by Jack Vance
Singhalissa glanced back over her shoulder; her thin cheeks were compressed into an unmistakable smile.
1. The word sherdas, an inexact translation. Those attending a sherdas are seated around a table. From properly disposed orifices a succession of aromatic odors and perfumes is released. To praise the fumes too highly, or to inhale too deeply is considered low behavior and leaves the guilty person open to suspicions of gourmandizing.
2. An act of molestation or violence - a mirk-deed, so to speak - committed during the daylight hours, a depravity unimaginable among persons of dignity.
Chapter 8
Efraim continued down the staircase to the frenzy of the fanfare produced by six men with convolved bronze sad-horns. Six horns, wondered Efraim? He himself, the returning Kaiark, had only been greeted with four! A slight which he had failed to notice.
The front portals had been flung ajar, and here stood Agnois, wearing a long white cloak crusted over with blue and silver embroidery and a complicated turban-like headdress: garments reserved for the most profoundly serious occasions. Efraim compressed his lips. What to do with the wretched Agnois, who had assisted him during the reception, but who had failed to warn him of whatever now was about to ensue?
The fanfare became a hysteria of yelling horns, to halt abruptly as a man, in splendid black garments, picked out with pink and silver stripes, strode through the portal. Behind him marched four eiodarks. All wore headgear of pink and black cloth, wound up on pronged fillets of silver.
Efraim halted a moment on the landing, then descended slowly. Agnois cried out:
"His Majestic Force, the Kaiark Rianlle of Eccord!"
Rianlle halted, scrutinizing Efraim with pale hazel eyes under dark golden eyebrows. He stood stiffly erect, aware of the splendid spectacle he made: a man in, the fullest vigor of his life, not yet middle-aged, square-faced, with curling dark golden hair; a man of pride and passion, perhaps lacking in humor, but certainly not a person to be taken lightly.
Efraim stood waiting until Rianlle advanced another two steps. Efraim said:
"Welcome to Benbuphar Strang. I am pleased, if surprised, to see you."
"Thank you." Rianlle turned abruptly away from Efraim and performed a formal bow. Down the stairs came Singhalissa, Destian, and Sthelany.
Efraim said: "You are of course well-acquainted with her Dignity the Wirwove, the Squire Destian, and the Lissolet Sthelany. This is the Noble Matho Lorcas, of Port Mar."
Rianlle acknowledged the introduction by no more than a cold glance. Matho Lorcas bowed courteously. "At your service, Force."
Efraim stepped aside and signaled to Agnois. "Conduct these noble gentlemen to appropriate chambers where they may refresh themselves, then come to the Grand Parlor."
Agnois presently appeared in the Grand Parlor. "Yes, Your Force?"
"Why did you not notify me that Rianlle was to arrive?"
Agnois spoke in an injured voice: "I did not know myself, until Her Dignity upon leaving the salon ordered me to prepare a reception. I barely had time to accomplish the task."
Efraim said, "I see. He wears his headgear in the castle; is this customary and polite?"
"It is formal usage, Force. The headdress signifies authority and autonomy. In a formal colloquy of equals both parties will dress similarly."
"Bring me suitable garments and headgear, if any are available."
Efraim dressed. "Conduct Rianlle here whenever he is so minded. If his retinue starts to come, explain that I prefer a private discussion with Rianlle."
"As you wish, Force." Agnois hesitated. "I might point out that Eccord is a powerful realm with victorious traditions. Rianlle is a vain man but not stupid.
He esteems himself and his prestige at an exalted level."
"Thank you, Agnois. Bring in Rianlle; I will deal with him as carefully as possible."
Half an hour later Agnois ushered Rianlle into the Parlor. Efraim rose to greet him. "Will you sit? Those chairs are quite comfortable."
"Thank you." Rianlle settled himself.
"Your visit is of course most welcome," said Efraim "You will forgive me if I seem disorganized; I have hardly had time to collect my wits."
"You returned at a most opportune moment," observed Rianlle, his hazel eyes wide and luminous. "At least for yourself."
