The Sword of Shadows

by Adrian Cole

  Eye Patch brought a large candle and held it above the shape that snarled at him from where it had fetched up under one of the tables. It was blue, like a hound or a small animal and had long, curved claws that swished through the air in a particularly unnerving fashion. It also had the ugliest face that Eye Patch had yet seen in all his years as host of Cloudway (and that included the face of Elfloq, which was not at all pretty) and its mouth drooled and dribbled revoltingly, confirming that whatever manner of being it was, it was without doubt completely mad.

  Elfloq dropped lower, but remained out of reach of those grim sickles. “Gods of the Abyss! This is none other than the Blue Gelder!”

  “You know him?” said Eye Patch.

  “Why, yes! It is Orgoom!”

  At the sound of his name, the mad Orgoom slashed through the legs of a chair, parting the wood like hairs. He snarled anew, then subsided, muttering to himself.

  “A Blue Gelder,” murmured Eye Patch. “One of Ubeggi’s unsavoury little servants. It is a very rare thing to have one here. They usually frequent Mindsulk, or some such warren of the night. This one is evidently not what he should be.”

  Elfloq’s mind was racing. “Orgoom!” he cried. “What happened? Did you not fall into the belly of Ybaggog?”

  Eye Patch grimaced. “Have you also lost your senses? Ybaggog — the Devourer of Universes? Must you mention such an obnoxious god in this place? You will frighten off the remainder of my guests.”

  Elfloq looked at him suspiciously. “What guests?”

  “There are always guests here. Upstairs there are a handful, resting, or mulling over their parchments, or entertaining guests of their own. That is their affair, not yours. I will leave you to amuse your blue-skinned friend. But I will expect him to respect the furniture. If he becomes unruly, he will have to be ejected. It has been a long time since I had to call upon the muscular attributes of Vlod the Remover, but he would enjoy the exercise.” Eye Patch patiently set upright the chairs and tables then returned to his bar.

  Elfloq attempted to speak to Orgoom, but the Gelder was locked into his madness and in the end, the familiar was forced to give up. “Useless,” he said. “Ybaggog must have spewed him out, understandably. But the Voidal must still be trapped.”

  Eye Patch had appeared again. “It has just occurred to me that one of my guests may be able to help you. He will be coming shortly for a meal.”

  “Who is he?”

  “He told me earlier something of Ubeggi, master of the Gelders. All is not well with the Weaver of Wars. His latest tapestry appears to be in something of a tangle. Oh, and in the confusion, I nearly forgot to give you this.” He placed the mysterious jar on the table directly below Elfloq. “A guest left it for you.” Eye Patch said no more, once again at the bar.

  Elfloq dropped beside the table and picked up the jar gingerly and tried to see into its black interior. He found no clues as to what it contained. Left it for him? Who would have done such a thing? But the familiar knew countless beings in the astral regions, some of whom he had traded with. Probably this revolting jar was from one of them, a gift in return for favours he had done. For the time, Elfloq set it aside and tried to content himself with watching the door to the stairs.

  A short while later his vigilance was rewarded as a figure entered the hall. At sight of it, Elfloq drew back, recognising the scarlet robe of one of the Divine Askers. Yet the Asker went and sat in silence and apparent misery at a table, ignoring his surroundings. Eye Patch of the Smile gave him a simple meal. The host nodded meaningfully to Elfloq before disappearing. The familiar pondered his dilemma, for he could not bring himself to face the Asker. Instead, he prepared to leave Cloudway. However, Orgoom suddenly slashed out with his sickles, narrowly missing Elfloq, but sending him sprawling.

  The Asker heard the commotion and at once had recognised the squamous familiar. “Elfloq!” he called. “Stop crawling about under the tables. Come here!”

  Sheepishly the familiar obeyed and found himself for the second time before Vulparoon, the Asker who had been cast out of Hedrazee for his moderation. “Your servant,” Elfloq bowed.

  “Nonsense! But what are you doing here?”

  “Recovering from the terrible powers you unleashed on Ybaggog.”

  Vulparoon nodded. “What happened?”

