by Jack Vance
Aillas went forward, to where the off-watch entertained itself. Aillas joined the dice game. He lost a few coppers, then won them back, then finally lost all the coins in his pocket.
At midnight the watch changed; Aillas returned aft. Rather than immerse himself immediately in his cubbyhole he climbed up the ladder to the afterdeck. Breeze still filled the sails; wake, sparkling and streaked with phosphorescence, bubbled up a-stern. Leaning on the taff-rail Aillas watched the flickering lights.
A step behind him, a presence. Arms gripped his legs; he was lifted and flung into space. He knew a brief sensation of tilting sky and whirling stars, then struck into water. Down, down, into the tumble of wake, and his chief emotion was still astonishment. He rose to the surface. All directions were the same; where was the Smaadra? He opened his mouth to yell, and took a throatful of water. Gasping and coughing, Aillas called out once more but produced only a dismal croak. The next attempt was stronger, but thin and weak, hardly more than the cry of a sea-bird.
The ship was gone. Aillas floated alone, at the center of his private cosmos. Who had cast him into the sea? Trewan? Why should Trewan do such a deed? No reason whatever. Then: who?... The speculations faded from his mind; they were irrelevant, part of another existence. His new identity was one with the stars and the waves... His legs felt heavy; he twisted in the water, removed his boots, and let them sink. He slipped out of his doublet, which was also heavy. Now he remained afloat with less effort. The wind blew from the south; Aillas swam with the wind at his back, which was more comfortable than with the waves breaking into his face. The waves lifted him, and carried him forward on their surge.
He felt at ease; his mood was almost exalted, even though the water, at first cold, then tolerable, once more seemed chilly. With disarming stealth, he began to feel comfortable again. Aillas felt at peace. It would be easy now to relax, to slide away into languor.
If he slept, he would never awaken. Worse, he would never discover who had thrown him into the sea. "I am Aillas of Watershade!"
He exerted himself; he moved his arms and legs to swim; and once again became uncomfortably cold. How long had he floated in this dark water? He looked up to the sky. The stars had shifted; Arcturus was gone and Vega hung low in the west... For a period the first level of consciousness departed and he knew only a bleary awareness which started to flicker and go out... Something disturbed him. A quiver of sentience returned. The eastern sky glowed yellow; dawn was at hand. The water around him was black as iron. Off to the side, a hundred yards away, water foamed around the base of a rock. He looked at it with sad interest, but wind and waves and current carried him past.
A roaring sound filled his ears; he felt a sudden harsh impact, then he was sucked away by a wave, picked up and thrown against something cruelly sharp. With numb arms and sodden fingers he tried to cling, but another surge pulled him away.
Chapter 10
DURING THE REIGNS OF OLAM I, Great King of the Elder Isles, and his immediate successors, the throne Evandig and the sacred stone table Cairbra an Meadhan occupied place in Haidion. Olam III, "the Vain," moved throne and table to Avallon. This act and its consequences came about as an oblique result of discord among the arch-magicians of the land. At this time they numbered eight: Murgen, Sartzanek, Desmei, Myolander, Baibal-ides, Widdefut, Coddefut and Noumique.* Murgen was reckoned first among his fellows, by no means to the satisfaction of all. Sartzanek in particular resented Murgen's austere inflexibility, while Desmei deplored his strictures against meddling with affairs of the countryside, which was her sport.
*Whenever the magicians met together, another appeared: a tall shape muffled in a long black cape, with a wide-brimmed black hat obscuring his features. He stood always back in the shadows and never spoke; when one or another of the magicians chanced to look into his face they saw black emptiness with a pair of far stars where his eyes might be. The presence of the ninth magician (if such he were) at first made for uneasiness, but in due course, since the presence seemed to affect nothing, he was ignored, save for occasional side-glances.
Murgen made his residence at Swer Smod, a rambling stone manse in the northwest part of Lyonesse, where the Teach tac Teach sloped down into the Forest of Tantrevalles. He based his edict on the thesis that any assistance rendered to a favorite must sooner or later transgress upon the interests of other magicians.
Sartzanek, perhaps the most capricious and unpredictable of all the magicians, resided at Faroli, deep inside the forest, in the then Grand Duchy of Dahaut. He long had resented Murgen's prohibitions, and contravened them as flagrantly as he dared.
