The Dogtown Tourist Agency Page 11

  Hetzel peered down at the Gomaz. “How do you know they’re Ubaikh?”

  “By the helmets. Look! See that one standing off to the side? Isn’t he the one who just returned from Axistil?”

  “I don’t know. They all look alike to me.”

  “He’s the same one. He’s still wearing that iron collar and carrying a steel sword.”

  The Gomaz climbed from the water and reformed ranks, but made no move to proceed. Overhead soared the gargoyles, long necks bent low.

  Hetzel pointed to the forest of bloodwoods at the western end of the meadow. “More gargoyles!”

  A second band of Gomaz marched into view, singing their own wavering, whining polyphony, followed by a train of four wagons. “The Kzyk,” Janika whispered. “The same band we saw this morning!”

  The Kzyk marched forward as if the Ubaikh were invisible. At the edge of the stream they broke ranks, as the Ubaikh had done, and waded into the water. The Ubaikh stood rigid and motionless, and presently the Kzyk returned to the west bank of the stream and reformed ranks; they too stood stiff and stern.

  Three minutes passed, during which, so far as Hetzel could see, neither Ubaikh nor Kzyk twitched a muscle. Then from the Kzyk ranks a warrior stepped forth. He paced up and down along the west bank of the stream with an odd strutting motion, raising high a leg, extending and placing it upon the ground with exaggerated delicacy.

  From the Ubaikh ranks came a warrior, who strutted in similar fashion along the east bank of the stream.

  Three more Kzyk came forth, to perform a set of bizarre postures, of a significance totally incomprehensible to Hetzel. Three Ubaikh performed in similar postures on the east bank. “It must be a kind of war dance,” Hetzel whispered.

  “War dance or love dance.”

  On each side of the stream, while the white sequin of sun sank down the darkening green sky and the wind sighed through the bloodwood trees, the Gomaz warriors strutted and postured, swayed, dipped and jerked. They began to sing—at first a whisper, then a fluting louder and more intense, then a throbbing wail, which sent chills up and down Hetzel’s skin. Janika shuddered and closed her eyes and pressed close against Hetzel.

  The song vibrated up and out of audibility, then stopped short. The silence creaked with tension. The striders and dancers wheeled quietly back to their ranks.

  The engagement began. Warriors leaped the stream, their jaws clattering together, to confront an opponent. Each feinted, ducked, dodged, attempting to grip his adversary on the neck, with the mandibles now protruding from his jaw sockets.

  Hetzel turned away his eyes; the spectacle was awful and wonderful; screams of passionate woe, wails of exaltation, tore at his brain. Janika lay shuddering; he put his arm around her and kissed her face, then drew away aghast; had he been swept away on a telepathic torrent? He lay stiff, clenching his mind against the tides of murderous erotic fervor.

  Victors began to appear—those who had gripped their opponents’ necks, either to cut a nerve or inject a hormone, for suddenly the defeated warrior became submissive, while the victor implanted its spawn into the victim’s thorax, then ate the nubbin at the back of the limp creature’s throat.

  The battle ended; from the meadow came a new sound, half-moan, half-sigh. Of the original combatants, half remained alive. Originally there had been more Kzyk than Ubaikh, as was now the case, but the Kzyk showed no disposition to attack the survivors, who included—so Hetzel was pleased to see—the chieftain who had witnessed the assassinations at the Triskelion. Overhead, the gargoyles circled, then one by one wheeled off and flapped away to the crags. “When the war is fought for hate,” said Janika, “there are no survivors among the losers, and the gargoyles carry off the corpses. But the Ubaikh and the Kzyk will leave guards until the infants break out into the air.” She looked at Hetzel in consternation. “What about us? How will we get away?”

  “If necessary, I have my gun,” said Hetzel. “We’ll have to spend the night up here. There’s probably no better place, in any event.”

  A moment or two went by. Janika looked sidewise toward Hetzel. “A little while ago you kissed me.”

  “So I did.”

  “Then you stopped.”

  “I was afraid that the Gomaz telepathy was getting to me. It didn’t seem dignified. There’s no telepathy now, of course.” Hetzel kissed her again.

  “I’m tired and dirty and miserable,” said Janika. “I undoubtedly look awful.”

  “The formality in our relationship seems to be breaking down,” said Hetzel. “What would they say in Varsilla if they could see you now?”

