Lyonesse II - The Green Pear and Madouc by Jack Vance

only if they till their soil with the same zeal they use toward killing each other. The Ulfs are a brutal people!”
    “A moment!” cried Glyneth, speaking for the first time. “I was born at Throckshaw, in North Ulfland, and my parents were by no means brutal. They were kind and good and brave, and they were killed by the Ska!”
    Maloof blinked in embarrassment. “My apologies! I overspoke, of course! I should have said that the South Ulfish barons are a warlike folk, and that prosperity will come only with a cessation of their feuds and raids.”
    Sion-Tansifer gave a disparaging grunt. “This on the day gold coins fall from the sky in the place of hail. The Ulfs cherish vendettas as a dog his fleas.”
    Pirmence said: “Ten years ago I had occasion to visit Ys. I then traveled the overland road to Oaldes. I saw very few folk: herdsmen and crofters, and fishermen along the shore. The land is windy, open and generally empty, and here is its single advantage: it will provide holdings for all our younger sons, if King Aillas so dispenses.”
    “The country is empty for good reason,” stated Foirry. “If the mountain barons released all those immured in their dungeons or stretched out on their racks, the land might even be over-populated.”
    The literal-minded Maloof raised his eyebrows in consternation. “Why have we ventured into this unhappy land? We waste toil, blood and gold on warlike sorties! The Ulfs are nothing to us!”
    “I am their king,” said Aillas in a mild and reasonable voice. “They are my subjects. I owe them justice and security.”
    “Bah!” snapped Witherwood. “The argument fails. Suppose suddenly you were acclaimed King of Cathay; must we then send a flotilla of ships and regiments of Troice soldiers to guard their security and see to their justice?”
    Aillas laughed. “Cathay is far away, South Ulfland is near at hand.”
    “Nevertheless,” said Maloof stubbornly, “I feel that the proper use of your revenues is here, among your own people!”
    Sion-Tansifer issued a surly pronouncement: “I confess that I am not happy with this expedition. The rogue barons guard their glens like wolves and eagles! If we killed them all, as many more would hop from the gorse to take their places, and all would be as before.”
    Langlark looked across the table with brows knitted, in his customary expression of perplexity. “Do you suggest that we abandon this wide land? Is such a surrender to our advantage? Pirmence definitely exaggerates the case; the land is not without resources, and was once considered a rich kingdom. The mines yield tin, copper, gold and silver, and there are wide deposits of bog iron. In other times, cattle and sheep grazed the moors and the fields were planted to oats, corn and barley.”
    Sion-Tansifer gave a grim chuckle. “The Ulfs can keep their ‘wide land’ and enjoy their splendid wealth, with my compliments and indeed my gratitude, if they will strike back the Ska and spill their own blood in the process. Why should we pull their chestnuts from the fire? For wealth? There is none at hand. For glory? Where the glory in chasing bog-trotters over the moors?”
    “Hm ha!” Pirmence patted his silver-gray beard with a napkin. “You are mordant in your views!” He looked up the table toward Aillas. “Sir, what do you say to these carkers and pessimists?”
    Aillas leaned back in his chair. “I have spoken at length on this topic; are your memories all so short? I will repeat myself. We have occupied South Ulfland in search of neither wealth nor glory nor fallow land, but for one reason only: survival.”
    Sion-Tansifer gave a skeptical shake of the head. “Either I am stupid, or the concept is at flaw.”
    “This is a judgment which perhaps only King Aillas will care to make,” suggested Pirmence delicately.
    Aillas laughed. “Obviously Lord Sion-Tansifer’s alternatives are not exclusive.” He looked around the table. “Who else would wish to withdraw