by Jack Vance
"I am here."
"Certain bonds hold Joald in check!"
"I see them."
"Take your sword and cut the bonds, and I will sing the chant. Cut!"
From Murgen came a thin keening sound. Torqual daunted, stood hesitant.
Tamurello croaked: "Do my bidding; you will share with me my wealth and magical power; I swear it! Cut!"
Torqual came slowly forward. Tamurello began to chant monosyllables, of the most profound import. They tore the air and incited Torqual into half-hypnotic motion. His arm lifted; his blade gleamed on high. Down came the blade! The strand binding Joald's right wrist parted.
"Cut!" screamed Tamurello.
Torqual cut; the ribbons binding Joald's elbow parted with a hiss and snap! The arm pulsed and twisted.
"Cut!"
Torqual raised the sword and cut the strand at Joald’s neck. Tamurello's chant reverberated through the castle, so that the stones sang and hissed.
"Cut! Cut! Cut!" screamed Tamurello. "Murgen, oh Murgen! Taste my triumph! Taste, and weep bitter tears, for the waste I shall do to your pretty things!"
Torqual cut the ribbon binding Joald's forehead, while Tamurello intoned the great spell: the most terrible chant yet heard in the world. Deep in the ocean Joald took sluggish cognizance of his loosened bonds. He strained against the remaining filaments; he heaved and kicked, and struck the submarine pillars which ultimately prevented the Teach tac Teach from sliding into the sea, and the land shuddered. Joald's enormous black right arm was free; he raised it high, groping and clutching with monstrous black fingers, that he might achieve the destruction of the Elder Isles. The arm broke the surface; sheets of green ocean cascaded down to churn up foam. By dint of an awful struggle Joald thrust the top of his head above the surface, where it became a sudden new island, with bony ridges cresting along the center; waves two hundred feet high surged away in all directions.
At Trilda, Shimrod struck the silver gong yet again, then turned away and went to a box hanging on the wall. He opened the front panels, spoke three words and applied his eye to a crystal lens. For a moment he stood rigid; then, stumbling back, he ran to his cabinet, buckled on his sword, pulled a cap down upon his head and went to stand on a disk of black stone. He uttered a spell of instant transfer and in a trice stood in the forecourt of Swer Smod. Vus and Vuwas still toyed with the bloody rag that once had been Melancthe. At their behest the torn body jerked back and forth in a grisly jig, while they chortled and complimented the indefatigable vitality of the thing. They gave Shimrod a pair of quick suspicious glances, just long enough to recognize him, and in any case were bored with their routine duties and so allowed him to pass without challenge.
Shimrod stepped through the broken doorway, and at once felt the force of Tamurello's chant. He ran down the gallery and burst into the great hail. Murgen sat as before, constricted by the six arms from Xabiste. The weasel skeleton, as it chanted the great spell, seemed to be altering shape and taking on substance. Torqual, standing beside the table, took note of Shimrod's arrival. He stood glowering, sword raised on high.
Shimrod cried out: "Torqual! Are you mad that you obey Tamurello?"
Torqual spoke in dull voice: "I do what I choose to do."
"Then you are worse than mad, and you must die."
"It is you who shall die," said Torquai in a voice of fate.
Shimrod came forward with drawn sword. He hacked down upon the weasel skeleton, and cleaved it to the fragile pelvis. The chant abruptly stopped, and Tamureilo was a heap of twitching bone-splinters.
Torqual looked at the simulacrum of Joald, now writhing against his remaining bonds. Torqual muttered under his breath: "So this is the purpose of my life? I am mad indeed."
Shimrod swung his sword in an arc which would have taken Torqual's head from his torso had it struck home; Torqual jerked aside. Emotion came upon him in a frenzy; he flung himself at Shimrod with such wild energy that Shimrod was forced back upon the defensive. So the two fought, in a mutual fury: slash, hack, thrust.
Beside the table the scatter of bones had pulled together to form a random construction with the glittering black eyes looking out, one low, the other high. A spindly arm clawed at the hatchet, raised it high, while from the tangle of bones came a croaking voice chanting the great spell.
