Tales of the Dying Earth

by Jack Vance

  "To the extent that you have described it — yes. As to the source of this emotion, I am puzzled." And Cugel approached the armature, hoping that Iucounu in his enthusiasm would step within reach of his arm.

  Iucounu, moving in the other direction, touched the armature to set the scales jingling. "Cugel, in some respects you are dense and dull; your brain is like lukewarm porridge, and I say this without heat. You understand only what you see, and this is the smallest part." Iucounu emitted a whinny of laughter, so that Cugel sent him a questioning look. "Observe Sadlark!" said Iucounu. "What do you see?"

  "An armature of wires and a number of scales, in the purported shape of Sadlark."

  "And what if the wires were removed?"

  "The scales would fall into a heap."

  "Quite so. You are right. The protonastic centrum is the node which binds the other scales with lines of force. This node is the soul and force of Sadlark. With the node in place, Sadlark lives once again; indeed Sadlark was never dead, but merely disassociated."

  "What of, let us say, his inner organs?"

  "In the overworld, such parts are considered unnecessary and even somewhat vulgar. In short, there are no inner parts. Have you any other questions or observations?"

  "I might politely venture to point out that the day is waning and that I wish to arrive at Taun Tassel before dark."

  Iucounu said heartily: "And so you shall! First, be good enough to place upon the work-table the 'Pectoral Sky-break Spatterlight', with all traces of diambroid detached. No other option is open to you."

  "Only one," said Cugel. "I prefer to keep the scale. It brings me luck and wards off acrid magic, as you have already learned."

  Yellow lights flickered behind Iucounu's eyes. "Cugel, your obstinacy is embarrassing. The scale indeed holds a proud crust between you and enemy magic of the casual sort. It is indifferent to overworld magic, some of which I command. Meanwhile, please desist from this constant skulking forward in the attempt to bring me within range of your sword. I am tired of jumping backward every time you sidle in my direction."

  Cugel spoke haughtily: "Such an ungracious act never so much as crossed my mind." He drew his sword and laid it on the work-bench. "There! See for yourself how you have misjudged me!"

  Iucounu blinked at the sword. "Still, keep your distance! I am not a man who welcomes intimacies."

  "You may expect my full cooperation," said Cugel with dignity.

  "I will be frank! Your deeds have long cried out for retribution, and as a man of conscience I am forced to act. Still, you need not aggravate my task."

  "This is harsh language!" said Cugel. "You offered me a ride to Taun Tassel. I did not expect treachery."

  Iucounu paid no heed. "I will now make my final request: give me the scale at once!"

  "I can not oblige you," said Cugel. "Since that was your final request, we can now leave for Taun Tassel."

  "The scale, if you please!"

  "Take it from my cap, if you must. I will not assist you."

  "And the diambroid?"

  "Sadlark will protect me. You must take your chances."

  Iucounu uttered a cry of laughter. "Sadlark also protects me, as you will see!" He threw aside his garments and with a quick movement inserted himself into the center of the matrix, so that his legs fitted into Sadlark's mediators and his face showed behind the gap in the turret. The wires and scales contracted around his pudgy body; the scales fit him as if they were his own skin.

  Iucounu's voice rang like a choir of brass horns: "Well then, Cugel: what do you think now?"

  Cugel stood gaping in wonder. At last he said: "Sadlark's scales fit you remarkably well."

  "It is no accident, of this I am certain!"

  "And why not?"

  "I am Sadlark's avatar; I partake of his personal essence! This is my destiny, but before I can enjoy my full force, I must be whole! Without further quibbling you may fit 'Spatterlight' into place. Remember, Sadlark will no longer protect you against my magic, since it is his magic, as well."

  A crawling sensation in Cugel's glove indicated that Sadlark's protonastic centrum 'Spatterlight' endorsed the remark. "So it must be," said Cugel. He carefully detached the ornament from his cap and removed the diambroid. He held it in his hand a moment, then placed it against his forehead.

  Iucounu cried out: "What are you doing?"

