed that there was no reason to ride in discomfort. Warily they descended from the back of the wagon.
Carfilhiot allowed ten minutes, then ordered them back into the wagon. Dhrun went first, silent and stiff with anger. Glyneth paused with one foot on the bottom step of the ladder. Carfilhiot stood with his back to the moon. She asked: "Why have you kidnapped us?"
"So that Shimrod, whom you know as Dr. Fidelius, works no magic against me."
Glyneth tried to keep her voice from trembling. "Are you planning to set us free?"
"Not immediately. Get in the wagon."
"Where are we going?"
"Into the forest, then away to the west."
"Please let us go!"
Carfilhiot studied her where she stood full in the moonlight. A pretty creature, thought Carfilhiot, fresh as a wildflower. He said lightly: "If you behave nicely, then nice things will happen to you. For now into the wagon with you."
Glyneth climbed into the wagon, and Carfilhiot closed the door.
Once more the wagon set off along Icnield Way. Glyneth spoke into Dhrun's ear: "This man frightens me. I'm sure that he is Shimrod's enemy."
"If I could see, I'd stab him with my sword," muttered Dhrun.
Glyneth said hesitantly: "I don't know if I could do so—unless he were trying to harm us."
"Then it would be too late. Suppose you stood by the door. When he opened it, could you thrust through his neck?"
"No."
Dhrun sat silently. After a moment he picked up his pipes and began to blow softly: trills and runs, to help himself think. He stopped short and said: "That's rather odd. It's dark in here, is it not?"
"Very dark indeed."
"Perhaps I've never played in the dark before. Or perhaps I've never noticed. But as I play, the golden bees fly in s
woops and loops, as if they were annoyed."
"Perhaps you are keeping them from their sleep."
Dhrun blew into his pipes with more fervor. He played a jig and a merridown and then a caper of three parts.
Carfilhiot called back through the window: "Stop that damnable fifing; it puts my teeth on edge!"
Dhrun said to Glyneth: "Amazing! The bees dart and swoop. Like him"—he jerked his thumb forward—"they have no taste for music." He raised the pipes to his lips, but Glyneth stopped him. "Dhrun, no! He will do us harm!"
All night the horses ran, knowing no fatigue but nevertheless furious at the demon who drove them so mercilessly. An hour after dawn Carfilhiot allowed another ten-minute halt. Neither Dhrun nor Glyneth chose to eat; Carfilhiot found bread and dried fish in the larder at the back of the wagon; he ate a few mouthfuls and once more urged the horses into motion.
All day the wagon rumbled across the pleasant landscapes of south Dahaut: a flat country of endless expanses with a great windy sky overhead.
Late in the day, the wagon crossed the Tam River by a stone bridge of seven arches and so entered Pomperol, without challenge either by the single Daut border official or his corpulent Pomperan counterpart, both preoccupied by their chess game, on a table placed precisely over the boundary at the center of the bridge.
The land altered; forests and isolated muffin-shaped hills, each crowned with a castle, reduced the vast perspectives of Dahaut to ordinary human scale.
At sunset the horses at last began to flag; Carfilhiot knew that he could not drive another long night through. He turned off into the forest and halted beside a brook. While he gingerly unharnessed the horses and tied them where they could drink and graze, Glyneth built a fire, hung the iron pot from its tripod .and cooked a makeshift soup from materials at hand. She released her cats from their basket and let them run here and there about a strictly circumscribed area. Sitting over their meager supper, Dhrun and Glyneth spoke together in subdued undertones. Carfilhiot, across the fire, watched them through half-closed eyelids, but said nothing.
Glyneth became increasingly disturbed by the quality of Carfilhiot's attention. At last, as twilight darkened the sky, she called her cats and put them into their baskets. Carfilhiot, seemingly lazy and passive, sat in contemplation of her slight yet unexpectedly rich contours, the easy graces and elegant little flourishes which made Glyneth her unique and endearing self.