Shimrod dodged back from Torqual, threw a chair to impede him, then cut at the arm holding the hatchet. The arm splintered; the hatchet fell to the floor. Shimrod picked up the hatchet and as Torqual charged upon him, flung it into Torqual's face. Torqual's head and face shriveled and disappeared; his sword fell clattering to the floor, followed by his body.
Shimrod turned back to the table. The way into Xabiste was closing; to Shimrod's horror the arms, rather than disengaging, were drawing Murgen, chair and all, back through the slit.
Shimrod hacked at the thin gray arms. The hands fell to the floor, fingers clenching and unclenching. Murgen was free. He stood erect, and stepping forward, looked down at Joald. He uttered four plangent words. Joald's head lolled back; the arm dropped down beside the hulking torso.
In the Atlantic, the island created by the appearance of Joald's black pate sank beneath the surface. The arm fell with an enormous splash, creating a wave four hundred feet high which rolled toward the coast of South Ulfland. It struck full into the estuary of the Evander and sent a monstrous wall of water rushing up the valley, and the fabulous city Ys was lost.
Where Joald had lurched and kicked away the buttresses under Hybras Isle, the ground shuddered and sank, and Evander Vale, with its palaces and gardens, became an inlet of the sea.
North up the Ulfish coast, almost as far as Oaldes, the shoreside towns were drowned and the populations washed into the sea. When the waters became calm, Ys of the Ages, Ys the Beautiful, Ys of the Many Palaces, was sunk beneath the sea. In later times, when the light was right and the water clear, fishermen sometimes glimpsed the wonderful structures of marble, where nothing moved but schools of fish.
IV
There was heavy silence in the great hail at Swer Smod. Murgen stood immobile by the table; Shimrod leaned against the wall. On the table the Joald simulacrum lay inert. The splintered bones of the weasel skeleton lay in a heap, showing no vitality save for the glitter of two black eyes. On the table the blade of the hatchet-halberd had altered, swelling and becoming first globular, then gradually taking on the semblance of a human face.
After a moment Murgen turned toward Shimrod. He spoke in a heavy voice. "So now we have known tragedy. I cannot blame myself-but only because I cannot spare the energy. In truth, I fear that I became complacent, even arrogant, in the fullness of my strength and the certainty that no one would dare challenge me. I was wrong, and tragic events have occurred. Still, I may not allow myself to be injured by remorse."
Shimrod approached the table. "These things-are they still alive?"
"They are alive: Tamurello and Desmei, and desperately scheming for survival. This time I shall not dally with them and they shall fail." Murgen went to one of his cabinets and threw wide the doors. He worked at a whirling apparatus and in due course evoked a glare of pink light and a queer fluting voice: "Murgen, I speak across the unthinkable gulf!"
"I do the same," said Murgen. "How goes your war with Xabiste?"
"Well enough. We ordered the whorl Sirmish and flushed the green from Fangusto. However, at Mang Meeps they came in force; the place is now infested."
"A pity! But take cheer! I now give you two hybrid demons, Desmei and Tamurello, both reeking with green."
"This is a pleasant event."
"Just so. You may send a trendnl to take the pair, and to seek out any sops and seepages of green which they might have exuded."
For an instant the hall flickered with pink light; when it subsided the hatchet and the pile of bones were gone.
Murgen spoke: "Take the pair to the deepest pits of Myrdal, and seek out the hottest fires. There destroy them utterly, so that not even their l
ast regrets linger in the flux. I will wait to learn of this final disposition."
"You must be patient!" said the effrit. "A deed worth doing is worth doing well! I shall be at least ten of your seconds, with another two seconds for my ritual cleansing."
"I will wait."
Twelve seconds passed. The effrit from Myrdal spoke once more. "The deed is done. Of the two demons neither jot, atom, breath, thought nor tittle remain. The pits of Myrdal burn hot."
"Excellent!" said Murgen. "I wish you continued success against the green." He closed the cabinet, and turned back to the table, where he reinforced the bonds which held Joald quiescent.
Shimrod watched with disapproval. "Joald should also be de stroyed."
Murgen spoke in a soft voice. "He is protected. Only this much is allowed to us, and then grudgingly."
"Who protects him?"
