The Brave Free Men

by Jack Vance

  “You did not,” said Brise shortly. “You sat in my office, in my company and that of my trusted associates, for two days. You communicated with no one, you betrayed no ambush.”

  “We received news of the battle at Kozan,” Aun Sharah went on. “Brise now confessed to me that he considered himself to blame for the fact that suspicion had fallen upon me. He reported his conversation with Gastel Etzwane.

  “I understand now that I am linked to the ambush at Thran by one question and one answer. I required that Brise send bottoms to Oswiy; he said no, I must send my goods to Maurmouth. On this basis my guilt in regard to the Thran ambush is assumed. The concept is far-fetched but remotely possible, except for a secondary fact which once again Gastel Etzwane has not noticed. This question and this answer, in a thousand variations, has become a joke between Brise and myself: repartee as we coordinate our functions. I ask him for transport at one place, he says impossible, find freight at another. Brise, is this correct?”

  “It is correct,” said Brise in an uncomfortable voice. “The question and the answer might be repeated five times a day. Aun Sharah could have understood nothing of significance in the remarks regarding Oswiy and Thran. I reported them to Gastel Etzwane because he required my every word; I neglected to put them into context.”

  Aun Sharah asked Etzwane: “Do you have any other charges?”

  Etzwane gave a sick laugh. “None. I am clearly unfit to make a rational judgment on anyone or anything. I apologize to you, and will make amends as best I can. I must seriously consider resigning from the Purple House.”

  Mialambre:Octagon spoke in a gruff voice: “Come now, the matter need go no farther; this is no time for extravagant acts.”

  “Except in this single regard,” said Aun Sharah. “You spoke of amends. If you are serious, return me to my own work; give me back my Discriminators.”

  “So far as I am concerned,” said Etzwane, “they are yours, any that are left. Finnerack has turned the place inside out.”

  The Roguskhoi had been driven back into the Wildlands, and for a period the war dwindled to a halt. Finnerack presented his estimate of the situation to Etzwane. “They are as if in an impregnable fortress. Our radius of penetration is twenty miles; beyond this line the Roguskhoi breed, rearm, regroup, and presumably recast their strategies.”

  Etzwane mused. “We have captured thousands of scimitars; they are an alloy unknown in Shant. What is the source of supply? Do they operate foundries deep in the Hwan? A great mystery.”

  Finnerack gave an indifferent nod. “Our strategy now is self-evident. We must organize our total manpower and gradually occupy the Hwan. It is a toilsome and complicated task, but is there any other method?”

  “Probably not,” said Etzwane.

  “Then back to Palasedra with the brutes! And let the Palasedrans interfere at their peril!”

  “Presuming that the Palasedrans are responsible, which is not yet proved.”

  Finnerack stared in astonishment. “Who else but the Palasedrans?”

  “Who else but Aun Sharah? I have learned my lesson.”

  Chapter XIII

  Summer brought a lull to the war, which extended into the long mild autumn. Shant repaired its damage, mourned its dead men and kidnapped women, augmented its armed might. The Brave Free Men, expanding in numbers and organization, separated into regional divisions, with the cantonal militia serving functions of support and supply. Weapons poured from the Shranke assemblies; the Roguskhoi scimitars, melted and molded, became ballast.

  Gliders flew forth from Whearn: double-winged craft, light as moths. A special corps of the Brave Free Men became the Flyers of Shant. Their training at first was makeshift and merciless; those who survived instructed the others. By sheer necessity the Flyers became a skilled and cohesive force, and as natural consequence began to make prideful demonstration of reckless daring and élan.

  To arm the gliders, the technists produced a ferocious new weapon, a simplified non-ballasted version of the halcoid gun. The projectile was composite: halcoid joined to a metal, and the firing tube was open at each end. When fired, the halcoid struck forward, the metal was ejected aft; in effect the weapon acted in both directions, eliminating recoil and the need for ballast. When fired from a glider, the ejected missile usually spent itself harmlessly in the air; on the ground the guns were intolerably dangerous.

  Before sending gliders out against the Roguskhoi, Finnerack drilled the flyers in battle tactics, the dropping of bombs with accuracy, and safety techniques with respect to the halcoid gun.