  “I can’t imagine…I don’t want to imagine…”

  Chapter XI

  The night was long and dreary. Hetzel and Janika, wrapped in their cloaks, slept the sleep of exhaustion. At dawn they awoke cramped and sore and chilled. Hetzel peered out over the meadow. The Ubaikh huddled east of the stream; the Kzyk had formed a similar group to the west. With the coming of daylight, they brought forward their wagons and unloaded caldrons of food. The Ubaikh crossed the stream, and ate on even terms with the Kzyks, then returned to where they had passed the night. For a few minutes they wandered the meadow, examining the corpses of the previous evening’s battle; then they began a colloquy, half telepathic, half through the medium of whistles and trills. The Ubaikh chieftain seemed to present a fervent exhortation. The Kzyks also deliberated together, then began to whistle derisively at the Ubaikh, who became stiff and haughty. The chieftain began strutting and stalking, but to a quicker pulse than on the evening previously. No longer did the warriors seem to preen; they moved curtly; their gestures were harsh and emphatic. The singing started—staccato phrases, shrill and domineering. Down from the crags came the gargoyles, to soar with drooping necks, peering intently at the events below.

  The singing halted; the warriors formed ranks as before. Hetzel suddenly jerked to his feet.

  “They’ll see you!” said Janika.

  “I can’t let that Ubaikh get killed. He’s the only dependable witness. Also, I like the look of those wagons. Come on down; hurry, before they start to fight.”

  They scrambled down the back side of the crag. Hetzel stepped out upon the meadow. “Halt!” He spoke into the translator, with the volume at full. “The battle must cease. Break your ranks. Obey me, because I have weapons to kill all here and leave all corpses for the gargoyles.” Hetzel raised his hand to the sky; one, two, three gargoyles exploded in gouts of purple flame and black smoke. A few charred fragments fell to the ground.

  Hetzel pointed to the Ubaikh chieftain. “You must come with me. I will tolerate no more of your unrealistic arrogance. We will ride in the Kzyk wagons. They will take us to the Kzyk transport depot. Kzyk, prepare to march. Ubaikh, disperse; return to your castle. But both sides may leave guards to protect the bantlings.” Hetzel turned and signaled to Janika. “Come.”

  The Gomaz had stood rigid as stone statues. Hetzel pointed to the chief. “You must come with me. Cross the stream and stand by the wagons.”

  The Ubaikh chieftain made a set of shrill, furious sounds, which the translator was unable to paraphrase. Hetzel took a step forward. “I am impatient. Ubaikh, disperse! Return to your castle! And you—” he pointed to the Ubaikh chieftain “—cross the stream!”

  The air was full of resentful whistles. A Kzyk chieftain emitted an angry scream. The translator tape printed: “Who are you to give such orders?”

  “I am a Gaean overlord! I have come to investigate the problems of the Gomaz. I need this Ubaikh chieftain as my witness; I cannot allow his death at this time.”

  “I would not have been killed,” declared the chieftain. “I intended to slaughter two dozen Kzyk and void upon their carcasses.”

  “You must postpone this exploit,” said Hetzel. “To the wagons; smartly, now!”

  The Ubaikh and the Kzyk stared at each other, indecisive and crestfallen. Hetzel said, “Who does not wish to obey me? Let him step forward!”

&nb
sp; Neither Ubaikh nor Kzyk moved. Hetzel pointed his gun and destroyed two corpses—a Ubaikh and a Kzyk. A wail of awe and horror arose from the Gomaz. “To the wagons,” said Hetzel.

  The Ubaikh chieftain trudged ungraciously to the Kzyk wagons. The remaining Ubaikh moved across the meadow and stood in a restless group. The Kzyk, without hesitation, formed ranks and marched westward. Hetzel, Janika, and the Ubaikh chieftain climbed upon a wagon, which lurched off after the warriors. “This is somewhat better than walking,” said Hetzel.

  “I agree,” said Janika.

  The wagon rolled down from the heights, with the Ubaikh crouched in surly silence. Suddenly it hissed forth a set of emphatic polysyllables. Hetzel looked at the translator printout, which read: “Since alien creatures came to Maz, events go topsy-turvy. In the old days, conditions were better.”

  “Events still go well enough for the Gomaz,” said Hetzel. “If they had not gone forth on a mission of conquest, they would not now be subject to control.”

