Jack Vance: Lyonesse

"What is happening?" Glyneth asked.

"The castle is under attack; that is all I know. Come now; there is no time to waste!"

The two were thrust into a parlor; Carfilhiot paused in his pacing to survey them. His easy elegance was absent; he seemed disheveled and distraught. "Come this way! At last you will be of use to me."

Glyneth and Dhrun recoiled before him; he urged them up the staircase, into the upper levels of the tower. Above a boulder plunged down through the broken roof to batter at the far wall. "Quick now! Up with you!" Carfilhiot shoved them up the sagging and broken staircase, out into afternoon sunlight, where they stood cowering in expectation of another projectile.

Dhrun cried out: "Look to the mountain yonder!"

"That's Shimrod up there!" cried Glyneth. "He's come to rescue us!" She waved her arms. "Here we are! Come get us!" The roof groaned as a beam gave way and the staircase sagged. "Hurry!" cried Glyneth. "The roof is falling under us!"

"This way," said Dhrun. He led Glyneth close to the broken battlements, and the two gazed in fascinated hope across the chasm.

Shimrod came to the edge of the cliff. He held a bow in one hand and an arrow in the other. He gave them to an archer.

Glyneth and Dhrun watched him in wonder. "He's trying to signal us," said Glyneth. "I wonder what he wants us to do?"

"The archer is going to shoot the arrow; he's telling us to be careful."

"But why shoot an arrow?"

The line from Murgen's spool, so fine as almost to float in the air, could not be broken by the strength of human arms. Shimrod carefully laid the thread along the ground, back and forth in ten-foot bights, so that it might extend freely. He held up bow and arrow so that the two wistful figures, so near and yet so far, might divine his purpose, then tied an end of the thread to the arrow.

Shimrod turned to Cargus. "Can you flight this arrow over the tower?"

Cargus fitted arrow to bow. "If I fail, pull back the cord and let a better man make the attempt!"

He drew back the arrow to arch the bow, raised it so that the arrow might fly its farthest course, and released. High through the sky, down and over the roof of Tintzin Fyral, flew the arrow, the thread floating behind. Glyneth and Dhrun ran to catch the thread. At Shimrod's signal they tied it to a sound merlon at the far side of the roof. At once the thread thickened, to become a cable of braided fibers two inches in diameter. On Tac Tor a squad of men, putting their shoulders to the rope, pulled up the slack and drew it taut.

In the parlor three floors below, Carfilhiot sat glumly, but relieved that he had so ingeniously halted the barrage. What next? All was in flux; conditions must change. He would exercise his keenest ingenuity, his best talents for agile improvisation, that from this dreary situation he might salvage the most and best for himself. But, despite all, a dismal conviction began to ease across his mind, like a dark shadow. He had very little scope for maneuver. His best hope, Tamurello, had failed him. Even if he could keep Dhrun and Glyneth on the roof indefinitely, he still could not endure a siege forever. He made a petulant sound of distress. It had become a time for compromise, for amiability and a clever bargain. What terms would his enemies offer him? If he surrendered his captives and Shimrod's goods, might he be left in control of the Vale? Probably not. Of the castle itself? Again, probably not.. .Silence from above. What might be happening on Tac Tor? In his mind's eye Carfilhiot imagined his enemies standing at the edge of the cliff, calling ineffectual curses across the wind. He went to the window and looked up. He stared at the line across the sky and uttered a startled cry. Already from the edge of Tac Tor he detected men preparing to slide down the rope. He ran to the stairs and bellowed down to his captain. "Robnet! A squad to the roof, in haste!"

He ran up to the wreck of his private quarters. The stairs to the roof sagged under his weight, groaning and swaying. With a tread as light as possible, he climbed up. He heard Glyneth's exclamation, and tried to hurry, and felt the stairs give way beneath his feet. He lunged, and, catching a splintered roof-beam, pulled himself up. Glyneth, white-faced, stood above him. She swung a length of broken timber and struck at his head with all her strength. Dazed, he fell back and hung with one arm over the roor-beam; then, making a wild grasp with the other arm, he caught Glyneth's ankle and pulled her toward him.

Dhrun ran forward. He held his hand into the air. "Dassenach! My sword Dassenach! Come to me!"

From far across the Forest of Tantrevalles, from the thicket into which Carfilhiot had flung it, came Dassenach the sword, to Dhrun's hand. He raised it high and thrust it down at Carfilhiot's wrist and pinned it to the roof-beam. Glyneth kicked herself free and scrambled to safety. Carfilhiot gave a poignant cry, slipped to hang by his pinned wrist.

Down the rope, riding a loop, came a squat broad-shouldered man, with a dark dour countenance. He dropped upon the roof, went to look at Carfilhiot. Another man slid down from Tac Tor. They lifted Carfilhiot to the roof and bound his arms and legs with rope, and then turned to Glyneth and Dhrun. The smaller of the two men said, "I am Yane; that is Cargus. We are your father's friends." This was said to Dhrun.

"My father?"

"There he stands, next to Shimrod."

Down the line slid man after man. Carfilhiot's soldiers tried to fire arrows from below but the embrasures were set unsuitably in the walls and the arrows went astray.

Tintzin Fyral was empty. The defenders were dead: by sword, fire, asphyxiation in sealed tunnels and the executioner's axe. Robnet, captain of the guard, had climbed atop the wall which enclosed the parade grounds. He stood spraddle-legged, wind blowing his gray locks. He roared challenge in his vast hoarse voice. "Come! Who will meet me, sword in hand? Where are your brave champions, your heroes, your noble knights? Come! Clash steel with me!"

For a few moments the Troice warriors stood watching him. Sir Cargus called up. "Come down, old man! The axe awaits you."

"Come up and take me! Come test your steel against mine!"

Cargus made a motion to the archers; Robnet died with six arrows protruding from neck, chest and eye.

The aviary presented special problems. Certain of the captives fluttered, dodged and climbed to high perches to avoid those who came to release them. Mad King Deuel attempted a gallant flight across the cage, but his wings failed him; he fell to the floor and broke his neck.

The dungeons yielded stuff forever to haunt the thoughts of those who explored them. The torturers were dragged screaming out on the parade ground. The Ulfs cried out for the impaling poles, but King Aillas of Troicinet and South Ulfland had proscribed torment, and their heads were taken by the axe.

Carfilhiot occupied a cage on the parade ground at the base of the castle. A great gibbet was erected, with the arm sixty feet from the ground. At noon on a raw overcast day, with wind blowing strangely from the east, Carfilhiot was carried to the gibbet; and again passionate voices were heard. "He escapes too easily!"

Aillas paid no heed. "Hang him high." The executioner bound Carfilhiot's hands behind him, fitted the noose over his head, and Carfilhiot was taken aloft to dangle kicking and jerking: a grotesque black shadow on the gray sky. The impaling poles were broken and the fragments set afire. Carfilhiot's body was cast on the flames, where it twitched and crawled as if dying a second time. From the flames rose a sickly green vapor which blew away on the wind, down Vale Evander and over the sea. The vapor failed to dissipate. It clotted and coalesced, to become an object like a large green pearl, which fell into the ocean where it was swallowed by a turbot.