Vamireh Page 11

  Surprised in their sleep by the dogs’ cries, they rallied around the tall nomad as their sole protector. The latter assembled their chiefs. He allotted each one of them a battle station on the shore of the island, instructing them to gather their men. For each individual, he raised one of their ancient clubs above his head and brought it down on an imaginary enemy. That was very well understood, and they all drew courage from the Pzânn’s excited face, from his beautiful eyes shining with pride, and from his vast chest, inflated with the expectation of the battle. He had the fires built up, then ran back to resume his observation.

  The opposite bank did not remain dark for long; the flames of a vast fire soon illuminated it. Then, some distance from those flames, almost at the frontiers of the red light, Vamireh saw the dogs. Elem pointed them out insistently, told him how numerous and ferocious they were when led by humans, their organization into villages, their alliance with the brachycephali. The Pzânn listened avidly. Becoming less fuliginous, the firelight bathed the quadrupeds in light, and, seeing that they were more like hyenas than wolves, with their large jaws, their tall stature and their athleticism, Vamireh understood how dangerous an adversary they must be.

  His attention was deflected, however, because a human silhouette interposed itself in front of the fire and a voice rose up in the midst of the great silence, carrying over the water. Vamireh and Elem recognized the voice of the Oriental chief.

  “Man from an unknown country,” it said, “listen to the words of the man whose hair is white and to whom the spirit of wisdom speaks in his solitude. My words want peace. Allied with the dogs, however, we can envisage war without fear. What can you do, man from upriver, against the innumerable legions of the Beast, aided by our arrows and our arms. Accept peace. Let us exchange the blood of our veins.”

  With Elem’s help, Vamireh understood this speech. Entering into the light of a fire himself, he shouted an acceptance. “The Pzânn salutes you, old man. He has listened to the daughter of your tribe and is ready to exchange his blood with yours. Take the Beast away, then, and spare the lives of the worm-eaters.”

  On the other bank, the three young men drew near, and the group of brachycephali became animated. They could not fraternize with the sons of the Serpent. The old man was inclined to clemency, but an excited fanatic among the young men preached the implacable will of the “Water-Beast” and the law of the sacred tribes—and all of them, full of hatred and disgust, were convinced.

  The chief came forward again. “Why is a brother human taking the side of the vile Being? Let him leave that prey to the dogs, which are more worthy.”

  Vamireh was revolted. “The Pzânn would not dare to show his face to other Pzânns if he abandoned his allies. The Pzânn wants peace, but he wants it for all those who are with him.”

  A further conference took place between the Orientals; all the young men, more desirous of a victory than a peaceful outcome, favored war. The chief did not dare oppose them directly, but he reminded them of Vamireh’s strength, and also spoke of the glory of an expedition to the North after the winter, and the necessity of making peace with distant peoples.

  Two of the young men seemed convinced, while the fanatic obstinately lowered his eyes. He even went to the bank and aimed a poisoned arrow at one of the worm-eaters, saying: “The Council has said: let your arrow never hesitate to strike down the foul”—and the arrow described its mortal trajectory, hitting the tardigrade in the shoulder.

  The man’s cry of pain was accompanied by the blond man’s cry of anger, and a rumor of disapproval among the Orientals.

  “Man,” shouted the old man, “forgive the ardor of excessively young blood.”

  Vamireh, however, shaking with indignation, replied: “My blood is young too, and cannot forgive such perfidy!” He had already taken up his bow, and his unexpected arrow struck the aggressor in the chest. Then he ran to the wounded tardigrade. His companions were sucking blood from the wound, thus removing the poison. Vamireh procured a quasi-antidote—alkaline leaves whose sap he squeezed over the gaping cut, and which he then applied to the wound, still moist.

  In the Orientals’ camp, the old man attended to the wounded man. The latter persisted in shouting insults at the worm-eaters. They were all deeply offended, in fact, because the nomad had struck a man to avenge an ignoble creature.

