Elder Isles 2: The Green Pearl (26 page)

Aillas, sitting alone in the cottage which served as his headquarters at Doun Darric, looked out at rain sweeping down across the moor: a dreary view, but no more dismal than his present predicament. If he committed troops, ships and supplies from Troicinet, in quantity sufficient to overwhelm the Ska, he not only risked disaffection at home but he also became exposed to a sudden onslaught by King Casmir of Lyonesse (who in any event would rejoice to discover Aillas trapped in a desperate war with the Ska).

At this moment, the attention of every baron, knight and lordling of South Ulfland was fixed upon him. If he failed to strike back, he lost his credibility as an effective king and became another Oriante, helpless when confronted by Ska force.

Aillas, standing by the window and looking out over the rainswept moor, finally reached a decision… which in fact was not so much a plan of action as a list of responses he must not make: no assault upon Suarach, no reinforcements from Troicinet, except for warships to harass Ska shipping, and no turning his back on the situation as if nothing had happened. So then: what remained? Only the classical weapons of the underdog: craft and cunning.

What of North Ulfland? The Ska roamed at will, using the region as a wild hinterland which eventually they would occupy. Now they exploited its resources of timber and ore, and impressed the scattered inhabitants into their labor gangs as they found convenient. Across that coastal strip known as “The Foreshore’ the Ulfs had been totally expelled. In their stead the Ska had come in numbers to build their curious many-gabled villages and to cultivate not only the fertile acreages but also those ranges which the Ulfs had relegated to grazing land. Elsewhere a few peasants clustered in squalid villages, hiding at the approach of the Ska press-gangs, even though at Xounges, King Gax still maintained his nominal rule.

Darkness settled over the sodden moor. Aillas was served a supper of bread and lentils, then sat alone by the fire for another two hours before taking to his couch, and eventually the soft sound of rain on the thatch lulled him to sleep.

In the morning by some miracle the sun shone bright from a keen blue sky, and the moors, glistening with sun-struck rain-drops, seemed not so bad a place. Aillas took his breakfast, then despatched a message to Domreis, commanding that six warships instantly make ready and set sail for Ys, and thereafter scour the Narrow Sea for Ska shipping.

Aillas next met with his military command. He spoke for a period, defining problems and explaining how he hoped to deal with them.

The reaction of his staff surprised and gratified him; indeed, Aillas’ concepts coincided generally with their own predispositions. There were even voices raised in full defiance of the Ska: “We have truckled to these black-hearted devils long enough! Now at last we will show them the stuff that Ulf warriors are made of!”

“They have beat us before, true! And why? Because they are skillfully trained, which gives each man the force of three! Now we too are trained!”

“I say, march now! Full and hard into North Ulfland, then let us seek out their armies! We are not the bleating sheep they take us for!”

Aillas, half-laughing, cried out: “Ah, Sir Redyard! If only the whole army knew your determination! Our problems would be gone! But for the present we must fight with intelligence, rather than emotion. The Ska’s single vulnerability is lack of numbers; they cannot afford large losses, no matter how many they take with them. But I value each of our men no less, and I do not care to trade them lives, especially our two for their one, even if it gains us victory. We must strike like bandits, take our toll, then retreat before suffering harm of our own. The war will be won gradually, but surely. On the other hand, if we attempt to battle the Ska face to face, we play their preferred game, and we shall take many losses and still not win.”

“That is a tactful way of putting the facts,” Sir Gahaun noted. “Also, since a good half of your soldiers began as bandits, we can take many a short-cut in their training.”

“Training, always more training,” grumbled Sir Redyard. “When do we fight?”

“Be patient, sir. You shall fight soon enough, I assure you.” A week later a message came to Aillas from Castle Clarrie:

Here is information to interest you. One of my herdsmen discovered three of my stolen cattle, high in the foothills, close under Mount Noc. We rode out by stealth and managed, to capture one of the thieves, by reason of an arrow in his side. Before he died he told us more of Torquat, who now commands a score of cutthroats from AJUJ, an ancient keep in a place coded Devil-shriek Gorge, which is invulnerable to attack. He spends gold for good weapons, and for good food and drink, and it seems that this gold comes, as you averred, from. King Casmir of Lyonesse, with whom Torqual maintains communication.

