Tales of the Dying Earth

by Jack Vance

  Phandaal the Great

  Amberlin I

  Amberlin II

  Dibarcas Maior (who studied under Phandaal)

  Arch-Mage Mael Lei Laio (he lived in a palace carved from

  a single moon-stone) The Vapurials

  The Green and Purple College Zinqzin the Encyclopaedist Kyrol of Porphyrhyncos Calanctus the Calm Llorio the Sorceress

  The magicians of the 21st Aeon were, in comparison, a disparate and uncertain group, lacking both grandeur and consistency.

  1 The Murthe

  1

  One cool morning toward the middle of the 21st Aeon, Rhialto sat at breakfast in the east cupola of his manse Falu. On this particular morning the old sun rose behind a curtain of frosty haze, to cast a wan and poignant light across Low Meadow.

  For reasons Rhialto could not define, he lacked appetite for his breakfast and gave only desultory attention to a dish of watercress, stewed persimmon and sausage in favor of strong tea and a rusk. Then, despite a dozen tasks awaiting him in his work-room, he sat back in his chair, to gaze absently across the meadow toward Were Woods.

  In this mood of abstraction, his perceptions remained strangely sensitive. An insect settled upon the leaf of a nearby aspen tree; Rhialto took careful note of the angle at which it crooked its legs and the myriad red glints in its bulging eyes. Interesting and significant, thought Rhialto.

  After absorbing the insect's full import, Rhialto extended his attention to the landscape at large. He contemplated the slope of the meadow as it dropped toward the Ts and the distribution of its herbs. He studied the crooked boles at the edge of the forest, the red rays slanting through the foliage, the indigo and dark green of the shadows. His vision was remarkable for its absolute clarity; his hearing was no less acute. ... He leaned forward, straining to hear—what? Sighs of inaudible music?

  Nothing. Rhialto relaxed, smiling at his own odd fancies, and poured out a final cup of tea. ... He let it cool untasted. On impulse he rose to his feet and went into the parlour, where he donned a cloak, a hunter's cap, and took up that baton known as 'Malfezar's Woe.' He then summoned Ladanque, his chamberlain and general factotum.

  "Ladanque, I will be strolling the forest for a period. Take care that Vat Five retains its roil. If you wish, you may distill the contents of the large blue alembic into a stoppered flask. Use a low heat and avoid breathing the vapor; it will bring a purulent rash to your face."

  "Very well, sir. What of the clevenger?"

  "Pay it no heed. Do not approach the cage. Remember, its talk of both virgins and wealth is illusory; I doubt if it knows the meaning of either term."

  "Just so, sir."

  Rhialto departed the manse. He set off across the meadow by a trail which took him to the Ts, over a stone bridge, and into the forest.

  The trail, which had been traced by night-creatures from the forest on their way across the meadow, presently disappeared. Rhialto went on, following where the forest aisles led: through glades where can-dole, red meadow-sweet and white dymphne splotched the grass with colour; past stands of white birches and black aspens; beside ledges of old stone, springs and small streams.

  If other creatures walked the woods, none were evident. Entering a little clearing with a single white birch at the center, Rhialto paused to listen.... He heard only silence.

  A minute passed. Rhialto stood motionless.

  Silence. Had it been absolute?

  The music, if such it had been, assuredly had evolved in his own brain.

  Curious, thought Rhialto.

  He came to an open place, where a white birch stood frail against a background of dense black deodars. As he turned away, again he thought to hear music.

  Soundless music? An inherent contradiction!

  Odd, thought Rhialto, especially since the music seemed to come from outside himself. ... He thought to hear it again: a flutter of abstract chords, imparting an emotion at once sweet, melancholy, triumphant: definite yet uncertain.

