Songs of the Dying Earth

“I grasp your meaning in every regard,” Eunepheos said. “And it is always heartening to see friends come to each other’s aid in such matters. Still, you are here now, and, since three wizards are the stipulated minimum, the contest can proceed.”

“The contest, noble Eunepheos?” Tralques asked.

“All will be explained. But first, allow me to present our judges.”

Eunepheos gestured and three great niches formed in the wall above the throne. In each rested a man-sized glass case. Two were of shimmering silver shot with veins of old rose and flashing indigo. They flanked a case of rich buttery gold filled with arcs of scintillating red and burnt orange. At first, the dazzling cases sizzled with all manner of roiling energies, but soon settled down to a quiet, almost predatory watchfulness.

“Gentlemen,” Eunepheos continued. “Before you are the remembrance chambers of the greatest of us. At the centre, beyond equals, eternally first, stands that of Phandaal the Great. To left and right in flashing silver, you see those of Amberlin the First and Amberlin the Second. They will be our judges.”

Eunepheos left a pause for dramatic effect, but Tralques could not remain silent.

“These are not their bodies, surely?”

“That is not for me to say,” Eunepheos answered, as courtly as ever. “Who knows where these great ones went upon withdrawing from our midst so long ago? What is death and extinction to the likes of such ascendants? Be satisfied that there is a residual link between our world and theirs, a vital connection spanning the ages, and that it pleases them enormously to have watched me set my little trap at Venta-Valu. Think of how it delights them that I test their successors in these latter days, some of whom are wise and generous like yourselves, others vain and grasping and interested only in self-advancement. Imagine their pleasure as I lured three legitimate inheritors like yourselves, ingenious enough, brave enough, and sufficiently determined to make the crossing through the shadow glass into Dessinga to compete in their contest. The less charitable might see it as culling, weeding out the dross, but paragons like yourselves no doubt see it for the appropriate duty of care that it is.”

Tralques took a step forward. “As my illustrious friend and colleague just now explained, great Eunepheos, Sarimance and I are merely here in a supernumerary capacity to Amberlin’s original group—”

“Nonsense, Master Tralques,” Eunepheos countered. “You are far too modest and it does you credit. Your resolve is as strong as his, I’m sure. Our contest is to be one of magic, here, now, in this great hall. Each of you will take turns conjuring up your finest. In three rounds, three attempts, each bout strictly limited to no more than two minutes, you will present a display worthy of our mighty judges. Three rounds, three chances to win. The winner goes free, of course. The Copsy Door will open to him alone. The others will stay and add their fine energies to Dessinga to help maintain this golden place.”

“I must cry foul!” Sarimance said. “There is an unforgivable bias. Our friend Amberlin here is the namesake of two of the judges. They will surely be predisposed. I suggest the contest be abandoned until two new judges can be appointed. Tralques, Amberlin, and I will return, say, a year from now to see if—”

Eunepheos raised a hand. “Sarimance, listen well. You cannot imagine what shame, scorn and disgust our noble Silver Adepts here would normally feel because a sorry pretender persists in bearing their name. You see no latter-day Phandaals, do you? No surfeit of Llorios, no glut of Dibarcas Maiors? Who would dare? Who would risk the possibility of reprisal? But the leader of your fearless expedition has been bold enough to take the name of his betters without regret or contrition. No doubt he will say it is to honor his ancestors rather than simply out of pride and hubris, or because his parents were careless. So be it. We will soon see, one way or the other. But if there is a bias, then surely it is in your favor, not his. So let the contest proceed! Tralques, you look so dignified in your fine blue robe, you will go first, then you, Sarimance, then your expedition leader, Amberlin.”

Without further hesitation, Tralques strode purposefully out into the hall, spun about and gestured magnificently.

“Great Eunepheos, illustrious judges, respectful spectators and brother wizards, I greet you and present for your diversion and edification the Wholly Self-Made Mankin!”

There was a moment’s hesitation, then a floating head appeared in the hall before them, its broad moon-face grinning amiably, peering this way and that, regarding its surroundings with what could only be happiness and wonder. For twenty seconds it regarded the dais, the three shimmering remembrance cases, the wizards, and the assembled underlings, then, from below the chin, a body formed, legs extending down till the creature stood on the floor at last.