The Jack Vance Treasury

by Jack Vance

  “There is a significant indication,” said Joaz. “The Basics revisit Aerlith and ravage us at their pleasure. We have seen no men visiting except those who serve the Basics.”

  “‘Men’?” Carcolo demanded scornfully. “I call them something else. Nevertheless, this is no more than a deduction, and we are ignorant as to the course of history. Perhaps Basics rule the cluster; perhaps they plague us only because we are weak and weaponless. Perhaps we are the last men; perhaps the Old Rule is resurgent. And never forget that many years have elapsed since the Basics last appeared on Aerlith.”

  “Many years have elapsed since Aerlith and Coralyne were in such convenient apposition.”

  Carcolo made an impatient gesture. “A supposition, which may or may not be relevant. Let me explain the basic axiom of my proposal. It is simple enough. I feel that Banbeck Vale and Happy Valley are too small a compass for men such as ourselves. We deserve larger scope.”

  Joaz agreed. “I wish it were possible to ignore the practical difficulties involved.”

  “I am able to suggest a method to counter these difficulties,” asserted Carcolo.

  “In that case,” said Joaz, “power, glory and wealth are as good as ours.”

  Carcolo glanced at him sharply, slapped his breeches with the gold-beaded tassel to his scabbard. “Reflect,” he said. “The sacerdotes inhabited Aerlith before us. How long no one can say. It is a mystery. In fact, what do we know of the sacerdotes? Next to nothing. They trade their metal and glass for our food, they live in deep caverns, their creed is disassociation, reverie, detachment, whatever one may wish to call it—totally incomprehensible to one such as myself.” He challenged Joaz with a look; Joaz merely fingered his long chin. “They put themselves forward as simple metaphysical cultists; actually they are a very mysterious people. Has anyone yet seen a sacerdote woman? What of the blue lights, what of the lightning towers, what of the sacerdote magic? What of weird comings and goings by night, what of strange shapes moving across the sky, perhaps to other planets?”

  “The tales exist, certainly,” said Joaz. “As to the degree of credence to be placed in them—”

  “Now we reach the meat of my proposal!” declared Ervis Carcolo. “The creed of the sacerdotes apparently forbids shame, inhibition, fear, regard for consequence. Hence, they are forced to answer any question put to them. Nevertheless, creed or no creed, they completely befog any information an assiduous man is able to wheedle from them.”

  Joaz inspected him curiously. “Evidently you have made the attempt.”

  Ervis Carcolo nodded. “Yes. Why should I deny it? I have questioned three sacerdotes with determination and persistence. They answered all my questions with gravity and calm reflection, but told me nothing.” He shook his head in vexation. “Therefore, I suggest that we apply coercion.”

  “You are a brave man.”

  Carcolo shook his head modestly. “I would dare no direct measures. But they must eat. If Banbeck Vale and Happy Valley co-operate, we can apply a very cogent persuasion: hunger. Presently their words may be more to the point.”

  Joaz considered a moment or two. Ervis Carcolo twitched his scabbard tassel. “Your plan,” said Joaz at last, “is not a frivolous one, and is ingenious—at least at first glance. What sort of information do you hope to secure? In short, what are your ultimate aims?”

  Carcolo sidled close, prodded Joaz with his forefinger. “We know nothing of the outer worlds. We are marooned on this miserable world of stone and wind while life passes us by. You assume that Basics rule the cluster, but suppose you are wrong? Suppose the Old Rule has returned? Think of the rich cities, the gay resorts, the palaces, the pleasure-islands! Look up into the night sky, ponder the bounties which might be ours! You ask how can we implement these desires? I respond, the process may be so simple that the sacerdotes will reveal it without reluctance.”

  “You mean—”

  “Communication with the worlds of men! Deliverance from this lonely little world at the edge of the universe!”

  Joaz Banbeck nodded dubiously. “A fine vision, but the evidence suggests a situation far different, namely the destruction of man, and the Human Empire.”

  Carcolo held out his hands in a gesture of open-minded tolerance. “Perhaps you are right. But why should we not make inquiries of the sacerdotes? Concretely I propose as follows: that you and I agree to the mutual cause I have outlined. Next, we request an audience with the Demie Sacerdote. We put our questions. If he responds freely, well and good. If he evades, then we act in mutuality. No more food to the sacerdotes until they tell us plainly what we want to hear.”

