Songs of the Dying Earth

by Gardner Dozois

  Vespanus, who was not entirely in sympathy with the Protostrator’s dilemma, murmured a few words of consolation.

  Ambius brightened.

  “Still,” he said, “I am known for my hospitality. Any poet, or performer, or troupe of players will find me a kind host. For these are immune to my tolls, provided that they bring civilization with them, and are willing to provide entertainment. And gentlemen such as yourself,” with a nod toward Vespanus, “are of course always welcome.”

  Vespanus thanked his host, but mentioned that he would be leaving for Calabrande in the morning. Ambius returned a sly look.

  “I think not,” he said. “There will be a storm.”

  The storm came as predicted, dropping snow in the courtyard and sending storms of hailstones that rattled on the roof-plates, and Vespanus spent another two nights, not unpleasantly, beneath the Protostrator’s roof. On the third day, thanking again his host, he mounted Twest and began once again his ascent of the Cleft.

  He traveled but half a day when, examining the track ahead, he saw through a notch in a looming ridge the red glint of sunlight on metal. Indeed, he saw, there was a good deal of glinting ahead—on snaffle irons, on erb spears, on the crystalline tips of fire-darts, and on banners bearing the device of the Exarch of the Calabrande Marches.

  Vespanus turned Twest about and raced as quickly as the irregular terrain permitted to the Protostrator’s castle. Once there, he informed the surprised Ambius that the Exarch was advancing down the Cleft with a large armed force.

  Ambius bit his upper lip. “I don’t suppose,” he said, “that you would care to remain and ennoble my defense?”

  “Greatly though it would enhance my name to die in defense of the Protostrator of Abrizonde,” Vespanus said, “I fear I would prove useless in a siege. Alas, just another mouth to feed.”

  “In that case,” Ambius said, “would you bear a message to my agent in Pex instructing him to recruit a force of mercenaries? I confess that I have few warriors here at present.”

  “So I had observed,” said Vespanus, “though it seemed graceless to remark on it.”

  “It is my custom to recruit the garrison up to strength in the spring,” said Ambius, “and dismiss most of them in late autumn. Aside from the expense of maintaining troops over the winter, there is always the danger that the soldiers, confined to their barracks and subject to the tedium and monotony of the season, would seek to remedy their ennui by means of a mutiny, in which I would be killed and one of their captains made the new lord. Therefore I keep about me in the winter only those soldiers whose absence of ambition has been proven by years of prosaic and lackluster service.”

  “I congratulate you on this sensible policy,” said Vespanus, “ill-timed though it is in the present circumstances.”

  Again, Ambius chewed his upper lip. “It was hard experience that drove me to this custom,” he said, “for thirteen years ago it was I, an ambitious captain, who killed the previous Protostrator on the eve of the New Year, and hurled his body from the Onyx Tower into the Dimwer.”

  “No doubt it was a change for the better,” Vespanus said tactfully. “But if you are to give me a letter, by all means do so at once—for I have no desire to be caught by the army of the Exarch.”

  Ambius provided the letter, and, once again, Vespanus set out on Twest, nor did he employ his madling to build his shelter until full darkness had fallen and the dim stars of the Leucomorph had risen in the East. In the morning, fearful of aerial spies, he glanced about carefully from the structure’s windows before leaving the shelter and readying Twest for the day’s ride. He had traveled only a hundred yards before he saw, emerging from the Dimwer’s mists two or more leagues below, the coils of an army looping back and forth on the trail. Amid the glint of weapons, he saw the blue and callow-yellow banners of Pex.

  Cursing his ill luck and worse timing, Vespanus goaded his mule uphill again, and managed to reach Abrizonde Castle just as the scouts of Calabrande advanced into sight from the other direction. He was granted admittance to the castle, and observed at once that the fortress had been put on a war footing. Boom-rocks were laid by to be hurled on the heads of attackers. Arrow guns and fire sticks were seen on the walls, manned by soldiers who seemed competent, if uninspired and inclining toward the middle-aged. Spikes on the roof-and tower-tops, newly anointed with poisons, were prepared to impale flying attackers. Servants, splendidly equipped from the castle’s spacious magazines, were receiving hasty instruction in the use of their weapons.