Sartzanek occasionally conducted erotic experiments with the witch Desmei. Stung by the derision of Widdefut, Sartzanek retaliated with the Spell of Total Enlightenment, so that Widdefut suddenly knew everything which might be known: the history of each atom of the universe, the devolvements of eight kinds of time, the possible phases of each succeeding instant; all the flavors, sounds, sights, smells of the world, as well as percepts relative to nine other more unusual senses. Widdefut became palsied and paralyzed and could not so much as feed himself. He stood trembling in confusion until he dessicated to a wisp and blew away on the wind.
Coddefut made an indignant protest, exciting Sartzanek to such a rage that he put by all caution and destroyed Coddefut with a plague of maggots. Coddefut's entire surface seethed under an inch-thick layer of worms, to such effect that Coddefut lost control of his wisdom and tore himself to pieces.
The surviving magicians, with the exception of Desmei, invoked pressures which Sartzanek could not repugn. He was compressed into an iron post seven feet tall and four inches square, so that only upon careful scrutiny might his distorted features be noted. This post was similar to the post at Twitten's Corner. The Sartzanek post was implanted at the very peak of Mount Agon. Whenever lightning struck down, Sartzanek's etched features were said to twitch and quiver.
A certain Tamurello immediately took up residence in Sartzanek's manse, Faroli, and all understood him to be Sartzanek's alter ego, or scion: in certain respects an extension of Sartzanek himself.* Like Sartzanek, Tamurello was tall, heavy of physique, with black eyes, black curls, a full mouth, round chin, and a temperament which expressed itself in terms of vivid emotion.
*ln just such a fashion Shimrod was known to be an extension, or alter ego, of Murgen, though their personalities had separated and they were different individuals.
The witch Desmei, who had performed erotic conjunctions with Sartzanek, now amused herself with King Olam III. She appeared to him as a female clothed with a soft pelt of black fur and an oddly beautiful cat-like mask. This creature knew a thousand lascivious tricks; King Olam, befuddled and foolish, succumbed to her will. To spite Murgen, Desmei persuaded Olam to move his throne Evandig and the table Cairbra an Meadhan to Avallon.
The old tranquility was gone. The magicians were at odds, each suspicious of the other. Murgen, in cold disgust, isolated himself at Swer Smod.
Difficult times came upon the Elder Isles. King Olam, now deranged, attempted copulation with a leopard; he was savaged and died. His son, Uther I, a frail and timid stripling, no longer enjoyed the support of Murgen. Goths invaded the north coast of Dahaut and looted Whanish Isle, where they sacked the monastery and burned the great library.
Audry, Grand Duke of Dahaut, raised an army and destroyed the Goths at the Battle of Hax, but suffered such losses that the Celtic Godelians moved east and took the Wysrod Peninsula. King Uther, after months of indecision, marched his army against the Godelians only to meet disaster at the Battle of Wa'nwillow Ford, where he was killed. His son, Uther II fled north to England, where in due course he sired Uther Pendragon, father to King Arthur of Cornwall.
The dukes of the Elder Isles met at Avallon to choose a new king. Duke Phristan of Lyonesse claimed kingship by virtue of lineage, while the aging Duke Audry of Dahaut cited the throne of Evandig and the table Cairbra an Meadhan in support of his own claim; the conclave dis
solved in acrimony. Each duke returned home and thereafter styled himself King of his own personal domain.
Instead of one there were now ten kingdoms: North Ulfland, South Ulfland, Dahaut, Caduz, Blaloc, Pomperol, Godelia, Troicinet, Dascinet and Lyonesse.
The new kingdoms found ample scope for contention. King Phristan of Lyonesse and his ally King Joel of Caduz went to war against Dahaut and Pomperol. At the Battle of Orm Hill, Phristan killed the old but stalwart Audry I and was himself killed by an arrow; the battle and the war ended indecisively, with each side charged with hatred for the other.
Prince Casmir, known as "the Popinjay," fought in the battle bravely but without recklessness and returned to Lyonesse Town as King. Immediately he abandoned his elegant postures for a hard practicality, and set himself to the task of strengthening his realm.