  “Easy for you to say,” was the response. “We conquer because this is our style of life. We do as we must.”

  “We defend ourselves for the same reason. You can be thankful that we have not destroyed the Gomaz race, as the Liss would prefer. The Gaeans are not callous murderers; hence, I ask your aid in fixing guilt upon the Triskelion assassin.”

  “It is a trivial matter.”

  “Who, then, was the assassin?”

  “A Gaean.”

  “But which Gaean?”

  “I do not know.”

  “Then how do you know it’s a Gaean?”

  “I can show the fact, and then my duty to you is complete; no more need be said.”

  The Kzyk warriors uttered sudden screams of excitement. Hetzel stood up in the wagon, but saw only the Shimkish slopes and the stony gray steppe. The Kzyk goaded the draft worms; the wagons rumbled and bounded along the trail, the worms humping and collapsing; humping, collapsing; humping, collapsing.

  Hetzel spoke a question into the translator: “Why the sudden excitement?”

  “They have now discovered the Ubaikh plot.”

  “What plot?”

  “Last night we feinted a raid in force over the Shimkish, to entice their most—” here the translator underlined the word “virile” in red “—away from the castle, while our greatest forces raided the traitors’ castle. The Kzyk have now divined the plan. They hurry to defend their castle; this is a Class III war, to the extinction.”

  The worms became tired and slackened their pace; the Kzyk warriors loped ahead, kicking up puffs of dust behind their thrusting feet, and presently were lost to view among the moss hummocks, which here gave variety to the bleak landscape.

  At noon the wagon stopped at an oasis, a pond of muddy water surrounded by a copse of rag trees and a few stunted galangals. A wind blew from the south, flogging the black rag-shreds; the galangals snapped and clattered. Hetzel and Janika descended from the wagon and walked down to the pond. The surrounding mud showed hundreds of small spiked footprints, where ixxen had swarmed the previous evening.

  Hetzel and Janika fastidiously skirted the pond, both thirsty but loath to drink, for the pond exhaled a sweet-foul odor. The Kzyk teamsters showed no restraint; they plunged into the water, wallowed, soaked and drank without compunction, and further soiled the water. They were joined by the Ubaikh chieftain. Hetzel looked at Janika. “How thirsty are you?”

  “Not that thirsty.”

  “I guess I’m not either.”

  The wagons proceeded into the northeast. The Shimkish Mountains were gone; the steppe extended bare and featureless in all directions until it joined the sky.

  Hetzel went to confer with the Kzyk teamster. “Where is the transport depot which serves the Kzyk?”

  “It is near the castle.”

  “Take us to the transport depot.”

  “Your command is understood.”

  “Do you travel by night?”

  “Naturally; but slowly. The worms will wish to rest.”

  “How long before we arrive?”

  “Midmorning tomorrow. I fear that we shall miss the fighting.”

  “There will, no doubt, be another occasion.”

  “So I would presume.”

  Hetzel returned to Janika. “We spend tonight in the wagon. No doubt you’re hungry.”

  “When I think of what there is to eat—not too hungry.”

  “When we return to Axistil, we will dine at the Beyranion, and order all the things you like the best.”

  “That will be nice.”

  Hetzel appraised the Ubaikh, speculating whether he might choose to attack during the darkness in the hope of possessing himself of Hetzel’s weapons. From the human standpoint, this would seem a strong possibility, but such an act might be alien to the Gomaz psychology. In any event, wariness was certainly warranted.

  Shortly before sunset, the wagon arrived at another water hole, and this time Hetzel and Janika abandoned all compunction and drank.

  The sun sank; the sky displayed a few muted colors—lilac and apple green, a band of purple; then came the long dim dusk, then night. Hetzel drew his gun and held it pointed at the Ubaikh, who never so much as shifted his position. Janika dozed, then slept until moonrise, when she awoke with a jerk, perplexed to find herself in a wagon rolling across the Steppe of Long Bones. For an hour she kept watch while Hetzel slept, and when the wagons halted, he awoke. Something huge and manlike stood off in the moonlight, a being twenty feet high with the bony white head and carapace of a Gomaz. It uttered a chattering whinny, then lumbered off to the south. “An ogre!” whispered Janika. “I’ve heard about them; I never thought I’d see one. They’re supposed to be ferocious.”

