by Jack Vance
Cugel drank deep from a black glass goblet. “Yes, there is no haste in this matter. And now—” He was interrupted by a woman of middle age in voluminous brown garments, evidently one of the under-servants, who at this moment rushed into the hal!. She was shouting hysterically and several footmen sprang forward to support her. Between racking sobs she made clear the source of her anguish: an abominable act only just now committed by the ghoul upon her daughter.
Derwe Coreme gracefully indicated Cugel. “Here is the new Lord of Cil; he has vast powers of magic and will order the ghoul destroyed. Will you not, Exalted?”
Cugel thoughtfully rubbed his chin. A dilemma indeed. The woman and all the servitors fell down upon their knees. “Exalted, if you control this corrosive magic, employ it instantly to destroy the vile ghoul!”
Cugel winced, and turning his head met Derwe Dor-erne's thoughtful gaze. He jumped to his feet. “What need I of magic when I can wield a sword? I will hack the creature organ from organ!” He signaled the six men-at-arms who stood by in their brass armor. “Come! Bring torchesl We fare forth to dismember the ghoul!”
The men-at-arms obeyed without enthusiasm. Cugel herded them toward the great portal. “When I fling wide the doors, rush forth with the torches, to create a blaze which will illuminate the evil being! Have swords drawn so that when I send him reeling you may strike the coup de grace!”
The men-at-arms each with torch and drawn sword stood before the portal. Cugel slid back the bolts and flung wide of the portals. “Out! Shine upon the ghoul the last light of his existence!”
The men-at-arms raced desperately forth, with Cugd swaggering after, flourishing his sword. The men-at-arms paused at the head of the steps, to look Uncertainly out over the promenade, frqm which a quite horrid sound could be heard.
Cugel looked over his shoulder to see Derwe Coreme watching attentively from the doorway. “Forward!” he shouted. “Surround this wretched creature, whose death is now upon him!”
The men-at-arms gingerly descended the steps, with Cugel marching to the rear. “Hack with a will!” he called. “There is ample glory for all! The man who fails to deal a stroke I blast with magic!”
The flickering lights shone on the pedestals, ranging in a long line to merge at last with the darkness. “Forward!” cried Cugel. “Where is this bestial being? Why does he not appear to receive his deserts?” And Cugel peered through the wavering shadows, hoping the ghoul by now would have taken alarm and fled.
At his side came a small sound. Turning, Cugel saw a tall pale shape standing quietly. The men-at-arms gasped, and fled incontinently up the broad stones. “Slay the beast by magic, Exalted!” called the sergeant. “The most expeditious method is often the best!”
The ghoul came forward; Cugel stumbled back. The ghoul took a quick step forward. Cugel sprang behind a pedestal. The ghoul swung out its arm; Cugel hacked with his sword, sprang to the protection of another pedestal, then raced with great ability back across the terrace. The door was already closing; Cugel flung himself through the dwindling aperture. He heaved the door shut, and thrust home the bolts. The ghoul's weight slammed against the timbers and the bolts creaked in protest.
Cugel turned to meet the bright-eyed appraisal of Derwe Coreme. “What ensued?” she asked. “Why did you not slay the ghoul?”
“The warriors decamped with the torches,” said Cugel. “I could see neither where to hack nor where to hew.”
“Strange,” mused Derwe Coreme. “There seemed ample illumination for so negligible an exercise. Why did you not employ the power of the amulet or rend the ghoul limb from limb?”
“So simple and quick a death is unsuitable,” stated Cugel with dignity. “I must cogitate at length, and decide how he may best expiate his crimes.”
“Indeed,” said Derwe Coreme. “Indeed.”
Cugel strode back into the great hali. “Back to the banquet! Let the wine flow! Everyone must drink to the accession of the new Lord of Cil!”
Derwe Coreme said in a silky voice, “If you please, Exalted, make some display of the power of the amulet, to gratify our curiosity!”
“Certainly!” And Cugel touched carbuncle after carbuncle, producing rumbles and groans of grievous woe, with occasionally a wail or scream.
“Can you do more?” inquired Derwe Coreme, smiling the soft smile of an impish child.
“Indeed, should I so choose. But enough! Drink one and all!”