  “Other valleys, vales, and gulches exist,” said Joaz thoughtfully.

  Carcolo made a brisk gesture. “We can deter any such trade by persuasion or by the power of our dragons.”

  “The essence of your idea appeals to me,” said Joaz, “but I fear that all is not so simple.”

  Carcolo rapped his thigh smartly with the tassel. “And why not?”

  “In the first place, Coralyne shines bright in the sky. This is our first concern. Should Coralyne pass, should the Basics not attack—then is the time to pursue this matter. Again—and perhaps more to the point—I doubt that we can starve the sacerdotes into submission. In fact, I think it highly unlikely. I will go farther. I consider it impossible.”

  Carcolo blinked. “In what wise?”

  “They walk naked through sleet and storm; do you think they fear hunger? And there is wild lichen to be gathered. How could we forbid this? You might dare some sort of coercion, but not I. The tales told of the sacerdotes may be no more than superstition—or they may be understatement.”

  Ervis Carcolo heaved a deep disgusted sigh. “Joaz Banbeck, I took you for a man of decision. But you merely pick flaws.”

  “These are not flaws, they are major errors which would lead to disaster.”

  “Well then. Do you have any suggestions of your own?”

  Joaz fingered his chin. “If Coralyne recedes and we are still on Aerlith—rather than in the hold of the Basic ship—then let us plan to plunder the secrets of the sacerdotes. In the meantime I strongly recommend that you prepare Happy Valley against a new raid. You are over-extended, with your new brooders and barracks. Let them rest, while you dig yourself secure tunnels!”

  Ervis Carcolo stared straight across Banbeck Vale. “I am not a man to defend. I attack!”

  “You will attack heat-beams and ion-rays with your dragons?”

  Ervis Carcolo turned his gaze back to Joaz Banbeck. “Can I consider us allies in the plan I have proposed?”

  “In its broadest principles, certainly. However I don’t care to co-operate in starving or otherwise coercing the sacerdotes. It might be dangerous, as well as futile.”

  For an instant Carcolo could not control his detestation of Joaz Banbeck; his lip curled, his hands clenched. “Danger? Pah! What danger from a handful of naked pacifists?”

  “We do not know that they are pacifists. We do know that they are men.”

  Carcolo once more became brightly cordial. “Perhaps you are right. But—essentially at least—we are allies.”

  “To a degree.”

  “Good. I suggest that in the case of the attack you fear, we act together, with a common strategy.”

  Joaz nodded distantly. “This might be effective.”

  “Let us coordinate our plans. Let us assume that the Basics drop down into Banbeck Vale. I suggest that your folk take refuge in Happy Valley, while the Happy Valley army joins with yours to cover their retreat. And likewise, should they attack Happy Valley, my people will take refuge in Banbeck Vale.”

  Joaz laughed in sheer amusement. “Ervis Carcolo, what sort of lunatic do you take me for? Return to your valley, put aside your foolish grandiosities, dig yourself protection. And fast! Coralyne is bright!”

  Carcolo stood stiffly. “Do I understand that you reject my offer of alliance?”

  “Not at all. But I cannot undertake
to protect you and your people if you will not help yourselves. Meet my requirements, satisfy me that you are a fit ally—then we shall speak further of alliance.”

  Ervis Carcolo whirled on his heel, signaled to Bast Givven and the two young fuglemen. With no further word or glance he mounted his splendid Spider, goaded him into a sudden leaping run across the Verge, and up the slope toward Starbreak Fell. His men followed, somewhat less precipitously.

  Joaz watched them go, shaking his head in sad wonder. Then, mounting his own Spider, he returned down the trail to the floor of Banbeck Vale.

  Chapter V

  The long Aerlith day, equivalent to six of the old Diurnal Units, passed. In Happy Valley there was grim activity, a sense of purpose and impending decision. The dragons exercised in tighter formation, the fuglemen and cornets called orders with harsher voices. In the armory bullets were cast, powder mixed, swords ground and honed.

