Lilith: A Snake in The Grass

by Jack L. Chalker

  They were there, already lined up in a neat formation, the great hopping wuks, their huge bulks almost invisible at this distance against the green of the valley. Behind them a formidable array of foot soldiers stood in perfect military formation.

  I shifted my glass to the besil pens cut in the mountain above the stockade and saw signs of frantic movement. They would come shooting out of’ there, I knew, at some signal from the ground. Idly I wondered where Artur would be.

  Next I looked at the Castle. The great door was shut, I could see, and red flags were flying from the pointed towers. I thought I could see figures on those towers, but it was pretty far to be sure. What was certain was that no pawns were in the fields or anywhere to be seen. They had been withdrawn to the base of the mountains, as far from battle as possible, to await the outcome.

  I studied the trail heads next, down on the valley floor below. During the night the witches had infiltrated and now they stood, linked in a line rather than a circle, facing inward, at each point.

  There was no way to carry out any movements of this sort without your enemy knowing about it, so nobody had made much of a secret of their movements. The witches had dispatched the guard and stood in such a way that they might reinforce each other if necessary, but though Artur could probably wipe out any coven of thirteen with his forces, this would be an open invitation for the coming Lakk forces to overrun his rear. Artur, I decided, would take his chances with the divided witches until he met and defeated the Lakks. The way his forces were now moving, I was sure he intended to meet the invader as close to the swamps as possible, fighting in the air over the dank and treacherous terrain and forcing the Lakks to land on solid ground piecemeal. There they could be mopped up in small batches before they could regroup into a major fighting force.

  What we’d seen in front of the stockade had merely been the reserves, a bit more than half his force that could be thrown in where needed or committed against individual groups of witches if need be. It was really good military thinking, and I could see at a glance why Artur was held in such respect and why Zeis was considered unassailable by Lakk.

  But there were only seven roads into the Keep, and each was blocked by thirteen witches. That left seventy-eight witches, and those seventy-eight were a tremendous amplified and coalesced Warden force. Zeis was the model of what you’d want to defend in a military sense, but its strength lay in the impossibility of establishing a beachhead against it. If a large enough force could be landed on solid ground, it would be the defenders who would be rolled back into a trap, totally surrounded by mountains.

  “There go the besils!” Ti shouted excitedly. I didn’t need the monocular to see the great dark shapes now out of their mountain stable lair. The riders were braced in special combat saddles that also supported long, pointed wooden lances. I looked out over the fog-shrouded swamp, seeing nothing for a moment Then, out of the murky grayness, a long, slow line of besils appeared. Unlike Artur’s besils, whose underbellies were dyed a reddish color, these were yellow underneath, the color of Lakk.

  They came in slow and low, cautious until they had a full field of vision. Inside the valley, despite some wisps of ground fog, the eternal clouds had retreated past the thousand-meter mark, plenty of room for an aerial duel.

  The Zeis besils neared the swamp, then stopped, their great wings beating so fast to keep them in place they were totally invisible. I never understood how anything that big flew, anyway.

  The attacking formation split now, one-third going left, another third right, while the center column pushed, ahead, accelerating suddenly and with great speed. Hundreds of black, swift shapes weaved in and out, parrying and thrusting, lances attempting to score a hit either at the underbelly of the enemy besils or at the riders atop them. It was a battle in three dimensions at crazy angles and speeds and with sudden whiplike motions.

  While the vanguard of Zeis besils were occupied, the swamp itself seemed-to come alive, eerie shapes moving to and fro in the fog. Emerging now were the great twelve-legged, hairy snarks, raised for fur and used in stews by the people of Lilith. These creatures of that swamplike terrain were somehow able to avoid sinking into the muck and mire by shifting their centers of gravity at will. Herbivores, they were totally harmless to people, but they made effective troop carriers when a swamp was to be the battleground, and Lakk Keep had bred them for just that purpose.