Derwe Coreme signaled the sergeant of the guard. “Take sword and strike off the fool's arm; bring me the amulet.”
“With pleasure, Great Lady.” The sergeant advanced with bared blade.
Cugel shouted, “Stay! One more step and magic will turn each of your bones at right angles!”
The sergeant looked at Derwe Coreme, who laughed. “As I bade you, or fear my revenge, which is as you know.”
The sergeant winced, and marched forward again. But now an under-servitor rushed to Cugel, and under his hood Cugel saw the seamed face of old Slaye, “I will save you. Show me the amulet!”
Cugel allowed the eager fingers to grope among the carbuncles. Slaye pressed one of these, and called something in a voice so exultant and shrill that the syllables were lost. There was a great fluttering, and an enormous black shape stood at the back of the hall. “Who torments me?” it moaned. “Who will give me surcease?”
“I!” cried Slaye. “Advance through the hall, kill all but myself!”
“No!” cried Cugel. “It is I who possess the amulet! I whom you must obey! Kill all but me!”
Derwe Coreme clutched at Cugel's arm, striving to see the amulet. “It avajls nothing unless you call him by name. We are all lost!”
“What is his name?” cried Cugel. “Counsel me!”
“Hold back!” declared Slaye. “I have considered—” Cugel dealt him a blow and sprang behind the table. The demon was approaching, pausing to pluck up the men-at-arms and dash them against the walls. Derwe Coreme ran to Cugel. “Let me see the amulet; do you know nothing whatever? I will order him!”
“By no means!” said Cugel. “Am I Cugel the Clever for nothing? Show me which carbuncle, recite me the name.”
Derwe Coreme bent her head, read the rune, thrust out to press a carbuncle, but Cugel knocked her arm aside. “What name? Or we all die!”
“Call on Vanille! Press here, call on Vanille!” Cugel pressed the carbuncle. “Vanille! Halt this strife.” The black demon heeded not at all. There was a second great sound, and a second demon appeared. Derwe Coreme cried out in terroor. “It was not Vanille; show me the amulet once more!”
But there was insufficient time; the black demon was upon them.
“Vanille!” bellowed Cugel. “Destroy this black monster!”
Vanille was low and broad, and of a swimming green color, with eyes like scarlet lights. It flung itself upon the first demon, and the terrible bellow of the encounter stunned the ears, and eyes could not follow the frenzy of the fight. The walls shuddered as the great forces struck and rebounded. The table splintered under great splayed feet; Derwe Coreme was flung into a corner. Cugel crawled after, to find her crumpled and staring, half-conscious but bereft of will. Cugel thrust the amulet before her eyes. “Read the runes! Call forth the names; each I will try in turn! Quick, to save our lives!”
But Derwe Coreme merely made a soft motion with her lips. Behind, the black demon, mounted astride Vanille, was methodically clawing up handfuls of his substance and casting it aside, while Vanille bellowed and screamed and turned his ferocious head this way and that, snapping and snarling, striking with great green arms. The black demon plunged its arms deep, seized some central node and Vanille became a sparkling green slime of a myriad parts, each gleam and sparkle flitting and quivering and dissolving into the stone.
Slaye stood grinning above Cugel. “Do you wish your life? Hand here the amulet and I spare you. Delay one instant and you are dead!”
Cugel divested himself of the amulet, but could not bring himse
lf to relinquish it. He said with sudden cunning, “I can give the amulet to the demon.”
Slaye glared down at him. “And then we all are dead. To me it does not matter. Do so. I defy you. If you want life — the amulet.”
Cugel looked down at Derwe Coreme. “What of her?”
“Together you shall be banished. The amulet, for here is the demon.”
The black demon towered above; Cugel hastily handed the amulet to Slaye, who uttered a sharp cry and touched a carbuncle. The demon whimpered, involuted and disappeared.
Slaye stood back, grinning in triumph. “Now away with you and the girl. I keep my word to you, no more. You have your miserable lives: depart.”
“Grant me one desire!” pled Cugel. “Transport us to Almery, to the Valley of the Xzan, where I may rid myself of a canker called Firx!”
