anyone?” he asked. “Only that the thing which does this must be wiped out before it does it again. Cover that — cover and place it in the decent earth, my mother’s kin, lest the skies, seeing it, fall down upon us all in outrage and in wrath … . And then — to work. All of us. To work.”
“Work,” of course, was planning the campaign. It did seem to Tonorosant, though, that neither outrage nor wrath was the dominant emotion among those Tarnisi present there in wide-walled Compound Ten. “Excitement” was more like the just word, much more like it. He wondered if it were always so, in time of war. He did not know. He did suppose, though, that he would learn.
Yesterday the birds had fled, shrieking; today they perched unconcerned on trees and eaves and walls, chattering lazily to one another, now and then allowing their casual droppings to fall upon the stained ground and grass. The blood of life and all its lusts and humors had coursed through the veins of Tellecest. The alterations of his body had not altered that a bit. And now all was stopped and was forever still and all that was left in this world lay beneath the ground and grass and the wild birds of heavens let fall their filth upon it, and did not even know that it was there.
Had he, too, come here with secret, subtle plans, seeking more than just a pleasant place to hide? Did he intend something like the making and amassing of money, some day to buy his own island, too? — to share dominion over men and fields and trees with the sun and the sea, a king in minor? What had he ever done to the Volanth, that the Volanth would be justified in doing this to him? What
could
he have ever done, what could any man have ever done to any other man, that would have justified it? But none of these thoughts, of course, had the Tarnisi in common with him now, Tonorosant. They talked excitedly as the relief maps were lifted up, and in the tone and tenor of the common voice, the cast of countenance of the common face, he could find a parallel only in his recollection of the days when he and his men, down and away on the south shore of the Inner Sea of Pemath, were getting ready to go out at night to “tap” — intercept, cut, carry off — a tow of cargo. Morality had hardly been involved there, and it hardly now seemed involved here.
The levy-lord of his own hundred was named Losacamant, a small man who never seemed to smile, and who moved with an almost liquid grace of movement. In charge of the second hundred was Lord Mialagoth, he of the grizzled hair and heavy brows. The third charge-of-levy was the young and comely Lord Tilionoth, as intent upon the maps as though they were targets to cast his spears upon, but now not so self-contained, speaking to those who hovered close about him, but never taking his eyes away from the reliefs however animated his comments. Silent Pemathi upheld the great charts. One of their number, too, had been killed with great cruelty; presumably they had made their own arrangements about the body; certainly no one else had concerned himself in the matter.
“We all know how the apes act,” Lord Mialagoth was saying. “It’s their way to run wild, tear up whatever … whoever, alas, I must say … they come across — then they run and hide and gloat and work up their filthy courage for another attack. Last night some of us — your hundred, Lord Losacamant — bad luck — got the crest of the second wave. We have to move, move quickly, and hit them before they start up again. Now, here’s the terrain; can you all see?”
He pointed to the place where the house of the deputy march warden had stood, the fatal route along which the family and their servant had fled. The long, peeled withe he was using for pointer swept up along the direction to Compound Ten, paused — pale and accusing. “Here’s the ridge where the attack was made late last evening. And here
we
are.” The pointer withdrew, hovered, made an arc to the east.
“Work,” of course, was planning the campaign. It did seem to Tonorosant, though, that neither outrage nor wrath was the dominant emotion among those Tarnisi present there in wide-walled Compound Ten. “Excitement” was more like the just word, much more like it. He wondered if it were always so, in time of war. He did not know. He did suppose, though, that he would learn.
Yesterday the birds had fled, shrieking; today they perched unconcerned on trees and eaves and walls, chattering lazily to one another, now and then allowing their casual droppings to fall upon the stained ground and grass. The blood of life and all its lusts and humors had coursed through the veins of Tellecest. The alterations of his body had not altered that a bit. And now all was stopped and was forever still and all that was left in this world lay beneath the ground and grass and the wild birds of heavens let fall their filth upon it, and did not even know that it was there.
Had he, too, come here with secret, subtle plans, seeking more than just a pleasant place to hide? Did he intend something like the making and amassing of money, some day to buy his own island, too? — to share dominion over men and fields and trees with the sun and the sea, a king in minor? What had he ever done to the Volanth, that the Volanth would be justified in doing this to him? What
could
he have ever done, what could any man have ever done to any other man, that would have justified it? But none of these thoughts, of course, had the Tarnisi in common with him now, Tonorosant. They talked excitedly as the relief maps were lifted up, and in the tone and tenor of the common voice, the cast of countenance of the common face, he could find a parallel only in his recollection of the days when he and his men, down and away on the south shore of the Inner Sea of Pemath, were getting ready to go out at night to “tap” — intercept, cut, carry off — a tow of cargo. Morality had hardly been involved there, and it hardly now seemed involved here.
The levy-lord of his own hundred was named Losacamant, a small man who never seemed to smile, and who moved with an almost liquid grace of movement. In charge of the second hundred was Lord Mialagoth, he of the grizzled hair and heavy brows. The third charge-of-levy was the young and comely Lord Tilionoth, as intent upon the maps as though they were targets to cast his spears upon, but now not so self-contained, speaking to those who hovered close about him, but never taking his eyes away from the reliefs however animated his comments. Silent Pemathi upheld the great charts. One of their number, too, had been killed with great cruelty; presumably they had made their own arrangements about the body; certainly no one else had concerned himself in the matter.
“We all know how the apes act,” Lord Mialagoth was saying. “It’s their way to run wild, tear up whatever … whoever, alas, I must say … they come across — then they run and hide and gloat and work up their filthy courage for another attack. Last night some of us — your hundred, Lord Losacamant — bad luck — got the crest of the second wave. We have to move, move quickly, and hit them before they start up again. Now, here’s the terrain; can you all see?”
He pointed to the place where the house of the deputy march warden had stood, the fatal route along which the family and their servant had fled. The long, peeled withe he was using for pointer swept up along the direction to Compound Ten, paused — pale and accusing. “Here’s the ridge where the attack was made late last evening. And here
we
are.” The pointer withdrew, hovered, made an arc to the east.
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