  The great, hopping, green wuks leaped into action from the Zeis side, aiming at going so high and landing so exactly that they would come down right on top of the fragile snarks, spilling them and their contents into the swamp, ft should have worked, had the snarks contained combat soldiers, but this time was different.

  The snarks stopped suddenly, as if wailing for certain death, but the proud and lordly wuks were the ones that seemed to reel in mid-hop as if struck by gunfire and topple over, out of control, to the ground below.

  The snarks contained not soldiers but chemically enhanced witches, all concentrated on the center snark, where the leader was knocking wuks out of the air with a gesture. Seeing what was happening, Artur quickly shifted. Realizing from the pattern in which his wuks were falling that a central and single power was picking them off, he committed a section of his reserves to fan out across the entire basin, to keep a great distance from one another and to fan out over a wide enough front to divide the witches’ fire. Their concentrated power had only one metaphorical barrel, and it couldn’t point everywhere at once.

  Besils, too, were screeching and falling all over the place, unable to help either side in the battle below but keeping the other from also doing so. It was bloody carnage all around, and Artur’s plan was working to an extent. A wuk struck one of the witch-laden snarks, pulling up incredibly at the last minute so that it hit with its powerful bind legs out. The great spiderlike creature collapsed as if made of thin sticks, dragging its complement of passengers into the muddy quagmire—and diminishing Sumiko O’Higgins’ power by a small amount. From where we were, it was impossible to see how many were on any given snark, but considering the number of the beasts it had to be four or five at least. The whole scene was stunning, an eerie ballet of death and destruction as it might have been centuries ago on mother Earth.

  The wuk maneuver had weakened the witch force, but most of them had made solid land and were quickly descending and assembling into their groups. Some would not have their full complement, but since all worked with, though, and at the direction of Sumiko O’Higgins, however many managed to land would have impressive force indeed.

  Suddenly the grass blazed in front of the landing witches, a huge wall of fire across the entire field, blinding everyone for a moment.

  Warden power was being used against Warden power now, I knew.

  After a moment’s panic, the witches regrouped. Then, incredibly, a whirlwind of dirt like a great, gigantic plow shot up along the fire line, damping the fire, although small patches continued to burn. The witches advanced now, in a broad semicircle. I didn’t know exactly how many there were, but it was fifty or more, I was sure. Sumiko had bragged that she could level the Castle with less.

  Now fire was turned against the defenders. A terribly thin, bright wall of flame shot out from beyond the firebreak they’d just created, then started moving, widening out in an ever-increasing semicircle, pushing ground forces back and revealing large, dark holes that were obviously pits to trap invaders who -advanced that far.

  I frowned and turned my tiny telescope on the reserves, still sitting in front of the stockade. “He’s going to lose,” I muttered, more to myself than to Ti, “unless he sends those reserves in fast. They’ve got their beachhead. Why don’t they move?”

  Ti didn’t answer, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off the unfolding spectacle.

  I turned again to the. swamp, where hordes of snarks were now appearing, landing troops of Lakk behind the witches’ screen. I looked again to the reserves, still poised but umnoving, and shook my head.

  “The
y can’t be this incompetent,” I told myself. “Why the hell doesn’t he move before the beachhead is totally established?”

  I heard Ti gasp. “The besils have stopped fighting!” she cried. “Look!”

  I turned my gaze in that direction and saw that it was true. The survivors of the initial encounter, perhaps forty or so out of an initial hundred or more, had disengaged, but neither side was retreating.

  “They—they’re regrouping together!” I rasped, amazed. “What the hell … ?”

  I heard the sound of a tremendous explosion below, its roar echoing back and forth across the mountains, its very existence so jarring that I was forced to look for it. An explosion? Here?

  I looked at a great puff of smoke near the front of the witch line, then saw soldiers behind the witches wading into them and attacking them! Suddenly the reserves moved, the explosion an apparent cue. The reserve besils flew out of their mountainside nests and the wuks and ground troops started deploying— but not toward the invaders.

