Songs of the Dying Earth

Walter Jon Williams ABRIZONDE

The student architect Vespanus of Roë, eager to travel to the city of Occul in the country of Calabrande, left Escani early in the season for an ascent of the Dimwer, the deep river that passes through the Cleft of Abrizonde on its way to the watery meads of Pex, the land where Vespanus, waiting for the pass to open, had passed a dreary winter in the insipid flat callow-fields of the brownlands.

The local bargemen claimed an early ascent was too hazardous for their craft, so Vespanus traveled upriver on a mule, a placid cream-colored animal named Twest. The Dimwer roared in a frigid torrent on the left as Twest made her serene ascent. There was still snow in the shadows of the rocks, but the trail itself was passable enough. The river bore on its peat-colored waters large cakes of ice that, Vespanus was forced to admit, would in fact have posed something of a danger to barge traffic.

Though nights were frigid, Vespanus employed his architectural talents and his madling Hegadil, who each night built him a warm, snug little home, with a stable attached for the mule, and who disassembled both the next morning. Vespanus thus spent the nights in relative comfort, reclining on purfled sheets, smoking Flume, and perusing a grimoire when he was not experiencing the pleasing fantasies brought on by the narcotic smoke.

On the third day of his ascent, Vespanus perceived the turrets and battlements of a castle on the horizon, and knew himself to be in the domain of the Protostrator of Abrizonde. Against this lord he had been warned by the bargemen—“a robber, boorish and rapacious, and yet strangely fashionable, who extorts unconscionable tolls from any wayfarer traveling through the Cleft.” Vespanus had inquired if there were routes available that did not involve traversing lands menaced by the Protostrator, but these would have involved weeks of extra travel, and so Vespanus resigned himself to a severe reduction in his available funds.

In any case, the Protostrator proved a pleasant surprise. A balding man whose round face protruded from a tissue-like lacy collar of extravagant design, and whose personal name was Ambius, the Protostrator offered several nights of pleasant hospitality, and never asked for a single coin in payment. All that he desired was news of Pex, and gossip concerning the voivodes of Escani, of whose affairs he seemed to know a great deal. He also wished to know of the latest fashions, hear the latest songs, receive word of new plays or theatrical extravaganzas, and hear recitations of the latest poetry. Vespanus did his best to oblige his host: he sang in his light tenor while accompanying himself on the osmiande; he discussed the illicit loves of the voivodes with a completely spurious authority; and he described the sumptuous wardrobe of the Despoina of Chose, who he had glimpsed in procession to Escani’s Guild of Diabolists, to which she was obliged by ancient custom to resort every nine hundred and ninety-nine days.

“Alas,” said Ambius, “I am a cultured man. Were I a mere robber and brute, I would rejoice on my perch above the Dimwer, and gloat as the contents of my strongrooms grew and glittered. But here in the Cleft, I find myself longing for the finer things of civilization — for silks, and songs, and cities. And never a city have I seen for the last thirteen years, since I assumed my present position — for if I traveled either to Pex or to Calabrande, I would instantly lose my head for violation of the state’s unjust and unreasonable monopoly on taxation. So I must content myself with such elements of culture as I am able to import.” He gestured modestly toward the paintings on the wall, to the curtains of mank fur, and to his own opulent, if rather eccentric, clothing. “Thus I am doomed to remain here, and to exact tolls from travelers in the manner as the Protostratoi before me, and dream of distant cities.”

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 whitehaired 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 of 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.

“Hegadil has a tendency toward inappropriate satire,” he concluded.

“In fact,” Ambius said, “I had no idea the armor looked to well on me.” He looked at the creature with a critical aspect. “Do you send him to fight the enemy?”

“Hegadil is not a warlike creature,” Vespanus said. “His specialties are construction, and, of course, its obverse, demolition.”

“But if the army is guarded by sorcery…?”

“Hegadil willl not attack the army itself,” said Vespanus, “but rather its immediate environment.”

“I shall look forward to a demonstration,” Ambius said.