Efraim sat back in his chair and inspected Rianlle a full five seconds. Then he said in a cool unaccented voice: "I did not time my return on this basis; I was unaware that Jochaim had been murdered until my arrival in Port Mar."
"Allow me to offer my personal condolences and those of all Eccord upon this untimely death. Did you use the word murder?"
"The evidence indicates something of the sort."
Rianlle nodded slowly and looked thoughtfully across the room. "I came both to express my sympathy and to consolidate the friendly relations between our realms."
"You may take for granted my desire that they continue."
"Excellent. I assume that you intend a smooth continuity between the policies of Jochaim and your own?"
Efraim began to sense a pressure behind Rianlle's suave remarks. He said cautiously: "In many cases, no doubt this will be true. In others, the simple mutability of life and circumstance dictates changes."
"A prudent and flexible point of view! Allow me to offer my commendation! In the relations between Eccord and Scharrode there will be no mutability; I would like to assure you that I intend to honor to the letter every commitment made by me to Jochaim; I would like to hear that the converse holds true."
Efraim made an affable gesture. "Let us not talk high policy at this moment. I am not yet in command of all the facts and anything I could now say would be tentative. But since our two realms are so closely knit in amity, what benefits one benefits the other, and you may be assured that I intend to do my best for Scharrode."
Rianlle glanced sharply at Efraim, then stared toward the ceiling. "Agreed; large matters may wait. There is one rather inconsequential issue which we can easily resolve now, without prejudice to your program. I refer to that trifle of territory along Whispering Ridge where I wish to build a pavilion for our mutual enjoyment. Jochaim was on the point of signing the parcel over to me when he met his death."
"I wonder if there was any connection between the two events," mused Efraim.
"Of course not! How could there be?"
"My imagination is overactive. In regard to Whispering Ridge I must admit an aversion toward yielding so much as a square inch of our sacred Scharrode soil; still, I will study the matter."
"Not satisfactory!" Rianlle's voice had taken on an edge, and sang like a vibrating wire. "I am thwarted in my wishes!"
"Is anyone ever continually and completely gratified? Let us talk no more of the subject. Perhaps I can induce the Lissolet to contrive a series of stimulating atmospheres..."
At the great twenty-sided table in the Formal Reception Chamber, Rianlle sat stiff and glum. Sthelany formulated a series of fumes, somehow suggesting a walk over the hills - soil and sunlit vegetation, water and wet rocks, the perfume of anthion and wood violet, mold, rotten wood, and camphor. She worked without Singhalissa's deftness, rather seeming to amuse herself among the vials as a child might play with colored chalks. Sthelany's fingers began to move faster; she bad become interested in her contrivances as a musician suddenly perceives meanings in his music which he is forced to explicate. Gone was the hillside, away the forest; the vapors were at first gay, tart, and light; gradually they lost character, only to become sweetly melancholic, like heliotrope in a forgotten garden. And this odor in turn became pervaded with a bitter exudation, then a salt pungency, then a final despairing black reek. Sthelany looked up with a twisted smile and closed the drawers.
Rianlle uttered an ejaculation: "You have performed with enormous artistry; you have shaken us all with cataclysmic visions!"
Efraim looked around the table. Destian sat toying with a silver bracelet; Singhalissa sat stiff and staring; the eiodarks
of Eccord muttered together.
Lorcas stared in wonder toward Sthelany. Efraim thought: he is totally fascinated, but he had better make his emotion less overt, or he will be accused of sebalism.
Rianlle turned to Efraim. "When you said murder, you used an inglorious word to describe the death of the honored Jochaim. How then will you deal with that dog Gosso?"
Efraim held his face immobile against a surge of annoyance. He had used the word murder perhaps indiscreetly; but need Rianlle blurt out the details of what Efraim had considered a confidential conversation? He felt the sudden interest of both Singhalissa and Destian.
"I have made no precise plans. I plan to end the war with Gorgetto on one basis or another; it is useless and it bleeds us white."
"If I understand you correctly, you intend to prosecute only useful wars?"
"If wars there must be, I intend to fight for only tangible and necessary goals.
I do not regard war as entertainment and I shall not hesitate to use unusual tactics."