  "For the last time I am renewing my vitality. Often this scale has helped me through my trials."

  "Stop at once! I will be needing every iota of force for my own purposes. Hand it over!"

  Cugel let the true scale slip into his gloved palm and concealed the false ornament. He spoke in a melancholy voice: "With pain I give up my treasure. May I for a final few moments hold it to my brow?"

  "By no means!" declared Iucounu. "I plan to put it to my own brow. Lay the scale on the work-bench, then stand back!"

  "As you wish," sighed Cugel. He placed 'Spatterlight' on the work-bench, then, taking his sword, walked mournfully from the room.

  With a grunt of satisfaction, Iucounu applied the scale to his brow.

  Cugel went to stand by the fountain in the foyer, with one foot raised to the lip of the basin. In this position he listened gravely to the awful noises rising from Iucounu's throat.

  Silence returned to the work-room.

  Several moments passed.

  A thudding clashing sound reached Cugel's ears.

  Sadlark propelled himself by clumsy hops and jumps into the foyer, using his motilators in the manner of feet, with only fair success, so that he fell heavily from time to time, to wallow and roll with a great rattling of scales.

  Late afternoon light streamed through the door; Cugel made no move, hoping that Sadlark would blunder out into the open and return to the overworld.

  Sadlark came to a halt and spoke in a gasping voice. "Cugel! Where is Cugel? Each of the forces I have consumed, including eel and weasel, requests that they be joined by Cugel! Where are you? Cugel, announce yourself!I cannot see by this peculiar Earth-light, which explains why I plunged into the mire."

  Cugel remained silent, scarcely daring to breathe. Sadlark slowly turned the red node of his sky-breaker around the foyer. "Ah, Cugel, there you are! Stand without motion!"

  Sadlark lurched forward. Disobeying the order, Cugel ran to the far side of the fountain. Angry at Cugel’s insubordination, Sadlark gave a great bound through the air. Cugel seized a basin, scooped up water and flung it upon Sadlark, who thereby misjudged his distance and fell flat into the fountain.

  The water hissed and bubbled as Sadlark's force was spent. The scales fell apart and swirled idly about the bottom of the fountain.

  Cugel stirred among the scales until he found 'Spatterlight'. He wrapped the scale in several thicknesses of damp cloth and taking it into the work-room placed it into a jar of water, which he sealed and stored away.

  Pergolo was silent, but Cugel could not rest easy; Iucounu's presence hung in the air. Could the Laughing Magician be watching from some secret place, stifling his merriment with great effort while he planned a set of humorous pranks?

  Cugel searched Pergolo with care but discovered no significant clues except Iucounu's black opal thumb-ring, which he found in the fountain among the scales, and at last Cugel felt assured that Iucounu was no more.

  At one end of the table sat Cugel; at the other, Bazzard. Disserl, Pelasias, Archimbaust and Vasker ranged at either side. The missing parts had been recovered from the vaults, sorted and restored to their owners, to the general satisfaction.

  Six sylphs served the banquet, which, while lacking the bizarre condiments and improbable juxtapositions of Iucounu's 'novel cuisine', was nevertheless enjoyed by the company.

  Various toasts were proposed: to Bazzard's ingenuity, to the fortitude of the four wizards, to Cugel's brave deceits and duplicities. Cugel was asked, not once but several times, as to where his ambitions might now take him; on each occasion he responded with a glum shake of the head. "Wit
h Iucounu gone, there is no whip to drive me. I look in no direction and I have no plans."

  After draining his goblet, Vasker voiced a generalization: "Without urgent goals, life is insipid!"

  Disserl also tilted his goblet high, then responded to his brother: "I believe that this thought has been enunciated before. A surly critic might even use the word 'banality'.”

  Vasker replied in even tones: "These are the ideas which true originality rediscovers and renews, for the benefit of mankind. I stand by my remark! Cugel, do you concur?"

  Cugel signalled the sylphs to the better use of their decanters. "The intellectual interplay leaves me bewildered; I am quite at a loss. Both viewpoints carry conviction."