Vespanus first sent Hegadil on a whirlwind tour of the enemy camps, and within an hour the madling — reappearing as a caricature of the Basileopater of Pex, a tiny whitehaired man dwarfed by his voluminous robes with their blazons and quarterings — gave a complete report as to the enemy’s numbers and deployment. Both armies proved to be larger than Ambius had suspected, and it was with a doomed, distracted air that he suggested Hegadil’s next errand.

Thus it was that, shortly after midnight, a peak overhanging part of the Exarch’s army, having been completely undermined, gave way and buried several companies beneath a landslide. The army leapt to arms and let fly in all directions, a truly spectacular exhibition of firepower that put to shame the morning’s demonstration by the castle defenders.

At the alarm, the army of Pex likewise stood to its arms, though in silence until, a few hours later, a bank of the river gave way and precipitated a part of the baggage train into the ice-laden river, along with all the memrils that had drawn the supplies up the trail. Then the camp of Pex, too, fell into disorder, as soldiers tried to get themselves and their remaining supplies as far from the river as possible. Scores got lost in the dark and fell into hidden ditches and canyons, and some into the river itself.

Pleased with the results, Vespanus complimented Hegadil and promised him three months off his indenture.

In the morning, the besiegers attempted revenge, the armies’ spell-casters hurling one deadly spell after another at the castle. The air was filled with hoops of fire, with viridian rays, with scarlet needles, and with the thunder of prismatic wings. All was without effect.

“Countercharms are woven into the very fabric of this place,” Ambius said with great satisfaction, and then — thinking doubtless of Hegadil and others like him — added, “and into the rock on which it stands.”

Hegadil’s next nightly excursion was less profitable. The enemy were encamped with more care, and magical alarms placed in vulnerable areas that would alert enemy sorcerers to Hegadil’s arrival. The madling managed to brain a few sentries with rocks spirited from out of time and dropped from above, but on the whole, the evening’s venture had to be scored a failure. It was with a dispirited tread that Vespanus took himself to his quarters for a rest.

He awoke midafternoon, broke his fast, and joined Ambius in the Onyx Tower. There he found the Protostrator talking to a green twk-man, even smaller than the miniaturized wife in Ambius’ quarters, who had flown to the castle on a dragonfly.

“My friend brings news that an army from Pex has come to attack the castle,” Ambius reported.

“The news seems somewhat delayed.”

“It came as soon as the dragonfly permitted,” Ambius said. “Insects do not fare well at altitude, and in a chilly spring.”

“I should like to have salt now,” said the twk-man, in a firm voice.

Ambius provided the necessary nourishment.

“In summer,” he said, “there are never less than a dozen twk-men here at any one time. I see to their needs, and they provide perfect intelligence of the movements of armies and traffic on the Dimwer.”

And, Vespanus thought, gossip about the voivodes of Escani and the Despoina of Chose.

“Our enemies seem to have anticipated this,” Vespanus said.

“True. They came ahead of the dragonflies and their news.”

“And behind me,” Vespanus muttered in anger.

Vespanus peered out of the tower’s windows and saw that the enemy deployments had not changed.

“They’re waiting for something,” Ambius said. “I wish I knew what it was.”

Vespanus stroked his unshaven chin. “The two lords are proud. Can we cause discord between them, do you think?”

“In this,” said Ambius, “lies our greatest hope.”

“Allow me to stimulate their rivalry.”

At sunset, he summoned Hegadil from his resting-place in the architect’s thumb-ring. The madling was instructed to level the top of a small hill to the east of the castle, beyond the range of any of its weapons, and equidistant between the two armies. A small fortress was there constructed. And, when the red sun made its sluggish climb above the horizon, it illuminated not only the battlements and miniature towers of the fortress, but the long banner that curled in the wind like a snake’s forked tongue, the banner that read, “For the Bravest.”

From the tower, Vespanus perceived a stir among the besieging soldiers, pointing arms and waggling lips. Officers were summoned. These summoned bannermen. The bannermen summoned generals. And eventually the Exarch and the Basileopater of Pex were observed on their individual knolls, studying the fortress by means of far-seeing devices.

After that, a patrol was seen heading toward the fortress from the army of Calabrande. Perceiving this, the army of Pex sent its own patrol. The patrols surrounded the fortress and sent scouts inside. These returned to their units with the news that the fortress contained only a single long couch, suitable for a single person to take his rest.

Both patrols returned to their respective armies. Then, for several hours, nothing happened. The officers retired to their luncheon. The sentries returned to their drowsy patrols. The dull red sun crawled across the dark sky like a blood-bloated spider.

Vespanus cursed his useless scheme, and went to bed.

Just before nightfall, another patrol came from each army, soldiers accompanied by enchanters, and they set up a camp on the flat country in the shadow of the fortress. One designated champion of each army, armed to the teeth, walked into the fortress, where they presumably spent the night, like shy virgins, perched on either end of the couch.

Certainly, they expected to be attacked. And just as certainly, they were not — the castle’s defenders lacked even that much power. In the morning, the champions strutted out to polite applause from their followers, and then made their way to their respective armies.

“We have made a beginning,” Vespanus said.

“Not now,” said Ambius.

He was in his morning conference with the twk-men. Four more had arrived, a small squadron, and he gave them instructions to carry messages and to observe the enemy.

“My friends tell me that five barges are coming down the Dimwer from Calabrande,” Ambius said. “Each contains a large object, but these items are shrouded by canvas.”

“I mislike this attempt at concealment,” said Vespanus.

“I also,” said Ambius. “I also recall, with a certain foreboding, our speculation that the enemy forces were waiting for something, and now wonder if this might be the arrival that will precipitate their grand assault. I will sent one of the twk-men to view these barges in greater detail.”

The twk-man scout had not returned by the afternoon. Ambius chewed his upper lip.

“Perhaps,” he said, “Hegadil might be of use.”

Hegadil was sent to view the barges, and returned some moments later. He reported that each barge contained a cradle that held a bottle-shaped object some eight paces in length, each made of dark metal chased with elaborate silver Flower-and-Thorn designs. Some of these he traced on the tower walls with a finger.

“Projectors of the Halcyon Detonation!” Ambius exclaimed. “Our cause is lost!”

Vespanus attempted to stifle his alarm. “How so?” he said. “Did you not say that the fortress was proof against any form of magic?”

“Magic, yes!” Ambius said. “But the Projectors do not employ magic, but rather an ancient form of mechanics no more magical than a fire-arrow. The Halcyon Detonation can blast our walls to bits!”

Vespanus turned to Hegadil. “How long before the barges arrive at the enemy camp?”

The madling — he had appeared today in the form of Austeri-Pranz, one of Vespanus’ instructors at Roë, an intimidating man with bulging, rolling eyes and a formidable overbite — gave the question his consideration.

“Two more days, perhaps,” he judged.

“Two more days!” Ambius echoed. “And then the end!”

“Don’t despair,” Vespanus said, though with the sense that he was speaking more to himself than to his companion. “I shall send Hegadil to sink the barges!”

“They will be prepared for such an attempt,” Ambius said.

“Nevertheless…” Vespanus turned to Hegadil.

“May I complete my report?” Hegadil said.

“Yes. There is more?”

“Each of the barges contains between seven and ten bargemen. There are also a dozen soldiers on each craft, one officer, and an enchanter. Pinned to the prow of the first barge, with a silver needle, is the corpse of a twk-man.”

“When you sink the barges,” Vespanus said, “you must avoid being run through with a needle, or indeed with anything else.”

The madling rolled Austeri-Pranz’s eyes at him.

“How do you wish me to proceed?” he asked.

“Rip the bottoms out of the craft. Undermine the rivernbank and sent it crashing into them. Drop large stones from above. Whatever best suits your talents and imagination.”

“Very well,” the madling said dubiously, and vanished, only to return moments later.

“The barges have magical protections,” he said. “I was unable to sink them, or to drop anything upon them. They travel in the middle of the river, and are not vulnerable to collapsing banks.”