  Ervis Carcolo drove himself with dramatic bravado, wearing out Spider after Spider as he sent his dragons through various evolutions. In the case of the Happy Valley forces, these were for the most part Termagants—small active dragons with rust-red scales, narrow darting heads, chisel-sharp fangs. Their brachs were strong and well-developed: they used lance, cutlass or mace with equal skill. A man pitted against a Termagant stood no chance, for the scales warded off bullets as well as any blow the man might have strength enough to deal. On the other hand a single slash of fang, the rip of a scythe-like claw, meant death to the man.

  The Termagants were fecund and hardy and throve even under the conditions which existed in the Happy Valley brooders; hence their predominance in Carcolo’s army. This was a situation not to the liking of Bast Givven, Chief Dragon Master, a spare wiry man with a flat crooked-nosed face, eyes black and blank as drops of ink on a plate. Habitually terse and tight-lipped, he waxed almost eloquent in opposition to the attack upon Banbeck Vale. “Look you, Ervis Carcolo, we are able to deploy a horde of Termagants, with sufficient Striding Murderers and Long-horned Murderers. But Blue Horrors, Fiends and Juggers—no! We are lost if they trap us on the fells!”

  “I do not plan to fight on the fells,” said Carcolo. “I will force battle upon Joaz Banbeck. His Juggers and Fiends are useless on the cliffs. And in the matter of Blue Horrors we are almost his equal.”

  “You overlook a single difficulty,” said Bast Givven.

  “And what is this?”

  “The improbability that Joaz Banbeck plans to permit all this. I allow him greater intelligence.”

  “Show me evidence!” charged Carcolo. “What I know of him suggests vacillation and stupidity! So we will strike—hard!” Carcolo smacked fist into palm. “Thus we will finish the haughty Banbecks!”

  Bast Givven turned to go; Carcolo wrathfully called him back. “You show no enthusiasm for this campaign!”

  “I know what our army can do and what it cannot do,” said Givven bluntly. “If Joaz Banbeck is the man you think he is, we might succeed. If he has even the sagacity of a pair of grooms I listened to ten minutes ago, we face disaster.”

  In a voice thick with rage, Carcolo said, “Return to your Fiends and Juggers. I want them quick as Termagants.”

  Bast Givven went his way. Carcolo jumped on a nearby Spider, kicked it with his heels. The creature sprang forward, halted sharply, twisted its long neck about to look Carcolo in the face. Carcolo cried, “Hust, hust! Forward at speed, smartly now! Show these louts what snap and spirit mean!” The Spider jumped ahead with such vehemence that Carcolo tumbled over backward, landing on his neck, where he lay groaning. Grooms came running, assisted him to a bench where he sat cursing in a steady low voice. A surgeon examined, pressed, prodded, recommended that Carcolo take to his couch, and administered a sedative potion.

  Carcolo was carried to his apartments beneath the west wall of Happy Valley, placed under the care of his wives, and so slept for twenty hours. When he awoke the day was half gone. He wished to arise, but found himself too stiff to move, and groaning, lay back. Presently he called for Bast Givven, who appeared and listened without comment to Carcolo’s adjurations.

  Evening arrived; the dragons returned to the barracks. There was nothing to do now but wait for daybreak.

  During the long night Carcolo underwent a variety of treatments: massage, hot baths, infusions, poultices. He exercised with diligence, and as the night reached its end, he declared himself fit. Overhead the star Coralyne vibrated poisonous colors: red, green, white, by far the brightest star of the cluster. Carcolo refused to look up at the star, but its radiance struck through the corners of his eyes whenever he walked on the valley floor.

  Dawn approached. Carcolo planned to march at the earliest moment the dragons were manageable. A flickering to the east told of the oncoming dawn storm, still invisible across the horizon. With great caution the dragons were mustered from their barracks and ordered into a marching column. There were almost three hundred Termagants; eighty-five Striding Murderers; as many Long-horned Murderers; a hundred Blue Horrors; fifty-two squat, immensely powerful Fiends, their tails tipped with spiked steel balls; eighteen Juggers. They growled and muttered evilly among themselves, watching an opportunity to kick each other or to snip a leg from an unwary groom. Darkness stimulated their latent hatred for humanity, though they had been taught nothing of their past, nor the circumstances by which they had become enslaved.

