The Enchantress of World's End, page 1
The Enchantress of World's End.
Gondwane 02
By Lin Carter
Le Scrob
1.
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THE SCARLET CITY
Through the skies of Gondwane the Great, Earth's last and mightiest continent, there floated an extraordinary vehicle. It bore the likeness of an ungainly Phoenix-shaped bird of dark bronze, with spread wings and peacock-tail, measuring some thirty feet from beak to tail-tip. For all that it should have weighed many tons, it soared as lightly as a wisp of cloud through the sides.
Behind the arched neck, and between the broad shoulders of the bronze bird-machine, a cockpit containing six seats was hollowed. The vehicle transported a remarkable foursome. In the "driver's seat,"
so to speak, reposed an elderly but vigorous man robed and gloved in glimmering silks, whose features were perpetually masked from sight behind a visor of lilac vapor. This personage was a powerful but friendly magician known as the Illusionist of Nerelon. For better or for worse, he regarded himself as the benign protector of these regions of north-central-eastern Gondwane—a position of responsibility he had, in a sense, inherited.
Seated beside him was a pert, long-legged, adolescent girl with a snub nose, a pretty, freckled face, sparkling green eyes under a mop of tousled red curls, full lips and a small, stubborn chin. She wore odd bits of steel armor—greaves, girdle, gorget, and the like. Her firm, pointed, tip-tilted breasts were also cupped in steel, and an abbreviated mail-skirt, which barely covered her rounded hips and left her tanned thighs deliciously bare, completed her curiously warlike costume. She was a girl knight from the distant kingdom of Jemmerdy where the women are the warriors and the men are all scholars, administrators, or aesthetes. Her name was Xarda.
Behind these two, uncomfortably squeezed into the second row of seats, towered a gigantic warrior. He had a grim-jawed, heavy-boned face, with fierce black eyes under scowling brows; the dark bronze of his naked hide was offset by his spectacular mane of glittering silver hair which poured over herculean shoulders and down his back. His bronzed torso, bulging with steely thews, was strapped into a war-harness of black leather. Between his shoulders an enchanted Silver Sword was scabbarded. He was a Construct, a synthetic superman created by the Time Gods for some unknown world-saving mission, and his name was Ganelon Silvermane.
I have referred to these persons as a remarkable foursome: the fourth individual of their company, possibly the most unique and curious of them aU, was their bird vehicle itself, called the Bazonga. This animated aerial contraption housed a sentient crystalloid brain, connected by cunning electrodes to vision lenses, ear tympanies and a voice-box. It could thus see, hear, reason and speak; and, as its bronze body was rendered weightless by antigravitic yxium crystals, powered for flight by magnetic waves, it made the perfect companion of their travels.
At the time whereof I write, the four adventurers, having successfully terminated the menace of the Airmasters of Sky Island who had terrorized the Tigermeri of Karjixia*, were enroute from the kingdom of the Tigermen to the realm of Jemmerdy hi the east. The Illusionist had decided that the very least they could do to thank the girl knight for her share in their adventure was to assist her in returning home, before journeying themselves back to the magician's enchanted palace of Nerelon hi the Crystal Mountains, south of the Voormish Desert. They had left the flying island early that morning, after ending the career of the tyrannical Elphod of the Airmasters; and, after a brief visit to Xombol, the capital of the kingdom of the Tigermen, where they had given Prince Vrowl the glad tidings that his difficulties with the troublesome Sky Islanders had been brought to a happy conclusion, they had flown hi the Bazonga bird all day across the regions of Northern YamaYamaLand.
Skirting the northerly borders of the dominions of the Horxites, they had traversed the kingdom of Ixland from west to east; and from thence along the northern slopes of the Mountains of the Death Dwarves. At the present tune they were soaring high above a desolate and barren region called Ning, which was inhabited only by a few monastic settlements of Mind Worshippers. Late afternoon was upon them; the golden sun of Old Earth declined in the west and the bleak landscape beneath their keel was drowned in purple shadows.
"At this rate, my dear Bird, we shall be flying all night, not to reach the capitol of Jemmerdy until sometime tomorrow morning," remarked the Illusionist testily. "Had you not loitered along the way, we might have been in Vladium by now, being wined and dined in the hostelries of Xarda's homeland!"
"Oh dear me, I suppose you're right," their peculiar vehicle clacked carelessly hi her metallic tones. "But the view was so interesting I simply did not have the heart to speed my flight. Don't you find travel broadening, my dear?" the Bazonga asked the girl. "Personally, after so many eons spent deep in the bosom of Gondwane, I find the experience very educational!"
The knightrix of Jemmerdy grinned at the quaint Bazonga, as the ungainly bird artlessly prattled on. "By my halidom, 'tis true," replied the Sirix Xarda wryly, "but we mortals, composed of flesh and blood, unlike yourself, require nutriment and repose. And, if we continue this interminable flight, my dear Bazonga, we are not likely to enjoy either until mid-morn, when the battlements of Vladium will hove into view."
"Perhaps we'd better land at some friendly city along the way, and secure lodgings," grumbled the Illusionist. "It has been so long since luncheon that my digestive processes are no longer on speaking terms with my mouth. Ganelon, you have the map, where are we, exactly?"
The bronze giant consulted the chart which he spread out on his lap. "Near the eastern edge of Ning, master," he replied in his deep voice. The Illusionist nodded briskly.
"Quite so. Well, we are not likely to find lodgings among the Ningevites; they are Mentalists, convinced in the non-existence of soul or spirit, worshipping the mind alone and cultivating its powers, which they augment and develop through the ceremonial imbibing of hallucinogenic drugs. A harsh, fanatic lot, with little inclination towards friendly hospitality. What lies beyond the bleak country of the Mind Worshippers?"
"The Free City of Chx," said Ganelon.
"Aye, that's true; I had forgotten. Chx. A small city-state to the north of Dwarfland, just over the Vanishing Mountains. Surely we can find some manner of hospice, inn or caravanserai in Chx . . ."
"Master—"
"As a matter of fact, it would be interesting to visit Chx," the Illusionist ruminated. "I have not been there in ages—in many years, that is. A colorful city, as I recall, with a local honey-wine most delectable
—"
"But master—"
"—And a spiced meat pie you have to taste to be—"
"Master—"
"—lieve! Well, what is it, my boy?" the Illusionist snapped.
"Um. Nothing, really. But . . . remember how we got into trouble in Holy Horx on the last trip? And we were just going to stop there for the night . . ."
"Stuff and nonsense, Ganelon, you great lump! By the Purple Vortex, lad, have some faith in my powers, can't you? "Rs not for naught that I am deemed preeminent among the magicians, wizards, sorcerers and thau-THE ENCHANTRESS OF WORLD'S END 13
maturgists of Northern YamaYamaLand! Dear me, all we're going to do is take a room at an inn for the night, and enjoy a hot meal and a comfortable bed for once, after roughing it across the length and breadth of Gond-wane all these weeks! You may require only the rudest sustenance to revitalize your mighty frame, but these old bones of mine need a bit of comfort from time to time."
"Yes, master. I'm sorry, master," said Ganelon unhappily. "It's just that I don't want us to get into any more trouble, like we did back hi Horx."
"There is very little likelihood of that, my boy! The Holy Horxites were religious maniacs who considered everybody else in the world despicable heretics! But Chx, as I seem to recall, is a decent, respectable, law-abiding city, now under the benign government of the Ethical Triumvirs—"
"And what are Ethical Triumvirs?" asked Xarda curiously. "By my troth, magister, ne'er heard I of such before."
"Well, ah, actually I'm not quite certain what the term means," admitted the Illusionist. "But the people are ethical and law-abiding in Chx, and not fanatical adherents to any particular sect, like those madmen of Horx. We shall spend a comfortable evening for once, and simply stay out of trouble! Come, no more arguments, now! I've decided on Chx, and that's all there is to it. Ganelon, will you instruct the Bazonga oh the way thither . . ."
The giant warrior did as Ms master bade, and they flew on into the east as the Sun sank in golden splendor behind them. Ere long, the towers of the Scarlet City of Chx rose before them and their ungainly flying vehicle brought them down to land hi the bazaar of the small metropolis.
And thus there was set into motion a sequence of events which was to have exceedingly far-reaching consequences for this portion of Old Earth in the Twilight of Time.
