Morreion, p.1
Morreion, page 1
05-12-2023
First published in Flashing Swords #1 - Nelson Doubleday / SFBC – April 1973
This is a novella in the “Dying Earth” series
First edition; limited to 1200 copies
MORREION
A Tales of tghe Dying Earth
ISBN 0-034438-20-X
Text copyright © 1973, 1979 Jack Vance
Illustrations © 1979 by Stephen E. Fabian
Printed in The United States of America
all rights reserved
First Edition
Morreion
by JACK VANCE
1
The Archveult Xexamedes, digging gentian roots in Were Wood, became warm with exertion. He doffed his cloak and returned to work, but the glint of blue scales was noticed by Herark the Harbinger and the diabolist Shrue. Approaching by stealth they leapt forth to confront the creature; then, flinging a pair of nooses about the supple neck, they held him where he could do no mischief.
After great effort, a hundred threats and as many lunges, twists and charges on the part of Xexamedes, the magicians dragged him to the castle of Ildefonse, where other magicians of the region gathered in high excitement.
In times past Ildefonse had served the magicians as preceptor, and he now took charge of the proceedings. He first inquired the archveult’s name.
“I am Xexamedes, as well you know, old Ildefonse!”
“Yes,” said Ildefonse, “I recognize you now, though my last view was your backside, as we sent you fleeting back to Jangk. Do you realize that you have incurred death by returning?”
“Not so, Ildefonse, since I am no longer an archveult of Jangk. I am an immigrant to Earth; I declare myself reverted to the estate of a man. Even my fellows hold me in low esteem.”
“Well and good,” said Ildefonse. “However, the ban was and is explicit. Where do you now house yourself?” The question was casual, and Xexamedes made an equally bland response.
“I come, I go; I savor the sweet airs of Earth, so different from the chemical vapors of Jangk.”
Ildefonse was not to be put off. “What appurtenances did you bring: specifically, how many IOUN stones?”
“Let us talk of other matters,” suggested Xexamedes. “I now wish to join your local coterie, and, as a future comrade to all present, I find these nooses humiliating.”
The short-tempered Hurtiancz bellowed, “Enough impudence! What of the IOUN stones?”
“I carry a few such trinkets,” replied Xexamedes with dignity.
“Where are they?”
Xexamedes addressed himself to Ildefonse. “Before I respond, may I inquire your ultimate intentions?”
Ildefonse pulled at his white beard and raised his eyes to the chandelier. “Your fate will hinge upon many factors. I suggest that you produce the IOUN stones.”
“They are hidden under the floorboards of my cottage,” said Xexamedes in a sulky voice.
“Which is situated where?”
“At the far edge of Were Wood.”
Rhialto the Marvellous leapt to his feet. “All wait here! I will verify the truth of the statement!”
The sorcerer Gilgad held up both arms. “Not so fast! I know the region exactly! I will go!”
Ildefonse spoke in a neutral voice, “I hereby appoint a committee, to consist of Rhialto, Gilgad, Mune the Mage, Hurtiancz, Kilgas, Ao of the Opals, and Barbanikos. This group will go to the cottage and bring back all contraband. The proceedings are adjourned until your return.”
2
The adjuncts of Xexamedes were in due course set forth on a sideboard in Ildefonse’s great hall, including thirty-two IOUN stones: spheres, ellipsoids, spindles, each approximately the size of a small plum, each displaying inner curtains of pale fire. A net prevented them from drifting off like dream-bubbles.
“We now have a basis for further investigation,” said Udefonse. “Xexamedes, exactly what is the source of these potent adjuncts?” Xexamedes jerked his tall black plumes in surprise, either real or simulated. He was yet constrained by the two nooses; Haze of Wheary Water held one rope, Barbanikos the other, to ensure that Xexamedes could touch neither. Xexamedes inquired, “What of the indomitable Morreion? Did he not reveal his knowledge?” Udefonse frowned in puzzlement. “ ‘Morreion’? I had almost forgotten the name… . What were the circumstances?”