  Vasker said: "Perhaps you will return with us to Llaio and we will explain our philosophies in full detail."

  "I will keep your invitation in mind. For the next few months I will be busy at Pergolo, sorting through Iucounu's affairs. Already, a number of his spies have submitted claims and invoices which almost certainly are falsified. I have dismissed them out of hand."

  "And when all is in order?" asked Bazzard. "What then? Is it to be the rustic hut by the river?"

  "Such a cabin, with nothing to do but watch sunlight moving on the water, exerts an attraction. But I fear that I might become restless."

  Bazzard ventured a suggestion. "There are far parts of the world to be seen. The floating city Jehaz is said to be splendid. There is also the Land of the Pale Ladies, which you might care to explore. Or will you pass your days in Almery?"

  "The future is blurred as if in a fog."

  "The same is true for all of us," declared Pelasias. "Why make plans? The sun might well go out tomorrow."

  Cugel performed an extravagant gesture. "That thought must be banished from our minds! Tonight we sit here drinking purple wine! Let tonight last forever!"

  "This is my own sentiment!" said Archimbaust. "Now is now! There is never more to experience than this single 'now', which recurs at an interval exactly one second in length."

  Bazzard knit his brows. "What of the first 'now', and the last 'now'? Are these to be regarded as the same entity?"

  Archimbaust spoke somewhat severely: "Bazzard, your questions are too profound for the occasion. The songs of your musical fish would be more appropriate."

  "Their progress is slow," said Bazzard. "I have appointed a cantor and a contralto choir, but the harmony is not yet steady."

  "No matter," said Cugel. "Tonight we will do without, Iucounu, wherever you are, in underworld, overworld or no world whatever: we drink to your memory in your own wine! This is the final joke, and, feeble though it may be, it is at your expense, and hence, enjoyed by the company! Sylphs, make play with the decanters! Once again to the goblets! Bazzard, have you tried this excellent cheese? Vasker: another anchovy? Let the feast proceed!"

  Footnotes

  1 Let it be noted that this particular occasion follows upon events to be chronicled in the next chapter, for reasons of narrative cohesion.

  2 This narrative returns in time to Cugel's first departure from Flutic, before the events chronicled in the last few pages.

  3 An awkward rendering of the more succinct Anfangel dongobel.

  4 laharq: a creature of vicious habits, native to the tundras north of Saskervoy. keak: a horrid hybrid of demon and deep-sea fanged eel.

  5 The mermelants, to sustain vanity, refer to their masters as 'grooms' and 'tenders'. Ordinarily amiable, they are fond of beer, and when drunk rear high on their splayed rear legs to show their ribbed white bellies. At this juncture any slight provocation sends them into paroxysms of rage, and they exercise their great strength for destruction.

  6 At Castillion banquets a cask is placed on a balcony over the refection hall. Flexible pipes lead down to each place. The diner seats himself, fixes a pipe to the spigot in his cheek, so that he may drink continously as he dines, so avoiding the drudgery of opening flasks, pouring out mugs or goblets, raising, tilting and setting down the mug or goblet, with the consequent danger of breakage or waste. By this process he both eats and drinks more efficiently, and thus gains time for song.

  Rhialto the Marvellous

  * * *

  Foreword

  The Murthe

  Fader's Waft

  Morreion

  Rhilato the Marvellous

  Foreword

  These are tales of the 21st Aeon, when Earth is old and the sun is about to go out. In Ascolais and Almery, lands to the west of the Falling Wall, live a group of magicians who have formed an association the better to protect their interests. Their number fluctuates, but at this time they are:

  Ildefonse, the Preceptor.

  Rhialto the Marvellous.

  Hurtiancz, short and burly, notorious for his truculent disposition.

  Herark the Harbinger, precise and somewhat severe.

  Shrue, a diabolist, whose witticisms mystify his associates, and sometimes disturb their sleep of nights.

  Gilgad, a small man with large gray eyes in a round gray face, always attired in rose-red garments. His hands are clammy, cold and damp; his touch is avoided by all.