A year after Casmir became King, he married Princess Sollace of Aquitaine, a handsome blonde maiden with Gothic blood in her veins, whose stately mien disguised a stolid temperament. Casmir considered himself a patron of the magical arts. In a secret chamber he kept a number of curios and magical adjuncts, including a book of incantations, indited in illegible script, but which glowed dimly in the dark. When Casmir ran his finger over the runes a sensation peculiar to each incantation suffused his mind. He could tolerate one such contact; twice caused him to sweat; thrice he dared not lest he lose control of himself. A griffin's claw reposed in an onyx case. A gallstone cast by the ogre Heulamides gave off a peculiar stench. A small yellow skak* sat in a bottle, resignedly awaiting his eventual release. On a wall hung an article of real power: Persilian, the so-called "Magic Mirror." This mirror would answer three questions to its owner, who then must relinquish it to another. Should the owner ask a fourth question, the mirror would make glad response, then dissolve into freedom. King Casmir had put three questions, and now reserved the fourth against emergency.
*The least in the hierarchy of fairies. First in rank are fairies, then (alloys, goblins, imps, finally skaks. In the nomenclature of Faerie, giants, ogres and trolls are also considered halflings, but of a different sort. In a third class are merrihews, willawen and hyslop, and also, by some reckonings, quists and darklings. Sandestins, most powerful of all, are in a class bv themselves.
According to popular wisdom, the company of magicians was usually more bane than benefit. Though he well knew of Murgen's edicts, Casmir at various times solicited aid from arch-magicians Baibalides and Noumique, and several other lesser magicians, to be everywhere rebuffed.
Casmir received news of the sorceress Desmei, reputedly the enemy of Murgen. By reliable report she had taken herself to the Goblin Fair, an annual occasion which she enjoyed and never failed to patronize.
Casmir disguised himself under blue and iron-gray armor, and a shield displaying two dragons rampant. He named himself Sir Perdrax, knight errant, and, with a small retinue, rode into the Forest of Tantrevalles.
In due course he arrived at Twitten's Corner. The inn known as The Laughing Sun and The Crying Moon was filled to capacity; Casmir was forced to accept a place in the barn. A quartermile into the forest he found the Goblin Fair. Desmei was nowhere to be seen. Casmir wandered among the booths. He saw much to interest him and paid good gold for various oddments.
Late in the afternoon he noted a tall woman, somewhat gaunt of face and feature, her blue hair gathered into a silver cage. She wore a white tabard embroidered in black and red; she evoked in King Casmir (and all men who saw her) a curious disturbance: fascination mingled with revulsion. This was Desmei the sorceress.
Casmir approached her with caution, where she stood haggling with an old knave who kept a booth. The merchant's hair was yellow, his skin sallow; his nose was split and his eyes were like copper pellets; goblin blood flowed in his veins. He held up a feather for her inspection. "This feather," he said, "is indispensable to the conduct of daily affairs, in that it infallibly detects fraudulence."
"Astounding!" declared Desme'i in a voice of boredom.
"Would you say that here is an ordinary feather taken from the carcass of a dead blue jay?"
"Yes. Dead or even alive. So I would assume."
"You would be as wrong as an umpdoodle's trivet."
"Indeed. How is this miraculous feather used?"
"Nothing could be simpler. If you suspect a cheat, a liar or a swindler, touch him with the feather. If the feather turns yellow, your suspicions are confirmed."
"If the feather remains blue?"
"Then the person with whom you are dealing is staunch and true! This excellent feather is yours for six crowns of gold."
Desmei uttered a metallic laugh. "Do you think me so gullible? It is almost insulting. Evidently you expect me to test you with the feather, then when it remains blue, I pay over to you my gold!"
"Precisely! The feather would verify my assertions!"
Desmei took the feather and touched it to the split nose. Instantly the feather became bright yellow. Desmei repeated her scornful laugh. "No less than I suspected! The feather declares you to be a cheat!"
"Ha ha! Does not the feather perform exactly as I have claimed? How can I be a cheat?"
Desmei frowningly regarded the feather, then threw it back upon the counter. "I have no time for conundrums!" Haughtily she strolled away, to inspect the sale of a young harpy in a cage. After a moment Casmir approached. "You are the sorceress Desmei?"