  Elfloq’s eyes narrowed very slightly. “Your pardon, majesty, but our host informs me that you have a tale to tell —”

  Vulparoon looked vaguely irritated for a moment, but then grinned. “Oh, of course! I had forgotten your persistence at bartering for information. You would like to bargain with an Asker?”

  “My apologies, lord, but I understood that you were no longer a member of that elite company.”

  “Be careful, Elfloq.”

  But the familiar was pointing to Orgoom. “Lord, it is my friend. My poor and luckless companion —”

  “Whom you recently pronounced to me to be your hated enemy —”

  “A misunderstanding —”

  “Well, what of him?”

  “He is mad.”

  Vulparoon stood up and walked over to where the Gelder gibbered on his belly, his wrigglings not unlike those of a large worm. “Perceptive of you. Mad indeed.”

  “I wish to help him. He is too lowly to deserve this.”

  “Then tell me what happened to the dark man and to Ybaggog.”

  Still Elfloq hesitated and Vulparoon sighed impatiently. “Oh, very well, very well. I am far too weary to haggle. What do you want to know? What is this tale I must tell you?”

  The familiar was both amazed and suspicious that the Asker, albeit a former one, had accepted the challenge so easily. “Merely what you told Eye Patch of the Smile. About Ubeggi’s tapestry.”

  Vulparoon sat. “Hardly relevant.”

  “To myself, powerful one, everything is. And to poor Orgoom, who serves him.”

  “None of the Gelders serve the Weaver now.”

  “He has released them?”

  “There has been — an upheaval. Tyrandire, once a fabulous organ of power, has been scattered to the very ends of the omniverse.”

  Elfloq’s eyes bulged hugely and he found it impossible to contain his stupefaction. “Scattered?”

  “Just so. I met a traveller on my way here. Ubeggi’s powers turned upon himself. He sought to control and direct a thousand wars and more. They twisted back on him and his Palace of Pain. Once his powers collapsed under the unendurable pressure, the Blue Gelders rushed upon him and used those ghastly sickles to telling effect. They cut him into as many pieces as there are stars, or so my informant told me.”

  “How could this have happened?” gasped Elfloq. “Not that I am anything but relieved. Was it the Dark Gods?”

  “Ubeggi offended them more than once, and quite openly. A foolish course. Doubtless they grew tired of his insubordination. So, you need fear him no more. They have punished him. It would seem, however, that Orgoom here has been caught in the ripples of this debacle. His own punishment, perhaps.”

  Elfloq nodded, wondering.

  “And the Voidal?” said Vulparoon, gently pulling Elfloq to him. “What of him?”

  “You are safe. Though you invoked him, you will not have to pay the price. He is trapped inside Ybaggog, trapped and as insane as Orgoom, for Shatterface plunged the Sword of Madness into him. Ironically Ubeggi’s wishes were realised, for they were also the wishes of the Dark Gods. I am certain that you have earned the reward of freedom.”

  Vulparoon sagged back. “Then I am absolved. I have done my part. I can go my way in peace. You, too, have your freedom. Orgoom, it seems, is not so lucky, though there is a kind of freedom in madness. Perhaps it would be best to kill him. That, to be honest, would be a kindness.”

  Elfloq demurred, knowing that Orgoom had not been made mad by the fall of the Weaver. Vulparoon did not know that Orgoom had fallen into the maw of Ybaggog. There must be knowledge inside that mad brain, if only Elfloq could prize it open. �
��No,” he said. “At least, not here in Cloudway. No one kills here. Besides, let us not bring upon ourselves the terrible ire of Vlod the Remover.”

  Vulparoon laughed. He had thrown off his mantle of sadness. “I would not kill Orgoom! That is for you. When you leave, take him to some remote astral place and kill him gently and swiftly. It is for the best, I am sure.”

  Elfloq nodded solemnly, pretending that he would do this. In fact he would be glad to have Orgoom to himself.

  “But for now,” cried Vulparoon, “a toast! Host! More wine! And if you have other guests, why, bring them to us to join our celebrations.”

  “Celebrations?” echoed a deep voice behind him. He turned to see a short, but hugely fat fellow waddling into the candlelight. “Join you? Kind sirs, I would love to accept your offer.”

  “By all means join us,” laughed Vulparoon, a little drunk. “Sit with us and drink. Your only fee will be your name.”

