Eight Fantasms and Magics

by Jack Vance

  Two hours before sunset the First Folk were sighted across the downs. They seemed a very large company, moving in an undisciplined clot with a number of stragglers, forerunners and wanderers out on the flanks.

  The hotbloods from outside keeps came clamoring to Lord Faide, urging a charge to cut down the First Folk; they found no seconding voices among the veterans of the battle at the planting. Lord Faide, however, was pleased to see the dense mass of First Folk. “Let them approach only a mile more—and Hellmouth will take them! Jambart!”

  “At your call, Lord Faide.”

  “Come, Hellmouth speaks!" He strode away with Jambart after. Up to the cupola they climbed.

  “Roll forth Hellmouth, direct it against the savages!"

  Jambart leaped to the glistening array of wheels and levers. He hesitated in perplexity, then tentatively twisted a wheel. Hellmouth responded by twisting slowly around on its radial track, to the groan and chatter of long-frozen bearings. Lord Faide's brows lowered into a menacing line. “I hear evidence of neglect."

  “Neglect, my lord, never! Find one spot of rust, a shadow of grime, you may have me whipped!"

  “What of the sound?"

  “That is internal and invisible—none of my responsibility."

  Lord Faide said nothing. Hellmouth now pointed toward the great pale tide from Wildwood. Jambart twisted a second wheel and Hellmouth thrust forth its heavy snout. Lord Faide, in a voice harsh with anger, cried, “The cover, fool!"

  “An oversight, my lord, easily repaired." Jambart crawled out along the top of Hellmouth, clinging to the protuberances for dear life, with below only the long smooth sweep of roof. With considerable difficulty he tore the covering loose, then grunting and cursing, inched himself back, jerking with his knees, rearing his buttocks.

  The First Folk had slowed their pace a trifle, the main body only a half-mile distant.

  “Now," said Lord Faide in high excitement, “before they disperse, we exterminate them!" He sighted through a telescopic tube, squinting through the dimness of internal films and incrustations, signaled to Jambart for the final adjustments. “Now! Fire!"

  Jambart pulled the firing lever. Within the great metal barrel came a sputter of clicking sounds. Hellmouth whined, roared. Its snout glowed red, orange, white, and out poured a sudden gout of blazing purple radiation—which almost instantly died. Hellmouth’s barrel quivered with heat, fumed, seethed, hissed. From within came a faint pop. Then there was silence.

  A hundred yards in front of the First Folk a patch of moss burnt black where the bolt had struck. The aiming device was inaccurate. Hellmouth’s bolt had killed perhaps twenty of the First Folk vanguard.

  Lord Faide made feverish signals. “Quick! Raise the barrel. Now! Fire again!”

  Jambart pulled the firing arm, to no avail. He tried again, with the same lack of success. “Hellmouth evidently is tired.” “Hellmouth is dead,” cried Lord Faide. “You have failed me. Hellmouth is extinct.”

  “No, no,” protested Jambart. “Hellmouth rests! I nurse it as my own child! It is polished like glass! Whenever a section wears off or breaks loose, I neatly remove the fracture, and every trace of cracked glass.”

  Lord Faide threw up his arms, shouted in vast, inarticulate grief, ran below. “Huss! Hein Huss!”

  Hein Huss presented himself. “What is your will?” “Hellmouth has given up its fire. Conjure me more fire for Hellmouth, and quickly!”

  “Impossible.”

  “Impossible!” cried Lord Faide. “That is all I hear from you! Impossible, useless, impractical! You have lost your ability. I will consult Isak Comandore.”

  “Isak Comandore can put no more fire into Hellmouth than can I.”

  “What sophistry is this? He puts demons into men, surely he can put fire into Hellmouth!”

  “Come, Lord Faide, you are overwrought. You know the difference between jinxmanship and miracle working.”

  Lord Faide motioned to a servant. “Bring Isak Comandore here to me!”

  Isak Comandore, face haggard, skin waxy, limped into the courtyard. Lord Faide waved pre-emptorily. “I need your skill. You must restore fire to Hellmouth.”

  Comandore darted a quick glance at Hein Huss, who stood solid and cold. Comandore decided against dramatic promises that could not be fulfilled. “I cannot do this, my lord.” “What! You tell me this, too?”