Herark the Harbinger, who knew lore of twenty aeons, stated: “After the archveults were defeated, a contract was made. The archveults were given their lives, and in turn agreed to divulge the source of the IOUN stones. The noble Morreion was ordered forth to learn the secret and was never heard from since.”
“He was instructed in all the procedures,” declared Xexamedes. “If you wish to learn—seek out Morreion!”
Ildefonse asked, “Why did he not return?”
“I cannot say. Does anyone else wish to learn the source of the stones? I will gladly demonstrate the procedure once again.”
For a moment no one spoke. Then Ildefonse suggested, “Gilgad, what of you? Xexamedes has made an interesting proposal.”
Gilgad licked his thin brown lips. “First, I wish a verbal description of the process.”
“By all means,” said Xexamedes. “Allow me to consult a document.” He stepped toward the sideboard, drawing Haze and Barbanikos together; then he leaped back. With the slack thus engendered he grasped Barbanikos and exuded a galvanic impulse. Sparks flew from Barbanikos’ ears; he jumped into the air and fell down in a faint. Xexamedes snatched the rope from Haze and before anyone could prevent, he fled from the great hall.
“After him!” bawled Udefonse. “He must not escape!”
The magicians gave chase to the fleet archveult. Across the Scaum hills, past Were Wood ran Xexamedes; like hounds after a fox came the magicians. Xexamedes entered Were Wood and doubled back, but the magicians suspected a trick and were not deceived.
Leaving the forest Xexamedes approached Rhialto’s manse and took cover beside the aviary. The bird-women set up an alarm, and old Funk, Rhialto’s servitor, hobbled forth to investigate.
Gilgad now spied Xexamedes and exerted his Instantaneous Electric Effort—a tremendous many-pronged dazzle which not only shivered Xexamedes, but destroyed Rhialto’s aviary, shattered his antique way-post and sent poor old Funk dancing across the sward on stilts of crackling blue light.
3
A Linden leaf clung to the front door of Rhialto’s manse, pinned by a thorn. A prank of the wind, thought Rhialto, and brushed it aside. His new servant Puiras, however, picked it up and, in a hoarse grumbling voice, read:
NOTHING THREATENS MORREION.
“What is this regarding Morreion?” demanded Rhialto. Taking the leaf he inspected the minute silver characters. “A gratuitous reassurance.” A second time he discarded the leaf and gave Puiras his final instructions. “At midday prepare a meal for the Minuscules—gruel and tea will suffice. At sunset serve out the thrush pate. Next, I wish you to scour the tile of the great hall. Use no sand, which grinds at the luster of the glaze. Thereafter, clear the south sward of debris; you may use the aeolus, but take care; blow only down the yellow reed; the black reed summons a gale, and we have had devastation enough. Set about the aviary; salvage all useful material. If you find corpses, deal with them appropriately. Is so much clear?”
Puiras, a man spare and loose-jointed, with a bony face and lank black hair, gave a dour nod. “Except for a single matter. When I have accomplished all this, what else?”
Rhialto, drawing on his cloth-of-gold gauntlets, glanced side-wise at his servant. Stupidity? Zeal? Churlish sarcasm? Puiras’ visage offered no clue. Rhialto spoke in an even voice. “Upon completion of these tasks, your time is your own. Do not tamper with the magical engines; do not, for your life, consult the portfolios, the librams or the compendiary. In due course, I may instruct you in a few minor dints; until then: be cautious!”
“I will indeed.”
Rhialto adjusted his six-tiered black satin hat, donned his cloak with that flourish which had earned him his soubriquet “the Marvellous”. “I go to visit Ildefonse. When I pass the outer gate impose the boundary curse; under no circumstances lift it until I signal. Expect me at sunset: sooner, if all goes well.”
Making no effort to interpret Puiras’ grunt, Rhialto sauntered to the north portal, averting his eyes from the wreckage of his wonderful aviary. Barely had he passed the portal by, when Puiras activated the curse, prompting Rhialto to jump hastily forward. Rhialto adjusted the set of his hat. The ineptitude of Puiras was but one in a series of misfortunes, all attributable to the archveult
Xexamedes. His aviary destroyed, the way-post shattered, old Funk dead! From some source compensation must be derived!