Rianlle's smile was almost openly contemptuous.
"Scharrode is a small realm. Realistically, you are at the mercy of your neighbors, no matter how peculiar your campaigns."
"Your opinions of course carry great weight," said Efraim.
Rianlle went on in a measured voice. "I recall some previous discussion of a trisme, that the fortunes of Scharrode and Eccord might be joined. The subject at this moment is perhaps premature in view of the chaotic circumstances here in Scharrode."
From the corner of his eye Efraim noted a shifting of positions around the table, as tense muscles demanded relief. He met the dark gaze of Sthelany; her face seemed as pensive as ever, and - could it be true? - somehow wistful.
Rianlle once more was speaking, and everyone about the table fixed their gaze upon that unnaturally handsome face. "Nevertheless, all will no doubt sort itself out. Accommodation between our two realms must be achieved. An imbalance now exists, and I refer to the unfulfilled contract in regard to Dwan Jar, the Whispering Ridge. If a trisme will facilitate the hoped-for equilibrium, then I must give the matter serious consideration."
Efraim laughed and shook his head. "Trisme is a responsibility I do not care to assume at the moment, especially since Your Force displays such clear misgivings. Indeed, your perceptions are remarkable; you have correctly defined the situation here. Scharrode is a welter of mysteries which must be resolved before we can move onward."
Rianlle rose to his feet, as did his retinue of eiodarks. "Scharrode hospitality is as always correct, and induces us to prolong our visit, but we must take our leave. I trust that Your Force will make a realistic assessment of past, present, and putative future and act to the best interests of us all."
Efraim and Lorcas went out to the parapets of Deistary Tower and watched as Rianlle and his retinue climbed into the rented 1 aircar, which a moment later lifted high and flew north.
Lorcas had retired to his refectory to take a furtive meal; then he planned to sleep. Efraim remained on the parapets looking off over the valley, which in the light of half-and presented so entrancing a vista that his heart missed a beat.
From this land the substance of his body had been drawn; it was his own, to nurture and love and rule, for all foreseeable time; yet how useless! how forlorn! Scharrode was lost to him; he had broken the crust of tradition. Never again could he be a Rhune, nor could the damage be mended. He would never be a whole man in Scharrode, nor elsewhere; never would he be content.
He studied the landscape with the intensity of a man about to go blind. Light slanting down across Alode the Cliff illuminated a hundred forests; the irradiated foliage seemed to glow with internal light: bitter lime, intense gray-blue given pointillist fire by scarlet seedpods, dark umber, black-blue, black-green. Surrounding stood the great peaks, each named and known in ancient fable: aloof Shanajra bearded with snow, who, resenting the mockery of the Bird Crags, turned his face to the south to stand forever brooding; the Two Hags Kamr and Dimw, rancorous above Danquil, enchanted and sleeping under a blanket of murre trees; there, Whispering Ridge, coveted by Rianlle, where the Fwai-chi walked to their sacred places among the Lenglin Mountains. His land forever, his land never; and what was he to do? In all the realm was but a single man he could trust, the Port Mar vagabond Matho Lorcas. Gosso might or might not interpret his offer as an admission of weakness. Rianlle's not too subtle threats might or might not be intended seriously. Singhalissa might yet intrigue with sufficient finesse to cause him woe. Efraim decided that he must, without further delay, call together the Scharde eiodarks, to assist him with his decisions.
The landscape dimmed, as Osmo dropped behind Alode the Cliff. Furad hung low in the sky over Shanajra.
A slow step sounded on the marble flags; turning, Efraim saw Sthelany. She hesitated, then came to join him. Together they leaned on the parapets. From the corner of his eye Efraim studied Sthelany's face. What transpired behind that clear pale brow; what prompted the half-wistful half-mocking twist of the lips?
"Mirk is near," said Sthelany. She glanced toward Efraim. "Your Force no doubt has thoroughly reconnoitered the passages which lead here and there about the castle?"
"Only in order to protect myself from the surveillance of your mother."
Sthelany shook her head smilingly. "Is she really interested in your activities?"
"Some female of the household has demonstrated that interest. Could it be you?"
