by Jack Vance
The sound of the explosion reverberated through the valley. And the dark object in the cavern was destroyed, was no more than tatters and shreds of metal.
Joaz took three deep breaths, throwing off the effects of the narcotic gas by sheer power of will. He signaled to his Murderers. “Charge! Kill!”
The Murderers loped forward; the Heavy Troopers threw themselves flat, aimed their weapons, but soon died. In the mouth of Clybourne Crevasse the final squad of Troopers charged wildly forth, to be instantly attacked by Termagants and Blue Horrors who had sidled along the face of the cliff. The Weaponeer was gored by a Murderer; there was no further resistance in the valley, and the ship lay open to attack.
Joaz led the way back up the ramp, through the entry into the now dim staging-chamber. The blast-cannon captured from the Giants lay where his men had dropped them.
Three portals led from the chamber, and these were swiftly burned down. The first revealed a spiral ramp; the second, a long empty hall lined with tiers of bunks; the third, a similar hall in which the bunks were occupied. Pale faces peered from the tiers, pallid hands flickered. Up and down the central corridor marched squat matrons in gray gowns. Ervis Carcolo rushed forward, buffeting the matrons to the deck, peering into the bunks. “Outside,” he bellowed. “You are rescued, you are saved. Outside quickly, while there is opportunity.”
But there was only meager resistance to overcome from a half-dozen Weaponeers and Trackers, none whatever from twenty Mechanics—these, short thin men with sharp features and dark hair—and none from the sixteen remaining Basics. All were marched off the ship as prisoners.
Chapter XIII
Quiet filled the valley floor, the silence of exhaustion. Men and dragons sprawled in the trampled fields; the captives stood in a dejected huddle beside the ship. Occasionally an isolated sound came to emphasize the silence: the creak of cooling metal within the ship, the fall of a loose rock from the shattered cliffs; an occasional murmur from the liberated Happy Valley folk, who sat in a group apart from the surviving warriors.
Ervis Carcolo alone seemed restless. For a space he stood with his back to Joaz, slapping his thigh with his scabbard tassel. He contemplated the sky where Skene, a dazzling atom, hung close over the western cliffs, then turned, studied the shattered gap at the north of the valley, filled with the twisted remains of the sacerdotes’ construction. He gave his thigh a final slap, looked toward Joaz Banbeck, turned to stalk through the huddle of Happy Valley folk, making brusque motions of no particular significance, pausing here and there to harangue or cajole, apparently attempting to instill spirit and purpose into his defeated people.
In this purpose he was unsuccessful. Presently he swung sharply about, marched across the field to where Joaz Banbeck lay outstretched. Carcolo stared down. “Well then,” he said bluffly, “the battle is over, the ship is won.”
Joaz raised himself up on one elbow. “True.”
“Let us have no misunderstanding on one point,” said Carcolo. “Ship and contents are mine. An ancient rule defines the rights of him who is first to attack. On this rule I base my claim.”
Joaz looked up in surprise, and seemed almost amused. “By a rule even more ancient, I have already assumed possession.”
“I dispute this assertion,” said Carcolo hotly. “Who—”
Joaz held up his hand wearily. “Silence, Carcolo! You are alive now only because I am sick of blood and violence. Do not test my patience!”
Carcolo turned away, twitching his scabbard tassel with restrained fury. He looked up the valley, turned back to Joaz. “Here come the sacerdotes, who in fact demolished the ship. I remind you of my proposal, by which we might have prevented this destruction and slaughter.”
Joaz smiled. “You made your proposal only two days ago. Further, the sacerdotes possess no weapons.”
Carcolo stared as if Joaz had taken leave of his wits. “How then did they destroy the ship?”
Joaz shrugged. “I can only make conjectures.”
Carcolo asked sarcastically, “And what direction do these conjectures lead?”
“I wonder if they had constructed the frame of a spaceship. I wonder if they turned the propulsion beam against the Basic ship.”
Carcolo pursed his mouth dubiously. “Why should the sacerdotes build themselves a spaceship?”
“The Demie approaches. Why do you not put your question to him?”
“I will do so,” said Carcolo with dignity.
But the Demie, followed by four younger sacerdotes and walking with the air of a man in a dream, passed without speaking.
Joaz rose to his knees, watched after him. The Demie apparently planned to mount the ramp and enter the ship. Joaz jumped to his feet, followed, barred the way to the ramp. Politely he asked, “What do you seek, Demie?”
“I seek to board the ship.”
“To what end? I ask, of course, from sheer curiosity.”
The Demie inspected him a moment without reply. His face was haggard and tight; his eyes gleamed like frost-stars. Finally he replied, in a voice hoarse with emotion. “I wish to determine if the ship can be repaired.”
Joaz considered a moment, then spoke in a gentle rational voice. “The information can be of little interest to you. Would the sacerdotes place themselves so completely under my command?”
“We obey no one.”
“In that case, I can hardly take you with me when I leave.”
The Demie swung around, and for a moment seemed as if he would walk away. His eyes fell on the shattered opening at the end of the vale, and he turned back. He spoke, not in the measured voice of a sacerdote, but in a burst of grief and fury. “This is your doing! You preen yourself, you count yourself resourceful and clever; you forced us to act, and thereby violate ourselves and our dedication!”