4
Ildefonse lived in a castle above the River Scaum: a vast and complex structure of a hundred turrets, balconies, elevated pavilions and pleasaunces. During the final ages of the 43rd Aeon, when Ddefonse had served as preceptor, the castle had seethed with activity. Now only a single wing of this monstrous edifice was in use, with the rest abandoned to dust, owls and archaic ghosts.
Ddefonse met Rhialto at the bronze portal. “My dear colleague: splendid as usual! Even on an occasion like that of today! You put me to shame!” Ddefonse stood back the better to admire Rhialto’s austerely handsome visage, his fine blue cloak and trousers of rose velvet, his glossy boots. Ddefonse himself, for reasons obscure, presented himself in the guise of a jovial sage, with a bald pate, a lined countenance, pale blue eyes, an irregular white beard: conceivably a natural condition w hich vanity would not let him discard.
“Come in then,” cried Ddefonse. “As always, with your sense of drama, you are last to arrive!”
They proceeded to the great hall. On hand were fourteen sorcerers: Zilifant, Perdustin, Herark the Harbinger, Haze of Wheary Water, Ao of the Opals, Eshmiel, Kilgas, Byzant the Necrope, Gil-gad, Vermoulian the Dream-walker, Barbanikos, the diabolist Shrue, Mune the Mage, Hurtiancz. Ddefonse called out: “The last of our cabal has arrived: Rhialto the Marvellous! at whose manse the culminating stroke occurred!”
Rhialto doffed his hat to the group. Some returned the salute; others: Gilgad, Byzant the Necrope, Mune the Mage, Kilgas, merely cast cool glances over their shoulders.
Ildefonse took Rhialto by the arm and led him to the buffet. Rhialto accepted a goblet of wine, which he tested with his amulet. In mock chagrin Ildefonse protested: “The wine is sound; have you yet been poisoned at my board?”
“No. But never have circumstances been as they are today.”
Ildefonse made a sign of wonder. “The circumstances are favorable! We have vanquished our enemy; his IOUN stones are under our control!”
“True,” said Rhialto. “But remember the damages I have suffered! I claim corresponding benefits, of which my enemies would be pleased to deprive me.”
“Tush,” scolded Ildefonse. “Let us talk on a more cheerful note. How goes the renewal of your way-post? The Minuscules carve with zest?”
“The work proceeds,” Rhialto replied. “Their tastes are by no means coarse. For this single week their steward has required two ounces of honey, a gill of Misericord, a dram and a half of malt spirits, all in addition to biscuit, oil and a daily ration of my best thrush paté.”
Ildefonse shook his head in disapproval. “They become ever more splendid, and who must pay the score? You and I. So the world goes.” He turned away to refill the goblet of the burly Hurtiancz.
“I have made investigation,” said Hurtiancz ponderously, “and I find that Xexamedes had gone among us for years. He seems to have been a renegade, as unwelcome on Jangk as on Earth.”
“He may still be the same,” Ildefonse pointed out. “Who found his corpse? No one! Haze here declares that electricity to an arch-veult is like water to a fish.”
“This is the case,” declared Haze of Wheary Water, a hot-eyed wisp of a man.
“In that event, the damage done to my property becomes more
irresponsible than ever!” cried Rhialto. “I demand compensation before any other general adjustments are made.”
Hurtiancz frowned. “I fail to comprehend your meaning.”
“It is elegantly simple,” said Rhialto. “I suffered serious damage; the balance must be restored. I intend to claim the IOUN stones.”
“You will find yourself one among many,” said Hurtiancz.
Haze of Wheary Water gave a sardonic snort. “Claim as you please.”
Mune the Mage came forward. “The archveult is barely dead; must we bicker so quickly?”
Eshmiel asked: “Is he dead after all? Observe this!” He displayed a linden leaf. “I found it on my blue tile kurtivan. It reads:
‘NOTHING THREATENS MORREION’.”
“I also found such a leaf!” declared Haze.
“And I!” said Hurtiancz.
“How the centuries roll, one past the other!” mused Udefonse. “Those were the days of glory, when we sent the archveults flitting like a band of giant bats! Poor Morreion! I have often puzzled as to his fate.”