  XX. Assault on the Island

  The truce lasted for some time. The Orientals withdrew their fire to the shelter of the undergrowth. The dogs were invisible, but their howls sounded thunderously in the undergrowth. The crouching worm-eaters had gone back to sleep, save for a few resistant old men.

  Vamireh fortified Elem’s retreat with the aid of thick branches and prepared his weapons. The smoke of fires floated over the water, amid the ruddy firelight. No more talk of peace had been heard. It appeared that both sides were preparing for the imminent battle.

  While he worked, Vamireh kept watch. Once, he thought he perceived the silhouette of an Oriental, who stood up some distance from the water and disappeared into a thicket. On another occasion, a pack of dogs came to drink. Nothing suggested an attack, though. He hoped that the Oriental chief would wait until morning and resume negotiations.

  He had just set down his 12th poison-dipped arrow beside him when there was a rapid movement, and he saw a black mass of numerous bodies swarming on the river-bank.

  “Ehô! Ehô!” he cried, while the tardigrade sentries woke up their companions.

  In the distance, the impetuous dogs were leaping into the water, and they were seen to be coming in their thousands, their phosphorescent eyes gleaming in their damp heads, their immersion raising the water level along the coasts of the island. Silent and terrible, they swam intrepidly through a hail of stones, bones and pieces of wood that greeted them.

  Vamireh, assured that there were no men among them, put down his bow and took up his club. Elem, armed with a lance, could defend her shelter. The tardigrades, encouraged by the Pzânn, displayed a very firm attitude, arranged in little groups, backs to the center, with plenty of room to wield their cudgels.

  Before they could come ashore, the dogs were struck on the head so vigorously that they retreated out of range. Soon, however, they were seen to separate into two solid columns, one of which swam toward the poorly fortified tip of the islet, which Vamireh alone defended, while the other resumed the direct offensive. The haste of the tardigrades to protect their savior almost rendered the tactic effective, but Vamireh refused help energetically, obliging everyone to return to his post.

  The column directed against him had scarcely reached the shore when the Pzânn’s murderous assault sowed terror among them. His tall stature, his gigantic club and his formidable manner of smashing skulls, the rapidity of his movements and his authoritarian voice, plangent with the highest humanity, appeared to have a quasi-superstitious effect on the beasts. Gripped by panic, howling, in total disorder, they allowed themselves to be driven back.

  Meanwhile, the invasion of the second column had succeeded—without, however, succeeding in disconcerting the strategy of the worm-eaters, who were still united in groups and defending themselves without weakening. The losses on the dogs’ side were considerable, although 20 of the tardigrades were rendered hors de combat. In sum, the beasts sensed that they were beaten, when poisoned arrows launched from the other bank claimed two victims. That sowed some terror, and caused the groups on that side to draw closer to the center. The dogs redoubled their ardor, and within a minute, the number of wounded humans increased terribly.

  After his victory, however, Vamireh had perceived the presence of the Asiatics firing their arrows, almost in the open beyond the bushes. His bow flexed in its turn and he dispatched several arrows. The Orientals were obliged to retire behind large tree-trunks, where their fire became sporadic. They contented themselves with shouting encouragement to their quadruped allies. The latter, replying with loud barking, assailed their enemies more furiously.

  The situa
tion was turning bad, inasmuch as the column repelled by Vamireh had obtained a foothold on the far tip of the island, and were bringing reinforcements. The poor tardigrade humans thought that they were doomed; their war-cries became lamentable, like agonized plaints—but the tall western nomad was already bringing the aid of his arm, and his club ploughed a large furrow through the muzzles and broken spines. On every side, the beasts took fright, anxiously recognizing in that voice and that strength the voice and strength of victorious races, so effectively that the tardigrades regained the advantage, and the dogs, driven back into the water, returned to the Asiatics’ camp.

