The Warrior of World's End, page 1
The Warrior of World’s End
by
Lin carter
THE FIRST BOOK OF THE GONDWANE EPIC
DAW BOOKS, INC.
DONALD A. WOLLHEIM, PUBLISHER
1301 Avenue of the Americas
New York, N. Y. 10019
Cover art by Vincent DiFate
Le Scrob
Table of Contents
From The Cover
Dedication
Prologue
Book One THE ADVENT OF SILVERMANE 1. THE BLUE RAINS
2. IMINIX THE PSEUDOWOMAN
3. HAPPY TIMES IN ZERMISH
4. PHLESCO THE GODMAKER
5. THE INDIGONS TURN EAST
6. THE PLAINS OF UTH
7. GANELON RECEIVES HIS AGNOMEN
Book Two SILVERMANE AT NERELON 8. THE SECRET REVEALED
9. A HASTY DEPARTURE
10. MORE ABOUT THE TIME GODS
11. FRYX, AND OTHER ODDITIES
12. CONVERSATIONS WITH VLOOB ATZ
13. VITALIZING THE BIRD-MACHINE
14. THE FLIGHT OF THE BAZONGA
Book Three THE GREAT AIR MONOPOLY 15. THE MOUNT LUZ AMBUSH
16. HERETICS IN HORX
17. THE “RESCUING” OF XARDA
18. THE AIR MINES OF KARJIXIA
19. THE DEATH ZONE MOVES SOUTH
20. A PEACE CRISIS IN JEMMERDY
21. THE AIRMASTERS’ ULTIMATUM
Book Four SILVERMANE ON SKY ISLAND 22. MEETING WITH A PHLYGUL
23. THE ISLAND ABOVE THE EARTH
24. THE MAN ENTIRELY CLOTHED IN GOLD
25. THE THING THAT GLOWED IN THE DARK
26. TO THE DEATH MACHINE
27. THE BATTLE AT WORLD’S END
28. THE FIRST AND LAST ELPHOD
Appendix A GLOSSARY OF UNFAMILIAR NAMES AND TERMS
From The Cover
THE ADVENT OF GANELON SILVERMANE
The azure deluge had, a split-second before, been lit to noonday dazzle by an unearthly flare of purplish lightning. By the sudden glare Iminix had seen, or thought she had seen, a naked and gigantic man stumbling through the downpour. A man taller than any True Human she had ever seen, with the broad, powerful shoulders, the swelling thews and narrow waist and lean hips and long, sinewy legs of a gladiator or a hero out of legend. But what man would be here in The Barrens, a region rumored to be unwholesome in the extreme? And why would he be devoid of ‘ clothing and of weapons? Perhaps she had merely glimpsed a mirage, born of the blue flood and the sudden flash of astral fire …
She waited for another flare of lightning and when, in a moment, it came, she ‘ saw again the bare and mighty-muscled figure, stumbling among the lurching crystals, sliding and floundering in the sparkling blue mud.
Dedication
For John Boardman, who wanted some more.
Prologue
THE WARRIOR OF WORLD’S END
The First Book of the Gondwane Epic
I see Gondwane as it shall be in the untold ages of dim futurity, near the time when the Earth shall be man’s habitation no more, and the great night shall enfold all, and naught but the cold stars shall reign. The first sign of the end ye shall see in the heavens, for Lol the Moon is falling, falling. And there shall come a man into the lands, a man not like unto other men, but sent from Galendil.
-OTH KANGMIR, the Book Imperishable
Book One
THE ADVENT OF SILVERMANE
The Scene: Northern YamaYama-Land: The Barrens; Zermish in the Hegemony; the Plains of Uth.
The Characters: A Construct; several Godmakers; a Pseudowoman; haruspices, seers, diviners; an Illusionist; Burgesses, soldiers, citizens; sixty thousand Indigons.
