by Jack Vance
"What of Imboden? Has he not been slave thirty years?"
"Ten years ago they were up. For us Imboden poses as a free man and a Ska; the Ska consider him a high-caste Skaling. He is a bitter and lonely man; his problems have made him strange and queer."
One evening as Aillas and Yane supped on bread and soup, Aillas spoke of Cyprian's preoccupation with escape. "Whenever I talk to him the subject seems to come up."
Yane responded with a grunt of sour amusement. "That habit has been noticed elsewhere."
"Perhaps it is only wistful daydreaming, or the like."
"Possibly so. Still, if I planned to depart Castle Sank in haste, I would not first notify Cyprian."
"To do so would seem a pointless courtesy. Especially since now I know how to escape Castle Sank, despite horses, dogs and Cyprian."
Yane looked at him sidelong. "That is valuable information. Do you plan to share it?"
"In due course. What rivers flow nearby?"
"There is only one of consequence: River Malkish, about three miles south. Escapers always make for this river, but it traps them. If they try to float down to the sea, they are drowned in the cataracts. If they wade upstream, dogs search each bank of the river and in due course pick up the trail. The river is a false ally; the Ska know it better than we do."
Aillas nodded and said no more. Thereafter, in his conversations with Cyprian he spoke of escape only in terms of theory, and Cyprian presently lost interest in the subject.
Up to the age of eleven or twelve Ska girls looked and acted like boys. Thereafter they altered, inevitably and properly. Young men and maidens mingled freely, controlled by the formality which regulated all Ska conduct at least as effectively as vigilant chaperonage.
At Castle Sank on sunny afternoons the young folk resorted to the garden terrace at the south side of the castle, where, according to their mood they played chess or backgammon, ate pomegranates, bantered with each other in the careful manner which other races thought dull, or watched as one among them challenged that perverse engine known as the hurlo-thrumbo. This device, intended for the training of swordsmen, that they might learn deftness and accuracy, dealt the clumsy challenger a mighty buffet if he failed to thrust into a small swinging target. Lord Alvicx, who was vain in his swordsmanship, considered himself expert in the game of outwitting the hurlo-thrumbo, and was always ready to demonstrate his skill, especially when Lady Tatzel brought her friends out upon the terrace.
To dramatize his grace and artistry he had developed a reckless foot-stamping style of attack which he embellished with flourishes of the sword and ancient Ska war cries.
On one such afternoon two of Alvicx's friends had already been discomfited by the machine, with nothing to show for their exercise save sore heads. Shaking his own head in mock-commiseration, Lord Alvicx took a sword from the table and set upon the machine, uttering guttural cries, leaping forward and back, ducking and thrusting, reviling the machine. "Ah, you whirling devil! Strike out at me, would you? Then what about this? And this? Oh, the treachery! Once again! In and out!" As he sprang backward he toppled a marble urn which broke into shards on the flagstones.
Tatzel called out: "Well struck, Alvicx! With your awful rump you have destroyed your victim!"
Her friends looked away and into the sky with that faint smile which served Ska in the place of laughter.
Sir Kel, the seneschal, observing the damage, notified Imboden, who instructed Cyprian. In due course Aillas was sent to remove the broken urn. He rolled a small barrow out upon the terrace, loaded aboard the marble shards, then swept up the dirt with a broom and a pan.
Alvicx once again engaged the hurlo-thrumbo with more energy than ever, and so tripped over the barrow, to fall among the shards and dirt. Aillas had gone down upon his knees to sweep up the last of the dirt. Alvicx jumped erect and kicked Aillas on the buttocks.
For a second Aillas remained rigid, then restraint dissolved. Rising to his feet he shoved Alvicx into the hurlo-thrumbo, which caused the padded arm to swing about and deal its usual blow upon the side of Alvicx's face.
Alvicx flourished his sword in a circle. "Villain!" He thrust at Aillas, who ducked back and seized a sword from the table. He fended off Alvicx's second thrust, then countered with such ferocity that Alvicx was forced back across the terrace. The situation was unprecedented; how could a Skaling outmatch the superb and skillful Alvicx? Across the terrace they moved, Alvicx trying to attack but constantly put on the defensive by his opponent's skill. He lunged; Aillas flicked aside his blade and backed Alvicx over the balustrade with the point of his sword pressing against Alvicx's throat.
