Songs of the Dying Earth

“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?”