1. THE BLUE RAINS
At the western end of the Crystal Mountains there flourished in former ages the city of Ardelix. Once it had been a great center of a race called Hybrids of Phex, but at the end of the period of which I write it had long been abandoned to ruin by the Phexians, who were-themselves extinct, having succumbed to the Laughing Plague half an eon earlier.
South of the Ardelix ruins begins a shadowy and dubious borderland known as The Barrens. This desolate region extends the length of the mountain range and is seldom, if ever, visited by True Men. Those infrequent travelers who indeed venture into these parts of Gondwane the Great, Earth’s last and mightiest continent, prefer to circumambulate the entire Crystal range, rather than attempt to cross over by any of the passes through the mountains. The reason for this is that the ghosts of the vanished Phexians, trapped forever between the reflecting planes of the glassy peaks and, by now, gone mad from hopelessness, are sometimes glimpsed among the mountains. They extract, it is said, unwholesome tribute from the occasional traveler who is rash and imprudent enough to intrude into the mirrored hell wherein they must wander eternally.
Early in the last century of the Eon of the Falling Moon1 an itinerant periaptist and his wife were journeying to the Realm of the Nine Hegemons north of the Crystal Mountains. They were riding along the edges of The Barrens when, driven by a sudden storm to seek refuge among the crystal boulders, they made an unexpected discovery.
During this period of the year the regions of Northern YamaYamaLand are frequently subjected to a mysterious precipitation known as the Blue Rains. No savant has yet explained the origin of these uncanny rainstorms, but they are popularly believed to be poisonous. This may have been sheer superstition, of course, but Phlesco the periap-tist was not the sort of man who willingly gambles with death. Hence, when the skies deepened to somber violet and the first azure mists came seething down, the little man thumped his bony heels into the ribs of his bird-horse, cried a peremptory warning to his wife, and turned the beaked head of his mount into The Barrens,‘where husks of enormous crystals lay strewn about, having been dislodged by lightning bolts from the glittering and glassy scarps which marched along the horizon to the north.
They reached the shelter of one of the nearer crystals without harm, although Phlesco’s yellow-striped robe was now spotted with stains of greenish ooze which he hastily scrubbed away, jittering prayers to the seventeen major godlings of his native pantheon that calamity might be averted from him and his.
The wife of the talisman-maker, being a Nonhuman, and thus invulnerable to those poisons which might discomfort a true member of Homo sapiens, ignored the raindrops staining her own garments and stood at the edge of their shelter, watching the storm-swept scene with fascination. The Blue Rain fell in a very fine mist of droplets, like a descending fog, and, as veil on veil of misty blue thickened, the quality of daylight changed to a dim and mysterious azure light. It darkened soon enough, split through by dazzling flares of purple lightning which were reflected in blinding flashes from the faceted and mirrorlike slopes of the mountains. As the blue mist thickened into wetness and mingled with the dull crystal sand of The Barrens, it became pools and puddles ranging in hue from royal purple, deep violet, rose-azure, metallic blue, pure vermilion, and a host of other shades and permutations of colors too rare or too subtle for her to give them a name.
By this time the downfall had become quite heavy. From down-drifting mists, the rain had become a vertical deluge. Crystal powder boiled beneath the impact of a million pelting raindrops; blue rivers sluiced violently between the crystal boulders, dislodging some, which briefly floated like ungainly elfin argosies upon the maelstrom, eventually capsizing.
“Wife, come away before you are splashed,” her husband said fretfully from within the hollow shell of crystal. She was about to comply with his command, as was her usual habit, when an astounding sight seized her attention.
The azure deluge had, a split second before, been lit to noonday dazzle by an unearthly flare of purple lightning. By the sudden glare she had seen, or thought she had seen, a naked and gigantic man stumbling through the downpour. A man taller than any True Human she had ever seen, with the broad, powerful shoulders, the swelling thews and narrow waist and lean hips and long, sinewy legs of a gladiator or a hero out of legend. But what man would be here in The Barrens, a region rumored to be unwholesome in the extreme? And why would he be devoid of clothing and of weapons? Perhaps she had merely glimpsed a mirage, bom of the blue flood and the sudden flash of astral fire….