  “Remark the difference, Lord Faide, between man and metal. A man’s normal state is something near madness; he is at all times balanced on a knife-edge between hysteria and apathy. His senses tell him far less of the world than he thinks they do. It is a simple trick to deceive a man, to possess him with a demon, to drive him out of his mind, to kill him. But metal is insensible; metal reacts only as its shape and condition dictates, or by the working of miracles.”

  “Then you must work miracles!”

  “Impossible.”

  Lord Faide drew a deep breath, collected himself. He walked swiftly across the court. “My armor, my horse. We attack.”

  The column formed, Lord Faide at the head. He led the knights through the portals, with armored footmen behind.

  “Beware the foam!” called Lord Faide. “Attack, strike, cut, draw back. Keep your visors drawn against the wasps! Each man must kill a hundred! Attack!”

  The troop rode forth against the horde of First Folk, knights in the lead. The hooves of the horses pounded softly over the thick moss; in the west the large pale sun hung close to the horizon.

  Two hundred yards from the First Folk the knights touched the club-headed horses into a lope. They raised their swords, and shouting, plunged forward, each man seeking to be first. The clotted mass of First Folk separated: black beetles darted forth and after them long segmented centipede creatures. They dashed among the horses, mandibles clicking, snouts slashing. Horses screamed, reared, fell over backwards; beetles cut open armored knights as a dog cracks a bone. Lord Faide’s horse threw him and ran away; he picked himself up, hacked at a nearby beetle, lopped off its front leg. It darted forward, he lopped off the leg opposite; the heavy head dipped, tore up the moss. Lord Faide cut off the remaining legs, and it lay helpless.

  “Retreat,” he bellowed. “Retreat!”

  The knights moved back, slashing and hacking at beetles and centipedes, killing or disabling all which attacked.

  “Form into a double line, knights and men. Advance slowly, supporting each other!”

  The men advanced. The First Folk dispersed to meet them, armed with their thorn-swords and carrying pouches. Ten yards from the men they reached into the pouches, brought dark balls which they threw at the men. The balls broke and spattered on the armor.

  “Charge!” bawled Lord Faide. The men sprang forward into the mass of First Folk, cutting, slashing, killing. “Kill!” called Lord Faide in exultation. “Leave not one alive!”

  A pang struck him, a sting inside his armor, followed by another and another. Small things crawled inside the metal, stinging, biting, crawling. He looked about: on all sides were harassed expressions, faces working in anguish. Sword arms fell limp as hands beat on the metal, futilely trying to scratch, rub. Two men suddenly began to tear off their armor.

  “Retreat,” cried Lord Faide. “Back to the keep!”

  The retreat was a rout, the soldiers shedding articles of armor as they ran. After them came a flight of wasps—a dozen of more, and half as many men cried out as the poison prongs struck into their backs.

  Inside the keep stormed the disorganized company, casting aside the last of their armor, slapping their skin, scratching, rubbing, crushing the ferocious red mites that infested them.

  “Close the gates,” roared Lord Faide.

  The gates slid shut. Faide Keep was besieged.

  XII

  During the night the First Folk surrounded the keep, forming a ring fifty yards from the walls. All night there was motion, ghostly shapes coming and going in the starlight.

  Lord Faide watched from a parapet until midn
ight, with Hein Huss at his side. Repeatedly, he asked, “What of the other keeps? Do they send further reinforcements?” to which Hein Huss each time gave the same reply: “There is confusion and doubt. The keep-lords are anxious to help but do not care to throw themselves away. At this moment they consider and take stock of the situation.”

  Lord Faide at last left the parapet, signaling Hein Huss to follow. He went to his trophy room, threw himself into a chair, motioned Hein Huss to be seated. For a moment he fixed the jinxman with a cool, calculating stare. Hein Huss bore the appraisal without discomfort.

  “You are Head Jinxman,” said Lord Faide finally. “For twenty years you have worked spells, cast hoodoos, performed auguries—more effectively than any other jinxman of Pangborn. But now I find you inept and listless. Why is this?”

  “I am neither inept nor listless. I am unable to achieve beyond my abilities. I do not know how to work miracles. For this you must consult my apprentice Sam Salazar, who does not know either, but who earnestly tries every possibility and many impossibilities.”