"Some of the old gods still live."
"Atlante?"
For a long moment Murgen said nothing. Then: "Certain names should not be named and certain topics are best not discussed."
CHAPTER TWELVE
I
Rumours of the cataclysm along the Ulfish coast reached Haidion three days after the event. King Casmir heard the reports with keen interest and impatiently awaited full details. A courier at last arrived, telling of the devastation which the ocean had wrought along the South Ulfish coast. Casmir's sole interest was the damage done to King Aillas' military capabilities. "How far north did the waves strike?"
"Not so far as Oaldes. The offshore islands diverted the waves. They also saved Skaghane and the Ska Foreshore."
"What do you know of Doun Darric?"
"It is King Aiiias' Ulfish capital, but it sits high on the middle moors and it took no damage."
"So the army suffered no losses?"
"I cannot say with certainty, Sire. No doubt warriors on leave were lost. I doubt if the army as a whole was much affected."
Casmir grunted. "And where is King Aillas now?"
"Apparently he has taken ship from Troicinet and would be at sea."
"Very well. Go."
The courier bowed and departed. King Casmir looked around at the faces of his aides. "The time of decision is upon us. Our armies are trained and ready; they are poised for a swift advance and eager for a smashing defeat of the Dauts. When Dahaut is ours, we can deal with Aillas at leisure, no matter what nuisances he inflicts with his navy. What say you?"
One after another Casmir's aides told him what he wanted to hear:
"The armies of Lyonesse are strong, numerous and indomitable! The leadership is good and the warriors are well-trained!"
"The armouries are well-stocked; the weaponmakers work both night and day. We suffer no shortages."
"The knights of Lyonesse are keen and eager; all crave the rich lands of Dahaut for their estates! They await only your com mand."
King Casmir gave a fateful nod. He struck his fist on the table. "Then let it be now."
II
The armies of Lyonesse assembled in various quarters, marched as unobtrusively as possible to Fort Mael, reformed into battalions and set off to the north. At the Pomperol border the vanguard was met by a dozen knights commanded by Prince Starling. As the Lyonesse army approached the border, Prince Starling held up his hand, bidding the oncoming host to halt.
A herald galloped forward and delivered a message to Prince Starling: "The Kingdom of Lyonesse has been prompted to conflict against the Kingdom of Dahaut, by reason of many and troublesome provocations. That we may expeditiously prosecute our campaign, we require the right of free passage across Pomperol, nor will we protest if in your neutrality you extend the same privilege to the troops of Dahaut."
Prince Starling made a forthright statement: "To allow you passage would compromise our proper neutrality, and in effect would make us your allies. We must deny the permission you require. Go instead to the west, to Lallisbrook Dingle, then bear north along Bladey Way, and so you will come into Dahaut."
The herald responded: "I am empowered to answer in this fashion: 'Not possible! Stand aside and let us pass, or taste our steel!'"
The Pomperol knights drew silently aside and watched as the armies of Lyonesse moved north and in due course entered Dahaut.
King Casmir had expected only token resistance from the so-called 'gray and green popinjays', but his invasion infuriated high and low alike. Three great battles were fought, instead of the single perfunctory engagement King Casmir had envisioned, at great cost in men, material and time. At Chastain Field, a makeshift army led by Audry's brother Prince Graine attacked the invaders with reckless ferocity and were defeated after a day of bitter combat. The second battle was fought near the village Mulvanie. For two days the warriors surged back and forth across the downs. Steel clashed on steel; war shouts mingled with screams of pain. In and out of the męlde rode formations of mounted knights, hacking at the foot soldiers who sought to pull them down with halberds and crowhooks, so that knives could cut aristocratic throats.
The Daut army gave way at last, and retreated toward Avallon. Again King Casmir could claim a victory, though again he had taken heavy casualties and had lost equally valuable time from his schedule of conquest.
The Daut army, now strengthened by reinforcements called down from Wysrod, took up a position beside Castle Meung near Market Chantry, some thirty miles south and west of Avallon. For two days King Casmir rested and reformed his troops, and waited another day for reinforcements from Fort Mael, then again advanced upon the Dauts, intent upon their final destruction.
