Songs of the Dying Earth

“You have waited in the wrong line for the wrong flower,” said Pelmundo. “Move on.”

He lay his hand on the hilt of his sword. Taj looked at the sword. It was not new, did not shine, bore no jewels, no mystic inscriptions; it was the workmanlike tool of a man who used it with bad intentions.

“We are no longer friends, son of Riloh!” snapped Taj, starting to walk away.

“We never were,” replied Pelmundo.

He waited until Taj had gone one hundred paces, and then turned back to the doorway. Leja had returned to the dimly-lit interior of the structure, but Lith remained.

“And now your reward,” she said softly.

He stepped forward. “You have never let me touch you before,” he noted.

“And you shall not touch me now,” she said. “I shall touch you.”

“But—”

“Be quiet, step forward, and receive your reward,” said Lith.

Muscles tensed with excitement, loins bursting with lust, Pelmundo stepped forward.

“And here is your prize,” said Lith, kissing him chastely on the forehead.

He stepped back and shook his head as if he could not believe it. Lith smiled slyly.

“That is it?” he said, dumbfounded.

“That’s all Taj was worth,” she replied, her eyes bright with amusement. “For a greater reward, you must perform a greater deed.”

“And for the greatest reward you have to offer?” he asked eagerly.

“Why, for that, you must perform the greatest deed,” said the golden witch with a roguish smile.

“Name it, and it shall be done!”

“When I am not here, I live in a hollow tree in the Old Forest,” began Lith.

“I know. I have looked for your tree, but I have never found it.”

She smiled. “It is protected by my magic. I think perhaps even Umbassario of the Glowing Eyes could not find it.”

“The deed!” he said passionately. “Get to the deed!”

“Whenever I come to Maloth, or return from here to my forest, I must pass through Modavna Moor,” continued Lith.

Suddenly Pelmundo felt the muscles in his stomach tighten, for he knew what she would say next.

“Something lives on that moor, something evil and malignant, something that frightens and threatens me whenever I walk through it, a creature from some domain that is not of this world. It is known only as Graebe the Inevitable. Rid the earth of Graebe and the ultimate reward is yours, Watchman.”

“Graebe the Inevitable,” he repeated dully.

She struck a pose, with the moonlight highlighting her bare breasts and naked hips. “Is not the prize worth it?” she asked, smiling at his discomfiture. “Send him back to the hell he comes from, and I shall let you ascend to a heaven that only I can provide.”

Pelmundo stared at her for a brief moment.

“He is as good as dead,” he vowed.

Pelmundo knew that he could not face the creature without enchantments and protections, so he headed to the high outcroppings beyond Maloth and sought out Umbassario in his candle-lit cave.

“Greetings, Mage of the Glowing Eyes,” he said when he was finally facing the old man.

“Greetings, son of Riloh.”

“I have come—” began Pelmundo.

“I know why you have come,” said Umbassario. “Am I not the greatest magician in the world?”

“Except for Iucounu,” hissed a long green snake in a sibilant tongue.

Umbassario pointed a bony forefinger at the snake. A crackling bolt of lightning shot out of it and turned the snake to ashes.

“Does anyone else care to voice an opinion?” he asked mildly, staring at his various pets. The snakes slithered into darkened corners, and the bats closed their eyes tightly. “Then, with your kind indulgence, let me speak to this foolish young Watchman.”

“Not foolish,” Pelmundo corrected him. “Impassioned.”

Umbassario sighed deeply. “Does no one listen to me even in the sanctity of my own cave?” His glowing eyes focused on Pelmundo. “Listen to me, son of Riloh. The golden witch has bewitched you, not with magic, but with what women have been bewitching men with since Time began.”

“Whatever the reason, I must have her,” said Pelmundo. “And I will need protections and spells against such a creature as Graebe the Inevitable.”

“Graebe is mine!” shouted the magician. “You will not touch him!”

“Yours?” repeated Pelmundo, surprised. “A creature like that?”

“You protect the city against thieves and ruffians. I protect it against greater evil, and Graebe is the weapon I use.”

“But he sucks out men’s souls with those great prehensile lips and feasts upon them!”

“He sucks out diseased souls that no one else would have,” said Umbassario.

“He dismembers his victims while they still live.”

“You seek a reward, do you not?” said the magician. “The dismemberment is his.”

“He threatens the golden witch.”

Umbassario smiled. “Then why is she still alive? After all, he is Graebe the Inevitable.”

Pelmundo frowned. It was not a question he was prepared for.