  From the first Finnerack had been fascinated with the gliders; he learned to fly, and presently, not altogether to Etzwane’s surprise, he relinquished his command over the Brave Free Men in order to assume control of the Flyers.

  In the middle autumn the ground armies began to move up into the Hwan, pushing west from Cansume, Haghead and Lor-Asphen, retaking cantons Surrume and Shkoriy. A second force moved south through Bastern, Seamus and Bundoran, into the Wildlands itself. Other companies worked east and south, from Shade and Sable, penetrating the Mount Mish region, and here the Roguskhoi put up fierce resistance. Theirs was now a lost cause. Trained ahulphs spied out their concentrations, which then were bombed or subjected to halcoid fire, from guns mounted in clusters of six.

  On other occasions the Roguskhoi were baited into ambush by lures of ‘female essence’, to which they were intensely responsive. Another time, gliders sprayed a Roguskhoi camp with a solution of ‘female essence’ with horrid effect. The Roguskhoi, confused by the contradictory stimuli of odor and eye, seemed to become insanely cantankerous; in short order they were cuffing each other and then exchanging bludgeon blows, until almost all were dead; at once gliders set out across all the Wildlands laden not with dexax but with canisters of ‘female essence’.

  Ahulphs, somewhat belatedly set out to spy, reported the course of the Roguskhoi supply route. It led from the Great Salt Bog into the swamps of Canton Shker, then proceeded north under a dense forest of raintree and parasol daraba, up through the Moaning Mountains and into the Hwan.

  The military command dispatched a force to cut the line at the forest edge. Finnerack wanted to react more vehemently. “Is this not evidence? The Palasedrans are responsible. The Salt Bog is no barrier; why should they lack a taste of their own medicine?”

  The command captains frowned down at their charts, lacking arguments against convictions so emphatic. Finnerack, somewhat chastened after the Aun Sharah fiasco, had been reanimated by his new role as Flyer. He now wore a Flyer uniform of fine black cloth, cut to something more than ordinary flair. Here, thought Etzwane, with the Flyers of Shant, was Finnerack’s natural function; he had never before seemed so zestful and energetic. The power and freedom of flight had exalted him; he walked the world like a man apart, superior in basic fiber to the groundlings, who would never know the terrible joys of sweeping silently across the hills, rising and falling, circling, veering, then swooping like a hawk to blast apart a marching column … Etzwane had long lost all fear of Finnerack’s turning the Brave Free Men against the government. Too many safeguards had been set up; in retrospect Etzwane saw that he might have been overcautious. Finnerack showed no interest in the sources of power; he seemed satisfied to crush his enemies. For Finnerack, a world without enemies would be a very dull place, thought Etzwane.

  He now answered Finnerack in his most reasonable voice: “We don’t want to punish the Palasedrans for at least three reasons. First, we’re not yet finished with the Roguskhoi. Second, Palasedran responsibility is not certain. Third, it would be poor policy needlessly to embroil ourselves in a war with the Palasedrans. They are a fierce people who give back twice as good as they take, as Shant has learned to its sorrow. Suppose the Roguskhoi are an oversight, a mistake? Or the work of a dissident group? We can’t plunge Shant into a war so recklessly. After all, what do we know of Palasedra? Nothing. The place is a closed book to us.”

  “We know enough,” s
aid Finnerack. “They have bred an array of weird soldier-beasts, this we learn from Caraz mariners. We find the Roguskhoi trail leading into the Salt Bog toward Palasedra. These are facts.”

  “True. But they are not all the facts. We need more knowledge. I will send an envoy to Chemaoue.”

  Finnerack gave a bitter laugh and swung half-about in his chair, the helmet of the Flyers askew on his blond curls.

  Etzwane said: “We need be neither weak nor truculent; we are not forced to make this choice. We will drive the Roguskhoi from our lands, and meanwhile we must try to learn the Palasedran intentions. Only a fool acts before thinking, as I have learned.”

  Finnerack turned to look at Etzwane; the blue eyes showed a narrow glitter, like sunlight reflecting from a far ledge of ice. Then he shrugged and sat back in his seat, a man at peace with himself.