  The gross man struggled on to a chair, which succeeded in accommodating no more than half of his great behind, and set down a large trunk that he had been lugging over his shoulder. Dust rose from it in clouds. He wiped his sweating brow and jowls, catching his breath. “I am Humble Jeddo. I bear gifts.”

  “From whom? And what have we done to deserve gifts?” said the Asker suspiciously but politely.

  “You misunderstand me, sir. The gifts I carry are rare treasures. I do not give them away — that is, not for nothing. I am a barterer, sir. A prince among them. And such marvels as I carry in my trunk are not freely given.”

  Vulparoon was too pleased with the news that Elfloq had recently given him to regret having asked the pedlar to join them. “Well, perhaps I will look at your wares later. First, some more food and wine. Or would you prefer to enjoy some of the more potent pleasures our host can offer? The fumes of the forbidden addleroot are said to be particularly conducive to delight.”

  “Indeed they are,” Humble Jeddo nodded. “As my own simple experiences will testify.”

  Eye Patch appeared at once. “I have plenty of everything,” he told them. “No other guests are down, save one, who seems to be asleep and is best left undisturbed.”

  “Well,” said Vulparoon. “I am sure that Jeddo here will entertain us.”

  “Humble Jeddo, sir. Humble Jeddo.”

  Elfloq had dropped on to a chair and sat himself now upon a second table, gracing it like a bizarre ornament. This fat merchant, he felt sure, could be very useful. A most fortunate meeting, he mused, not remembering that meetings in Cloudway are not arranged by chance. “You must have a fine range of treasures, Humble Jeddo,” he observed.

  “I have, small sir. Anything you desire, it is my humble promise to provide. For a price, of course, though a modest one.”

  “It is not for myself that I ask,” replied Elfloq.

  Humble Jeddo sipped thoughtfully at wine. He had waved aside the dubious pleasures of the addleroot and other intoxicating inhalants of the house and now allowed his eyes to feast on the food set before him in quantities that would have made even a robust warrior grimace in alarm. He began to put his thoughts into deeds, and fed. Here was an area in which his modesty deserted him. “I am open to bargains of any kind.”

  “It is my colleague,” Elfloq said, pointing to Orgoom, who appeared to have fallen asleep under the table. “He is cursed with madness. Do you have a cure for such a thing?”

  Humble Jeddo’s attention was focussed principally on the assault of the food mountain before him, his eyes clouded in ecstasy as he masticated. “There are many kinds of madness. How long has your friend been like this?”

  “But a short time.”

  “How did this occur? A curse? An accident? Nightmares? Did he eat something that poisoned his mind? Has he been in the company of wild animals, or demons?”

  Both Elfloq and Vulparoon exchanged baffled looks at this last comment, but let it pass. “No,” said Elfloq. “I fear he has been involved in a war with certain gods. They perished and in the consequences of their demise, Orgoom lost his reason.”

  Humble Jeddo nodded thoughtfully. He slipped a book from the many folds of his robe and held it up. “The Variants of Disjoint,” he stated. “An anonymous little pamphlet, but attributed to the wise scholar-god, Psytrobus. I had it from a Master of Inner Serenity, who took in its place the Seventy Nine Parables of Ork Yun Dodical.” Humble Jeddo went on with his eating, referring to his book as he chewed. Vulparoon, who had been steadily sipping his wine, sat back comfortably in his chair, yawning. If Orgoom could be cured, so much the better. It did not seem that important, though.

  “Certainly I could cure him,” announced the fat merchant at last. He opened his trunk, rummaging and then put a number of items on the table while he searched deeper among his collection. There were several bottles, jars and manuscripts, all calculated to attract the eye. Elfloq stared into the coloured depths of one such jar, which seemed extraordinarily deep, as if he were gazing through a window out into a vast sea.

  “What are these?”

  “Beautiful are they not? They are universes.”

  Vulparoon opened one of his drooping eyes and fixed it on the jar. “Of what? Seaweed?”

  “I have traded these with the gods themselves. That one is the bottled universe of Shiverdeep, while there you have the Universe of Golden Noise. Here you have the Ever Changing Waters of Olypse and there —”

  “Gods? Which gods?” said Vulparoon, curious.