  Vermoulian the Dream-walker, a person peculiarly tall and thin, with a stately stride.

  Mune the Mage, who speaks minimally and manages a household of four spouses.

  Zilifant, robust of body with long brown hair and a flowing beard.

  Darvilk the Miaanther, who, for inscrutable purposes, affects a black domino.

  Perdustin, a slight blond person without intimates, who enjoys secrecy and mystery, and refuses to reveal his place of abode.

  Ao of the Opals, saturnine, with a pointed black beard and a caustic manner.

  Eshmiel, who, with a delight almost childish in its purity, uses a bizarre semblance half-white and half-black.

  Barbanikos, who is short and squat with a great puff of white hair.

  Haze of Wheary Water, a hot-eyed wisp with green skin and orange willow-leaves for hair.

  Panderleou, a collector of rare and wonderful artifacts from all the accessible dimensions.

  Byzant the Necrope.

  Dulce-Lolo, whose semblance is that of a portly epicure.

  Tchamast, morose of mood, an avowed ascetic, whose distrust of the female race runs so deep that he will allow only male insects into the precincts of his manse.

  Teutch, who seldom speaks with his mouth but uses an unusual sleight to flick words from his finger-tips. As an Elder of the Hub, he has been allowed the control of his private infinity.

  Zahoulik-Khuntze, whose iron fingernails and toenails are engraved with curious signs.

  Nahourezzin, a savant of Old Romarth.

  Zanzel Melancthones.

  Hache-Moncour, whose vanities and airs surpass even those of Rhialto.

  Magic is a practical science, or, more properly, a craft, since emphasis is placed primarily upon utility, rather than basic understanding.

  This is only a general statement, since in a field of such profound scope, every practitioner will have his individual, style, and during the glorious times of Grand Motholam, many of the magician-philosophers tried to grasp the principles which governed the field.

  In the end, these investigators, who included the greatest names in sorcery, learned only enough to realize that full and comprehensive knowledge was impossible. In the first place, a desired effect might be achieved through any number of modes, any of which represented a life-time of study, each deriving its force from a different coercive environment.

  The great magicians of Grand Motholam were sufficiently supple that they perceived the limits of human understanding, and spent most of their efforts dealing with practical problems, searching for abstract principles only when all else failed. For this reason, magic retains its distinctly human flavor, even though the activating agents are never human. A casual glance into one of the basic catalogues emphasizes this human orientation; the nomenclature has a quaint and archaic flavor. Looking into (for instance) Chapt
er Four of Killiclaw's Primer of Practical Magic, Interpersonal Effectuations, one notices, indited in bright purple ink, such terminology as:

  Xarfaggio's Physical Malepsy

  Arnhoult's Sequestrious Digitalia

  Lutar Brassnose's Twelve-fold Bounty

  The Spell of Forlorn Encystment

  Tinkler's Old-fashioned Froust

  Clambard's Rein of Long Nerves

  The Green and Purple Postponement of Joy

  Panguire's Triumphs of Discomfort

  Lugwiler's Dismal Itch

  Khulip's Nasal Enhancement

  Radl's Pervasion of the Incorrect Chord

  A spell in essence corresponds to a code, or set of instructions, inserted into the sensorium of an entity which is able and not unwilling to alter the environment in accordance with the message conveyed by the spell. These entities are not necessarily 'intelligent,' nor even 'sentient,' and their conduct, from the tyro's point of view, is unpredictable, capricious and dangerous.

  The most pliable and cooperative of these creatures range from the lowly and frail elementals, through the sandestins. More fractious entities are known by the Temuchin as 'daihak,' which include 'demons' and 'gods.' A magician's power derives from the abilities of the entities he is able to control. Every magician of consequence employs one or more sandestins. A few arch-magicians of Grand Moth-olam dared to employ the force of the lesser daihaks. To recite or even to list the names of these magicians is to evoke wonder and awe. Their names tingle with power. Some of Grand Motholam's most notable and dramatic were: