George Martin - Songs of the Dying Earth

The Deodands lay down and pressed their faces to the soil.

By now, the forest was darkening through impressive tints of Kauchique Ale and Violet Mendolence. Evillo, bolt upright by the oak, made pretence that he too had lain down.

“We are all now in position,” he informed the Deodands. “Some final advice. Do not begin your counting until I give the signal — Huge is most touchy. After that, and when you are done, do not stir, let alone look about until I have concluded my own count, during which Huge and the others will join us. Be aware that Huge, owing to his extreme bulk, so disturbs the equilibrium of anywhere that he translocates himself to, let alone if in company, that you will be vastly endangered by precipitate motion, especially of the eyes — for just this cause, I have blindfolded you. Hold tight to the ground. Await my signals. And for such inconvenience, accept a thousand apologies.”

Evillo paused. The sky was black as ink and only Lyraleth remained visible.

“Commence!” he ordered, and hastily, on silent feet, sought the avenues of the forest.

He had been running for less than a count of fifty however, when he detected sounds of pursuit.

Above him in the dark, Evillo also heard a small and plaintive call. Seizing the trunk of a massive tree, he climbed at speed to an elevated bough.

The owner of the little calling voice squinted at him with tiny luminous eyes. He was a Twk man, and nearby, his dragonfly sat preening its wings among the leaves.

“To repay this favour,” said the Twk, “I require salt.”

“I have none. Which favour?”

“I am owed,” said the Twk. “Know that flights of my kind were recently lured toward the northern limits, with a promise of endless salination, by the unsympathetic mage Pendatas Baard, in his relentless search for the usufructdom of Undimmoril. He claimed of us many and various deeds. When wages came due, he directed us to the sea’s edge, and recommended we pan the tideless waves for our reward.”

“I am sorry to hear this,” whispered Evillo, “but hush a moment, if you will. My hunters prowl below.”

The Twk gazed over at the three Deodands, who, illumined by the single large star, sniffed about the tree roots beneath, now and then glancing thoughtfully up into the branches.

“Perhaps I shall betray you to them,” mused the Twk. “Sometimes Deodands carry salt, to season less tasty kills.”

Evillo felt an eerie coolth on his arm. Looking distractedly, he found Khiss. But Khiss had grown startlingly during their separation, to the size of a cat.

From below came the discouraging sound of agile feet attempting the tree.

“Contain your amazement,” instructed Khiss, in a new and testy tone. “We must depart at once. Due to your inanity, not only did we once more miss the target, but were segregated during the transmission. We shall now again try the Selfulsion. On this occasion, by all five demons of Lumarth, think only of some terminus secure, and, preferably, blue .”

Evillo’s mind became a perfect blank. But already, Khiss and he were pulsing as their bodily atoms disbanded. From nowhere, a sourceless memory of blueness filled his thoughts. He interpretted this as another of Cugel’s temporary haunts, and conjured the Inn of Blue Lamps, southward, in Saskervoy.

Such had been the delay and confusion none the less, that the two wayfarers entered the inn by a high closed window, and so descended in a hail of glass upon several dissatisfied diners.

Evillo and Khiss extricated themselves from a roast fowl and a large platter of stewed callow with roseberry. The Twk and dragonfly, involved in the Selfulsion owing to proximity, dived into the salt-dish.

A landlord loomed. Evillo assumed that he was Krasnark, the very same who had waited on Cugel in the Fabler’s tale. Black-browed and tall, he glowered. On his forehead, a faint scar boded ill.

“Am I never to free my premises of these surreal incursions? Ever since the fateful night when those two wretches played their gambler’s tricks, the villainy of which only later were revealed to me, bad cess has plagued this inn!”

“It is true,” confided a buxom dame in cerise plast, beaming upon Evillo despite his antisocial entrance. “Poor Krasnark was brained by an unseen force and fell into the still-room below, spilling and breaking items to the value of nineteen florins! Besides, a worthy worminger was wounded in the foot by a crustaceous sphigale let go from its tank, the lighting was damaged, beards were sliced, and gentlemen harried at the trough of convenience.”

“And now ,” snarled Krasnark, “the ghoul-goat Cleenisz has taken up residence in the cellar, where it lies in wait for my potboys!”

On this cue, a malevolent bleating of inappropriate volume resounded from below. The floor shook.

“If you have stirred up the thing,” threatened Krasnark, “by your louche flop into my hall, I will charge you the sum of two hundred terces. The probity of Saskervoy is at stake.”

Most of the patrons were now evacuating the inn, even the lady in cerise. Seemingly, they did not take to the voice of Cleenisz.

“I regret, landlord,” said Evillo, “I have not a copper shaving to my name.”

“But,” hissed Khiss, its whisper loudly audible due to its current size, which was now more approximate to that of a small lion, “hand him this ring gleaming there in the spilled salt. It will pay for all.”

Evillo took the ring. It was worth more than the entire inn, very likely, a great smouldering gem of bluish-green set in blue tantalum, and chased with blue gold.

Krasnark’s manner altered. “That will tally to a nicety, sir. Let me entreat you to finish the dinner you have already sampled…or should you wish to follow me to the urinal?”

Evillo did not attend. A turquoise radiance was flaring from the jewel’s heart. It seemed to fill the inn, fading the blue lucifer lamplight to ashes.

There again appeared to him then the mysterious misty woods, hills, valleys, and mountains, the lakes like moire silk, which he had glimpsed so many times before. Evillo, dazzled by the sheen, wondered if this vision, as had the violet eye cusps of the Overworld, at least in Cugel’s experience, so effected the organ of sight as to influence also all other senses. For Evillo seemed to smell the fragrance of trees, flowers, and water, and he almost felt the brush of satin leaves against his face.

And then a woman appeared at the heart of the wonder. Her figure was slender, but with exquisite accentuations. Her skin resembled the palest and most clear nacre. Long lustrous hair, in colour the spice pink of a cold dawn, streamed about her. Her eyes were like emeralds in a lavender dusk. She was beauty incarnate, and instantly Evillo found he knew her name, which in ecstasy he breathed aloud: “Twylura Phlaim!”

“Never decant your curses on me:” thundered Krasnark. “Know that I am protected by amulets. Douse the witchlight and hand over the gewgaw. On reflection, I see it will barely cover the cost of dinner, let alone the broken window and lost custom. And still I must pay for eviction of the goat.”

Two things thereafter occurred as one. Khiss spoke in a penetrating and masculine tone, rendering to Krasnark an uncensored direction. At this, the landlord bellowed in affront. While from beneath came the noise of smashing pilasters, and out of the collapsing floor shouldered the ghoul-goat Cleenisz.

“We apply the Selfulsion,” ordered Khiss, with the utmost authority. “Evillo, fix your eyes upon the image in the ring, and summon no other of your ridiculous Cugelesque venues.”

The lucifer, by which the inn lamps were powered, blew up in a furl of royal blue fire. All else was fog and spinning.