"Vance, Jack - Dying Earth 01 - The Dying Earth (Mazirian the Magician)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Vance Jack)

"What reward do they demand?"
"They kill those whom they transport."
"Ah, witch," exclaimed Etarr, "even with your will drugged and your answer willy-nilly honest, you contrive to harm us." He stood towering over the beautiful evil of red hair and wet lips. "How may we get to the god unharmed and unmolested?"
"You must put the winged creatures under a charge."
"Summon the things," Etarr ordered, "and place them under the charge; and bind them with all the sorcery you know."
Javanne called the creatures; they settled flapping on great leather wings. She placed them under a pact of safety, and they whined and stamped with disappointment.
And the three mounted, and the creatures took them swiftly through the night air, which already smelled of morning.
East, ever east. Dawn came, and the dim red sun ballooned slowly upward into the dark sky. The black Maurenron Range passed under; and the misty Land of the Falling Wall was left behind. To the south were the deserts of Almery, and an ancient sea-bed filled with jungle; to the north, the wild forests.
All during the day they flew, over dusty waste, dry cliffs, another great range of mountains, and as sunset came they slowly sloped downward over a green parkland.
Ahead shone a glimmering sea. The winged things landed on the wide strand, and Javanne bound them to immobility for their return.
The beach, the woodland behind, both were bare of any trace of the wondrous city of the past. But a half-mile out to sea rose a few broken columns.
"The sea has come," Etarr muttered. "The city has foundered."
He waded out. The sea was calm and shallow. T'sais and Javanne followed. With the water around their waists, and dusk coming from the sky, they came through the broken columns of the ancient temple.
A brooding presence pervaded the place, dispassionate, supernal, of illimitable will and power.
Etarr stood in the center of the old temple.
"God of the past!" he cried. "I know not how you were called, or I would invoke you by name. We three come from a far land to the west to seek justice of you. If you hear and will administer us each our due, give me a sign!"
A low sibilant voice from the air: "I hear and will give each his due." And each saw a vision of a golden six-armed figure with a round, calm face, sitting impassive in the nave of a monstrous temple.
"I have been bereft of my face," said Etarr. "If you deem me fit, restore me the face I once wore."
The god of the vision extended its six arms.
"I have searched your mind. Justice shall be meted. You may remove your hood." Slowly Etarr doffed his mask. He put his hand to his face. It was his own.
T'sais looked numbly at him. "Etarr!" she gasped. "My brain is whole! I seeЧI see the world!"
"To each who comes, justice is done," said the sibilant voice.
They heard a moan. They turned and looked at Javanne. Where was the lovely face, the strawberry mouth, the fair skin?
Her nose was a three-fold white squirming thing, her mouth a putrefying blotch. She had dangling mottled jowls and a peaked black forehead. The only thing left of Javanne was the long red hair dangling over her shoulders.
"To each who comes, justice is done," said the voice, and the vision of the temple faded, and once more the cool water of the twilight sea lapped at their waists, and the broken columns leaned black on the sky.
They returned slowly to the winged creatures.
Etarr turned to Javanne. "Go," he commanded. "Fly back to your lair. When the sun sets tomorrow, release yourself from the spell. Never bother us henceforth, for I have magic which will warn me and blast you if you approach."
And Javanne wordlessly bestrode her dark creature and winged off through the night.
Etarr turned to T'sais, and took her hand. He gazed down at her tilted white face, into the eyes glowing with such feverish joy that they seemed afire. He bent and kissed her forehead; then, together, hand in hand, they went to their fretting winged creatures, and so flew back to Ascolais.


4. LIANE THE WAYFARER



THROUGH THE dim forest came Liane the Wayfarer, passing along the shadowed glades with a prancing light-footed gait. He whistled, he caroled, he was plainly in high spirits. Around his finger he twirled a bit of wrought bronzeЧa circlet graved with angular crabbed characters, now stained black.
By excellent chance he had found it, banded around the root of an ancient yew. Hacking it free, he had seen the characters on the inner surfaceЧrude forceful symbols, doubtless the cast of a powerful antique rune . . . Best take it to a magician and have it tested for sorcery.
Liane made a wry mouth. There were objections to the course. Sometimes it seemed as if all living creatures conspired to exasperate him. Only this morning, the spice merchantЧwhat a tumult he had made dying! How carelessly he had spewed blood on Liane's cock comb sandals! Still, thought Liane, every unpleasantness carried with it compensation. While digging the grave he had found the bronze ring.
And Liane's spirits soared; he laughed in pure joy. He bounded, he leapt. His green cape flapped behind him, the red feather in his cap winked and blinked . . . But stillЧ Liane slowed his stepЧhe was no whit closer to the mystery of the magic, if magic the ring possessed.
Experiment, that was the word!
He stopped where the ruby sunlight slanted down without hindrance from the high foliage, examined the ring, traced the glyphs with his fingernail. He peered through. A faint film, a flicker? He held it at arm's length. It was clearly a coronet. He whipped off his cap, set the band on his brow, rolled his great golden eyes, preened himself . . . Odd. It slipped down on his ears. It tipped across his eyes. Darkness. Frantically Liane clawed it off ... A bronze ring, a hand's-breadth in diameter. Queer.
He tried again. It slipped down over his head, his shoulders. His head was in the darkness of a strange separate space. Looking down, he saw the level of the outside light dropping as he dropped the ring.
Slowly down . . . Now it was around his anklesЧand in sudden panic, Liane snatched the ring up over his body, emerged blinking into the maroon light of the forest.
He saw a blue-white, green-white flicker against the foliage. It was a Twk-man, mounted on a dragon-fly, and light glinted from the dragon-fly's wings.
Liane called sharply, "Here, sir! Here, sir!"
The Twk-man perched his mount on a twig. "Well, Liane, what do you wish?"
"Watch now, and remember what you see." Liane pulled the ring over his head, dropped it to his feet, lifted it back. He looked up to the Twk-man, who was chewing a leaf. "And what did you see?"
"I saw Liane vanish from mortal sightЧexcept for the red curled toes of his sandals. All else was as air."
"Ha!" cried Liane. "Think of it! Have you ever seen the like?"
The Twk-man asked carelessly, "Do you have salt? I would have salt."