"If this were the battlefield I could have killed you—easily," spoke Aillas in a voice tense with passion. "Be grateful that now I only trifle with you."
Aillas drew back the sword, replaced it on the table. He looked around the group and his eyes met those of the Lady Tatzel. For a moment their gazes remained in contact, then Aillas turned away and, righting the barrow, once again began to load it with pieces of the marble.
Alvicx watched brooding from across the terrace. He made his decision and signaled to a Ska guard. "Take this cur out behind the stable and kill him."
From a balcony overlooking the terrace Duke Luhalcx spoke. "That command, Lord Alvicx, does you no credit, and shames both the honor of our house and the justice of our race. I suggest that you rescind it."
Alvicx stared up at his father. Slowly he turned and spoke in a wooden voice: "Guards, ignore my order."
He bowed to his sister and their various guests, who had stood by in frozen-faced fascination; then he marched from the terrace. Aillas returned to the barrow, finished loading the shards, while Lady Tatzel and her friends conducted a muted conversation, watching him from the corner of their eyes. Aillas paid them no heed. He swept the last of the soil from the flagstones, then wheeled the barrow away.
Cyprian communicated his opinion of the affair with a single sad-eyed grimace of reproach, and at supper sat pointedly alone, with his face turned to the door.
Yane spoke to Aillas in low tones. "Is it true that you stabbed Alvicx with his own sword?"
"Not at all! I fenced with him a moment or two; I touched him with my point. It was no great affair."
"Not for you. For Alvicx it is shame, and so you will suffer."
"In what way?"
Yane laughed. "He hasn't yet made up his mind."
Chapter 23
THE MAIN HALL AT CASTLE SANK extended from a formal parlor at the western end to a retiring room for visiting ladies at the east. Along the way tall narrow portals opened into various halls and chambers, including the Repository, in which were collected curios, clan honors, trophies of battle and engagements at sea, sacred objects. On shelves stood books bound in leather, or sheets of beechwood. One wide wall displayed ancestral portraits, burned into panels of bleached birch by the strokes of a red-hot needle. The technique had never altered; the face of a post-glacial chieftain showed lineaments as keen as the portrait of Duke Luhalcx, limned five years before.
In niches beside the entrance stood a pair of sphinxes carved from blocks of black diorite: the Tronen, or fetishes of the house. Once each week Aillas washed the Tronen, using warm water, mixed with milkweed sap.
Midway through the morning Aillas washed the Tronen and wiped them dry with a soft cloth. Looking along the hall, he saw approaching the Lady Tatzel, slender as a wand in a dark green gown. Black hair bounced beside her intent pale face. She passed Aillas unheeding, leaving in her wake a breath of vaguely floral scent, suggesting the damp herbs of primeval Norway.
A few moments later she returned from her errand. Passing Aillas she halted, then came back, stopped and studied him, detail by detail.
Aillas looked up briefly, scowled and continued with his work. Tatzel satisfied her curiosity and turned to go her way. First she spoke in the most limpid of voices: "With your brown hair I would take you for a Celt. Still, you look somewhat less coarse."
Again
Aillas glanced at her. "I am Troice."
Tatzel hesitated on her going. "Troice, Celt, whatever you may be: have done with wildness: intractable slaves are gelded." Aillas stopped his work, limp with outrage. Slowly he rose to his feet, and drawing a deep breath managed to speak in a controlled voice. "I am no slave. I am a nobleman of Troicinet held captive by a tribe of bandits."
Tatzel's mouth drooped and she turned as if to leave. But she paused. "The world has taught us fury; otherwise we would yet be in Norway. If you were Ska, you too would take all others either for enemy or slave; there is no one else. So it must be, and so you must submit."
"Look at me," said Aillas. "Do you take me for one to submit?"
"Already you have Submitted."
"I submit now so that later I may bring a Troice army to take down Castle Sank stone by stone, and then you will think with a different logic."
Tatzel laughed, tossed her head and proceeded down the hall. In a storage chamber. Aillas encountered Yane. "Castle Sank is becoming oppressive," said Aillas. "I will be gelded unless I mend my ways."