“No,” said Slaye. “I deny your heart's-desire. Go at once.”
Cugel lifted Derwe Coreme to her feet. Still dazed, she stared at the wreckage of the hall. Cugel turned to Slaye. “The ghoul waits in the promenade.”
Slaye nodded. “This may well be true. Tomorrow I shall chastise him. Tonight I call sub-world artisans to repair the hall and restore the glory of Cil. Hence! Do you think I care how you fare with the ghoul?” His face became suffused and his hand strayed toward the carbuncles of the amulet. “Hence, at once!”
Cugel took Derwe Coreme's arm and led her from the hall to the great front portal. Slaye stood with feet apart, shoulders hunched, head bent forward, eyes following Cugel's every move. Cugel eased back the bolts, opened the door and stepped out upon the terrace.
There was silence along the promenade. Cugel led Derwe Coreme down the steps and off to the side, into the rank growth of the old garden. Here he paused to listen. From the palace came sounds of activity: rasping and scraping, hoarse shouts and bellows, the flash of many-colored lights. Down the center of the promenade came a tall white shape, stepping from the shadow of one pedestal to the next. It paused to listen to the sounds and watch the flaring lights in wonder. While it was so absorbed Cugel led Derwe Coreme away, behind the dark banks of foliage, and so off into the night.
* * *
Chapter III: The Mountains of Magnatz
SHORTLY AFTER SUNRISE Cugel and Derwe Coreme emerged from the hillside byre where they had huddled the night. The air was chill and the sun, a wine-colored bubble behind high mist, produced no warmth. Cugel clapped his arms and jigged back and forth, while Derwe Coreme stood pinch-faced and limp beside the old byre.
Cugel presently became irritated by her posture, which implied a subtle disparagement of himself. “Fetch wood,” he told her curtly. “I will strike a fire; we will breakfast in comfort.”
Without a word the erstwhile princess of Cil went to gather furze. Cugel turned to inspect the dim expanse to the east, voicing an automatic curse upon Lucounu the Laughing Magician, whose rancor had flung him into this northern wasteland.
Derwe Coreme returned with an armful of twigs; Cugel gave a nod of approval. For a brief period after their expulsion from Cil she had carried herself with an inappropriate hauteur, which Cugel had tolerated with a quiet smile for himself. Their first couching had been both eventful and taxing; thereafter Derwe Coreme had modified at least her overt behavior. Her face, delicate and clear of feature, had lost little of its brooding melancholy, but the arrogance had altered, as milk becomes cheese, to a new and wakeful appreciation of reality.
The fire crackled cheerfully; they ate a breakfast of rampion and pulpy black gallberries, while Cugel put questions regarding the lands to the east and south.
Derwe Coreme could return only small information, none of which was optimistic. “The forest is said to be endless. I have heard it called several names: the Great Erm, the Forest of the East, the Lig Thig. To the south you see the Mountains of Magnatz, which are reputedly dreadful.”
“In what respect?” demanded Cugel. “The knowledge is of importance; we must cross these mountains on our way to Almery.”
Derwe Coreme shook her head. “I have heard only hints, and paid no great heed, as never did I expect to visit the region.”
“Nor I,” grumbled Cugel. “Were it not for Lucounu I would be elsewhere.”
A spark of interest animated the listless face. “Who is this Lucounu?”
“A detestable wizard of Almery. He has a boiled squash for a head, and flaunts a mindless grin. In every way he is odious, and displays the spite of a scalded eunuch.”
Derwe Coreme's mouth moved in a small cool smile. “And you antagonized this wizard.”
“Bah! It was nothing. For a trivial slight he flung me north on an impossible mission. I am not Cugel the Clever for nothing! The mission is achieved and now I return to Almery.”
“And what of Almery — is this a pleasant land?”
“Pleasant enough, compared to this desolation of forest and mist. Still, imperfections exist. Wizardry is rife, and justice is not invariable, as I have intimated.”
“Tell me more of Almery. Are there cities? Are there folk other than rogues and wizards?”
Cugel frowned. “Certain cities exist, sad shadows of bygone glory. There is Azenomei, where the Xzan joins Scaum Flow, and Kaiin in Ascolais, and others along the shore opposite Kauchique, where the folk are of great subtlety.”