The armies met on Wild Apple Meadow near Castle Meung, with the Dauts led by King Audry himself. Each side sent out squads of light cavalry, to harass the enemy with arrows. The armoured knights, with heavy cavalry and standard bearers at their backs, formed themselves into opposing ranks, their steel gleaming ominously. And the minutes moved one after the other with fateful deliberation.
The Daut heralds, splendid in gray and green, raised their clarions and sounded a sweet shrill call. The Daut knights lowered their lances and charged at a thunderous gallop; the knights of Lyonesse did the same. At the center of Wild Apple' Meadow the two ranks collided in a great dull clang of metal striking metal, and in an instant order gave way to a yelling chaos of toppling bodies, rearing horses, flashing steel. The Lyonesse charge was supported by squads of pikemen and archers, using disciplined tactics; in contrast, the Daut infantry arrived in amorphous groups, and were met by shoals of sighing arrows.
The battle at Wild Apple Meadow was shorter and more decisive than the two which had preceded it, since the Dauts now were demoralized and no longer expected to gain the day through sheer élan. They were finally sent reeling from the field.
King Audry and the surviving elements of his army retreated at best speed and took refuge in the Forest of Tantrevalles, where they no longer constituted a threat, and could be dealt with at leisure.
King Casmir marched upon Avallon, and entered without resistance. He rode at once to Falu Ffail, where he would finally take possession of Cairbra an Meadhan the table and Evandig the throne, and send them back to Castle Haidion in Lyonesse Town.
Casmir entered the quiet palace without ceremony. He went at once to the Hall of Heroes, only to find no sign of the furniture which figured so largely in his ambitions. From a portly young underchamberlain he learned that Cairbra an Meadhan and Evandig had been taken away two days before by a company of Troice marine warriors. They had carried throne and table to a Troice ship and then set sail to a destination unknown.
Casmir's rage was almost too large to be borne. His face became congested with choler; his round china-blue eyes bulged so as to show white-encircling rims. With legs planted wide and hands gripping the back of a chair, Casmir stared blindly at the empty areas. His thoughts finally settled into a semblance of order and he chanted vows of revenge which horrified Tibalt, the underchamberlain.
At last Casmir calmed himself, and thereby became even more balef
ul than before. The deed had been done with the connivance of the Dauts. Who were the persons responsible? Casmir put the question to Tibalt, who could only stammer that all the high officials of Falu Ffail had fled Avallon, to join their fugitive king. There was no one on hand to punish save underlings.
To Casmir's further displeasure, a courier arrived on a lathered horse with dispatches from Lyonesse, to the effect that Ulfish warriors had stormed down the south ramparts of the Teach tac Teach into Cape Farewell Province, an area where Casmir's strongholds had been depleted of their garrisons for the benefit of the main army. The invaders had reduced castle after castle without difficulty and the town Pargetta was under siege.
Casmir took stock of his situation. He had broken the Daut armies and in effect controlled Dahaut, even though King Audry still survived and still commanded a few dispirited fugitives. Audry must be hunted down and either captured or killed, before he could rally the provincial gentry about him and assemble a new army. For this reason Casmir could not yet weaken his expeditionary forces by detaching a force strong enough to expel the Ulfs from Cape Farewell Province. Instead, he sent Bannoy, Duke of Tremblance, to Fort Mael and there put together as best he could a new army comprising levies currently under training and contingents of veterans from garrisons at forts along the coast. These in turn must be reinforced by drafts of local yeomen, sufficient to resist the inevitable raids to be expected from the Troice navy.
Bannoy would take his fresh new army into Cape Farewell Province and there send the Ulf bandits scuttling back into the fastnesses of the Troagh. Meanwhile, Casmir's forces in the field would complete the conquest of Dahaut. A courier from Godelia arrived at Falu Ffail, carrying a dispatch from King Dartweg. The courier paid his formal respects to King Casmir, then unrolled a scroll of glazed sheepskin parchment wound upon rods of birch. The message was written in fine Irish uncial which no one present could read, including the courier himself, and it became necessary to summon an Irish monk from the nearby Abbey of Saint Joilly who opened the scroll and read the message.