"I have never set foot in a mirk-way."
Efraim took note of the equivocation. "To answer your question precisely, I have indeed explored the mirk-ways, and I am arranging that they be interrupted by heavy iron doors."
"Then it would seem that Your Force does not intend to exercise the prerogatives of rank?"
Efraim arched his eyebrows at the question. He responded in what he hoped to be dignified tones: "I certainly do not intend to violate the persons of anyone against their will. Additionally, as I'm sure you know, the passage to your chambers is blocked by masonry."
"Indeed! Then I am reassured once and once again! It has been my habit during mirk to sleep behind triply locked doors, but Your Force's assurances make such precautions unnecessary."
Efraim wondered: did she flaunt? Did she entice? Did she tease? He said: "I might change my mind. I have adopted certain off-planet attitudes and they prompt me to confess that I find you fascinating."
"Psssh! These are matters we must not discuss." Sthelany, however, showed no sign of outrage.
"And what of the three bolts?"
Sthelany laughed. "I cannot imagine Your Force engaging in such an outrageous and undignified escapade; the bolts are evidently unnecessary."
Even as they spoke Furad, slipping low to the horizon, dipped half-under, and the sky went dim. Sthelany, her mouth half-open in an expression of child-like wonder, exclaimed: "Is mirk upon us? I feel a strange emotion."
Her emotion, thought Efraim, seemed real enough. Color had come to her cheeks, her bosom heaved, her eyes glowed with dark light. Furad sank even lower, all but leaving the smoky orange sky. Was mirk upon them indeed? Sthelany gasped and seemed to sway toward Efraim; he sensed her fragrance but almost as he reached to touch her hand, she pointed. "Furad floats once more; mirk is averted, and all things live!"
With no more words Sthelany moved away across the terrace. She paused to touch a white flower growing in a pot, turned a fleeting glance back over her shoulder, and then she moved on.
Efraim presently went into the castle and descended to his office. In the corridor he came upon Destian, apparently bound for the same destination.
Destian however gave a frigid nod and turned aside. Efraim closed the door, telephoned the rental agency at Port Mar and ordered out an aircar, requesting a pilot other than the redoubtable Flaussig. He left the office, hesitated, turned back, locked the door and took away the key.
1. The Rhune Realms are allowed no aircars because of their aggressive proclivities. When a Rhune wishes to
make a journey he must call into Port Mar and hire a suitable vehicle for the occasion.
Chapter 9
Efraim and Matho Lorcas climbed into the aircar and were earned high above the valley of the Esch River: up, up, until they hovered on a level with the surrounding peaks. Efraim called off their names: "Horsuke, Gleide Cliff, the Tassenberg; Alode the Cliff, Haujefolge, Scarlume and Devil Dragon, Bryn the Hero; Kamr, Dimw, and Danquil; Shanajra, the Bird Crags, Gossil the Traitor - notice the avalanches - Camanche, and there: Whispering Ridge. Driver: take us yonder to Whispering Ridge."
The peaks shifted across other farther, peaks of other farther realms. Under the cloud-piercing claw of Camanche, Whispering Ridge came into full view - an upland meadow rather than a true ridge, to the south overlooking Scharrode and the valley of the Esch, to the north the multiple valleys of Eccord. The aircar landed; Efraim and Lorcas jumped out into ankle-deep grass.
The air was calm. Trees grew in copses; Whispering Ridge was like an island in the sky, a place of total peace. Efraim held up his hand. "Listen!"
From an indeterminate source came a low whisper, fluctuating musically, sometimes sighing into silence, sometimes almost singing.
"Wind?" Lorcas looked at the trees. "The leaves are still. The air is still."
"Strange in itself. Up here one would expect a wind."
They moved across the sward. In the shade of the forest Efraim noticed a group of Fwai-chi watching them impassively. Lorcas and Efraim halted. "There they stand," said Lorcas, "walking their 'Path through Life,' all shags and tatters, typical pilgrims in any language."
They continued across the meadow and looked over Eccord. Belrod Strang was lost among the folds of the forested hills. "The view is superb," said Lorcas. "Do you intend to deal generously with Rianlle?"
