Durdane #01 - The Anome by Jack Vance

Author:Jack Vance [Vance, Jack]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction
Publisher: Durdane
Published: 2010-07-08T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

The road was little more than a pair of wheel tracks beside the Mirk River. To either side were flats overgrown with rich green bandocks, each plant raising a single pale blue spine that flicked at passing insects. Along the river grew willows, alders, clumps of stately dark blue miter-plants. Signs of the Roguskhoi were evident: odd articles of female clothing; on three occasions the corpses of old women, looking harried beyond their capacity; and in one dreary little heap, the corpses of six infants, evidently pulled from their mothers and dashed to the ground.

Ifness drove at the best pace the road allowed: The trap bounced, bumped, swung from side to side, but still moved three times the best possible speed of the Roguskhoi and the women.

Ifness asked after a few minutes, "Where does the road lead?"

"Up to Gargamet Meadow—that's what the Chilites call it. It's the plantation where they grow their galga bush."

"And how far to Gargamet Meadow?"

"Five or six miles from here, at a guess. I would expect the Roguskhoi to stop at Gargamet Meadow for the night."

Ifness pulled in the pacers. "We don't want to overtake them in this gully. Have you poisoned the wine?"

"I'll do so now." Etzwane climbed into the rear of the trap and poured half of the canister into each keg.

The suns passed behind the western slope; the valley began to grow dim. A sense of imminence pressed down on Etzwane; the Roguskhoi could not be too far ahead. Ifness drove with great caution; to blunder into a Roguskhoi rear guard would not serve their purposes. Ahead the road passed through a notch with tall coral-trees silhouetted on the sky at either side. Ifness stopped the cart; Etzwane ran ahead to reconnoiter. The road, passing through the notch, swung around a clump of purple-pear trees, then eased out upon a flat. To the left loomed a grove of dark bawberrys; to the right the galga plantation spread: sixty acres of carefully-tended vines. Beside the bawberry grove a pond reflected back the lavender sky; here the Roguskhoi marshaled their captives. They had just arrived; the women were still moving as the Roguskhoi directed with great roaring commands and sweeps of their huge arms.

Etzwane signaled back to Ifness, who brought the trap forward to the clump of purple-pears. With pinched nostrils Ifness looked across the flat. "We can't be too transparent in our scheme," he told Etzwane. "We must contrive natural movements."

Etzwane's nerves began to draw and grate. He spoke in a high-pitched, rasping voice: "Any minute they'll start in on the women! They can hardly contain themselves."

Indeed, the Roguskhoi now surrounded the women, making tremulous motions, surging toward the shrinking huddle, then drawing back.

Ifness inquired, "Can you ride a pacer?"

"I suppose so," said Etzwane. "I've never tried."

"We will drive across the meadow furtively, as if hoping to evade attention. As soon as they see us—then you must be quick, and I as well!"

Etzwane, terrified but desperately resolved, nodded to Ifness's instructions. "Anything, anything. We must hurry!"

"Haste provokes disaster," chided Ifness.

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