She waited for another flare of lightning, and when, in a moment, it came, she saw again the bare and mightily muscled figure, stumbling among the lurching crystals, sliding and floundering in the sparkling blue mud.
“Husband! There is a man out there in the storm!”
“More’s the pity for him, then,” the periaptist said peevishly. “Let him seek refuge from the storm as we did. I am certainly not going to venture out into that hellish flood, and neither are you.” Despite the finality in his words, the old artisan crept to the opening and peered out distastefully into the downpour. He, too, saw the naked, stumbling giant, his magnificent physique streaming with the blue precipitate, as nude as a river-nix, stumbling and floundering among the boulders.
“We must help the poor man, husband,” his wife said. Phlesco sighed and groaned. But he knew that tone of voice, and was well aware that when Iminix spoke with just that patient, reasoning intonation in her voice, it was best for his peace of mind and for the serenity of his domestic arrangements that he perform the slight task she desired of him.
Among the thirty or forty amulets, periapts, scarabs, and charms he wore about his scrawny neck was a singularly potent talisman of mauve sandstone which bore the sigil of Urgive, a minor godling
worshiped chiefly by desert-dwellers. Urgive reputedly felt a detestation for water so extreme that his protection, if properly evoked, might serve to deflect the azure deluge, at least long enough for Phlesco to haul the naked and floundering giant into the shelter of their crystal husk.
In the end it took both of them to drag the big man in out of the downpour, for he seemed unable to understand what was happening to him or what it was they were trying to do. Thoroughly soaked by the time they had the giant safe within the hollow crystal, Phlesco huddled next to his wife, feebly cursing the desert godling whose protection had, after all, proved insufficient to deflect the downpour. ‘
The Blue Rain, as he soon discovered, worked on human skin like a dye. Phlesco the periaptist was blue from crown to heel for the entire following month, until at last he regained his accustomed sallow umber.
2. IMINIX THE PSEUDOWOMAN
The Rains ebbed to drizzle, and then to mist again, and by an hour before sunfall they ceased altogether and the two were able to continue their journey.
Of course, there was nothing else to be done but to take the huge youth along with them. Questioning him in an attempt to elicit his name, origin, and circumstances, Phlesco was forced to shrug and give up, for the results were nil. The naked creature, who certainly appeared manlike, did not seem to understand the language spoken by the periaptist. This in itself was odd, for the same universal tongue is spoken across the length and breadth of Gondwane. And, since the land surface of Old-Earth’s last continent in this age totaled sixty million square miles— shared between one hundred and thirty-seven thousand kingdoms, empires, city-states, federations, theocracies, tyrannies, conglomerates, unions, principates, and various degenerate, savage, barbarian or Nonhuman, hordes, all holding the same language in common—you could spend a lifetime of journeys without encountering a sentient creature speaking an unfamiliar language.
From this factor, as well as the floundering and ungainly manner in which the young giant handled himself, Phlesco the periaptist sourly surmised the young giant was an idiot, or at least a cretin. But Iminix pointed out, in that patient, reasonable tone, that even if he was mentally defective, that was all the more reason they could not abandon the helpless wretch to die in the wilderness.
And so they took him along to the north country. He did not seem to know how to ride one of the bird-horses, a species of quadrupedal ornithohippus which had only evolved into being during the last three-quarters of a million years, so they placed him in the wain with their luggage and few rude pieces of household furniture. Exhausted from his ordeal in the storm, he lapped up the meal Iminix gave him and fell asleep.
Iminix was a mere Pseudowoman from Chuu, and not a True Human at all, but he found her congenial and companionable and—although they could have no children, since she was not actually female in the full sense of the biological term—they got on well enough together. He had purchased her when she was but newly budded from the breeding tree, and the act had been prompted more by pity than desire. The Pseudowomen of Chuu are normally of superhuman beauty and unearthly seductiveness, despite the fact that they are not even mammalian creatures. Iminix had a crooked back and a cast in one eye and would have been destroyed by the Breeding-Master had not Phlesco offered a cube of virgin iridium for her. He was not certain why he had done this, but he himself, as an apprentice Godmaker, had taken the involuntary vows of chastity and thus would have found propinquity to a True Human female a constant annoyance and potentially disruptive to his serenity. Yet he needed a combination cook, laundress, and companion: someone with whom to share his thoughts, his aspirations, and his dreams. So he had purchased Iminix.
