Songs of the Dying Earth

“Great lord,” Tralques temporized. “Would not some small refreshment be in order? I know for a fact that the Iron Star Inn has the best—”

“Nonsense, Master Tralques. We have hardly begun. To the floor, I say. After such wonders, our judges are keen to see more!”

Tralques again stepped forth into the great room. Without preamble, he flung his arms wide and uttered another spell from his repertoire.

Out in the hall, a giant child lay sleeping face-down on the paving. On the infant’s broad back stood twenty silver dryads playing musical instruments: fantiphones and asponades, twizzle-horns, fukes, and quarter-drums. As they executed a most jolly jig from the hills beyond Kaspara Vitatus, the child’s dreams curled up in spirals of fanciful imagery, so that clowns and eagles tipped into castles and cottages, with glimpses of monarchs and djinn vying with hints of dragonry, all in the most wonderful melange.

At the minute-forty mark, the seemingly random elements came surging together to form a single face: that of Eunepheos himself, smiling and benign.

“It is often well done when well enough done,” the image intoned cryptically, and the whole fascinating ensemble vanished, leaving Tralques bowing respectfully to those on the dais.

This time, the underlings in the entourage applauded along with the wizards, rattling their armor, weapons, chains and fine jewelry according to their various stations and condition in the Dessinga hierarchy.

“Elegantly and grandly done!” Eunepheos cried with obvious approval.

“The Fine Silver Dalliance,” Sarimance said. “I remember it fondly. And there wasn’t a single chicken, one-eyed, cross-eyed or otherwise to mar the proceedings.”

Amberlin smiled and applauded too, but carefully said nothing, though he did note in passing that Tralques had refined his conjuration considerably since their meeting at the Iron Star Inn that day. Sarimance had obviously been providing lessons in embellishment and framing effect.

Amberlin’s thoughts returned at once to his remaining eleven spell patterns. He ran through the sequences, trying to settle on two that would see him through the contest with some chance of acquitting himself. His three punitive conjurations automatically disqualified themselves, of course, leaving eight to choose from, only two of which were in any way suitable for display purposes. Then again, who could say, the Inflect might work in his favor and serve up something truly marvelous. It was a possibility.

But Eunepheos, ever the genial host, was calling for Sarimance to again take his place on the floor. “Sarimance, amaze us further with your skill!”

“If I may, great Eunepheos, I would ask that the beautiful Asari be permitted to assist.”

Eunepheos looked to where Asari stood among his entourage and nodded, and the lovely maiden in black and yellow diaper moved out to join the Red Wizard.

Even as she turned to regard those at the dais, the vermilion-clad mage gestured hieratically. Asari immediately lifted into the air in a smooth and graceful motion. Apart from a momentary widening of her eyes in surprise, she retained her composure, rising up until her lithe form was suspended twenty feet in the air.

Sarimance’s staff then projected a beam of white light that struck the maiden’s body and lanced through it in a multitude of colors as if through a prism. The colorforms spiraled out from her, creating struts, pinions, and articulations, then vibrant membranes, finally forming the wings of a vast butterfly that extended out to fill the entire hall. On those spread wings of light and color suddenly appeared forms and faces, identities from history and legend who came forth to peer through Asari’s wing-lenses and regard the throng watching below.

Eunepheos actually gasped as the faces of his own father and mother looked down upon him with benign regard.

At the minute-thirty mark, the wings began to close around Asari until they were fully furled, wrapping her in shimmering light so that she was like a fabulous cocoon. At one minute-fifty, the vestiges cleared completely and the girl descended to the floor again, none the worse for her brief transformation.

The audience of wizards and magicals applauded enthusiastically.

“Most impressive and most tasteful,” Eunepheos said, his severe hawklike face again softened with what seemed genuine pleasure.

Neither Tralques and Amberlin deigned to speak. It was the second round, and the knowledge that only one of them would make it back through the Copsy Door was sobering.

“Amberlin the Lesser,” Eunepheos cried, and the appropriate formality seemed to contain a touch of wry humor. “Please regale us with your next confection!”

“Gladly, noble sir!” Amberlin said, moving out onto the floor with new determination. Having considered his few appropriate spells, whatever havoc the Inflect now wrought would likely be better than anything his correct utterances could deliver.

He turned, gave a smile he hoped seemed part mischief, part conspiratorial delight, then subvocalized his utterance and gestured with raised arms as before.

A child’s red balloon floated into the hall accompanied by tinkling from an unseen music box. For all of forty seconds it drifted back and forth while the melody played, then its knotted end suddenly released and it went jetting about the chamber, making a distinctly risque sound as it deflated. Before it could fall to the floor, it vanished with a final distinct raspberry.

Tralques was doubled over with laughter.

Sarimance stood with tears rolling down his cheeks.

Eunepheos sat with a grin of wonder and perplexity fixed on his sharp face.

It was Tralques Iron Star who first managed to speak. “Perhaps the rest of the carnival is on the other side of the mirror door and can’t remember the password.” He collapsed with laughter again.