  Rhialto gazed in all directions. The music, or whatever it might be, seemed to come from a source near at hand. Prudence urged that he turn in his tracks and hurry back to Falu, never looking over his shoulder. ... He went forward, and came upon a still pool, dark and deep, reflecting the far bank with the exactness of a mirror. Standing motionless, Rhialto saw reflected the image of a woman, strangely pale, with silver hair bound by a black fillet. She wore a knee-length white kirtle, and went bare-armed and bare-legged.

  Rhialto looked up to the far bank. He discovered neither woman, nor man, nor creature of any kind. He dropped his eyes to the surface of the pool, where, as before, the woman stood reflected.

  For a long moment Rhialto studied the image. The woman appeared tall, with small breasts and narrow flanks; she seemed fresh and clean-limbed as a girl. Her face, while lacking neither delicacy nor classic proportion, showed a stillness from which all frivolity was absent. Rhialto, whose expertise in the field of calligynics had earned him his cognomen, found her beautiful but severe, and probably unapproachable, especially if she refused to show herself except as a reflection . . . And perhaps also for other reasons, thought Rhialto, who had conceived an inkling as to the identity of the woman.

  Rhialto spoke: "Madame, did you call me here with your music? If so, explain how I can help you, though I promise no definite undertaking."

  The woman showed a cool smile not altogether to Rhialto's liking. He bowed stiffly. "If you have nothing to say to me, I will intrude no longer upon your privacy." He performed another curt bow, and as he did so, something thrust him forward so that he plunged into the pool.

  The water was extremely cold. Rhialto floundered to the bank and pulled himself ashore. Whoever or whatever had thrust him into the water could not be seen.

  Gradually the surface of the pool became smooth. The image of the woman was no longer visible.

  Rhialto trudged glumly back to Falu, where he indulged himself in a hot bath and drank verbena tea.

  For a period he sat in his work-room, studying various books from the 18th Aeon. The adventure in the forest had not agreed with him. He felt feverish and ringing noises sounded in his ears.

  Rhialto at last prepared himself a prophylactic tonic which caused him even greater discomfort. He took to his bed, swallowed a soporific tablet, and at last fell into a troubled sleep.

  The indisposition persisted for three days. On the morning of the fourth day Rhialto communicated with the magician Ildefonse, at his manse Boumergarth beside the River Scaum.

  Ildefonse felt sufficient concern that he flew at speed to Falu in the smallest of his whirlaways.

  In full detail Rhialto described the events which had culminated at the still pool in the forest. "So there you have it. I am anxious to learn your opinion."

  Ildefonse looked frowning off toward the forest. Today he used his ordinary semblance: that of a portly middle-aged gentleman with thin blond whiskers, a balding pate, and a manner of jovial innocence. The two magicians sat under the purple plumanthia arbor to the side of Falu. On a nearby table, Ladanque had arranged a service of fancy pastries, three varieties of tea and a decanter of soft white wine. ' 'Extraordinary, certainly," said Ildefonse, "especially when taken with a recent experience of my own."

  Rhialto glanced sharply sidelong toward Ildefonse. "You were played a similar trick?"

  Ildefonse responded in measured tones: "The answer is both 'yes' and 'no.' "

  "Interesting," said Rhialto.

  Ildefonse selected his words with care. "Before I elaborate, let me ask this: have you ever before heard this, let us say, 'shadow music'?"

  "Never."

  "And its purport was—?"

  "Indescribable. Neither tragic nor gay; sweet, yet wry and bitter."

  "Did you perceive a melody, or theme, or even a progression, which might give us a clue?"

  "Only a hint. If you will allow me a trifle of preciosity, it filled me with a yearning for the lost and unattainable."

 
"Aha!" said Ildefonse. "And the woman? Something must have identified her as the Murthe?"

  Rhialto considered. "Her pallor and silver hair might have been that of a forest wefkin, in the guise of an antique nymph. Her beauty was real, but I felt no urge to embrace her. I daresay all might have changed upon better acquaintance."

  "Hmmf. Your elegant airs, so I suspect, will carry small weight with the Murthe. . . . When did her identity occur to you?"

