Songs of the Dying Earth

by Gardner Dozois

  “Very effective,” Vespanus observed.

  Ambius contemplated the supine figure of his wife. “I fear that six years in a glass bowl has given her an unshakable prejudice against me,” he said.

  “That would appear to be the case,” Vespanus said. “Would it help if I conducted a private conversation with her?”

  Ambius gave him a doleful look. “Do you think it would help?” he asked.

  Vespanus shrugged his most hopeless shrug. “Truth to tell, I believe it would not.”

  Vespanus went to the buttery and helped himself to bread, cheese, and liquor. He wondered if he might, that evening, hurl himself from the Onyx Tower into the Dimwer and survive, perhaps with the help of Hegadil, and then be carried to freedom by the current.

  Unlikely, he thought. The defenders of the castle would only be the first to shoot at him.

  He considered those Calabrandene engineers with their alidades and dividing engines, and the smug smiles that had been reported on the faces of the Exarch’s magicians. He considered how the Basileopater and the Exarch had dismissed him as insignificant, and how all his schemes for the defense of the castle had come to nothing.

  “Even their sandestins are stronger than mine,” he muttered, which led his thoughts to consideration of the nature of the sandestins, their ability to travel freely in the chronosphere, to visit Earth in any eon from its fiery birth to its long icy sleep beneath the dim stars and dead sun. Then he considered how this ability to travel in time had affected their psychology, had made the sandestins and their lesser cousins, the madlings, extraordinarily accepting of whatever environment in which they found themselves. So different, so wildly diverse, were the scenes which a sandestin could view during the course of its existence, that Vespanus supposed they had no choice but to accept the world with a literalness that, in a human, would prove a serious handicap…

  As he considered this, along with thoughts of the engineers and the smug smiles of the enchanters, his mind alighted upon an idea that had him sitting up with a start. He spat out his mouthful of cheese, then liberated Hegadil from his thumb-ring.

  “I desire you to visit again the sandestin beneath the platform,” he said, “and inquire if it has been instructed to prevent you from adding to, rather than subtracting from, the structure.”

  “I will ask,” Hegadil said.

  He was back a moment later.

  “Quaad has not been so instructed,” Hegadil said.

  “Into the ring, now!” Vespanus said. “For I must visit the Protostrator.”

  From the Onyx Tower, Ambius was watching the enemy platform, where the first of the Projectors, still in its cradle, was being dragged into position.

  “I have an idea,” he said.

  At Vespanus’ instruction, Hegadil slowly added to the substance of the platform, raising the side facing the castle until the platform sloped, very slightly, with the muzzles of the Projectors raised somewhat above their intended angle. The sandestin Quaad observed these actions and—as Hegadil was not undermining anything—did not act.

  When the sickly sun began its daily crawl above the eastern horizon, Vespanus and Ambius saw that both armies had been fully deployed, ready to storm the castle once it had been sufficiently reduced. The Exarch’s banner floated above the platform, amid his great Projectors. On the other side of the castle, the Basileopater of Pex stood before a snow-white pavilion, his elite guard ranked before him.

  “Any moment now,” Ambius said, and before the last word had passed his lips, the Projectors fired, and the Halcyon Detonation soared over the castle’s towers to explode amid their allies of Pex. The Basileopater’s pavilion vanished in a great sheet of flame and dust. Salvo followed salvo, one enormous thunderclap detonation after another. The Basileopater’s army dissolved beneath a brilliant series of flame-flowers.

  Nor did the Exarch or his forces observe this, for Vespanus, utilizing the magics that had served him as an architect, had built an illusory castle wall in front of the genuine wall, one identical to the original. As the Projectors fired round after round, Vespanus created illusory explosions against the wall, along with encouraging floods of debris. To the Exarch, it would look as if he was slowly but surely blasting Castle Abrizonde into the dust.

  Vespanus delighted in this glorious demonstration of his art. Let them disregard him again, he thought, and he would serve them likewise!

