Dying Earth 03: Rhialto the Marvellous by Vance Jack

Author:Vance, Jack [Vance, Jack]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Adventure, Apocalypse, Fantasy, Fiction, High Fantasy, Second World Fantasy
Publisher: Tor / Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 2007-01-01T02:00:00+00:00

13

The hillock and the solitary tree were gone. Rhialto stood on the slope of a stony valley, with a river wandering sluggishly below.

The time seemed to be morning, although a heavy overcast concealed the sky. The air felt raw and damp against his skin; to the east dark wisps of rain drifted down into a black forest.

Rhialto looked about the landscape, but found no evidences of human habitancy: neither fence, farm-house, road, track or path. Rhialto seemed to be alone. Where was Osherl? Rhialto looked here and there in annoyance, then called out: “Osherl! Make yourself known!”

Osherl stepped forward, still the blue-skinned wefkin. “I am here.”

Rhialto indicated the dour landscape. “This does not seem the Age of Gold. Have we come exactly one hundred centuries? Where is Luid Shug?”

Osherl pointed to the north. “Luid Shug is yonder, at the edge of the forest.”

Rhialto brought out the pleurmalion, but the dark blue sky-spot could not be seen for the overcast. “Let us make a closer approach.”

The two coursed north to the site of the sacred city, to discover only a tumble of ruins. Rhialto spoke in perplexity: “This is a most dreary prospect! Where have the gods gone?”

“I will go to Gray Dene and there make inquiry,” said Osherl. “Wait here; in due course I will return with all information.”

“Stop! Hold up!” cried Rhialto. “My question was casual. First find the Perciplex; then you can seek after the gods as long as you like.”

Osherl grumbled under his breath: “You have dawdled away a hundred centuries, yet if I spent a single year in Gray Dene I would still hear threats and abuse on my return. It dulls the edge of one’s initiative.”

“Enough!” said Rhialto. “I am interested only in the Perciplex.”

The two approached the ruins. Wind and weather had worked at the old crater walls so that only traces remained. The temples were rubble; the twenty gods, carved from marble, had likewise eroded to a few toppled fragments, with all their force seeped into the mire.

Rhialto and Osherl walked slowly around the edge of the old city, testing the pleurmalion from time to time, without result.

To the north the forest grew close to the old parapets, and at this point they caught the scent of wood smoke on the wind. Looking here and there, they discovered a crude village of twenty huts just inside the edge of the forest.

“We will make inquiries,” said Rhialto. “I suggest that you change your appearance; otherwise they will think us a queer pair indeed.”

“You should also make alterations. Your hat, for instance, is the shape of an inverted soup-pot, and purple to boot. I doubt if this is the current fashion.”

“There is something in what you say,” admitted Rhialto.

Using the semblance of Lavrentine Redoubtables in glistening armor, barbed and spiked, and with helmets crested with tongues of blue fire, Rhialto and Osherl approached the village, which lacked all charm and smelled poorly.

Rhialto reinforced himself with his glossolary and called out: “Villagers, attention! Two Lavrentine grandees stand nearby; come perform the proper ceremonies of welcome.

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