Sarimance fought for composure. “At least, dear Amberlin, you have saved yourself the expense of hiring a rug and chickens! You might at least have showed us the music box, since its off-stage presence smacks of a certain degree of parsimony on your part and, for a fact, the melody did become a bit tiresome.”

“Enough!” Eunepheos cried. “We take the bad with the good, the great with the small. Some of us may simply relish the prospect of remaining in Dessinga more than others. Tralques, be so good as to honor us with your final presentation!”

“Gladly, great lord!” Tralques replied, the seriousness of the occasion finally giving him control of his mirth. Yet again he strode forth, took his place, and muttered the words of a new conjuration.

The hall immediately darkened and a great single eye opened in the wall above the entry glass. Each time it blinked, a small spot-lit table appeared at which sat a dining couple, youths and maidens for the most part, happily discussing their private affairs. Then, blink by blink of the great eye, older couples appeared as dinner guests as well, then fabulous creatures, winged and horned and wearing the tabards of ancient bestiaries. An agreeable hubbub filled the vast hall, the words in human languages and other tongues rising up as intricate streamers of light and color to form an incredible braid overhead.

Even as the braid began turning, drawing the streamers into an everlengthening maypole knot, a beautiful music filled the hall, both stately and yet at the same time achingly poignant to hear, a melody for absent friends, precious things lost and times out of mind.

At precisely the one minute fifty mark, the eye gave a final blink and the chamber was empty again.

“The Bayate Knot,” Sarimance said, giving his insufferable smile. “And never done better.”

“Astounding! Impressive! Delightful!” cried Eunepheos. “Tralques, your star is clearly on the ascendant! Now, Sarimance, give us your very best!”

Sarimance levitated, spiraled up into the air like a vermilion torch, then slowly descended to the floor, an overture that Amberlin judged needlessly excessive, even ostentatious.

As Sarimance gestured, two great golden doorways formed to the left and right of the chamber. Through the left-hand portal came a procession of the greatest wizards Grand Motholam had ever known.

First there was Calanctus the Calm, resplendent in the purple, green, and orange robe he wore at the Alancthon Festival so long ago when he defeated Conamas the Sophist. The magician walked smiling past the dais and inclined his head once in courteous greeting.

Close behind came Dibarcas Maior, wearing the intricate fire-weave robe for which he had been celebrated across the lands, and with two fire-demons dancing upon his shoulders. He raised an arm in greeting and moved on through the right-hand portal. Zinqzin the Encyclopaedist followed, holding in his arms the two great wonder-books that had ensured his place in the annals of the truly great. He too inclined his head to the assembled fellowship and passed beyond the door.

Then appeared Amberlin I in an emerald green gown streaked with gold, with Amberlin II close behind, masked and robed in luminous yellow. Both seemed overly solemn compared to the others; their nods to Eunepheos and his companions were measured and respectful, but their manner was somewhat aloof. One after the other they stepped through the right-hand door and disappeared.

The Vapurials appeared next, all three laughing and saluting the spectators with their eternally replenishing goblets of wine from far Pergolay. As they reached the right-hand exit, they flung down their goblets, which exploded in their personal color sprays of cobalt, saffron, and umber.

Then Llorio the Sorceress entered the great room in a sedan chair carried by a dozen liveried lizard-heads. If the rumors were true, they were former suitors, each one giving up their lives for a single night each year with their splendid mistress. Llorio smiled and regarded the watching wizards as if, even now, she might consider their eligibility for a place in her service. It was an unnerving moment.

Members of the Green and Purple College came next, three dazzling wizards and three beautiful sorceresses wearing their fabulous turbans and College regalia, striding forth and waving at the spectators, clearly enjoying the occasion. No sooner had they passed by the dais and reached the exit than the Arch-Mage Mael Lel Laio swept into the room, nodded at Eunepheos and the judges, rather perfunctorily it seemed, almost as if he preferred to be somewhere else, then proceeded on his way.

Kyrol of Porphyrhyncos followed, and it seemed he was to complete the display, for no sooner had that powerful black-skinned wizard moved past in his robes of silver assantine than there was a pause. Then came a swelling fanfare of destiny-horns and the room glowed with a wash of blue-white radiance as, first among them, Phandaal the Great appeared, smiling and magnificent. He actually paused before the dais and raised his arms in a brotherly salute before continuing on his way, the destiny horns playing all the while. As he entered the golden exit door, he gestured behind him, and the portal vanished in a final burst of radiance.

How the hosts of Dessinga applauded! No doubt they had been carefully schooled to recognize each member of that fabulous procession.

“You honor us indeed, Master Sarimance,” Eunepheos said. “The greatest ones are well known for both their acute sense of protocol and for their restive natures in matters of place, so that often even the manifestations we have seen today are not always easy together. You have managed to bring us a most harmonious and well-behaved display under the circumstances. I commend and thank you.”

“I aimed only to please,” Sarimance said, and returned to his place before the dais.

“Amberlin, to the floor!” Eunepheos cried. “Now we see what you have been holding back! I, for one, can hardly wait.”