  Vespanus joined Ambius at his observation point in the Onyx Tower, and found the Protostrator in elaborate full armor of a deep azure color, the helmet topped by the rearing, fanged likeness of a lank-lizard. Vespanus reported the advance of the second army, and watched Ambius stalk about the room in thought.

  “I suppose that Pex and Calabrande may be at war,” he said, “and, each attempting to invade the other by means of the Cleft, they meet here by sheer chance.”

  “Do you think that’s likely?” Vespanus asked hopefully.

  “No,” said Ambius, “I don’t.” He gave Vespanus a searching look. “I believe you are acquainted with the thaumaturgical arts?” he asked.

  “I know some of the lesser magics,” Vespanus said, “and indeed was en route to Occul in order to further my studies when the army of Calabrande barred my way.”

  “Know you any spells or cantrips that might be of use in our present circumstance?”

  “I equipped myself with spells suitable for besting the occasional highwayman or Deodand, but I had not anticipated fighting whole armies. And in any case, I have already told you, as I enjoyed your kind hospitality, that my chief specialty is architecture.”

  Ambius frowned. “Architecture,” he repeated, his voice dour.

  “I create buildings of a fantastic nature—following the wishes of my client, I first generate a phantasm, a perfect visualization of the completed building. After which I employ one of the minor sandestins, of the type called ‘madlings,’ who builds the structure in a matter of hours, flying in the materials from anywhere in the chronosphere wherein they may be found. It remains but for the client to furnish the place, and even this I can arrange for a suitable fee.”

  Ambius narrowed his eyes. “Can your madling also demolish structures—siege works, for example?”

  “Any sandestin could. But I fear that, if I used my Hegadil against anything as formidable as a well-equipped army, any competent wizard would banish or kill the creature before it could accomplish its task.”

  Ambius nodded. “My study contains a small library of grimoires, left behind by the many Protostrators who lived, and died, here before me. The spells and cantrips are of a nature that would be of use to a military man, though I confess that their contents largely elude me. I am not particularly gifted in matters of magic, and depend strongly on countercharms, amulets, and other defensive incunabula.”

  “Perhaps I had best view these grimoires,” Vespanus said.

  “You anticipate my wish precisely,” said Ambius.

  Ambius took Vespanus to his private quarters, which involved the de-activation of a number of traps—only now was Vespanus beginning to understand the true scope of his host’s paranoia—after which Vespanus was taken to a small, snug room carpeted with the skin of an ursial loper, and lined with bookshelves.

  Vespanus looked with interest at the narrow windowsill, in which he found a crystal bottle in which a dark-haired miniature woman gestured urgently.

  “You have a minikin?” he asked. “Does she do tricks?”

  “My wife,” said Ambius, with a casualness too obviously feigned. “Hoping to supplant me, she attempted to shrink me six years ago, but I managed to nudge her into the trap before she could maneuver me into it. As long as the bottle exists, she will remain her current size, and also her considerable sorcerous powers will be completely suppressed.”

  “Help me!” cried the little woman in a tiny voice.

 
; “The grimoires,” said Ambius, pointing, “wait on yonder shelf.”

  Vespanus affected not to notice the trio of Nymphic Icons standing on the shelf in front of the row of grimoires—bronze statues of fetching ladies, they were capable of being transformed into full-sized, lively, and sweet-natured women, and explained a great deal about how Ambius had solaced himself in the absence, or rather the reduction, of his spouse. Vespanus studied the grimoires, most of which purported to be the work of the great Phandaal, but were almost certainly by lesser hands. He glanced briefly at the contents of several, and chose three.

  “If I may…?” he asked.

  “Indeed,” said Ambius.