2 - A QUIET EVENING IN CHX
The travelers discovered the Scarlet City to be neat, clean and, as advertized, respectable.
The squares and bazaars of Chx were filled with a quiet, orderly populace who regarded the exotic Outlanders with curious but not unfriendly eyes. Ganelon and Xarda looked about them with interest: flowering trees lined the spacious boulevards, and these were neatly trimmed and clipped. The streets and sidewalks were recently swept and the doorsteps of the Chxian houses were freshly scrubbed, the houses themselves neatly painted. Everythi
The Scarlet City was attractive, with its red towers and bright yellow houses, tinkling fountains and gay bazaars; the people themselves looked comfortable, happy, and well-fed.
The girl knight said in an undertone to Ganelon, "They certainly dress in an odd fashion!" The gjant nodded silently, staring about him. While the Chxians were a pleasant-looking folk, they were robed and coifed with a somberness that he found quaint and odd. The men were clothed in sober hues of gray, brown, black or umber, with tight-fitting hose, knee-breeches, and buckled shoes. The women wore voluminous skirts in the same somber and joyless hues, and these skirts completely covered their lower limbs, while long-sleeved, high-necked bodices covered their upper bodies from neck to wrist Even their hair was covered with stiff cloth, and their faces were devoid of cosmetics. Also, they wore no jewelry.
Even the children, who played quietly before the houses, were dressed in miniature replicas of the adult raiment. Accustomed to screeching, dirty-faced ragamuffins, the Illusionist found their quiet play a welcome relief and pooh-poohed the comments of his fellow adventurers.
"There is nothing here that need disturb us," he said with lazy good humor. "I gather that the Chxians are a highly moral, respectable people: what's wrong with that? So the women don't bare their bosoms, paint their lips, or bedizen themselves with gauds and bangles —what difference does it make? By the Ninth
Plenum, you two worriers would find something to disturb you in the Paradisical Gardens themselves!
Come along, now, and stop grexing!"
Ganelon exchanged a dubious glance with Xarda, then shrugged and fell in behind his master. But, like the girl knight, he found something oppressive in the extreme sobriety of Chx. Despite its bright colors, a gloomy pall of severe puritanism seemed to hang over the quiet streets, the freshly-painted houses, the orderly populace. And all about hung signs which proclaimed a variety of maxims. "STRONG DRINK, WEAK MORALS," one placard reminded. Another announced warningly, "FLIPPANCY IS FATAL,"
while a third glowered down upon them with the grim legend, "WHY SING AND DANCE WHILE
DEATH IS NEAR?" Despite herself, the Sirix shivered slightly.
The Illusionist affably accosted the nearest of the Chxians who stood staring at the strangers curiously, if not disapprovingly.
"Tell me, my good man, is there an inn nearby where weary travelers can find a meal and lodgings for the night?" The Chxian nodded and replied, in neutral tones, that the nearest might be found on the south side of the bazaar square. Thanking him, the old magician led his companions to the threshold of the establishment which termed itself, in sober brown-painted letters, "The Hospice of the Twelve Cardinal Virtues."
"Come, come, you two, stop staring about apprehensively, and let us enter," he said testily.
Within they found a long, low-ceilinged room with tables and oaken benches neatly arranged before a cheerfully-crackling fire on a stone grate. The plaster walls were painted a solemn gray and the wooden rafters were neatly blackwashed; but the odors of meat turning on a si/71 ing spit were appetizing and the taproom, despite its lack of color or ornament, seemed snug and comfortable enough. A plump, sober-faced inn-keeper assigned them rooms for the night at a remarkably low fee and set dishes before them laden with hot meat, brown bread and fresh fruit, together with large mugs of a spiced drink which turned out to be an extremely mild ale whose alcoholic content was virtually nil. Tasting the meat, Ganelon found it a choise cut, but almost tasteless.
"Come, inn-keeper, have you no spices to enliven the flavor?" he grumbled. The placid-faced Chxian stared at him wide-eyed.
"Spices heat the blood and are a toxic moral influence," he said primly. "Solid, nourishing fare is the best."
"Aye, and this ale is excessively bland, by my troth," the girl knight grimaced after tasting it. The innkeeper shrugged.