  The intoxication of the victory inflamed the eyes of the worm-eaters. Turning to the blond man, they sang a hymn of triumph. Vamireh responded with mighty shouts. On the other shore, on the edge of the centuries-old forest, the furious baying of the dogs and the curses of the Orientals replied. The night was filled by the tumult, its echoes spreading terror. The two enemy troops sang of their invincible courage and promised further conflicts.

  The tardigrades hastily bandaged up the wounded and placed them, for safety’s sake, near the spot where Vamireh was camped with Elem. They cleared the islet of injured dogs, some of which succeeded in drifting to the other shore, while the others completed the process of dying.

  Vamireh had rejoined his companion. Still filled with disgust by the worm-eaters, she had remained in her shelter without having had to defend herself. Now Vamireh told her about the victory, the number of victims, the ferocity of the assailants, and the probability of further battles. She listened, meditative and weary of the adventure, desirous of imminent peace. She said that she hoped that there might be negotiations at dawn, and the nomad approved—but he refused any concession with regard to the tardigrades.

  Weary, Elem finally went to sleep. Three-quarters of the worm-eaters also slept. Vamireh stayed awake.

  XXI. The Defeat

  Time passed; the wheel of stars rotated in the calm depths of the river; wounded dogs howled; the Orientals’ fires burned behind the foliage, illuminating the black tangle of branches and the frail density of the sylvan heights.

  Vamireh went down to the river, and remained there for a few moments, as if to take the opportunity to make a conciliatory speech—but an arrow flew through the air and he was obliged to move back. Other arrows arrived; they traced slow parabolas and fell almost harmlessly in the center of the island. The Pzânn collected them, glad to see the enemy munitions depleted. The Orientals rapidly realized the disadvantage of their fire and ceased. In response to their cries and exhortations, the dogs reappeared. Their pack swarmed on the bank, barking furiously. The vague silhouette of a man loomed up momentarily among them, then crouched down. Another silhouette appeared on the bank, on watch. Finally, a human voice rose up from the river, denouncing a swimmer. The Pzânn concluded that this time, the Asiatics were accompanying their expedition.

  That rendered the assault more serious. He had all his men woken up immediately, armed six of the cleverest old men with harpoons with fixed points and solid spears, supplemented in his own case with a lance and his club, and took up a good position for keeping watch. The dogs had just jumped into the water. Immediately, the human presence was revealed in a new strategy: three columns formed up, one heading slowly toward the front and another toward the point where Elem was, while the third, allowing itself to drift, rounded the island in order to attack from the rear. Then Vamireh, desirous of concentrating the defense, had the point opposite to the one where he was camped evacuated and had the other side of the island manned. He arranged his forces in such a manner that everyone could retreat toward his position if necessary. Then, lance at the ready, he waited.

  The Orientals could not be seen. Their goal must be to direct the attack, only engaging in it personally at the decisive moment, and only then to maintain the rear-guard. They had probably blackened their faces in order to hide themselves more effectively among the dogs’ heads. The frontal column paused ten meters from the shore, maintaining itself against the current, awaiting a signal from the company on the far side of the island.

  When the signal came, the entire army attacked at once.

  The courage of the dogs seemed to have increased. The bluish glint of their eyes irradiated the darkness and their fangs gleamed. As before, they suffered considerable losses before being able to come ashore, but as soon as they had succeeded in doing so, a number of the tardigrades in the first rank perished, seized by the throat. The others’ heroic defense put hundreds of dogs hors de combat, preventing a catastrophe, and the battle resumed its normal course, the advantage alternating.

  At the outset, observing the absence of the Pzânn, two of the Orientals had moved forward and supported the attack, first with arrows and then with light lances. The alarm of the contact had terrorized the worm-eaters and they would undoubtedly have been routed if the six elders armed with harpoons and spears had not waited courageously for the Asiatics. Swiftly surrounded by a menacing circle, the latter had understood the imprudence of confronting poison-tipped weapons and had beaten a retreat; since then they had only intervened with spoken instructions and by firing arrows at opportune moments.