"Alvicx is already selecting a knife."
"In that case, it is time to leave."
Yane looked over his shoulder; they were alone. "Any time is a good time, were it not for the dogs."
"The dogs can be fooled. The problem is how to evade Cyprian long enough to reach the river."
"The dogs won't be fooled by the river."
"If I can escape the castle, I can escape the dogs."
Yane pulled at his chin. "Let me consider the problem."
Over their supper Yane said: "There is a way to leave the castle. But we must take another man with us."
"Who is that?"
"His name is Cargus. He works as undercook in the kitchen."
"Can he be trusted?"
"No more and no less than you or I. What about the dogs?"
"We will need half an hour in the carpenter's shed."
"The shed is empty at noon. Here is Cyprian. Nose to the soup."
Cargus stood only an inch taller than Yane but where Yane was built half-askew from sinew and twisted bone, Cargus bulked thick with muscle. The girth of his neck exceeded that of his massive arms. His black hair was cropped short; small black eyes glittered under heavy black brows. In the kitchen-yard he told Yane and Aillas: "I have gathered a quart measure of the fungus known as wolf-bane; it poisons but seldom kills. Tonight it goes into the soup, and spices the pot-pies for the great table. Guts will gurgle tonight everywhere in Castle Sank. Tainted meat will be blamed."
Yane grumbled. "If you could poison dogs as well, we'd walk away at our ease."
"A nice thought, but I have no access to the kennels."
For their supper Yane and Aillas ate only bread and cabbage, and watched with gratification as Cyprian consumed two bowls of soup.
In the morning, as Cargus had predicted, the entire population of the castle suffered cramps of the stomach, together with chills, nausea, fever, hallucinations and a ringing of the ears.
Cargus went to where Cyprian crouched head down over the commissary table, shivering uncontrollably. Cargus cried out in a harsh voice: "You must take action! The scullions refuse to stir and my bins overflow with garbage!"
"Empty them yourself," groaned Cyprian. "I cannot put my mind to such trifles. Doom is upon me!"
"I am cook, not scullion. Here, you two!" He called out to Yane and Aillas. "You can at least walk! Empty my bins and be quick about it!"
"Never!" growled Yane. "Do it yourself."
Cargus turned on Cyprian. "My bins must be cleared! Give orders or I will make a complaint to startle Imboden off his chamber-pot!"
Cyprian waved a feeble hand to Yane and Aillas. "Go, you two, empty this devil his bins, even if you must crawl."
Aillas, Yane and Cargus carried bags of garbage to the rubbish heap and took up the parcels which they had left previously. They set off at a trot across the countryside, keeping to the cover of underbrush and trees.
A half-mile east of the castle they passed over the brow of a hill and thereafter without fear of visual detection, made good speed to the southeast, giving a wide berth to the lumber mill. They ran until winded, then walked, then ran again, and within the hour arrived at the river Malkish.
At this point the water flowed broad and shallow, though above it roared down from the mountain through steep ravines, and downstream raced in sullen fury through a set of narrow gorges where many runaway Skalings had been battered and broken on the rocks. Without hesitation Aillas, Yane and Cargus plunged into the stream and waded across, through water often as deep as their chests, with parcels held above their heads. As they neared the opposite bank they halted to inspect the shore. Nothing immediately suited their purpose, and they waded upstream until they came upon a small beach covered with packed gravel, with a low slope grown over with grass at the back. From their parcels they took the articles which Aillas and Yane had built in the carpenter's shed: stilts, with straw pads tied securely over the ends.
Still in the water, they mounted the stilts and the three waded ashore, disturbing the beach as little as possible. Up the slope they stepped and the padded stilt-ends left neither marks nor odor to excite the hounds.
For an hour the three walked on the stilts. At a rivulet, they waded into the steam and dismounted to rest. Then once more they took to the stilts, lest their pursuers, failing to pick up a spoor at the river, might cast about in concentric sweeps of ever greater radius.
Another hour they stalked on the stilts, up a gradual slope through a sparse forest of stunted pines where the thin red soil lay in pockets. The land had no utility for cultivation; the few peasants who at one time had collected resin for turpentine, or grazed pigs, had fled the Ska; the fugitives traveled an uninhabited wasteland, which suited them well.