Glyneth rinsed the iron pot, stowed it in the locker with the tripod. Carfilhiot rose to his feet, stretched. Glyneth eyed him askance as he went to the back of the wagon, reached within and brought out a pallet which he spread beside the fire.
Glyneth whispered into Dhrun's ear; together they went to the wagon,
Carfilhiot stood behind them. "Where are you going?"
"To bed," said Glyneth. "Where else?"
Carfilhiot seized Dhrun and lofted him into the wagon, then closed and barred the door. "Tonight," he told Glyneth, "you and I will bed by the fire, and tomorrow you will have much to think about."
Glyneth tried to run behind the wagon, but Carfilhiot seized her arm. "Save your energy," he told her. "You will find yourself becoming tired presently, but you won't want to stop."
Inside the wagon Dhrun snatched up his pipes and began to play, in a passion of fury and helpless grief for what was happening to Glyneth. The golden bees, about to relax for the night, with only an occasional warm buzzing to remind Dhrun of their presence, flew a set of resentful loops, but Dhrun played only the harder.
Carfilhiot jumped to his feet and strode to the wagon. "Put an end to the streedle! It grinds on my nerves!"
Dhrun played with an even greater fervor which almost lifted him from his seat. The golden bees flew in zig-zag courses, turned erratic somersaults and finally in despair flew from Dhrun's eyes altogether. Dhrun played all the louder.
Carfilhiot went to the door. "I will come inside; I will break your pipes and deal you such buffets as to silence you very still."
Dhrun played on and the piping excited the bees so that they flew back and forth across the wagon, careening from side to side.
Carfilhiot raised the bar from the door. Dhrun put down the pipes and spoke: "Dassenach, to hand!"
Carfilhiot threw open the door. The bees flew out and struck his face; he recoiled, and so saved his life, as the blade hissed past his neck. He uttered a startled curse, then, seizing the sword, wrested it from Dhrun's grip and threw it into the underbrush. Dhrun kicked at his face; Carfilhiot seized the foot and sent Dhrun reeling back into the wagon.
"No more noise!" panted Carfilhiot. "No more pounding or piping, or I will do you harm!"
He slammed the door and threw the bar. He turned to Glyneth, only to find her scrambling up into the branches of a massive old oak tree. He ran across the clearing but already she was out of his reach. He climbed after her, but she climbed higher and out to the end of a branch which sagged beneath her weight, and Carfilhiot dared not follow.
He spoke, first cajoling, then pleading, then threatening, but she made no response, and sat quietly among the leaves. Carfilhiot spoke in a final threat, which made her blood run cold; then he descended the tree. Had he an axe he would have chopped away the branch which supported her, or the tree itself, and let her die.
All the night long Glyneth huddled in the tree, cramped and miserable. Carfilhiot, on the pallet beside the fire, seemed to sleep, although from time to time he stirred to throw wood on the fire, and Glyneth was afraid to descend.
Inside the wagon Dhrun lay on his own couch, exultant in his regained sight, but sick with horror at imagined events outside by the fire.
Dawn slowly illuminated the cart. Carfilhiot arose from the pallet, and looked up into the tree. "Come down; it is time to be going."
"I don't care to come down."
"Suit yourself. I am leaving, nonetheless."
Carfilhiot harnessed the horses and led them into the traces, where they stood trembling and pawing the ground in detestation for their new master.
With growing concern, Glyneth saw the preparations. Carfilhiot watched her from the corner of his eye. At last he called up: "Come down and get into the wagon. Else I will bring Dhrun out and strangle him before your eyes. Then I will climb the tree and throw a rope over the branch, and I will pull down on the rope so that the branch breaks. I will catch you, or perhaps I won't and you will be sorely hurt. In either case I will have you, to do as I like."
"If I come down you will do the same." Carfilhiot said: "In truth, I am no longer in the mood for your sour little body, so come down."
"Let Dhrun from the wagon first."