Eshmiel frowned down at his leaf. “ ‘NOTHING THREATENS MORREION’—so we are assured. If such is the case, the notice would seem superfluous and over-helpful.”
“It is quite clear,” Gilgad grumbled. “Morreion went forth to learn the source of the IOUN stones; he did so, and now is threatened by nothing.”
“A possible interpretation,” said Udefonse in a pontifical voice. “There is certainly more here than meets the eye.”
“It need not trouble us now,” said Rhialto. “To the IOUN stones in present custody, however, I now put forward a formal claim, as compensation for the damage I took in the common cause.”
“The statement has a specious plausibility,” remarked Gilgad. “Essentially, however, each must benefit in proportion to his contribution. I do not say this merely because it was my Instantaneous Electric Effort which blasted the archveult.”
Ao of the Opals said sharply, “Another casuistic assumption which must be rejected out-of-hand, especially since the providential energy allowed Xexamedes to escape!”
The argument continued an hour. Finally a formula proposed by Ildefonse was put to vote and approved by a count of fifteen to one. The goods formerly owned by the archveult Xexamedes were to be set out for inspection. Each magician would list the items in order of choice; Ildefonse would collate the lists. Where conflict occurred determination must be made by lot. Rhialto, in recognition of his loss, was granted a free selection after Choice 5 had been determined; Gilgad was accorded the same privilege after Choice 10.
Rhialto made a final expostulation: “What value to me is ‘Choice 5’? The archveult owned nothing but the stones, a few banal adjuncts, and these roots, herbs and elixirs.”
His views carried no weight. Ildefonse distributed sheets of paper; each magician listed the articles he desired; Ildefonse examined each list in turn. “It appears,” he said, “that all present declare their first choice to be the IOUN stones.”
Everyone glanced toward the stones; they winked and twinkled with pale white fire.
“Such being the case,” said Ildefonse, “determination must be made by chance.”
He set forth a crockery pot and sixteen ivory disks. “Each will indite his sign upon one of the chips and place it into the pot, in this fashion.” Ildefonse marked one of the chips, dropped it into the pot. “When all have done so, I will call in a servant, who will bring forth a single chip.”
“A moment!” exclaimed Byzant. “I apprehend mischief; it walks somewhere near.”
Ildefonse turned the sensitive Necrope a glance of cold inquiry. “To what mischief do you refer?”
“I detect a contradiction, a discord; something strange walks among us; there is someone here who should not be here.”
“Someone moves unseen!” cried Mune the Mage. “Udefonse, guard the stones!”
Udefonse peered here and there through the shadowy old hall. He made a secret signal and pointed to a far comer: “Ghost! Are you on hand?”
A soft sad whisper said, “I am here.”
“Respond: who walks unseen among us?”
“Stagnant eddies of the past. I see faces: the less-than-ghosts, the ghosts of dead ghosts… . They glimmer and glimpse, they look and go.”
“What of living things?”
“No harsh blood, no pulsing flesh, no strident hearts.”
“Guard and watch.” Udefonse returned to Byzant the Necrope. “What now?”
“I feel a strange flavor.”
“What do you suggest then?”
Byzant spoke softly, to express the exquisite delicacy of his concepts. “Among all here, I alone am sufficiently responsive to the subtlety of the IOUN stones. They should be placed in my custody.”
“Let the drawing proceed!” Hurtiancz called out. “Byzant’s plan will never succeed.”
“Be warned!” cried Byzant. With a black glance toward Hurtiancz, he moved to the rear of the group.
Udefonse summoned one of his maidens. “Do not be alarmed. You must reach into the pot, thoroughly stir the chips, and bring forth one, which you will then lay upon the table. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Lord Magician.”
“Do as I bid.”
The girl went to the pot. She reached forth her hand. … At this precise instant Rhialto activated a spell of Temporal Stasis, with which, in anticipation of some such emergency, he had come prepared.
Time stood still, for all but Rhialto. He glanced around the chamber, at the magicians in their frozen attitudes, at the servant girl with one hand over the pot, at Ildefonse staring at the girl’s elbow.