KING CASMIR IT SO HAPPENED, was not altogether pleased with Torqual’s efforts. Once again Torqual sent a messenger demanding gold, and on this occasion King Casmir had asked for an accounting of funds already spent and results already achieved. “I am not convinced that my moneys are being spent efficiently,” said King Casmir. “In sheer point of fact, my informants tell me that Torqual’s style of living approaches luxury, and that he and his company of cutthroats dine on the best the land has to offer. Is my gold spent thus, on sweetmeats and raisin-cakes?”

“And why not?” demanded the messenger. “Our bolt-hole is Ang, offers little more comfort than a pile of stones. Are we to starve while doing your work? When rain blows through the windows and the fire gutters for lack of dry fuel, Torqual can at least offer his band the solace of good food and wine!”

Casmir grudgingly paid out another twenty crowns, with instruction to Torqual that he learn to live off the country. “I suggest that he plant vacant lands to oats and barley, and that he keep cattle and sheep, and run fowl, as do the other denizens of the region, and so mitigate this remorseless erosion of my treasury.”

“Sir, with the fullest respect for your wisdom, we can grow neither oats nor barley on vertical surfaces of stone, nor will cattle thrive in these areas.”

While unconvinced, King Casmir said no more.

Several months went by, while events of importance occurred in the Ulflands. Secret despatches from Doun Darric and elsewhere made no mention of Torqual, and King Casmir could only speculate as to Torqual’s work.

The messenger at last returned, and again required gold: on this occasion in the amount of fifty crowns.

For once King Casmir’s icy composure failed him; his jaw dropped in amazement. “Have I heard you aright?”

“Sir, if you have grasped the figure ‘fifty crowns,’ you have heard me aright. The company at Ang now numbers twenty-two strong warriors, who must be fed, clothed and armed during all seasons. Our other sources of revenue are failing us; meanwhile Torqual recuperates from a wound. He sends this message: ‘If I am to maintain my force and work in your service, I must have gold!’”

King Casmir sighed and shook his head. “You shall have no more of mine… not till I see evidence that your work is worth its cost. Can you supply this information? No? …. Rosko! This gentleman is departing.”

Toward evening of this same day Rosko, one of King Casmir’s underchamberlains, using a nasal voice of deprecation, announced to King Casmir that a certain Visbhume demanded private audience.

“Bring him in,” said King Casmir curtly. Visbhume entered, thrusting past the startled Rosko and advancing with a dancing tip-toe stride of pent energy released. As before he wore a rusty black cloak and, today, a black long-billed hunter’s cap, which, with his darting black eyes, long crooked nose and forward-leaning posture, gave him a look of eager curiosity. He halted close to King Casmir, doffed his hat, then, showing an arch and confidential smile, performed a bow of several flourishes.

King Casmir pointed to a seat at some distance; Visbhume’s breath was far from fresh.

Visbhume seated himself with the easy attitude of a man who has done his job well. King Casmir dismissed Rosko with a wave, then asked Visbhume: “What is your news?”

“Sir, I have learned much!”

“Speak, then.”

“Despite my dread of the cruel sea, I crossed the Lir in all bravery, as befits the private agent of your Majesty!”

Visbhume saw no need to mention that he had spent the better part of a month inspecting the vessels which plied the Lir, hoping to learn which offered the speediest, most secure and most comfortable passage.

Visbhume spoke on. “When service or duty is the call, then I respond with the insensate certainty of the rising sun!”

“That is good to hear,” said King Casmir.

“Upon my arrival at Domreis, I took lodging at the Black Eagle Inn, which I conceived to be… ”

King Casmir raised his hand. “You need not describe each incident; merely describe your findings.”

“As you wish, sir. After a month or more of extremely subtle investigations, I learned the general area of Ehirme’s present residence. I made my way to this locality, and there, after weeks of further inquiry, I discovered the houses of both Ehirme and her parents.

“To my surprise I found that Ehirme’s sister had exaggerated not at all. These folk have been accorded the condition of gentry, and live in luxury, with servants to sweep the hearth and scour the doorstep. It is now ‘Dame Ehirme’ to all the world, and her spouse is ‘Squire Dikken.’ Her parents are ‘the Right Honourable Graithe and Dame Wynes.’ There is clear glass in their windows and four chimneys to their roofs, and you cannot see the ceiling to their kitchens for the sausages.”

“That is an extraordinary elevation of place,” said King Casmir. “Proceed, with somewhat greater compression of the weeks and months; otherwise we will be sitting here an exactly equal period of time.”