  It was nearly half an hour before word at last reached the Exarch that his plan had miscarried. The Projectors ceased their fire. The Exarch was seen storming about on the platform, lambasting his magicians and thrashing his engineers with his wand of office.

  From the army of Pex, nothing was heard except the sounds of cries and wailing.

  Thus it stood for the balance of the day. At midafternoon, a twk-man flew to Ambius.

  “I bring a message from the Logothete Terrinoor, who now commands the army of Pex,” said the new arrival. “The Logothete and the army of Pex burn with a desire to avenge the death of their lord at the hands of the treacherous Calabrandene,”

  “I am interested in any proposal the Logothete may offer,” said Ambius.

  “The Logothete proposes to attack the Exarch in the middle of the night,” said the twk-man, “but in order to accomplish this, he will have to pass the army beneath the walls of the castle. May he have your permission?”

  Ambius could not conceal his expression of grim triumph. “He may,” he said. “But if there is treachery, we will defend ourselves.”

  The twk-man, refreshed with a gift of salt, carried this message back to the Logothete. Thus it was that, in the dead of night, Ambius and Vespanus watched the army of Pex move in silence past the castle and march in silence toward the army of Calabrande. The Calabrandene had scouts and sentries on the perimeter of their camp, so they were not caught entirely unawares, but the soldiers of Pex were filled with fury at the death of their lord, and their charge carried far into the enemy works. The night was filled with the ferocious sound of snaffle-irons and swords, and brilliant with the flashes of deadly spells.

  “Look!” said Ambius. “They carry away the Projectors!”

  The attackers had detailed soldiers and beasts of burden to drag the Projectors from their platform to their own camp. These great objects were carried off with great labor as the army of Pex was driven slowly back from the enemy works, and as the great weapons passed the castle, a Calabrandene counterattack drove the army of Pex back, and suddenly there was fighting in front of the very gates of Castle Abrizonde.

  “Shoot!” Ambius cried to his soldiers. He drew his sword. “Drive them all away! If we can mount the Projectors on the walls of the castles, we will be invulnerable!”

  The soldiers of the Protostrator fired from the castle walls into the mass of warriors below, boom-rocks and poisoned arrows raining down at the two armies locked in their own desperate combat. The invaders reeled in confusion.

  “To me, soldiers!” Ambius cried. He drew his sword. “We must sally!”

  Again, Vespanus was surprised at the martial vigor of Ambius. His orders were prompt, vigorous, and effective—and they were obeyed. The gates of the castle were flung open, and the Protostrator led out the greater part of his garrison. This attack, being unexpected, drove away the forces of both Pex and Calabrande, and left the Projectors abandoned on the field. Ambius did his best to organize his forces to drag at least one of the Projectors into the fortress, but both Calabrande and Pex constantly counterattacked, and the fighting waxed and waned beneath the walls. Vespanus, lacking any skills that would be of use, watched from the battlements, and heard at last a cry of dismay from the defenders of Abrizonde.

  Back through the gate came the garrison, much reduced, bearing the body of Ambius, the Protostrator, who had been severely wounded. Now Vespanus, in the absence of any other authority, began to call out orders. Soldiers on the walls poured down a fire that kept the plain clear.

  Gradually the fighting died away. The morn
ing revealed the five Projectors abandoned beneath the walls of the castle, some toppled from their cradles, the others with their muzzles pointed in random directions. It was clear that the castle’s defenders could prevent either army from claiming these prizes.

  As the morning wore on, Vespanus from the Onyx Tower observed the two armies, now at enmity, begin their mutual, miserable retreat to their homelands.

  At noon, one of the soldiers reported to him.

  “The Protostrator is dead,” he said.

  “On the contrary,” said Vespanus. “The Protostrator is alive, for I am he.”

  The soldier—one of those, Vespanus recalled, chosen for his lack of ambition and general subservience—merely bowed, and then withdrew.