  “You believe in this nonsense yourself! Before my very eyes you become a mystic!”

  Hein Huss shrugged. “There are limitations to my knowledge. Miracles occur—that we know. The relics of our ancestors lie everywhere. Their methods were supernatural, repellent to our own mental processes—but think! Using these same methods the First Folk threaten to destroy us. In the place of metal they use living flesh—but the result is similar. The men of Pangborn, if they assemble and accept casualties, can drive the First Folk back to Wildwood—but for how long? A year? Ten years? The First Folk plant new trees, dig more traps—and presently come forth again, with more terrible weapons: flying beetles, large as a horse; wasps strong enough' to pierce armor, lizards to scale the walls of Faide Keep.”

  Lord Faide pulled at his chin. “And the jinxmen are helpless?”

  “You saw for yourself. Isak Comandore intruded enough into their consciousness to anger them, no more.”

  “So then—what must we do?”

  Hein Huss held out his hands. “I do not know. I am Hein Huss, jinxman. I watch Sam Salazar with fascination. He learns nothing, but he is either too stupid or too intelligent to be discouraged. If this is the way to work miracles, he will work them."

  Lord Faide rose to his feet. "I am deathly tired. I cannot think, I must sleep. Tomorrow we will know more."

  Hein Huss left the trophy room, returned to the parapet. The ring of First Folk seemed closer to the walls, almost within dart-range. Behind them and across the moors stretched a long pale column of marching First Folk. A little back from the keep a pile of white material began to grow, larger and larger as the night proceeded.

  Hours passed, the sky lightened; the sun rose in the east. The First Folk tramped the downs like ants, bringing long bars of hardened foam down from the north, dropping them into piles around the keep, returning into the north once more.

  Lord Faide came up on the parapet, haggard and unshaven. “What is this? What do they do?"

  Bernard the sergeant responded. “They puzzle us all, my lord."

  “Hein Huss! What of the other keeps?"

  “They have armed and mounted; they approach cautiously."

  “Can you communicate our urgency?"

  “I can, and I have done so. I have only accentuated their caution."

  “Bah!" cried Lord Faide in disgust. “Warriors they call themselves! Loyal and faithful allies!"

  “They know of your bitter experience," said Hein Huss. “They ask themselves, reasonably enough, what they can accomplish which you who are already here cannot do first."

  Lord Faide laughed sourly. “I have no answer for them. In the meantime we must protect ourselves against the wasps. Armor is useless; they drive us mad with mites. . . . Bernard!"

  “Yes, Lord Faide.”

  “Have each of your men construct a frame two-feet square, fixed with a short handle. To these frames should be sewed a net of heavy mesh. When these frames are built we will sally forth, two soldiers to guard one half-armored knight on foot.”

  “In the meantime,” said Hein Huss, “the First Folk proceed with their plans.”

  Lord Faide turned to watch. The First Folk came close up under the walls carrying rods of hardened foam. “Bernard! Put your archers to work! Aim for the heads!”

  Along the walls bowmen cocked their weapons. Darts spun down into the First Folk. A few were affected, turned and staggered away; others plucked away the bolts without concern. Another flight of bolts, a few more First Folk were disabled. The others planted the rods in the moss, exuded foam in great gushes, their back-flaps vigorously pumping air. Other First Folk brought more rods, pushed them into the foam. Entirely around the keep, close under the walls, extended the mound of foam. The ring of First Folk now came close and all gushed foam; it bulked up swiftly. More rods were brought, thrust into the foam, reinforcing and stiffening the mass.

  “More darts!” barked Lord Faide. “Aim for the heads! Bernard—your men, have they prepared the wasp nets?”

  “Not yet, Lord Faide. The project requires some little time.”

  Lord Faide became silent. The foam, now ten feet high, rapidly piled higher. Lord Faide turned to Hein Huss. “What do they hope to achieve?”

  Hein Huss shook his head. “For the moment I am uncertain.”

  The first layer of foam had hardened; on top of this the First Folk spewed another layer, reinforcing again with the rods, crisscrossing, horizontal and vertical. Fifteen minutes later, when the second layer was hard the First Folk emplaced and mounted rude ladders to raise a third layer. Surrounding the keep now was a ring of foam thirty feet high and forty feet thick at the base.