  The Roguskhoi were in retreat. The Brave Free Men thrusting into the Hwan from Shade, Sable, Seamus and Bastern suddenly encountered no resistance whatever. Glider patrols and free balloon reconnaissance told the same story: the Roguskhoi were streaming south in dozens of columns. For the most part they moved by night, taking what shelter they could during the day. Gliders harassed them from overhead, spitting halcoid, dropping bombs of dexax. ‘Female essence’ had lost its initial effect; the Roguskhoi, while perturbed and agitated, no longer indulged in suicidal paroxysms.

  The Flyers were at the pinnacle of their glory. The blue and white uniforms aroused a delirium of adulation; nothing was too good for a Flyer of Shant.

  Finnerack had likewise reached his zenith. Watching him as he dealt with business of the Flyers, Etzwane found it hard to recall the pleasant-faced boy he had known at Angwin Junction. For all practical purposes, the boy had died at Camp Three … What of the small dark pinch-faced boy who had escaped Angwin Junction? Looking in the carbon-fume mirror, Etzwane saw a face hollow-cheeked and sallow, with a mouth straight and still … He had known a rich life indeed, thought Etzwane. If Finnerack were now at the crest of his career, Etzwane considered his work done. He longed to detach himself — to become what? A wandering musician once more? Shant seemed suddenly too small, too limited. Palasedra was a hostile land; Caraz a vast mystery. The name Ifness came into Etzwane’s mind. He thought of the planet Earth.

  The Roguskhoi, commanded by their roaring chieftains, loped down from the Wildlands, through Canton Shker, and into the Great Salt Bog. The Brave Free Men, attacking on the flanks, took a terrible toll, as did the Flyers, veering, swooping, projecting streaks of incandescent air.

  The columns dwindled to a trickle, then ended. The Brave Free Men roamed the length and breadth of the Hwan, finding an occasional sickly imp or bands of starving women, but no more Roguskhoi.

  Shant was free of its invaders. The Roguskhoi had retired into the Great Salt Bog, a place of black ooze, rust-colored ponds, occasional islands overgrown with coral trees, other islands of sand rising stark and bare, pale green reeds, snake-grass, black limberleaf.

  In the Salt Bog the Roguskhoi seemed secure and easy and wallowed effortlessly through the ooze. The Brave Free Men pursued until the ground grew soft, then reluctantly drew back. The Flyers knew no such limits. The black morasses, the knolls of bright white sand, the coral-tree forests, the winds thrusting in from both the Blue and Purple Oceans created drafts and shafts of rising and falling airs; sunlight shimmered down between tall thunderheads; the gliders soared and swooped at will, no longer pursuing, now wreaking vengeance.

  Deeper and deeper into the Great Salt Bog moved the Roguskhoi, harried by the merciless gliders. Etzwane felt impelled to caution Finnerack: “Whatever else, do not enter alien territory! Hector the Roguskhoi as you like, back and forth across the Great Salt Bog, but under no circumstances provoke the Palasedrans!”

  Finnerack showed his small hard grin. “The boundaries are where? In the center of the Bog? Show me where the exact line lies.”

  “So far as I know there is no precise boundary. The Salt Bog is like a sea. If you verged too close against the southern shore of the Bog, the Palasedrans would claim encroachment.”

  “Bog is bog,” said Finnerack. “I understand the Palasedran’s distress, but I give them no compassion.”

  “This is beside the point,” said Etzwane patiently. “Your orders are: do not operate your gliders within sight of Palasedra.”

  Finnerack stood bristling in front of Etzwane, who for the first time felt the uncloaked thrust of Finnerack’s hatred. Etzwane was affected by a sensation of physical disgust. Finnerack was a good hater. When Etzwane had first identified himself, Finnerack had admitted hate for the boy who had caused him woe, but had not the balance been righted? Etzwane drew a deep breath. Conditions were as they were.

  Finnerack had spoken, in a low dangerous voice: “Do you still give me orders, Gastel Etzwane?”

  “I do, by authority of the Purple House. Do you serve Shant, or the gratification of your personal passions?”

  Finnerack stared at Etzwane ten seconds, then swung away and departed.

  The envoy returned from his mission to Chemaoue, with no satisfactory news. “I could make no direct contact with the Eagle-Dukes. They are proud and remote. I cannot fathom their purposes. I received a message to the effect that they could not deal with slaves; if we wanted transactions, we must send down the Anome. I replied that Shant no longer was under the Anome’s rule, that I was an emissary of the Purple and Green, but they seemed not to heed.”