  Vespanus gazed over the battlements for a moment, considering his next action, and then descended to the courtyard on his way to the quarters of the Protostrator. Word of his elevation had preceded him, and Vespanus was gratified that the soldiers he passed saluted him as their commander. Once at Ambius’s door, Vespanus tried to disengage the traps that Ambius had left behind—and managed to dodge a bolt of orange fire at only the last second. Having finally got the door open at the cost of a singed sleeve, he advanced to the Protostrator’s study and approached the Protostrate in her crystal bottle. He took a chair to a place near the shelf and sat. For a moment, he and Amay contemplated each other through the gleaming crystal. At length, he began to speak.

  “You will rejoice with me, I’m sure, in the defeat of the enemy and the safety of the castle,” he said, “as you will mourn with me the death of your husband.”

  She bowed her head, then raised her chin and said, “While hysterical laughter and bitter tears are both reasonable options in the current situation, I believe I shall decline both.”

  “As you think best,” Vespanus said gravely.

  “I wonder if I may beg of you a favor,” said Amay. “Could you take one of those bronze nymphs from the shelf yonder and give this bowl a sharp rap?”

  “To what end?”

  “Is it not obvious? I desire to be liberated.”

  “I find that possibility problematical.” Carefully he regarded her. “Were you at liberty, you would attempt to install yourself as the ruler of Abrizonde, and as I have just declared myself the new Protostrator, we would find ourselves in immediate conflict.”

  Amay received this news with surprise. Her miniature face contorted as she considered her response.

  “On the contrary,” she said. “I would be your help, support, and guide. You will need my aid to find your feet as the new lord of the Cleft.”

  “I propose to err on the side of caution,” Vespanus said, and as Amay took in a breath to begin reviling him in the same terms with which she had abused her husband, Vespanus held up a hand.

  “The late lord Ambius spoke to me of his isolation here, of the absence of polite society and the arts. One might conclude he regretted his decision to make himself the lord.”

  “Don’t you believe it,” Amay said. “His ambition was great.”

  “And my ambition is not,” said Vespanus. “While I desire material comfort, I have no inclination to hold an isolated fortress in an empty country for all the years of my youth, nor to battle the armies of entire nations.”

  “In that case,” said Amay, “you should liberate me to become the new ruler, and trust me to reward you amply for your service.”

  “I have a somewhat different plan,” Vespanus said. “I shall remain the lord but for a single season, and skim the profits of the bargemen and merchants of the Dimwer. After which, I shall become a mere student once more, and carry myself and my gains away on a hired barge. Once I have gone a safe distance, you will be liberated by one of the soldiers acting on my orders, and immediately take your place as the greatest lady in the history of Abrizonde.”

  Amay, blinking, contemplated this for a moment.

  “I believe that is fair,” she judged, “much though I mislike remaining in this bottle for any length of time whatever.”

  Vespanus bowed at her politely. “What is unfair,” he said, “is that I must pay the soldiers, and hire the summer force, without the means to do so. Therefore I must have access to the late lord’s strong rooms—and as in the course of our acquaintance I noted the Protostrator’s suspicious mind, and his cunning facility with traps that has just cost me the sleeve of my robe, I assume that the strong rooms are protected. I apply to you, therefore, for any knowledge you may have concerning these traps, and how to disarm them.”

  Amay’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  “Surely you may pay the soldiers with money extracted from tolls.”

  “The late war may cause a bad season for commerce on the Dimwer, and, in that event, I would be left with nothing. And in any case, I wish to offer the current garrison a bonus for their brave defense.”

  “The money in those rooms should be mine!” Amay said. “I have earned it, with six long years as a puppet in this little globe!”

  “Consider the many years you will remain here in Abrizonde,” said Vespanus. “The endless flow of money and commerce up and down the Dimwer, and the great fortune that you can build for yourself. Whereas I will have to live for the rest of my life only on such money as I can carry away.”

  “You shall never have my money! Never!” And then Amay, shaking her fist, began to berate Vespanus in much the same style with which she had earlier addressed her husband.

  “Ah well,” said Vespanus. “Perhaps it will not be necessary to liberate you after all.”

  He took from the shelf the vial that he had seen Ambius employ, and opened the stopper to pour a single drop into the neck of the crystal bottle. Spluttering a few last curses, Amay immediately fell into profound slumber.