  “Well, sir, the gods are many and diffuse, as you know. I have trafficked mostly with minor deities, such as Adang the Reasonable, Sunderbant, Glaucoster and then again with the servants of higher beings, such as —”

  “Quite, quite,” nodded Vulparoon, bored already.

  “They enjoy these bottled universes as gewgaws. When they tire of them, as a noble lady might tire of a pair of earrings, they trade them for new ones. I am told, though I have no proof, that some of them enter the universe and amuse themselves therein. The universes are closed, shut up by great powers that can hardly be guessed at, but even so, they are open to the gods. They are generally pretty to gaze upon, but you and I could have little time for them.”

  Elfloq drew back. A swapper of universes? It was not something to dwell too long upon.

  “Should I cure your companion,” said Humble Jeddo, “what would you give me?”

  “Well,” replied Elfloq, “I, too, have travelled. I have some extremely potent spells, a number of truly frightful curses and the means to entering certain shunned places that any decent warlock would give a limb for.”

  Humble Jeddo looked disappointed. “How dull.”

  “Is the curing of madness,” said Elfloq, “a large undertaking?”

  Humble Jeddo began a renewed offensive on his meal. “In some cases, it is. Can you be more specific about your friend’s madness?”

  Vulparoon interrupted. “It was in a war. Recently the Weaver of Wars, whom you can scarcely have failed to hear about, was brought to his downfall. In the resultant confusion we must assume that the Gelder received some awful blow, or perhaps even the wrath of the dying Ubeggi himself fell about him as a curse. We will only know by curing him and asking him.”

  That, thought Elfloq, will do nicely, though it is hardly the truth.

  Humble Jeddo nodded. “The curse of Ubeggi the Deceitful, eh? Not easy to remove something as weighty as that. I fear this will be an onerous task.”

  “And thus expensive,” muttered Elfloq testily.

  “All things must be balanced,” agreed Humble Jeddo. “However, as Ubeggi is no more, I can do this thing. What will you give me?”

  Elfloq looked to Vulparoon for assistance, but the Asker shrugged. “I have nothing of value, save my freedom, and I will not give that away for a godship.”

  “And what of you, little familiar?” said Humble Jeddo, a fresh hunger unmasked.

  “I am not free. I have a master.”

  “What is he?”

  “He is — far aw
ay on business.”

  “What would he give me?”

  Vulparoon chuckled. “His curse, no doubt! Come, come, Elfloq! You have seen this man’s valuables. You have nothing to give him that he would appreciate. Admit it!”

  “There must be something,” Elfloq growled, turning away.

  Humble Jeddo was not at all nonplussed. “I will enjoy my meal. Please take as long as you wish to consider this matter. I have time in abundance. Do not hesitate to make suggestions, no matter how meek. The strangest things fascinate me and those with whom I trade. Why, I recall an irascible satyr, Fulderhorn his name was —”

  While Humble Jeddo regaled the partially sleeping Vulparoon with this bawdy anecdote, Eye Patch of the Smile returned to the table with a tray. He was collecting empty wine bottles. But leaning over the thoughtful Elfloq’s shoulder, he nodded at a lone jar standing in shadow on an adjacent table. “Shall I clear away the jar that was left for you?”

  Elfloq jumped, snatching up the jar at once. Again he studied the murky and unpleasant contents. “Who left this?”

  “He did not say. Only that it was for you.”

  “But — what is it?”

  Eye Patch shrugged. “I have no idea. But I could venture a suggestion.”

  “Yes?” said the familiar, eagerly.

  “Don’t drink it.” Eye Patch chuckled and went off again.

  In a moment, Humble Jeddo had finished his enormous meal. The dimensions of his interior were clearly as flexible as those of the jars that contained their universes. He reached for wine and sat back with a stentorian belch. “An excellent repast. Well, familiar, have you thought of anything?”

  Elfloq stared at the jar in his hands and then at the other jars and bottles that the merchant had set down on the table. Apart from the unwholesome colour of the contents of Elfloq’s jar and its odd shape, there was a marked similarity between it and those on the table. “I have very little to offer, it is true. By pure chance, however, I do have this jar, although I am exceedingly reluctant to part with it.”