  "I became certain as I slogged home, water squelching in my boots. My mood was glum; perhaps the squalm was starting its work. In any case, woman and music came together in my mind and the name evolved. Once home I instantly read Calanctus and took advice. The squalm apparently was real. Today I was finally able to call on you."

  "You should have called before, though I have had similar problems. . . . What is that irksome noise?"

  Rhialto looked along the road. "Someone is approaching in a vehicle. ... It appears to be Zanzel Melancthones."

  "And what is that strange bounding thing behind him?"

  Rhialto craned his neck. "It is unclear. . . .We shall soon find out."

  Along the road, rolling at speed on four tall wheels, came a luxurious double-divan of fifteen golden-ocher cushions. A man-like creature attached by a chain ran behind in the dust.

  Rising to his feet, Ildefonse held up his hand. "Halloa, Zanzel! It is I, Ildefonse! Where do you go in such haste? Who is that curious creature coursing so fleetly behind?"

  Zanzel brought the vehicle to a halt. "Ildefonse, and dear Rhialto: how good to see you both! I had quite forgotten that this old road passes by Falu, and I discover it now to my pleasure."

  "It is our joint good fortune!" declared Ildefonse. "And your captive?''

  Zanzel glanced over his shoulder. "We have here an insidiator: that is my reasoned opinion. I am taking him to be executed where his ghost will bring me no bad luck. What of yonder meadow? It is safely clear of my domain."

  "And hard on my own," growled Rhialto. "You must find a spot convenient to us both."

  "What of me?" cried the captive. "Have I nothing to say in the matter?"

  "Well then, convenient to the three of us."

  "Just a moment, before you prosecute your duties," said Ildefonse. "Tell me more of this creature."

  "There is little to tell. I discovered him by chance when he opened an egg from the wrong end. If you notice, he has six toes, a crested scalp and tufts of feathers growing from his shoulders, all of which puts his origin in the 18th or even the late 17th Aeon. His name, so he avers, is Lehuster."

  "Interesting!" declared Ildefonse. "He is, in a sense, a living fossil. Lehuster, are you aware of your distinction?"

  Zanzel permitted Lehuster no response. "Good day to you both! Rhialto, you appear somewhat peaked! You must dose yourself with a good posset and rest: that is my prescription."

  "Thank you," said Rhialto. "Come past again when your leisure allows and meanwhile remember that my domain extends to yonder ridge. You must execute Lehuster well beyond this point."

  "One moment!" cried Lehuster. "Are there no reasonable minds in the 21st Aeon? Have you no interest why I have come forward to these dismal times? I hereby offer to trade my life for important information!"

  ''Indeed!" said Ildefonse. "What sort of information?"

  "I will make my revelations only at a conclave of high magicians, where pledges are a matter of public record and must be honoured."

  The short-tempered Zanzel jerked around in his seat. "What! Do you now blacken my reputation as well?"

  Ildefonse held up his hand. "Zanzel, I implore your patience! Who knows what this six-fingered rascal has to tell us? Lehuster, what is the thrust of your news?"

  "The Murthe is at large among you, with squalms and ensqual-mations. I will say no more until my safety is assured."

  "Bah!" snorted Zanzel. "You cannot fuddle us with such fol-de-rol. Gentlemen, I bid you good-day; I must be off about my business."

  Ildefonse demurred. "This is an extraordinary case! Zanzel, you are well-meaning but unaware of certain facts. As Preceptor, I now must order you to bring Lehuster alive and well to an immediate conclave at Boumergarth, where we will explore all phases of this matter. Rhialto, I trust that you are well enough to be on hand?"

  "Absolutely and by all means! The topic is of importance."

  "Very well then: all to Boumergarth, in haste!"

  Lehuster ventured an objection. "Must I run all the way? I will arrive too fatigued to testify."

  Ildefonse said: "To regularize matters, I will assume custody of Lehuster. Zanzel, be good enough to loosen the chain."