Joaz nodded, with a faint grim smile. “I knew the opening must lie behind the Jambles; I wondered if you might be building a spaceship; I hoped that you might protect yourselves against the Basics, and so serve my purposes. I admit your charges. I used you and your construction as a weapon, to save myself and my people. Did I do wrong?”
“Right or wrong—who can weigh? You wasted our effort across more than eight hundred Aerlith years! You destroyed more than you can ever replace.”
“I destroyed nothing, Demie. The Basics destroyed your ship. If you had cooperated with us in the defense of Banbeck Vale this disaster would have never occurred. You chose neutrality, you thought yourselves immune from our grief and pain. As you see, such is not the case.”
“And meanwhile our labor of eight hundred and twelve years goes for naught.”
Joaz asked with feigned innocence, “Why did you need a spaceship? Where do you plan to travel?”
The Demie’s eyes burst with flames as intense as those of Skene. “When the race of men is gone, then we go abroad. We move across the galaxy, we repopulate the terrible old worlds, and the new universal history starts from that day, with the past wiped clean as if it never existed. If the grephs destroy you, what is it to us? We await only the death of the last man in the universe.”
“Do you not consider yourselves men?”
“We are as you know us—Above Men.”
At Joaz’s shoulder someone laughed coarsely. Joaz turned his head to see Ervis Carcolo. “‘Above Men’?” mocked Carcolo. “Poor naked waifs of the caves! What can you display to prove your superiority?”
The Demie’s mouth drooped, the lines of his face deepened. “We have our tands. We have our knowledge. We have our strength.”
Carcolo turned away with another coarse laugh. Joaz said in a subdued voice, “I feel more pity for you than you ever felt for us.”
Carcolo returned. “And where did you learn to build a spaceship? From your own efforts? Or from the work of men before you, men of the old times?”
“We are the ultimate men,” said the Demie. “We know all that men have ever thought, spoken or devised. We are the last and the first. And when the un
der-folk are gone, we shall renew the cosmos as innocent and fresh as rain.”
“But men have never gone and will never go,” said Joaz. “A setback yes, but is not the universe wide? Somewhere are the worlds of men. With the help of the Basics and their Mechanics, I will repair the ship and go forth to find these worlds.”
“You will seek in vain,” said the Demie.
“These worlds do not exist?”
“The Human Empire is dissolved; men exist only in feeble groups.”
“What of Eden, old Eden?”
“A myth, no more.”
“My marble globe, what of that?”
“A toy, an imaginative fabrication.”
“How can you be sure?” asked Joaz, troubled in spite of himself.
“Have I not said that we know all of history? We can look into our tands and see deep into the past, until the recollections are dim and misty, and never do we remember planet Eden.”
Joaz shook his head stubbornly. “There must be an original world from which men came. Call it Earth or Tempe or Eden—somewhere it exists.”
The Demie started to speak, then in a rare show of irresolution held his tongue. Joaz said, “Perhaps you are right, perhaps we are the last men. But I shall go forth to look.”
“I shall come with you,” said Ervis Carcolo.
“You will be fortunate to find yourself alive tomorrow,” said Joaz.
Carcolo drew himself up. “Do not dismiss my claim to the ship so carelessly!”
Joaz struggled for words, but could find none. What to do with the unruly Carcolo? He could not find in himself enough harshness to do what he knew should be done. He temporized, turned his back on Carcolo. “Now you know my plans,” he told the Demie. “If you do not interfere with me, I shall not interfere with you.”
The Demie moved slowly back. “Go then. We are a passive race; we despise ourselves for our activity of today. Perhaps it was our greatest mistake…But go, seek your forgotten world. You will only perish somewhere among the stars. We will wait, as already we have waited.” He turned and walked away, followed by the four younger sacerdotes, who had all the time stood gravely to the side.
Joaz called after him. “And if the Basics come again? Will you fight with us? Or against us?”
The Demie made no response, but walked to the north, the long white hair swinging down his thin shoulder blades.
Joaz watched him a moment, gazed up and down the ruined valley, shook his head in wonder and puzzlement, turned back to study the great black ship.
Skene touched the western cliffs; there was an instant dimming of light, a sudden chill. Carcolo approached him. “Tonight I shall hold my folk here in Banbeck Vale, and send them home on the morrow. Meanwhile, I suggest that you board the ship with me and make a preliminary survey.”
Joaz took a deep breath. Why could it not come easier for him? Carcolo had twice sought his life, and, had positions been reversed, would have shown him no mercy. He forced himself to act. His duty to himself, to his people, to his ultimate goal was clear.
He called to those of his knights who carried the captured heat-guns. They approached.
Joaz said, “Take Carcolo into Clybourne Crevasse. Execute him. Do this at once.”
Protesting, bellowing, Carcolo was dragged off. Joaz turned away with a heavy heart, and sought Bast Givven. “I take you for a sensible man.”
“I regard myself so.”
“I set you in charge of Happy Valley. Take your folk home, before darkness falls.”