Desmei fixed her attention on him. "And who are you?"
"I call myself Sir Perdrax, knight errant from Aquitaine."
Desmei smiled and nodded. "And what do you wish of me?" "It is a delicate matter. May I count upon your discretion?"
"To a certain extent." "I will express myself bluntly. I serve King Casmir of Lyonesse, who intends to restore the throne Evandig to its rightful place. To this end he implores your advice."
"The arch-magician Murgen forbids such involvement."
"Already you are at odds with Murgen. How long will you obey his precepts?"
"Not forever. How would Casmir reward me?"
"State your terms; I will communicate them."
Desmei became suddenly fretful. "Tell Casmir to come in his own right to my palace at Ys. There I will talk to him."
Sir Perdrax bowed and Desmei moved away. Presently she departed through the forest in a palanquin carried by six running shadows.
Before setting out for Ys, King Casmir brooded long and well; Desmei was known for her bitter bargains.
At last he ordered out the royal galleass, and on a sparkling windy day sailed out past the breakwater, around Cape Farewell and so to Ys.
Casmir disembarked upon the stone jetty and walked down the beach to Uesmei's white palace.
Casmir found Desmei on a seaward-facing terrace leaning on the balustrade, half in the shade of a tall marble urn, from which trailed the foliage of sweet arbutus.
A change had come over Desmei. Casmir halted, wondering at her pallor, hollow cheeks and gaunt neck. Her fingers, thin and knobbed at the knuckles, hooked over the lip of the balustrade; her feet, in silver sandals, were long and frail and showed a net of purple veins.
Casmir stood slack-jawed and graceless, feeling himself in the presence of mysteries far beyond his understanding.
Desmei glanced at him sidelong, showing neither surprise nor pleasure. "So you have come."
Casmir made a rather strained effort to regain the initiative which he felt should rightly be his. "Did you not expect me?"
Desmei said only, "You are here too late."
"How so?" exclaimed Casmir in new concern.
"All things change. I have no more interest in the affairs of men. Your forays and wars are a trouble; they disturb the quiet of the countryside."
"There is no need for war! I want only Evandig! Give me magic or a mantle of stealth, so that I may take Evandig without war."
Desmei laughed a soft wild laugh. "I am known for my bitter bargains. Would you pay my price?"
"What is your price?"
Desmei looked out toward the sea's horizon. At last she spoke, so quietly that Casmir came a step closer to hear. "Listen! I will tell you this. Marry Suldrun well; her son will sit on Evandig. And what is my price for this presagement? Nothing whatever, for the knowledge will do you no service." Desmei abruptly turned and walked through one in a line of tall archways into the shadows of her palace. Casmir watched the thin form become indistinct and disappear. He waited a moment, standing in the hot sunlight. No sound could be heard but the sigh of surf.
Casmir swung away and returned to his ship.
Desmei watched the galleass dwindle across the blue sea. She was alone in her palace. For three months she had awaited Tamurello's visit; he had not come and the message of his absence was clear.
She went into her workroom, unclasped her gown and let it slip to the floor. She studied herself in the mirror, to see grim features, a body bony, lank, almost epicene. Coarse black hair matted her head; her arms and legs were lean and graceless. Such was her natural embodiment, a self in which she felt most easy. Other guises required concentration lest they become loose and dissolve.
Desmei went to her cabinets and brought out a variety of instruments. Over a time of two hours she worked a great spell to sunder herself into a plasm which entered a vessel of three vents. The plasm churned, distilled, and emerged by the vents, to coalesce into three forms. The first was a maiden of exquisite conformation, with violet-blue eyes and black hair soft as midnight. She carried within her the fragrance of violets, and was named Melancthe.
The second form was male. Desme'i, still by a trick of time, a husk of sentience, quickly shrouded and covered it lest others (such as Tamurello) discover its existence.
The third form, a demented squeaking creature, served as sump for Desmei's most repugnant aspects. Shaking with disgust Desmei quelled the horrid thing and burnt it in a furnace, where it writhed and screamed. A green fume rose from the furnace; Melancthe shrank back but involuntarily gasped upon a wisp of the stench. The second form, shrouded behind a cloak, inhaled the stench with savor.