  Etzwane conferred in private with Aun Sharah, who once more occupied his old office overlooking Corporation Plaza.

  “I have assiduously studied both sets of circumstances,” said Aun Sharah. “In regard to the two ambushes the essential facts are clear. Four persons were informed as to the Thran operation: yourself, San-Sein, Finnerack and Brise. You and San-Sein knew of the Kozan Bluff ambush, which succeeded; you two are eliminated. Brise must certainly have deduced that the Mirk Valley ambush was bogus; he might easily have presumed the Kozan Bluff ambush. He too can be eliminated in the Mirk Valley ambush. Accordingly we must regard Finnerack as the traitor.”

  Etzwane was silent a moment. Then he said, “I have thought along these same lines. The logic is sound; the conclusion is absurd. How can the most zealous warrior of Shant be a traitor?”

  “I don’t know,” said Aun Sharah. “I returned to this office, I altered arrangements to suit myself, as you see. In the process I discovered a whole array of eavesdrop devices. I took the liberty of inspecting your suite at the Hrindiana, where I found another such set. Finnerack of course had easy opportunity to arrange these devices.”

  “Incredible,” muttered Etzwane. “Have you located the terminus of the system?”

  “They feed into a radio-transmitter, which broadcasts continuously at a low level.”

  “The devices, the radio — they are Shant manufacture?”

  “They are standard Discriminator adjuncts.”

  “Hmmf … For the present we’ll wait and watch. I don’t care to make any premature accusations.”

  Aun Sharah smiled thoughtfully. “Now as to the second investigation: I learn very little. Finnerack simply dropped from sight for three days. I learn only that two men of Canton Parthe occupied the suite next to Finnerack. They departed a day or so after Finnerack’s ‘return’. I took detailed descriptions and I feel that they were not Parthans, whatever the color of their torcs: they hung up no door-fetish and frequently wore blue.

  “I naturally made inquiry at the Roseale Hrindiana. Two similar men occupied the suite directly above yours prior to your experience. They then departed without notifying the Hrindiana officials.”

  “I am baffled,” said Etzwane. “I also am greatly afraid … I asked Finnerack if he felt differently; he said no. I feel no differently either.”

  Aun Sharah regarded Etzwane curiously, then made one of his delicate gestures. “I can tell you no more. Naturally I am searching for the Parthans, and Finnerack is being kept under unobtrusive observation.
Something suggestive may turn up.”

  The Flyers of Shant pressed the Roguskhoi ever deeper into the bog, giving no respite; the air above the great morass stunk of carrion. The Roguskhoi moved always southward — toward a destination? to put all distance between themselves and the Flyers of Shant? No one could say, but presently the northern half of the Salt Bog was as empty of Roguskhoi as Shant itself.

  In the gallant colors of victory, the journals of Garwiy published a proclamation of the Purple and Green:

  The war must now be considered at an end, although the Flyers continue to wreak retribution for the countless Roguskhoi atrocities. It is impossible to feel pity for the brutes.

  However, we must now terminate our campaign. The glorious feats of the Brave Free Men and the Flyers of Shant will live forever in the history of the race. These noble men must now devote their energies to the regeneration of Shant.

  THE WAR IS AT AN END.

  Finnerack was late to the meeting of the Purple House. Entering the chamber, he marched with slow steps to his place at the marble table.

  Etzwane was speaking. “Our great struggle is done, and I feel that my responsibility is ended. This being the case —”

  Finnerack interrupted him. “One moment, so that you may not be resigning under a misapprehension. I have just now received news from Shker. The Flyers of Shant, operating in the southern area of the Great Salt Bog, this morning encountered a dense column of Roguskhoi making at speed for the Palasedran shore. We attacked and approached Palasedra. Our maneuvers were under careful surveillance, and it may be that the Roguskhoi movements were intended to draw us into a condition of technical incursion.” Finnerack paused. “This was the event. Our gliders were intercepted by black Palasedran gliders flown with great skill. In the first engagement they destroyed four gliders of Shant, losing none. In the second engagement we altered our tactics and shot down two enemy gliders, while losing two more of our own. I have received no further reports.”