Songs of the Dying Earth

“Most unexpected!” Eunepheos said. “Either there are subtleties here only the most refined sensibilities can discern or you are so confident of your final performance that you are trifling with us and saving your best till last.”

“Though it was a very fine rug,” Tralques admitted, clearly nonplussed by the whole thing.

“And most singular chickens,” Sarimance remarked, barely able to contain his amusement.

“Indeed,” said Eunepheos. “And contrast always has its place. But let us continue. Tralques, to the floor!”

“Great lord,” Tralques temporized. “Would not some small refreshment be in order? I know for a fact that the Iron Star Inn has the best—”

“Nonsense, Master Tralques. We have hardly begun. To the floor, I say. After such wonders, our judges are keen to see more!”

Tralques again stepped forth into the great room. Without preamble, he flung his arms wide and uttered another spell from his repertoire.

Out in the hall, a giant child lay sleeping face-down on the paving. On the infant’s broad back stood twenty silver dryads playing musical instruments: fantiphones and asponades, twizzle-horns, fukes, and quarter-drums. As they executed a most jolly jig from the hills beyond Kaspara Vitatus, the child’s dreams curled up in spirals of fanciful imagery, so that clowns and eagles tipped into castles and cottages, with glimpses of monarchs and djinn vying with hints of dragonry, all in the most wonderful melange.

At the minute-forty mark, the seemingly random elements came surging together to form a single face: that of Eunepheos himself, smiling and benign.

“It is often well done when well enough done,” the image intoned cryptically, and the whole fascinating ensemble vanished, leaving Tralques bowing respectfully to those on the dais.

This time, the underlings in the entourage applauded along with the wizards, rattling their armour, weapons, chains and fine jewelry according to their various stations and condition in the Dessinga hierarchy.

“Elegantly and grandly done!” Eunepheos cried with obvious approval.

“The Fine Silver Dalliance,” Sarimance said. “I remember it fondly. And there wasn’t a single chicken, one-eyed, cross-eyed or otherwise to mar the proceedings.”

Amberlin smiled and applauded too, but carefully said nothing, though he did note in passing that Tralques had refined his conjuration considerably since their meeting at the Iron Star Inn that day. Sarimance had obviously been providing lessons in embellishment and framing effect.

Amberlin’s thoughts returned at once to his remaining eleven spell patterns. He ran through the sequences, trying to settle on two that would see him through the contest with some chance of acquitting himself. His three punitive conjurations automatically disqualified themselves, of course, leaving eight to choose from, only two of which were in any way suitable for display purposes. Then again, who could say, the Inflect might work in his favor and serve up something truly marvelous. It was a possibility.

But Eunepheos, ever the genial host, was calling for Sarimance to again take his place on the floor. “Sarimance, amaze us further with your skill!”

“If I may, great Eunepheos, I would ask that the beautiful Asari be permitted to assist.”

Eunepheos looked to where Asari stood among his entourage and nodded, and the lovely maiden in black and yellow diaper moved out to join the Red Wizard.

Even as she turned to regard those at the dais, the vermilion-clad mage gestured hieratically. Asari immediately lifted into the air in a smooth and graceful motion. Apart from a momentary widening of her eyes in surprise, she retained her composure, rising up until her lithe form was suspended twenty feet in the air.

Sarimance’s staff then projected a beam of white light that struck the maiden’s body and lanced through it in a multitude of colors as if through a prism. The colorforms spiraled out from her, creating struts, pinions, and articulations, then vibrant membranes, finally forming the wings of a vast butterfly that extended out to fill the entire hall. On those spread wings of light and color suddenly appeared forms and faces, identities from history and legend who came forth to peer through Asari’s wing-lenses and regard the throng watching below.

Eunepheos actually gasped as the faces of his own father and mother looked down upon him with benign regard.

At the minute-thirty mark, the wings began to close around Asari until they were fully furled, wrapping her in shimmering light so that she was like a fabulous cocoon. At one minute-fifty, the vestiges cleared completely and the girl descended to the floor again, none the worse for her brief transformation.

The audience of wizards and magicals applauded enthusiastically.

“Most impressive and most tasteful,” Eunepheos said, his severe hawklike face again softened with what seemed genuine pleasure.