  “Look, they’re going after the witch groups guarding the trails!” I yelled, mouth agape. Still, I forced my attention back to the beachhead, only to see the unmistakable signs of slaughter. A wall of fire now trapped the witches between their own defensive wall and the attackers, formed and started to close in on them.

  Disorganized and confused, the witches dropped their own firebreak and started forward into Zeis proper, on the run. Now the besils, both yellow and red-colored, started moving in on them, dividing them. Bright flashes told me that Warden power was being used on them, killing them as they ran, as they tried to comprehend what was happening.

  Below, the reserves were taking something of a beating from the power of the covens, but it wasn’t a hundred and sixty-nine witches to forty besils now, as it had been back in the witch village. It was more like twenty besils plus a dozen wuks and running, well-armed ground troops against thirteen witches in each case. It was costly to take them out, but even though they took half the attackers with them, the witches went down—went down and were mercilessly hacked to death.

  I put down the monocular and looked at Ti for a moment. She seemed to sense it and turned to look at me, the stricken and confused look on her face mirroring, I’m sure, my own.

  “The Lakks attacked the witches,” she said wonderingly. “The two sides joined up. Cal, what’s going on here? Have we been taken for suckers?”

  I shook my head dully. “No, honey. Well, yes, I guess we have. It’s kind of crushing, though, finally to understand all this. Damn!” I smacked my fist in my other hand. “I don’t know why I didn’t figure it out from the start—at least from a few days ago, when I had all the pieces.”

  “But they were fightin’ for us, weren’t they? They were gonna get us Zeis Keep!”

  I shook my head slowly and sadly and squeezed her hand. “Baby, I doubt if anybody down there gives a damn about us one way or the other. I doubt if they have since the decision was made to fight.” I let her go and smacked my fist in my left hand again. “Pawns!” I muttered. “God damn it! All this way, all this far —and still pawns!”

  She looked at me uncomprehendingly. “Wha …?”

  I sighed and got up. “Come on. Let’s take a nice long walk down to the Castle. Don’t worry. Nobody’s going to stop us or probably even notice our existence.”

  With Ti still confused, we started on down.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  First Lord of the Diamond

  The extent of the carnage was enormous. The massacre of the witches had been most thorough, more gruesome than any autopsy.

  It took over two hours to reach the Castle, and by that time even the mop-up had been completed. Yellow and red forces were methodically surveying the field, helping those who could be helped, cleaning up the debris. It would be a long, tough job.

  As I expected, Father Bronz and a number of others were sitting in wicker chairs outside the Castle’s gates, relaxing, eating, and drinking. I recognized Vola and her sister, Dola, Boss Rognival and the Ladies Tona and Kysil, and Master Artur. The others were not familiar to me but wore designs indicating they were of Zeis. One of them—a small, frail-looking man, bald and wizened—was dressed as elaborately in ornate silken tunic, heavy boots; he wore atop his head a tiara with a single large blue gem similar to, but not identical to, the one Rognival wore. Another man, dressed in a manner similar to the older, thin one but wearing mostly gold colors, as well as a wide-brimmed hat, relaxed nearby. He was an older man, with neatly trimmed gray beard, certainly once of the civilized worlds. Although he was many years my senior he looked to be in nearly perfect physical condition.

  Father Bronz spotted us. “Call Ti! Please come over!” he called pleasantly, and we did. Up close Bronz looked dead tired, and very, very old. He’s put on at least ten years this morning, I thought. Still, he rose wearily from his chair, took my hand warmly, then kissed Ti on the forehead. Only then did he turn and nod toward the others.

  “Some of these fine people you know,” he began, “but I don’t think you ever met Sir Honlon Tiel.” The thin old man nodded in my direction, and I could only stare at him. So that was the knight I was to take on, I thought glumly. The Boss of Zeis Keep. The Warden cells glowed more in Artur than in him.

  “The gentleman in gold there is Grand Duke Kobé,” Bronz continued, and the other also nodded. He also introduced the others, but they were all of Zeis’s ruling group. Then he turned back to me. “I assume you understand everything now?”