  They made their way out of the Protostrator’s private quarters, Ambius re-setting the traps behind him, and began their walk across the courtyard toward the Onyx Tower. It was at this moment that a brilliant yellow blaze began to flare above the castle, as radiant as the Sun in its vigorous youth. Vespanus raised a hand against the glare and mentally reviewed his small store of spells in hopes of finding something that might apply in the current situation.

  The soldiers of the castle immediately swung their weapons around and opened fire, flaming darts whirring through the radiance overhead, arcing high, and landing well beyond the castle walls.

  “Cease fire, you imbeciles!” roared Ambius. “Cease fire! This is a phantasm, not an enemy you can shoot through the heart!”

  Vespanus looked at his host in surprise. Despite his elaborate wardrobe and affectations of culture, Ambius had shouted out his orders like a born commander. Vespanus was reminded that Ambius had, before his present elevation, been a professional military man.

  In response to the shouted orders, the soldiers on the battlements gradually checked their enthusiasm for violence. The radiant blaze diminished in intensity, enough to reveal the figures of two men floating in what looked like a brilliant crystal sphere. The vigorous white-haired man, by the fact that his robe contained the blue-and-yellow of Pex quartered with the red-and-white of its ruling family, Vespanus judged to be that country’s Basileopater. He did in fact bear some resemblance to his image on coins. The other, more angular man, by the devices on his cloak, Vespanus assumed to be the Exarch.

  The two gazed down at Ambius with expressions of superiority mingled with contempt.

  “Ambius the Usurper,” said the Exarch, “you are proclaimed outlaw. If you do not surrender your fortress, your person, and your unnecessarily trigger-happy garrison, you will face the wrath of our united armies.”

  “I see no reason why I should give you these things,” said Ambius, “when I might offer you instead the pleasure of trying to take them.”

  The Basileopater of Pex smiled. “I rather thought that would be your attitude.”

  Ambius sketched a bow. “I endeavor to provide satisfaction to my guests,” he said. He bowed again. “Perhaps you worthies would honor me by joining me for dinner tonight, here in the castle. I flatter myself that I set a good table.”

  “Out of sensible caution,” said the Basileopater, “I fear we must decline. You gained your present position through treachery to a superior, and we cannot suppose that a usurper’s morals will have improved in the time since.”

  Ambius shrugged. “You were so fond of my precursor that you waited a mere thirteen years to avenge him?”

  The Exarch inclined his shaved head. “We assumed you would last no longer than your predecessors,” he said. “Though we deplore the efficiency with which you collect tolls that rightfully belong to us, we nevertheless congratulate you on your tenacity.”

  “Your mention of tolls brings up an interesting question,” said Ambius. “Assuming that you manage to capture my stronghold, which of you will then occupy it? To whom will the tolls belong, and which of you will have to march home empty-handed? Which of you, in short, will succeed me?”

  Ambius, Vespanus knew, had put his finger on the critical point. Whoever controlled the castle would be able to rake wealth out of the Cleft, while whoever did not would have to suffer the loss. Though it was possible that the two commanders had agreed to a joint occupation and a sharing of the wealth, Vespanus couldn’t imagine that two such ambitious rulers would keep such an agreement for very long.

  As Ambius asked his question, the Basileopater and the Exarch exchanged glances, then looked down at the Protostrator, their faces again displaying those annoyingly superior smiles.

  “Neither of us will occupy the fortress,” the Exarch said.

  “You will appoint some third party?” Ambius asked. “How would you guarantee his loyalty?”

  “There will be no third party,” the Exarch said. “Once the castle is ours, we will demolish it to the last stone. Each of us shall retire to our toll stations on our respective ends of the Cleft, which shall then be patrolled in order to make certain that Castle Abrizonde is not rebuilt by any new interloper.”

  Ambius made no reply to this, but Vespanus could tell by the way he chewed his upper lip that this answer was both unexpected and vexing in the extreme. He could well believe that Ambius understood that he, his fortress, and his fortunes were doomed.