Derwe Coreme nodded thoughtfully. “I will go to Almery. In your company, from which I can soon recover.”
Cugel glanced at her sidewise, not liking the flavor of the remark, but before he could particularize, she asked, “What lands lie between us and Almery?”
“They are wide and dangerous and peopled by gids, erbs, and deodands, as well as leucomorphs, ghouls and grues. Otherwise I am ignorant. If we survive the journey, it will be a miracle indeed.”
Derwe Coreme looked wistfully back toward Cil, then shrugged and became silent.
The frugal meal was at its end. Cugel leaned back against the byre, to enjoy the warmth of the fire, but Firx would allow no respite, and Cugel, grimacing, jumped to his feet. “Come; we must set forth. The spite of lu-counu permits no less.”
Down the slope they walked, following what appeared to be an old road. The landscape changed. Heath gave way to a damp bottomland; presently they came to the forest Cugel eyed the gloomy shadows with distrust. “We must go quietly, and hope to arouse nothing baneful. I will watch ahead, and you behind, to ensure that nothing follows to leap on our backs.”
“We will lose our way.”
“The sun hangs in the south: this is our guide.”
Derwe Coreme shrugged once more; they plunged forward into the shade. The trees stood tall overhead and the sunlight, filtered through the foliage, only exaggerated the gloom. Coming upon a stream, they walked along its banks and presently entered a glade where flowed a brimming river.
On the bank near a moored raft sat four men in ragged garments. Cugel looked Derwe Coreme over critically, and took the jeweled buttons from her garments. “These by all odds are bandits and we must lull their cupidity, even though they seem a poor lot.”
“Better that we avoid them,” said Derwe Coreme. “They are animals, no better.”
Cugel demurred. “We need their raft and their guidance, which we must command; if we supplicate, they will believe themselves to have a choice, and become captious.” He strode forward and Derwe Coreme willy-nilly was forced to follow.
The rogues did not improve upon closer view. Their hair was long and, matted, their faces gnarled, with eyes like beetles and mouths showing foul yellow teeth. Withal, their expressions were mild enough, and they watched Cugel and Derwe Coreme approach with wariness rather than belligerence. One of them, it so appeared, was a woman, though this was hardly evident from garments, face or refinement of manner. Cugel gave them a salute of lordly condescension, at which they blinked in puzzlement.
“What people are you?” asked Cugel.
“We call ourselves Busiacos,” responded the oldest of the men. “It is both our race and ou
r family; we make no differentiation, being somewhat polyandrous by habit.”
“You are denizens of the forest, familiar with its routes and trails?”
“Such is a fair description,” admitted the man, “though our knowledge is local. Remember, this is the Great Erm, which sweeps on league after league without termination.”
“No matter,” said Cugel. “We require only transfer across the river, then guidance upon a secure route to the lands of the south.”
The man consulted the others of his group; all shook their heads. “There is no such route; the Mountains of Magnate lie in the way.”
“Indeed,” said Cugel.
“If I were to ferry you across the river,” continued the old Busiaco, “you would be as good as dead, for the region is haunted by erbs and grues. Your sword would be useless, and you carry only the weakest magic — this I know for we Busiacos smell magic as an erb sniffs out meat.”
“How then may we Achieve our destination?” demanded Cugel.
The Busiacos showed little interest in the question. But the man next in age to the eldest, glancing at Derwe Coreme, had a sudden idea, and looked across the river as if pondering. The effort presently overwhelmed him, and he shook his head in defeat.
Cugel, observing carefully, asked, “What baffles you?”
“A problem of no great complexity,” replied the Busiaco. “We have small practice in logic and any difficulty thwarts us. I only speculated as to which of your belongings you would exchange for guidance through the forest.”
Cugel laughed heartily. “A good question. But I own only what you see: namely garments, shoes, cape and sword, all of which are necessary to me. Though, for a fact, I know an incantation which can produce a jeweled button or two.”
“These would be small inducement. In a nearby crypt jewels are heaped as high as my head.”
Cugel rubbed his jaw reflectively. “The generosity of the Busiacos is everywhere known; perhaps you will lead us past this crypt.”