  In Vamireh’s vicinity the dogs, urged on by distant voices, had succeeded in their invasion. Vamireh did not wait for them; he attacked them with so much vigor, his club and his lance obtaining such a large number of victims, that the animals could scarcely sustain the initial impact and fled, exposing an Oriental armed only with a spear. Vamireh broke the frail shaft of his adversary’s weapon with a single blow; then, seizing the man by the scruff of the neck, he threw him to the ground, stunned, tied him up, put him in Elem’s custody, and ran to help his allies.

  They were holding on victoriously, but the dog-pack, continually renewed and encouraged by the voices of the Asiatics, was persistent, and the moment was foreseeable when fatigue would prove fatal for the humans. Initially, they all retreated before Vamireh’s war-cry, but then the assault was reorganized, because the Orientals directed the battle more actively from the shadows and greeted Vamireh’s arrival with a volley of arrows.

  The six elders armed with harpoons and slender lances regrouped, and faced the attack boldly, ready to support any maneuver by the tall nomad. He joined the advance-guard, trying to reach the Asiatics. He could not do it, for the beasts opposed him sternly in spite of the sweeps of his club.

  Then, an incident occurred that threatened disastrous consequences: the worm-eaters who were defending the shore in the rear flowed forwards. That started a panic, and rendered Vamireh’s presence indispensable.

  The battle continued in deepening darkness. The Orientals dispersed the fires whenever they could, in order to increase the courage of the dogs. The tardigrades abandoned the darkest places, falling back toward the burning fires, which they maintained carefully.

  Numerous wounded men lay moaning there, closing frightful gashes with their hands. They had mostly been bitten in the thighs or calves, while the dead had had their throats ripped out or their bellies torn—and the red blood caught the light of the fires garishly as bellicose shouts mingled on all sides with screams of pain, the cries of lives lost, the howling of the beasts and the raucous panting of human breath.

  The canine mass emerged incessantly from the undergrowth into the light. The sharp cries of the Orientals, rising above the tumult, enraged them; they were struck down in hundreds, but they penetrated the defenders’ ranks, biting and sowing terror.

  The worm-eaters, already nervous of contact with the men from the great steppes, whose courage was maintained solely by Vamireh’s presence, were also aware of approaching exhaustion, their arms becoming less prompt to raise their clubs, and were inclined to concentrate in numerous groups. Vamireh noticed that. With a terrible effort, he forged directly ahead, forcing the dogs to retreat; then he signaled to the elders armed with harpoons and spears to follow him. They came, and the strongest of the remainder joined them. From then on, that s
mall, solid group bore almost the entire burden of the assault, while the rest, massacring the excessively bold dogs, succeeded in dispersing flank attacks.

  Eventually, during a momentary calm, the Pzânn made it understood that the fires were to be built up, and a rampart of fires soon protected the bulk of the army. The flames spread, reaching dry grass and brushwood, setting clumps of bushes alight, to such an extent that, once they had retreated behind that barrier, Vamireh and his troops were able to get their breath back.

  The dogs were frightened. The Orientals, knowing the beasts’ mores, decided to go around the barrier. To do that, it was necessary to go around the tip of the island, for the enemy’s flanks were protected by exceedingly thick vegetation, in which their scattered forces would be disadvantaged.

  Anticipating this maneuver, Vamireh posted more than 300 tardigrades in the principal defiles; on his orders, they tried to light fires there, by transporting brands that they covered with smaller twigs, but they were unable to obtain that result before the dogs arrived.

  The quadrupeds’ attack, relatively half-hearted at first, was exasperated by the approach of the Asiatics. Many of the worm-eaters, tired out, abandoned their clubs and fell back on animal instinct, defending themselves on all fours with teeth and fingernails. Curiously enough, the dogs were initially disturbed by this new mode of fighting—but they were gradually able to take advantage of it, especially by courtesy of their numbers, which permitted three or four of them to oppose each man.