  That being the case, Vespanus took the opportunity to secure his own safety.

  “My lords!” he called. “May I address you?”

  The two rulers looked at him without expression, and made no reply.

  “I am Vespanus of Roë, a student of architecture,” Vespanus said. “I was on my way to Occul to further my studies when I passed a night here, and now by chance I find myself under siege. As I have nothing to do with this war one way or another, I wonder if it might be possible to pass the lines and go about my affairs, leaving the quarrel to those whose business it remains.”

  The co-belligerents seemed sublimely uninterested in the problems of such as Vespanus.

  “You may pass the lines,” the Exarch said, “if you agree to furnish us with complete intelligence of the castle and its defense.”

  Vespenus tasted bitter despair. “I can hardly promise such a betrayal of hospitality,” he said, “not in public! The Protostrator would then have every reason to detain me, or indeed to cause me injury.”

  The indifference of the two lords was irritating beyond measure.

  “That is hardly our problem,” said the Basileopater.

  Fury raged through Vespanus. He was tempted to spit at the two rulers, and only refrained because he could scarcely imagine his spittle rising so high.

  They had discounted him! In the brief moment in which he had held their interest, they had both derogated him as worthy of no consideration whatever—no threat to their power, no help to the Protostrator, nothing worthy of their attention. Never in his life had he been so insulted.

  The two floating lords returned their attention to Ambius.

  “You have not taken advantage of our offer of surrender,” said the Basileopater. “We shall therefore commence the entertainment at once.”

  At that instant, an ice-blue bolt descended from the sky, aimed directly at Ambius. Without indication of surprise, Ambius raised an arm to display an ideograph graven on an ornate bracelet, and the bolt was deflected into the ground near Vespanus. Vespanus was thrown fifteen feet and landed in an indignified manner, but otherwise suffered no injury. He jumped to his feet, brushed muck from his robes, and directed a look of fury at the two placid lords.

  “I note only for the record,” said Ambius, “that it was you who accused me of treachery, but were the first to employ it. I also remark that the employment of an aerial assassin, equipped with Aetherial Boots and a Spell of Azure Curtailment, is scarcely unanticipated.”

  The Exarch scowled. “Farewell,” he said. “I trust we shall have no more occasion to speak.”

  “I agree that further negotiations would be redundant,” said Ambius.

  The illusory sphere brightened again, more brilliant than the old Earth’s dull red sun, and then vanished completely. Ambius searched the sky for a moment, perhaps in anticipation o
f another flying assassin, then shrugged and walked toward the Onyx Tower. Vespanus scrambled after, anxious to retrieve his lost dignity…

  “I hope you are not offended,” he said, “that I attempted to remove myself from the scene of conflict.”

  Ambius gave him a cursory glance.

  “In our decayed and dying world,” he said, “no one can be expected to act with any motive other than self-interest.”

  “You analyze my motives correctly,” said Vespanus. “My interest is in remaining alive—and in repaying those two dolts for their dismissal of me. Therefore I shall throw myself immediately into the defense of the fortress.”

  “I await your contribution with breathless anticipation,” Ambius said, and the two ascended the tower.

  No further attacks took place that day. Through the tower’s windows, which had the power of adjustment, so that they could view a subject from close range or far away, Ambius and Vespanus watched the two armies as they deployed into their camps. No enemy soldier approached within range of the castle, and, in fact, most seemed to remain out of sight, behind the crests and pinnacles of nearby ridges. Vespanus spent the afternoon trying to cram useful spells into his brain, but found that most were far beyond his art.

  As the great bloated sun drifted toward its union with the western horizon, and as the first stars of the Leucomorph began to glimmer faintly in the somber east, Vespanus opened the compartment on his bezeled thumb-ring and summoned his madling, Hegadil.

  Hegadil appeared as a dwarfish version of Ambius, clad in the same extravagant blue armor, with a round, vapid face gazing out from beneath the crested helm. Vespanus apologized at once.