“Build a mound in the center of the river, beneath the waters,” Vespanus said. “Make its height such that the barges can just clear it. Then take some of the spikes from the castle roofs, and plant them in the mound.” He looked at Ambius in triumph. “We will tear out the bottoms of the barges.”

Ambius waved a hand. “Let the attempt be made.”

Hegadil was sent forth again, only to have the barges detour neatly around the obstacle. The attempt was made again, with like result.

Ambius looked bleakly out of the window.

“Continue your plan to sow distrust among our enemies,” he said. “It is all we can hope for.”

“I wonder,” Vespanus said, “if the promise of liberty would motivate your wife into fighting in defense of Castle Abrizonde?”

Ambius considered this for a moment, then shook his head.

“Not yet,” he said.

That night, Hegadil demolished the fortress in which the enemy champions had waited, and built instead a golden-domed structure ornamented at the corners by allegorical figures representing Knowledge, Truth, Sapience, and Insight. The banner overhead said, “For the Wisest.”

Again scouts trooped out, again parties left the armies at sunset. Two magicians, magnificently bearded respectively in copper and midnight-black, approached the structure with their guards, and entered.

In the morning, they marched out again, their beards unruffled, their expressions a little puzzled.

“What next?” asked Ambius. “For the Cleanest? For the Most Fashionable?”

“You shall see,” said Vespanus.

During the day, a wide-ranging, ingenious assortment of ruses were employed to effect the destruction of the barges, but with no success. The barges and their deadly cargo were expected within the day. Hegadil reported that the enemy magicians on the barges now bore identical superior smirks on their faces.

That night, the madling demolished the mansion of the magicians and built instead a palace faced with veined marble, crowned with lacy towers, and with a great flag proclaiming For the Greatest Ruler. Ambius paced the tower room in unsettled silence, chewing his upper lip. Vespanus did his best to sleep.

Shortly before nightfall, the Exarch and the Basileopater, each commanding a battalion of elite troops, crossed to the palace and took their places in what they must have known was a trap. Vespanus rejoiced that their vanity did not permit them to behave otherwise.

Once again, Vespanus had no intention of attacking those in the palace directly. He, and Castle Abrizonde, entirely lacked the means.

Instead, he instructed Hegadil to seal the palace from the outside, and then to plate the palace with enormous sheets of adamantine metal. If Vespanus could not actually kill the inhabitants, he would do his best to seal them inside, after which he would fill the interior with a poisonous vapor.

After he sent Hegadil on his errand, Vespanus paced back and forth on the battlements as he awaited the outcome of his scheme. The field was silent, the night cold. In his mind, Vespanus pictured vast sheets of armor being lowered silently into place, all along the distant palace.

Then there was a sudden flare of light that limned the marble towers of the palace, followed by a rush and a clap of thunder. More flashes followed, red, yellow, and blazing orange, and the air was filled with shrieks, war cries, and the beating of invisible wings.

Vespanus cursed his luck, his ancestors, and every human being for fifty leagues round. Before he was quite finished, Hegadil appeared by his side — once again in the form of Austeri-Pranz, a sight alarming enough without the addition, in this case, of charred, smoking clothing and a singed beard.

“Alas,” Hegadil croaked, “they were prepared. I barely escaped annihilation.”

Disgusted by the turn of events, Vespanus opened his thumb-ring and let Hegadil take his healing rest there. He then took himself to bed.

In the morning, he awoke to the sounds of acclamation, as the two enemy lords left the palace to the cheers of their armies. Vespanus bent his mind entirely to the subject of escape. In the confusion of the final assault, he thought, he might be able to swim the river, possibly with Hegadil’s assistance, and then take refuge in a shelter created by the madling while the enemy armies went about their business…

It was a wretched, dangerous plan, but it was the only one that occurred to him.