  The dawn lightning blazed and crackled, outlining the vertical steeples, the astonishing peaks of the Malheur Mountains. Overhead passed the storm, with wailing gusts of wind and thrashing banks of rain moving on toward Banbeck Vale. The east glowed with a gray-green pallor, and Carcolo gave the signal to march. Still stiff and sore he hobbled to his Spider, mounted, ordered the creature into a special and dramatic curvet. Carcolo had miscalculated; malice of the night still gripped the mind of the dragon. It ended its curvet with a lash of the neck which once again dashed Carcolo to the ground, where he lay half-mad with pain and frustration.

  He tried to rise, collapsed; tried again, fainted. Five minutes he lay unconscious, then seemed to rouse himself by sheer force of will. “Lift me,” he whispered huskily. “Tie me into the saddle. We must march.” This being manifestly impossible, no one made a move. Carcolo raged, finally called hoarsely for Bast Givven. “Proceed; we cannot stop now. You must lead the troops.”

  Givven nodded glumly. This was an honor for which he had no stomach.

  “You know the battle-plan,” wheezed Carcolo. “Circle north of the Fang, cross the Skanse with all speed, swing north around Blue Crevasse, then south along Banbeck Verge. There Joaz Banbeck may be expected to discover you. You must deploy so that when he brings up his Juggers you can topple them back with Fiends. Avoid committing our Juggers, harry him with Termagants; reserve the Murderers to strike wherever he reaches the edge. Do you understand me?”

  “As you explain it, victory is certain,” muttered Bast Givven.

  “And so it is, unless you blunder grievously. Ah, my back! I can’t move. While the great battle rages I must sit by the brooder and watch eggs hatch! Now go! Strike hard for Happy Valley!”

  Givven gave an order; the troops set forth. Termagants darted into the lead, followed by silken Striding Murderers and the heavier Long-horned Murderers, their fantastic chest-spikes tipped with steel. Behind came the ponderous Juggers, grunting, gurgling, teeth clashing together with the vibration of their steps. Flanking the Juggers marched the Fiends, carrying heavy cutlasses, flourishing their terminal steel balls as a scorpion carries his sting; then at the rear came the Blue Horrors, who were both massive and quick, good climbers, no less intelligent than the Termagants. To the flanks rode a hundred men: dragon masters, knights, fuglemen and cornets. They were armed with swords, pistols and large-bore blunderbusses.

  Carcolo, on a stretcher, watched till the last of his forces had passed from view, then commanded himself carried back to the portal which led into the Happy Valley caves. Never before had the caves seemed so dingy and s
hallow. Sourly he eyed the straggle of huts along the cliff, built of rock, slabs of resin-impregnated lichen, canes bound with tar. With the Banbeck campaign at an end, he would set about cutting new chambers and halls into the cliff. The splendid decorations of Banbeck Village were well-known; Happy Valley would be even more magnificent. The halls would glow with opal and nacre, silver and gold…and yet, to what end? If events went as planned, there was his great dream in prospect. And then, what consequence a few paltry decorations in the tunnels of Happy Valley?

  Groaning, he allowed himself to be laid on his couch and entertained himself picturing the progress of his troops. By now they should be working down from Dangle Ridge, circling the mile-high Fang. He tentatively stretched his arms, worked his legs. His muscles protested, pain shot back and forth along his body—but it seemed as if the injuries were less than before. By now the army would be mounting the ramparts which rimmed that wide area of upland fell known as the Skanse. The surgeon brought Carcolo a potion; he drank and slept, to awake with a start. What was the time? His troops might well have joined battle!

  He ordered himself carried to the outer portal; then, still dissatisfied, commanded his servants to transport him across the valley to the new dragon brooder, the walkway of which commanded a view up and down the valley. Despite the protests of his wives, here he was conveyed, and made as comfortable as bruises and sprains permitted.

  He settled himself for an indeterminate wait, but news was not long in coming.

  Down the North Trail came a cornet on a foam-bearded Spider. Carcolo sent a groom to intercept him, and heedless of aches and pains raised himself from his couch. The cornet threw himself off his mount, staggered up the ramp, sagged exhausted against the rail.

  “Ambush!” he panted. “Bloody disaster!”

  “Ambush?” groaned Carcolo in a hollow voice. “Where?”

  “As we mounted the Skanse Ramparts. They waited till our Termagants and Murderers were over, then charged with Horrors, Fiends and Juggers. They cut us apart, drove us back, then rolled boulders on our Juggers! Our army is broken!”