As for Iminix, she was at first grateful to Phlesco for having saved her from the shredding machine and the compost pit; later, she came to honestly like the irascible little Godmaker for his real virtues. Despite his generally peevish bossiness, he was a genuinely good man, and when his innate goodness fell short, he could, she found, be persuaded into a needed course of action by an appeal to his vanity. She became very fond of him, and he of her; after they had been together for ninety-three years, he cut away the silver bracelet of ownership which encircled her left wrist and married her according to the rites celebrated in Oth-Yom-Barqa.
Only then did she find that she loved him. Of course, it was forever impossible that she could ever bear him a child. Her own condition precluded any possibility of this, but, then, so did his, for the vows of perpetual chastity made by apprentices to the Godmakers’ Guild were irreversible; not by oath alone, but Q-radiation was applied to sterilize the apprentices, and for this no cure had ever been discovered.
Phlesco had graduated with high honors from the college run by the Guild, but Godmakers were something of a glut on the market, he found to his dismay. All the lands about the Smoking Mountains were more than full of them already. So, in the end, he became a traveling periaptist, peddling his wares in town and camp and village, pandering to the superstitions of the seven hundred cults followed by True Humans and Nonhumans in that portion of the supercontinent. It was a bit of a comedown for one trained in the art of designing and creating gods, to be reduced to a humble carver-of-amulets, but it was a living. They made do with what they had, Phlesco and Iminix, and hoped for better times.
After all these years of scrimping and saving, they had finally set aside sufficient funds to journey north to Zer-mish, where Phlesco determined to open a shop: this was the reason for the journey they were undertaking at the time they found Ganelon.
Of course, they did not know he was Ganelon then.
That first night they camped out under the stars. The Moon had not yet risen—when it did, it would occupy an enormous portion of the sky, and would appear many, many times larger than the Moon known in that remote, forgotten era, the Twentieth Century. The denizens of that lost age would have recognized it, nonetheless, for it was Old Earth’s familiar Moon—though it had come far closer to the surface of the planet in the seven hundred million years which had passed since the Twentieth Century.
Some said it had come too close, that soon it would fall and destroy Gondwane. And that would destroy the world itself. For this reason, in after ages, the entire age was named the Eon of the Falling Moon.
It did indeed fall, in a sense, later on. But that’s another story….
So they took him with them to the city. I suppose it was Iminix, with her frustrated dreams of maternal instinct, who impelled them to adopt him. She was, at any rate, too tenderhearted to merely abandon the great helpless lout to perish by the side of the road. Phlesco grumbled and argued, but finally gave in.
He was hardly the babe of which poor Iminix had dreamed. He stood three and one-half farads in height, which made him taller by head and shoulders and upper chest than an ordinary man2 and his physical development was extraordinary. From the smoothness of his skin, the beardlessness of his face, and a certain air of boyish candor and innocence about him, Phlesco assumed him to be a youth, for all of his superlative height and magnificent physique. Some age between fifteen and twenty he surmised.
He would have been mightily disconcerted if he discovered that, in one sense of the word, Ganelon’s age was two hundred million years when they found him wandering in The Barrens, and that, in another sense of the word, he had then been barely seven hours alive.
But we shall get to this matter a bit further on.
Despite his huge size and superb development, he was totally lacking in muscular coordination and as witless as a babe. This, I think, is what most strongly appealed to the protective maternal instincts of Iminix. He was nothing more than an overgrown baby. When he attempted to walk he fell down as often as not; when he tried to speak he babbled mindlessly; and when she tried to feed him he drooled the pap down his massively thewed chest.