  When she awoke, she found herself reclining on a coverlet of pale samite, and cradled in a bed of carved ebony. The room was small but exquisitely appointed, with many mirrors, furniture inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and carpets of intricate design and brilliant hue.

  She gave a start of surprise, and sat up. Facing her, languid on a settee, was the figure of Vespanus of Roë.

  “This is my room!” said Amay.

  “Your late husband preserved it much as you left it,” said her interlocutor. “If you like, you may consider it evidence of some lingering fondness on his part.”

  “Or lack of imagination!” said Amay. She glanced over the room. “I seem to have been set at liberty.”

  The figure of Vespanus bowed gravely. “I reconsidered my earlier position. The garrison, drunk with victory, is ill-inclined to obey my orders, twk-men bring news that the army of the Exarch seems prepared to renew the contest, and under the circumstances I begin to find the watery meads of Pex strangely attractive.” He rose.

  “I have taken passage on the first barge of the season,” he said, “and I have also taken the liberty of placing upon it exactly half the contents of the late Protostrator’s strong rooms, which I hope you will agree is fair. I tarry but for any messages you may wish me to carry, and for any sums that you may wish to entrust to me for the purpose of hiring soldiers to augment your garrison.”

  Amay swung her legs from the bed and rose, a little carefully, to her feet.

  “Half?” she said. “You have taken half?”

  “Surely I deserve some reward for preserving your place here, and for liberating you.”

  Amay’s eyes glittered. “Some reward, yes—but half?”

  He cleared his throat. “If you have no messages for me to carry, then I shall leave you to your business.” He bowed, and in haste stepped toward the door.

  “Stay!” she called. When he hesitated, she took a firm step toward him.

  “It was bad enough,” Amay said, “that I spent six years confined in that wretched globe, deprived of honor and my sorcerous powers. It was bad enough that I was forced to endure the presence of my husband, and watch him consort with those bronze nymphs—and bad enough that I could see him adding to
his fortune day by day, counting the coins and gems that he extorted from the bargemen before storing them in his strong rooms.” She glared at him, showing even white teeth. “And is it not bad enough that I am expected to endure a thief, a thief who takes half my substance and offers in recompense to carry my messages!”

  He bowed again, and put a hand to his chest.

  “Bear in mind,” he said, “that I set you free. Do I not deserve anything for this favor?”

  “Indeed you do,” Amay said. “I shall kill you now, and quickly, rather than string you by your heels from the Onyx Tower!” With a ferocious gesture, she spoke the words that called forth the Spell of Azure Curtailment.

  Nothing occurred. Amay stared into the face of Vespanus, which stared back, an expression of wide-eyed surprise on his face.

  “So you have a charm proof against that spell,” Amay said. “But nothing can stand against the Excellent Prismatic Spray!”

  Again she spoke the words of a spell, enhancing its affect with ferocious gestures. Again nothing happened, and her companion blinked at her in surprise.

  “I think we have learned enough,” said the voice of Vespanus, and Amay glanced about uneasily, for the voice had seemed to come from the air, and not from her companion. Then she started and drew back as the figure of Vespanus shifted and changed into that of a leering figure with rolling eyes, a full beard, and a prominent overbite.

  Then there was a scene of frantic motion, as the leering man began to dash around the room with incredible speed. He laid hands upon the very room itself and took it apart piece by piece, the whole disassembly taking place in just a few seconds, after which there was nothing left but the figure of the leering man and walls of transparent crystal.

  “Allow me,” said Vespanus, peering into the crystal bottle, “to introduce my madling, Hegadil.”

  Hegadil bowed elaborately as Amay stared first at the madling, and then at Vespanus, standing in her husband’s study.

  “I thought it best to discover whether you were trustworthy,” Vespanus said. “While you were asleep, I had Hegadil construct a duplicate of your bedchamber inside the bottle. As he has a talent for impersonation, I also ordered him to adopt my form and see whether you would attack me once you found yourself at liberty. Alas, my lady, you failed that test…”