Songs of the Dying Earth

“Dearest Panderleou, companion of my youth, you are entirely free to come and go as you will.”

“A concept exceedingly appealing but one you have rendered impracticable.”

The sun declined behind Hazur. The after light revealed no sign of Amuldar. Nothing could be seen but a brace of pelgrane circling.

With little expectation of a useful answer, Alfaro asked, “Will someone tell me something, now? Anything?”

Ildefonse said, “We will honor Panderleou’s request. I set course for Boumergarth. After a suitable evening repast, we will repair to the library, research, and consider what actions we should take or should not take tomorrow.”

The grand whirlaway soared, leaned, swept away across the dying light. The hundred colorful banners dressing its extremities cracked in the passing air.

6

A scramble commenced as the whirlaway docked. Most of the magicians rushed the buffet, determined to further deplete the Preceptor’s larder. A few fled to the lawn and their conveyances. Those returned in a squawking gaggle, righteously outraged.

Ildefonse said, “After protracted soul-searching, I suffered a change of heart. Prudence demands that we remain together and face the future with a uniform plan and resolute purpose.”

Mune the Mage, mouth filled with lark’s liver croquets, observed, “The most salubrious course would be to continue the exact policy pursued since the incident of Fritjof’s Drive. Ignore Amuldar.”

A strong minority were swift to agree.

Herark the Harbinger declared, “I put that into the form of a motion. Though it would seem that Amuldar inexplicably survives, it has offered no provocation since the age of Grand Motholam. Let sleeping erbs lie.” The Harbinger had not yet recovered his color. Alfaro feared the man might have caught some dread scent drifting in from the future.

Rhialto said, “An admirable strategy, tainted by a single flaw. When Alfaro became aware of Amuldar, Amuldar became aware of Alfaro.”

Morag enjoyed a barrage of dark looks. These magicians seldom let reason sweep them away.

“When we went out to learn the truth of Alfaro’s sighting, Amuldar sensed us looking. Te Ratje knows we know.”

“Unacceptable,” Panderleou declared.

And Herark, “I call for a vote of censure against Alfaro Morag, the penalty to include confiscation of all his possessions.”

Ildefonse stepped in. “Control yourselves. Alfaro is but the messenger. In any event, did he possess anything of merit someone would have taken it for safekeeping already.”

Alfaro suffered a chill. This might be an ideal time to refill his pockets and hurry home, then move on, perhaps into the wastes beyond the Land of the Falling Wall.

Herark grumbled, “Will no one second either of my motions?”

No. But Haze of Wheary Water, leaves again in a ruff, offered, “I make a motion that Ildefonse, Rhialto, and others with the apposite knowledge, render the rest of us fully cognizant of the truths concerning Amuldar, being candid in all respects and reserving no salient point.”

“Hear! Hear!” from a dozen throats. The young insisting on knowing what the old had gotten them into.

Alfaro, having heard no actual second, declared, “I second the motion offered by the esteemed Haze.”

The “Hear! Hear!” chorus gave way to protests of Alfaro’s audacious conceit. He had no standing.

“Quiet,” Ildefonse said. “I have another second from Byzant.”

Startled, the Necrope turned his back to the buffet and glared at the Preceptor.

“Panderleou, you were in the front rank at Fritjof’s Drive. You have an agile tongue. Tell the tale. Cleave close to the truth. Neither fanciful embellishment nor self-effacing modesty are appropriate.”

Sourly, Panderleou suggested, “Let Rhialto tell it. He was nearer the action than I.”

Ildefonse demurred. “Rhialto was too near. And, as we well know, Rhialto holds himself too dear to relate any story involving Rhialto with precise accuracy.”

Morag smiled. Even Rhialto’s closest crony had reservations about his character.

Sullen, Panderleou growled, “All right. Gather round. I’ll tell this once, touching only the critical moments.”

The magicians gathered. Those with only two hands had difficulty managing their food and wine. And Ildefonse was of that inhospitable breed who did not allow guests to use magic inside his house. Which could explain his continued robust health.

Panderleou said, “At some undetermined point in the 16th Aeon, the first Great Magician rose, Te Ratje of Agagino, who may have been greater than Phandaal himself. Long gone, he is recalled only in footnotes in the most ancient tomes, where his name is inevitably misspelled Shinarump, Vrishakis, or Terawachy.”

Panderleou headed for the buffet.

Ildefonse cleared his throat. “Panderleou, that was far too spare for those unacquainted with the name or situation.”