  “Look,” said Hein Huss. He pointed up. The parasol roof overhanging the walls ended only thirty feet above the foam. “A few more layers and they will reach the roof.”

  “So then?” asked Lord Faide. “The roof is as strong as the walls.”

  “And we will be sealed within."

  Lord Faide studied the foam in the light of this new thought. Already the First Folk, climbing laboriously up ladders along the outside face of their wall of foam, were preparing to lay on a fourth layer. First—rods, stiff and dry, then great gushes of white. Only twenty feet remained between roof and foam.

  Lord Faide turned to the sergeant. “Prepare the men to sally forth."

  “What of the wasp nets, sir?"

  “Are they almost finished?"

  “Another ten minutes, sir."

  “Another ten minutes will see us smothering. We must force a passage through the foam."

  Ten minutes passed, and fifteen. The First Folk created ramps behind their wall: first, dozens of the rods, then foam, and on top, to distribute the weight, reed mats.

  Bernard the sergeant reported to Lord Faide. “We are ready."

  “Good." Lord Faide descended into the courtyard. He faced the men, gave them their orders. “Move quickly, but stay together; we must not lose ourselves in the foam. As we proceed, slash ahead and to the sides. The First Folk see through the foam; they have the advantage of us. When we break through, we use the wasp nets. Two foot soldiers must guard each knight. Remember, quickly through the foam, that we do not smother. Open the gates."

  The gates slid back, the troops marched forth. They faced an unbroken blank wall of foam. No enemy could be seen.

  Lord Faide waved his sword. “Into the foam." He strode forward, pushed into the white mass, now crisp and brittle and harder than he had bargained for. It resisted him; he cut and hacked. His troops joined him, carving a way into the foam. First Folk appeared above them, crawling carefully on the mats. Their back flaps puffed, pumped; foam issued from their vents, falling in a cascade over the troops.

  Hein Huss sighed. He spoke to Apprentice Sam Salazar. “Now they must retreat, otherwise they smother. If they fail to win through, we all smother."

  Even as he spoke the foam, piling up swiftly, in places reached t
he roof. Below, bellowing and cursing, Lord Faide backed out from under, wiped his face clear. Once again, in desperation, he charged forward, trying at a new spot.

  The foam was friable and cut easily, but the chunks detached still blocked the opening. And again down tumbled a cascade of foam, covering the soldiers.

  Lord Faide retreated, waved his men back into the keep. At the same moment First Folk crawling on mats on the same level as the parapet over the gate laid rods up from the foam to rest against the projecting edge of the roof. They gushed foam; the view of the sky was slowly blocked from the view of Hein Huss and Sam Salazar.

  “In an hour, perhaps two, we will die,” said Hein Huss. “They have now sealed us in. There are many men here in the keep, and all will now breathe deeply.”

  Sam Salazar said nervously, “There is a possibility we might be able to survive—or at least not smother.”

  “Ah?” inquired Hein Huss with heavy sarcasm. “You plan to work a miracle?”

  “If a miracle, the most trivial sort. I observed that water has no effect on the foam, nor a number of other liquids: milk, spirits, wine, or caustic. Vinegar, however, instantly dissolves the foam.”

  “Aha,” said Hein Huss. “We must inform Lord Faide.” “Better that you do so,” said Sam Salazar. “He will pay me no heed.”

  XIII

  Half an hour passed. Light filtered into Faide Keep only as a dim gray gloom. Air tasted flat, damp, and heavy. Out from the gates sallied the troops. Each carried a crock, a jug, a skin, or a pan containing strong vinegar. “Quickly now,” called Lord Faide, “but careful! Spare the

  vinegar, don’t throw it wildly. In close formation now—forward.”

  The soldiers approached the wall, threw ladles of vinegar ahead. The foam crackled, melted.

  “Waste no vinegar,” shouted Lord Faide. “Forward, quickly now; bring forward the vinegar!”

  Minutes later they burst out upon the downs. The First Folk stared at them, blinking.

  “Charge,” croaked Lord Faide, his throat thick with fumes. “Mind now, wasp nets! Two soldiers to each knight! Charge, double-quick. Kill the white beasts.”