He rose, broke his fast, and went to the Onyx Tower. A pair of twk-men orbited the Protostrator’s head in gay silence, as out-of-place as a cheerful red cap on the statue of a Deodand. Ambius, his round face by now set in an expression of permanent dolor, gestured toward the armies of Calabrande. Looking from the window, Vespanus saw that a ridge-top, out of range of any of the castle’s weapons, had been perfectly leveled.

“A platform for the Projectors of Halcyon Detonation,” Ambius said. “The twk-men inform me that the barges will arrive at the enemy camp later this morning. Afterwards, it will take the army most or all of the day to drag the weapons from the landing-stage to their position. We may expect the grand assault at dawn tomorrow.”

“It would take a sandestin, or a madling like Hegadil, to level that ridge overnight,” Vespanus said.

Ambius merely shrugged. “Why should they not outnumber us in sandestins, as they do in all else?” he said.

“Perhaps we should find out.”

Vespanus opened his thumb-ring and summoned Hegadil. The creature appeared in the form of a dead twk-man, green skin turned gray, a needle thrust like a spear through his abdomen.

“Abandon this distasteful form,” Vespanus said, “go to the ridge yonder, and discover if you can undermine it and drop the Projectors into a pit of your own creation.”

Hegadil was gone for three or four minutes, and then returned, this time as a dwarfed Exarch, the lord’s habitual superior smile now turned to a deranged leer.

“A sandestin named Quaad guards the platform,” he reported. “He is far stronger than I, and informed me that he would tear me to bits if I attempted any digging.”

Vespanus opended the thumb-ring.

“You may return to your rest.”

When Hegadil was bottled up, Vespanus went to the windows and manipulated their adjustable properties to give himself a closer view of the ridge.

“Those are engineers on the site,” he said. “They employ instruments familiar to me from their uses in architecture and surveying — tripods and alidades, chains and rods, altazimuths and dividing engines. Are they proposing to build something there?”

“The opposite,” said Ambius. “They intend destruction. They measure precisely the distance and angle to the castle, so that the Projectors may be better aimed so as to blast us to ruin.”

Vespanus paused for a moment to absorb the melancholy implications of this revelation. Suddenly, diving into the Dimwer did not seem so dreadful a plan. Ambius, who now seemed very diminished in his grand array, slowly rose to his feet.

“I fear it is time to visit my wife,” he said.

Curious, Vespanus followed Ambius to his quarters. Ambius either did not mind his presence, or was unaware of it. The Protostrator disarmed the various traps on his door, then led Vespanus again into his study.

This time he found himself with a better view of the Protostrate — she was a buxom woman, with wiry hair, and, even at her current size, a piercing voice. From the Protostrator’s attempts to communicate with her, Vespanus gathered her name was Amay.

Amay began abusing Ambius as soon as he entered the room and continued throughout the interview. The gist of her comments — leaving aside the personal references to Ambius, his person, and his habits — was that she would delight in the destruction of the castle, and would not prevent it if she could.

Perceiving that his arguments were futile, Ambius shrugged and walked to a shelf, where he found a vial filled with an amber liquid. Loosening the stopper, he poured a single drop into the neck of the crystal bottle, whereupon Amay staggered, spat, and collapsed into unconsciousness.

“Sometimes it is necessary to think in silence,” he said, as he returned the vial to its shelf, “and this narcotic will guarantee my peace for some hours.”

“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 morning 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…”

“I am chastened!” Amay said quickly. “I reconsider!”

“I am not so foolish as to trust you again,” Vespanus said. “Come, Hegadil!”

Hegadil stepped through the wall of the crystal bottle, and flew to the ring on Vespanus’ finger.

“Farewell, my lady,” Vespanus said. “I leave you to contemplate your long and doubtless tedious future.”

He left the study before she could speak. In truth, he had not expected any great success with the lady Amay, but he had thought the ploy worth trying. In any case, he would have all summer to puzzle out any traps on the strong room doors — and, of course, he would have the help of Hegadil, which would be considerable.

Pondering thus his own prospects, the Protostrator Vespanus walked to the Onyx Tower, and from its highest room contemplated his new domain.