"Why?"
"I am afraid of you."
"How can he help?"
"He'd find some way. You don't know Dhrun."
Carfilhiot threw open the door. "Come out, you little lizard."
Dhrun had overheard the conversation with great joy; it seemed that Glyneth had evaded Carfilhiot. Feigning blindness, he groped for the door and descended to the ground, though he found it hard to control his exultation. How beautiful the world looked! How green the trees, how noble the horses! He had never before seen Dr. Fidelius' wagon: gaudy, tall and eccentric of proportion. And here was Glyneth, as dear and pretty as ever, though now she was pale and strained, and her blonde curls were tangled around dry twigs and oak leaves.
Dhrun stood by the wagon, peering into nothingness. Carfilhiot threw the pallet into the wagon. Dhrun watched him furtively. So this was the enemy! Dhrun had imagined him older, with ropy features and a mottled nose, but Carfilhiot was clear-eyed and splendidly handsome.
"Into the wagon," said Carfilhiot. "Quick, the both of you."
"Fiirst my cats must have a run!" cried Glyneth. "And something to eat! I'll give them some cheese."
"If there is cheese, bring it here," said Carfilhiot. "The cats can eat grass, and tonight all of us may eat cat."
Glyneth made no response, and gave Carfilhiot the cheese without comment. The
cats took their exercise, and would have prolonged the occasion. Glyneth was compelled to speak sternly before they would return to their baskets. And once again the wagon drove south.
Inside the wagon Dhrun exclaim to Glyneth: "I can see! Last night the bees flew from my eyes! They are as good as ever! My eyes, not the bees."
"Sh!" said Glyneth. "That is wonderful news! But we must not let Carfilhiot know! He is as crafty as he is terrible."
"I will never be sad again," said Dhrun. "No matter what happens. I will think back to the time when the world was dark."
"I would feel happier if we were riding with someone else," said Glyneth wistfully. "I spent all last night in a tree."
"If he dares touch you, I will cut him in pieces," declared Dhrun. "Don't forget! I can see now."
"Perhaps it won't come to that. Tonight he may be thinking of other things... I wonder if Shimrod is trying to find us?"
"He can't be too far behind."
The wagon rolled south, and an hour after noon arrived at the market-town Honriot, where Carfilhiot bought bread, cheese, apples and a jug of wine.
In the center of Honriot, Icnield Way crossed the East-West Road; Carfilhiot drove to the west urging the horses to ever greater speed, as if he too anticipated the coming of Shimrod. Snorting, shaking their manes, heads low to the ground or sometimes raised on high, the great black horses plunged west, their soft tiger feet thrusting back the ground. Behind trundled the wagon, wheels bounding, the body swaying on its long laminated easy-ways. Occasionally Carfilhiot used his whip, cracking it upon the glistening black haunches, and the horses tossed their heads in rage.
"Take care, take care!" they cried back. "We obey the instruction of your reins, because that is the way it must be; but do not presume, or we might turn and rear over you and flail down our great black feet, and drag you to the dirt and stamp you into the ground! Hear, and have a care!"
Carfilhiot could not understand their speech and used the whip as suited his pleasure; and the horses tossed their heads in ever-mounting fury.
Late in the afternoon the wagon passed King Deuel's summer palace. For the day's entertainment King Deuel had ordained a pageant entitled: "Birds of Fantasy." With great artistry his courtiers had bedecked themselves in black and white feathers, to simulate imaginary sea-birds. Their ladies had been allowed more latitude and they promenaded along the greensward in total avian extravagance, using the plumes of ostrich, egret, lyrebirds, peacocks and vesprils. Some wore confections of pale green, others cerise or mauve or golden-ochre: a prospect of the most gorgeous complexity, and one enjoyed to its fullest by Mad King Deuel, who sat on a tall throne, costumed as a cardinal, the only red bird of the pageant. He was enthusiastic in his praises and called out compliments, pointing with tip of his red wing.