  “Pretty much,” I told him. “I can’t say it makes me happy to be used in such a way, though. I feel like the child promised the new toy he’s always wanted for his birthday, only to have nobody even come to his party, let alone getting the gift.”

  Bronz laughed. “Oh, come now! It’s not all that bad.”

  “Will somebody,” Ti interrupted in an even but slightly angry voice, “please tell me what the hell is going on here?”

  I looked at her and sighed. “Ti, may I present Marek Kreegan, Lord of Lilith, First Lord of the Diamond?”

  The fact that she gasped when Father Bronz bowed indicated she still had a lot to learn.

  The full explanation came later, after we’d bathed, changed, and sat down to a sumptuous feast in the great hall of the Castle. Ti still hadn’t recovered from the shock of Father Bronx’s true identity, but given that, she had managed to figure out the basics, I’ll give her that. And she was mad as hell.

  Still, I wanted to hear the tale from the man who had planned it all.

  “From the top, then,” agreed Marek Kreegan. “Of course, we had a problem. Lilith, as I told you long ago, is a rigid ecosystem “in which we humans play no part. Its economy is fragile, its ability to support a large population in the wild very much in doubt without Warden protection of the masses. The pawns don’t enjoy a wonderful life—but who does? The ruling class, always, that’s who. Because while everybody would love to be king, if everybody was a king there’d be no labor to support this monarch. The civilized worlds are no different, only thanks to technology on a massive scale the standard of living for their pawns is higher than is currently possible on Lilith.”

  “I still can’t see the masses on the civilized worlds as pawns with a privileged class,” I responded.

  His eyebrows rose. “Oh? Were you born in that body?”

  “You know I wasn’t,” I growled.

  “Exactly. The Merton Process, right? Potential immorality for anybody and everybody, right? But will the masses get it? Of course not! For the same reason that cures for the big three diseases that kill people have been withheld. We are at maximum and the frontier can expand only so fast. New planets take decades to develop, particularly to the point of self-sufficiency. Cal, no system can survive if its population doesn’t die. Nor is the Merton Process’ any cure-all, since you need a body for it. That means massive cloning—a couple of trillion clones. Ridiculous. They have to be raised and supported by some biomechanical means until needed. B
ut the leaders of the Confederacy, now—that’s a different matter. They’re already immunized against diseases people don’t even know are killing them. They get age-retardant processes like mad. And when they finally do wear out, they now have the Merton Process to keep ‘em going for an infinite number of cycles. The masses count, in Confederacy society, only in the plural. Masses. Averages. Everything’s an average. Only the elite get the plums. Exactly the same as here.”

  “I’ll agree with you to a point,” I admitted, “but leadership is available to those who wish it.”

  Again he laughed. “Really? You think so? You think you got where you were because of willpower and dedication? Hell, man, you were bred for it. They designed and manufactured you as they would any tool they needed, because they needed it. The same as they did me.”

  “But you crossed them up,” I noted. “That’s why you’re here.”

  He shrugged good-naturedly. “The trouble with their system is that their human tools have to be smart guys and they have to be thrown out into the cold, cruel world to do-their jobs. Eventually we wise up and have to be eliminated ourselves before we become a threat. That’s done by promotion to the inner circle—if they can fit you someplace—or sometimes by just having a junior knock you off. Hell, they can do it just by having you show up at the Security Clinic for normal processing, then instead of feeding you your past and what you need, reducing you to the common pawn vegetable with a nice little job as a widget monitor or something. I discovered this fact almost too late and mostly by accident, and I ran like hell.”

  “To Lilith,” I noted. “Why in heaven’s name Lilith?” Everybody at the table laughed at that, except of course the native-born.

  “I’m not going to tell you,” he responded. “At least not until we’ve gotten that damned organic transmitter removed from your skull and until you’ve been around enough to know whose side you’re really on.”