At another stream they dismounted from the stilts and sat to rest on a ledge of rock. They drank water and ate bread and cheese from their packs. Listening, they heard no far-off belling of the hounds, but they had come a good distance and expected to hear nothing; probably their absence had not yet been noticed. The three congratulated themselves that they had possibly a full day's headstart over any pursuit.
They discarded the stilts and waded upstream in an easterly direction, and presently entered an upland of curious aspect, where ancient pinnacles and crags of decaying black rock rose above valleys once tilled but now deserted. For-a space they followed an old road which led at last to the ruins of an ancient fort.
A few miles beyond the land once again became wild and rose to a region of rolling moors. Rejoicing in the freedom of the high skies, the three set off into the hazy east.
They were not alone on the moor. Up from a swale a half-mile south, under four flapping black flags, rode a troop of Ska warriors. Galloping forward, they surrounded the fugitives.
The leader, a stern-faced baron in black armor, spared them only a single glance and no words whatever. Ropes were attached to the iron collars; the three Skalings were led away to the north.
Late in the day the troop met a wagon-train loaded with victual of various sorts. At the rear marched forty men linked neck to neck by ropes. To this column were joined Aillas, Yane and Cargus, and so, willy-nilly, forced to follow the wagon train north. In due course they entered the kingdom of Dahaut and arrived at Poelitetz, that immense fortress guarding the central buttress of the Teach tac Teach and overlooking the Plain of Shadows.
Chapter 24
WHERE DAHALT BORDERED ON NORTH ULFLAN'D a scarp eighty miles long, the front face of the Teach tac Teach, overlooked the Plain of Shadows. At a place named Poelitetz, the river Tamsour, flowing down from the snows of Mount Agon, cut a chasm which allowed relatively easy access from Dahaut to the moors of North Ulfland. Poelitetz had been fortified as long as men had made war across the Elder Isles; whoever held Poelitetz controlled the peace of Far Dahaut. The Ska, upon seizing Poelitetz, began an enormous work, to guard the fortress from the west as wel
l as the east, so that it might be totally impregnable. They had closed the defile with masonry walls thirty feet thick, leaving a passage twelve feet wide and ten feet high, controlled by three iron gates, one behind the other. Fortress and scarp showed a single impervious face to the Plain of Shadows.
The better to reconnoiter the Plain of Shadows, the Ska had started to drive a tunnel out under the plain toward a hillock overgrown with scrub oak at a distance of a quarter-mile from the base of the scarp. The tunnel was a project executed with the utmost secrecy, concealed from all but a few Ska of high rank and those who dug the tunnel, Skalings of Category Six: Intractables.
Upon arrival at Poelitetz, Aillas, Yane and Cargus were subjected to a perfunctory inquisition. Then, instead of the maiming or mutilation which they had expected, they were taken to a special barracks, where a company of forty Skalings were held in isolation: the tunnel gang. They worked ten-and-a-half-hour shifts, with three half-hour rest periods. In the barracks they were guarded by an elite platoon of Ska soldiers and allowed contact with no other persons of Poelitetz. All realized that they worked as components of a death-squad. Upon completion of the tunnel they would be killed.
With death clear and large before them, none of the Skalings worked in haste: a situation which the Ska found easier to accept than to alter. So long as reasonable progress was made, the work was allowed to go its own pace. The routine each day was identical. Each Skaling had his assigned duty. The tunnel, fifteen feet below the surface of the plain, ran through shale and compressed silt. Four men dug at the front face with picks and mattocks. Three men scooped the detritus into baskets which were loaded upon barrows and wheeled back down the tunnel to the entrance. The barrows were dumped into hoppers which were hoisted aloft by a crane, swung over a wagon, emptied, and returned below. A bellows powered by oxen walking around a windlass blew air into a leather tube, which led to the tunnel face. As the tunnel advanced, cribbing was set into place so that the overhead and the sides were lined with tarred cedar timbers. Every two or three days Ska engineers extended a pair of cords by which the direction of the tunnel was guided and with a waterlevel* measured horizontal deflection.