  The wagons continued once more. The great green moon lifted into the sky, making the steppe a place of eerie beauty. Hetzel dozed again; he awoke to find Janika asleep, her head in his lap, and the Ubaikh as before.

  Nighttime waned; a streak of submarine light appeared in the east; the sun appeared, rising behind a range of distant hills.

  The Kzyk set the worms into a more rapid motion; the wagons rumbled across the steppe and presently entered an area cultivated with pod plants and fruit bushes. The wagons turned upon a gravel road, which slanted up the hillside. At the crest, the Kzyk castle came into view—a magnificent quatrefoil keep surrounded by a ring of slender spires, joined to the keep by high walkways. The Ubaikh attack had already been launched; the areas to the south and west of the castle seethed with activity.

  In the middle distance, four tall gantries rose indistinct in the murk. Hetzel was unable to divine their purpose. Siege machines? They seemed too frail, too tall, too top-heavy for any such use. Between the gantries and the castle, a mass of warriors eddied and swirled in movement too complex for any immediate comprehension.

  At the foot of the slope stood the transport station, a structure identical to that beside the Ubaikh castle.

  The wagons rolled down the hill, suddenly silent and easy on the heavy lichenlike turf. The Kzyk teamsters paid no heed to the Ubaikh army, nor did the Ubaikh chieftain; they exercised to the full that Gomaz attribute transliterated as kxis’sh—a lordly and contemptuous disregard for circumstances below one’s dignity to notice.

  Hetzel began to apprehend the evolutions of the army, as whole platoons performed the strutting display of ostentatious challenge and aggressive sexuality which Hetzel had observed on the Shimkish meadow. Every element of the army, in turn, so displayed itself, then returned to the rear. Meanwhile, the great wooden gantries moved closer to the Kzyk castle, sliding on timber rollers.

  The wagon halted by the transport station; Hetzel, Janika, and the Ubaikh chieftain alighted. The wagons proceeded toward the Kzyk castle, passing within fifty yards of the posturing Ubaikh warriors. Each party ignored the others.

  The front of the depot displayed a placard printed in those red-and-black ideograms developed by men to communicate with the Gomaz. Janika puzzled out the sign
ificance of the marks. “We’re in luck—I think. The carrier arrives at middle afternoon on alternate days, and unless I’ve miscalculated, today is the day. What time is it now?”

  “Just about noon.”

  “I feel as if we’ve been gone months. I won’t say that I’ve regretted this adventure, but I’ll be glad to see civilization again. I’ll enjoy a bath.”

  “I’ll enjoy arriving alive,” said Hetzel. “To the dismay of our enemies.”

  “Enemies?”

  “There must be at least two, one of whom is almost certainly Vv. Byrrhis, or—as Gidion Dirby knew him—Banghart. Then, there is Casimir Wuldfache.”

  “Yes. This mysterious Casimir Wuldfache. Who is he?”

  “He is a component of one of the strangest coincidences in human history. With trillions upon trillions of persons across the Gaean Reach, why should Casimir Wuldfache appear in two successive cases? I will enjoy talking to him…Another matter occurs to me. If the Ubaikh destroy the Kzyk and their castle, then Istagam will also be destroyed—whereupon my responsibilities on Maz are dissolved.”

  “And then you’d be leaving? With poor Dirby in the Exhibitory?”

  “Naturally, that matter would have to be clarified…I can’t understand the purpose of those wooden towers. They must be offensive machines of some sort.”

  The great gantries were brought forward and ranged in a half-circle fifty yards from the Kzyk castle, and it could now be seen that they stood as tall as or taller than the outer towers. The strutting bands of Ubaikh formed themselves into rigid formations. On the castle parapets, the Kzyk stood quiet.

  Janika hunched her shoulders. “I don’t think I’m telepathic…but something is happening which I can almost feel, or hear…it’s as if they’re singing, or reciting some terrible ode.”

  “There go the Ubaikh up the towers.”

  “They’re the flyers. On the top platform they’ll strap on their wings. The Kzyk are waiting.”

  The Kzyk flew first. Over the parapets, launched by some invisible device, came a dark shape soaring on wings of black membrane. The flyer convulsed his legs, kicked; the wings twisted and flapped; the flyer swung in an arc, to gain altitude where the west wind was deflected upward by the castle wall and a curving ramp below.