Bast Givven silently went to his people. They stirred, and presently departed Banbeck Vale.
Joaz crossed the valley floor to the tumble of rubble which choked Kergan’s Way. He choked with fury as he looked upon the destruction, and for a moment almost wavered in his resolve. Might it not be fit to fly the black ship to Coralyne and take revenge on the Basics? He walked around to stand under the spire which had housed his apartments, and by some strange freak of chance came upon a rounded fragment of yellow marble.
Weighing this in his palm he looked up into the sky where Coralyne already twinkled red, and tried to bring order to his mind.
The Banbeck folk had emerged from the deep tunnels. Phade the minstrel-maiden came to find him. “What a terrible day,” she murmured. “What awful events; what a great victory.”
Joaz tossed the bit of yellow marble back into the rubble. “I feel much the same way. And where it all ends, no one knows less than I.”
Afterword to “The Dragon Masters”
On certain occasions, where it has been necessary, I have completely reasoned out an environment. When you specify a world or planet of some kind, you can usually justify it if you want to take the trouble. You can assume a dense core, or, as in the case of Big Planet, you can assume a very light core—made of very light materials, with a world of a large diameter. In general, it’s possible to justify almost any kind of world you might like.
Although on the other hand, there are certainly instances where, if you take too much for granted, you might wind up with a fiasco…which happened to me with the worlds of Rigel in the Demon Princes series. I know and knew then that Rigel is a relatively young star; therefore any set of Rigellian planets would not have had time to cool. This idea simply slipped from my mind. I thought: here’s a very radiant sun that has potential for a great number of inhabitable worlds; it could have what is called a large Habitable Zone. So I ignored the other consideration. Poul Anderson called it to my attention and I justified it, after a lame fashion, in the next books. In general, I take it for granted that about any world is possible, or at least that no one will sue for any contradictions.
—Jack Vance 1977
Liane the Wayfarer
Through the dim forest came Liane the Wayfarer, passing along the shadowed glades with a prancing light-footed gait. He whistled, he caroled, he was plainly in high spirits. Around his finger he twirled a bit of wrought bronze—a circlet graved with angular crabbed characters, now stained black.
By excellent chance he had found it, banded around the root of an ancient yew. Hacking it free, he had seen the characters on the inner surface—rude forceful symbols, doubtless the cast of a powerful antique rune…Best take it to a magician and have it tested for sorcery.
Liane made a wry mouth. There were objections to the course. Sometimes it seemed as if all living creatures conspired to exasperate him. Only this morning, the spice merchant—what a tumult he had made dying! How carelessly he had spewed blood on Liane’s cock comb sandals! Still, thought Liane, every unpleasantness carried with it compensation. While digging the grave he had found the bronze ring.
And Liane’s spirits soared; he laughed in pure joy. He bounded, he leapt. His green cape flapped behind him, the red feather in his cap winked and blinked…But still—Liane slowed his step—he was no whit closer to the mystery of the magic, if magic the ring possessed.
Experiment, that was the word!
He stopped where the ruby sunlight slanted down without hindrance from the high foliage, examined the ring, traced the glyphs with his fingernail. He peered through. A faint film, a flicker? He held it at arm’s length. It was clearly a coronet. He whipped off his cap, set the band on his brow, rolled his great golden eyes, preened himself…Odd. It slipped down on his ears. It tipped across his eyes. Darkness. Frantically Liane clawed it off…A bronze ring, a hand’s-breadth in diameter. Queer.
He tried again. It slipped down over his head, his shoulders. His head was in the darkness of a strange separate space. Looking down, he saw the level of the outside light dropping as he dropped the ring.
Slowly down…Now it was around his ankles—and in sudden panic, Liane snatched the ring up over his body, emerged blinking into the maroon light of the forest.
He saw a blue-white, green-white flicker against the foliage. It was a Twk-man, mounted on a dragon-fly, and light glinted from the dragon-fly’s wings.
Liane called sharply, “Here, sir! Here, sir!”
“Watch now, and remember what you see.” Liane pulled the ring over his head, dropped it to his feet, lifted it back. He looked up to the Twk-man, who was chewing a leaf. “And what did you see?”
“I saw Liane vanish from mortal sight—except for the red curled toes of his sandals. All else was as air.”
“Ha!” cried Liane. “Think of it! Have you ever seen the like?”
The Twk-man asked carelessly, “Do you have salt? I would have salt.”
Liane cut his exultations short, eyed the Twk-man closely.
“What news do you bring me?”
“Three erbs killed Florejin the Dream-builder, and burst all his bubbles. The air above the manse was colored for many minutes with the flitting fragments.”
“A gram.”
“Lord Kandive the Golden has built a barge of carven mo-wood ten lengths high, and it floats on the River Scaum for the Regatta, full of treasure.”
“Two grams.”
“A golden witch named Lith has come to live on Thamber Meadow. She is quiet and very beautiful.”
“Three grams.”
“Enough,” said the Twk-man, and leaned forward to watch while Liane weighed out the salt in a tiny balance. He packed it in small panniers hanging on each side of the ribbed thorax, then twitched the insect into the air and flicked off through the forest vaults.