“Your Majesty, I will be brief, even terse! Local inquiry yielded nothing germane to our interest, so I decided to put my questions directly to Dame Ehirme. Here I found difficulty, as she cannot speak with clarity.”

“I cut her tongue in half,” said King Casmir.

“Here is the explanation! Her spouse is surly, and as chary of words as a dead fish, and I took my questions to Graithe and Wynes, where I again encountered offensive taciturnity. But now I was prepared and in the guise of a wine merchant I poured them a libation which made them docile, and they babbled all they knew.” Visbhume jerked his head and grinned widely at the recollection.

King Casmir waited, making no comment, until, at last, Visbhume gave over his pleasant memories.

“Ah, what a triumph!” Visbhume declared. “And now hear this news! The child originally brought out to Graithe and Wynes was a boy! When they carried the basket into the woods one day, the fairies of Thripsey Shee took the boy and left a girl. The changeling is the Princess Madouc!”

King Casmir closed his eyes and held them shut for ten seconds, but otherwise evinced no emotion, and when he spoke his voice was even as ever. “And the boy?”

“They never saw him after, near or far.”

King Casmir spoke softly, as if only for the hearing of his own ears: “Persilian revealed truth, more than I could guess!”

Visbhume assumed an air of judicious wisdom, as might befit the king’s trusted adviser. King Casmir appraised him for a long moment, then said in the mildest of voices: “You have spoken of this matter to whom? Tamurello?”

“To no person whatever, save yourself! That is the way of discretion!”

“You have done well.”

Visbhume jumped to his feet. “Thank you, your Majesty! What is to be my reward? I hope for a pleasant estate.”

“In due course. First we must pursue this matter to its ultimate.”

Visbhume spoke hollowly: “You refer to the boy?”

“Of course. He would now be five years old; perhaps he still abides with the fairies.”

Visbhume screwed up his face. “Not likely. They are prone to fads and foibles. Their enthusiasms never persist. The boy long since has been thrust out into the forest, and most likely devoured by wild animals.”

“This I doubt. The boy must be found, identified, and brought here to Haidion. This is of paramount urgency. Do you know the location of Thripsey Shee?”

“Sir, I do not.”

King Casmir smiled a grim smile. “Clearly, it is close by the old residence of Graithe and Wynes… which is to say, beyond the village Glymwode, at the edge of the forest. Find the shee and put your questions to the fairies. Subdue them with a libation of docility, if necessary.”

Visbhume uttered a high-pitched sound of dismay. “Your Majesty, a word!”

King Casmir, slowly turning his head, fixed Visbhume with a stare cold and blue as a glacial lake. “You have further information to impart?”

“No, your Majesty. I must think long and well on how best to fulfill your goals.”

“Waste no time. This matter is of great importance… . Why do you wait?”

“Your Majesty, I have needs.”

“In what regard?”

“Certainly I will require a steed suitable to my condition, as well as a sum of money, for needful expenses.”

“Make your application to Rosko; he will deal with your requests.7’

THE SFER ARCT, ENTERING LYONESSE TOWN from the north, skirted the most ancient wing of Haidion, then continued across town to the Chale, the esplanade fronting the harbour. At this intersection stood the Four Mallows Inn, where Visbhume took lodging, in apparent disregard of King Casmir’s order to make haste.

Visbhume dined upon a fine fresh lobster, seethed in a sauce of wine, butter and garlic, and consumed a bottle of the best wine the inn could offer. Despite the succulence of his meal, he ate without gusto, in a mood of dour foreboding. If he were to approach the fairies and annoy them with his questions, they would surely play him a round of vicious pranks… especially since they delighted in tormenting folk in whom they detected fear and loathing: both of which Visbhume felt in abundance.

After finishing his supper, Visbhume went to sit on a bench at the side of the square and while dusk fell upon the town he brooded further upon his mission. If only he had worked to better effect during his apprenticeship to Hippolito! But he had attempted only easy techniques and had never encompassed the hard disciplines required for full command of the Grand Art. When fleeing Maule in the goat-cart, he had sequestered certain of Hippolito’s properties: apparatus, books, curios, and his great prize, Twitten’s Almanac. He had taken these goods to a secret place in Dahaut where now they were of no use to him, and he knew none of the sleights of quick self-transfer.