  "Folly and nonsense!" grumbled Zanzel. "This scoundrel should be executed before he confuses all of us!"

  Rhialto, somewhat surprised by Zanzel's vehemence, spoke with decision: "Ildefonse is correct! We must learn what we can."

  2

  The conclave at Boumergarth, assembled to hear the revelations of Lehuster, attracted only fifteen of the association's membership, which at this time numbered approximately twenty-five. On hand today were Ildefonse, Rhialto, Zanzel, the diabolist Shrue, Hurtiancz, Byzant the Necrope, Teutch who directed the intricacies of a private infinity, Mune the Mage, the cool and clever Perdustin, Tchamast who claimed to know the source of all IOUN stones, Barbanikos, Haze of Wheary Water, Ao of the Opals, Panderleou, whose collection of ultra-world artifacts was envied by all, and Gilgad.

  Without ceremony Ildefonse called the conclave to order. "I am disappointed that our full roster has not appeared, since we must consider a matter of extraordinary importance.

  "Let me first describe the recent experience of our colleague Rhialto. In barest outline, he was lured into Were Woods by the hint of an imaginary song. After wandering for a period, he met a woman who pushed him into a pool of extremely cold water. .. . Gentlemen, please! I see no occasion for levity! This is a most important affair, and Rhialto's misfortunes are not to be taken lightly! Indeed, for various reasons our speculations lead us to the Murthe." Ildefonse looked from face to face. "Yes, you heard me correctly."

  When the mutter of comment had dwindled away, Ildefonse continued his remarks. "In an apparently unrelated circumstance, Zanzel recently made the acquaintance of a certain Lehuster, a denizen of the 18th Aeon. Lehuster, who stands yonder, indicates that he has important news to bring us, and again he mentions the Murthe. He has kindly agreed to share his information with us, and I now call upon Lehuster to step forward and report those facts of which he is cognizant. Lehuster, if you will!"

  Lehuster made no move. "I must withhold my testimony until I am guaranteed fairly my life, a bargain which should cause no pain, since I have committed no crime."

  Zanzel called out angrily: "You forget that I myself witnessed your conduct!"

  "Merely a solecism. Ildefonse, do you then promise to hold my life in security?"

  "You have my guaranty! Speak on!"

  Zanzel sprang to his feet. "This is preposterous! Must we welcome each scoundrel of time into our midst, to satiate himself on our good things, meanwhile perverting our customs?"

  The burly and irascible Hurtiancz spoke. "I endorse the progressive views of Zanzel! Lehuster may be only the first of a horde of deviates, morons, and incorrect thinkers sluiced into our placid region!"

  Ildefonse spoke in soothing tones: "If Lehuster's news is truly valuable, we must reluctantly concede him his due. Lehuster, speak! We will overlook your flawed conduct as well as your offensive feathers. I, for one, am anxious to hear your news."

  Lehuster advanced to the podium. "I must place my remarks in historical perspective. My personal time is the late First Epoch of the 18th Aeon, at a time well before Grand Motholam, but when the Master Magicians and the Great Witches rivalled each other in power: a case similar to the Eleventh Epoch of the 17th Aeon, when the magicians and the sorceresses each strove to outdo the other, and eventually precipitated the War of the Wizards and Witches.

  "The witches won this grea
t war. Many of the wizards became archveults; many others were destroyed and the witches, led by the White Witch Llorio, dominated all.

  "For an epoch they lived in glory. Llorio became the Murthe and took up residence in a temple. There, as a living idol, comprised both of organic woman and abstract female force, she was joyfully worshipped by every woman of the human race.

  "Three magicians survived the war: Teus Treviolus, Schliman Shabat and Phunurus the Orfo. They joined in a cabal and after deeds of daring, craft and cunning to tax credibility, they seized the Murthe, compressed her to a poincture, and took her from the temple. The women became distraught; their power waned while that of the magicians revived. For epochs they lived in a taut accommodation; and these were adventurous times!