"Strong drink unhinges the reason and makes quarrelsome the temper," he replied, almost tonelessly, with the air of one repeating a maxim which frequent reiteration had made all but meaningless. "You will find the beverage wholesome and filling, mistress, I am sure."
The Illusionist munched on the tough meat and took a swallow from his mug. He then glanced around at the somber room, whose only note of cheer came from the crackling fire. A number of soberly-dressed Chxians sat about conversing in a monotone, sipping their mugs, paying little or no attention to the Outlanders beyond a single, wide-eyed glance at Xarda's bare legs and Ganelon's skimpy loin-cloth.
"Your taproom seems remarkably quiet tonight," the Illusionist complained. "Can none of these fellows give us a merry tune on lute, pipe, or tambourine?"
The inn-keeper turned a cold eye on him. "Song and dance," he said, with a slight, fastidious shudder,
"are cankers which devour the moral fiber of sinful men. We Chxians abhor the loose morals and ethical decay of foreign realms; sobriety, a clear head, and a quiet, respectable tongue are high among the virtues we celebrate. Your rooms are ready." And with that, and a slight, disapproving sniff, he turned on his heel and left them to then: own devices.
"Hmm," the Illusionist grumped. "A dour lot, these Chxians! Well, let them be as glum and solemn as they please, so long as they let us be. Eat up children, drink deep, soft beds await our weary, toil-worn limbs!"
"Let's hope so," said Ganelon Silvennane gloomily.
Their three rooms were small and bare, devoid of furnishing, save for a narrow bed, a small table bearing a candle-stub in a pewter dish, and a chamberpot. The rooms were identical, even to the frowning placards on the walls which bore stern injunctions against licentious behavior such as
"CONTINENCE LEADS TO QUIET SLUMBER" and "A CHASTE BED IS A RESTFUL BED." The beds themselves, mere cots, were hard and uncomfortable. Nevertheless, weary and well-fed, they were ready to retire.
Ganelon had accompanied the Bazonga to the stables at the rear of the hospice; finding the stalls too small to contain the huge creature, he had tethered her to a zooka-zooka tree in the courtyard. He came clumping up the stair to their adjoining rooms after the termination of this task with a wide grin on his habitually grim features.
"What's so funny, my boy?" inquired the magician.
"The inn-keeper," chuckled Ganelon. "I tied the Bazonga bird to a tree in the courtyard and asked the inn-keeper if she would be safe there for the night on account of thieves. Thieves/ I thought he would fall in a dead faint at the very suggestion. It appears that here in Chx thievery is about as rare as leprosy, and regarded with much the same degree of loathing!'*
Chuckling, they bade each other good-night and turned to then* respective rooms.
Night fell. The immense, cracked orb of the Falling Moon rose over the edges of Gondwane to flood the Supercontinent with silver light. And, with the coming of darkness, a most peculiar change came over the sober, respectable, Galendil-fearing people of Chx.
"Ganelon? Hsst, you great oaf; wake up!"
The giant blinked awake to find the supple, half-naked form of the Sirix Xarda bending over him, shaking his shoulder.
"What's happened—trouble?" he grunted, sitting up and reaching for the Silver Sword.
"/'/f say," hissed the girl knight enigmatically. "Come take a look out of the window!"
The giant obediently clambered out of the cot and crossed the closet-sized room to peer out at the street below through glassy panes. What he saw from the window brought a rumble of astonishment to his lips.
By night, the streets of the Scarlet City were transformed into a fantastic carnival of revelry. Colored paper lanterns were strung across the streets, swinging gaily in the breezes. And through these streets, which by day were so exceptionally sober and respectable, surged a motley throng in gaudy festival garments. Most of the revellers carried flasks and bottles from which they drank heavily, the heady vapors of strong wines and brandies rising to the nostrils of Silvermane and Xarda. Musicians led the dancing throng with the patter of drums, the jingle-tfiMmp-jingle of gay tambourines and the tootle of pipes. Giggling bands of young children, naked except for flower-wreaths, fondled each other in doorways, while beneath every streetlight voluptuous women with unbound hair, their rounded limbs completely devoid of clothing, undulated to a hip-waggling dance.
