Tales of the Dying Earth (30 page)

Without a word the erstwhile princess of Cil went to gather furze. Cugel turned to inspect the dim expanse to the east, voicing an automatic curse upon Lucounu the Laughing Magician, whose rancor had flung him into this northern wasteland.

Derwe Coreme returned with an armful of twigs; Cugel gave a nod of approval. For a brief period after their expulsion from Cil she had carried herself with an inappropriate hauteur, which Cugel had tolerated with a quiet smile for himself. Their first couching had been both eventful and taxing; thereafter Derwe Coreme had modified at least her overt behavior. Her face, delicate and clear of feature, had lost little of its brooding melancholy, but the arrogance had altered, as milk becomes cheese, to a new and wakeful appreciation of reality.

The fire crackled cheerfully; they ate a breakfast of rampion and pulpy black gallberries, while Cugel put questions regarding the lands to the east and south.

Derwe Coreme could return only small information, none of which was optimistic. “The forest is said to be endless. I have heard it called several names: the Great Erm, the Forest of the East, the Lig Thig. To the south you see the Mountains of Magnatz, which are reputedly dreadful.”

“In what respect?” demanded Cugel. “The knowledge is of importance; we must cross these mountains on our way to Almery.”

Derwe Coreme shook her head. “I have heard only hints, and paid no great heed, as never did I expect to visit the region.”

“Nor I,” grumbled Cugel. “Were it not for Lucounu I would be elsewhere.”

A spark of interest animated the listless face. “Who is this Lucounu?”

“A detestable wizard of Almery. He has a boiled squash for a head, and flaunts a mindless grin. In every way he is odious, and displays the spite of a scalded eunuch.”

Derwe Coreme's mouth moved in a small cool smile. “And you antagonized this wizard.”

“Bah! It was nothing. For a trivial slight he flung me north on an impossible mission. I am not Cugel the Clever for nothing! The mission is achieved and now I return to Almery.”

“And what of Almery — is this a pleasant land?”

“Pleasant enough, compared to this desolation of forest and mist. Still, imperfections exist. Wizardry is rife, and justice is not invariable, as I have intimated.”

“Tell me more of Almery. Are there cities? Are there folk other than rogues and wizards?”

Cugel frowned. “Certain cities exist, sad shadows of bygone glory. There is Azenomei, where the Xzan joins Scaum Flow, and Kaiin in Ascolais, and others along the shore opposite Kauchique, where the folk are of great subtlety.”

Derwe Coreme nodded thoughtfully. “I will go to Almery. In your company, from which I can soon recover.”

Cugel glanced at her sidewise, not liking the flavor of the remark, but before he could particularize, she asked, “What lands lie between us and Almery?”

“They are wide and dangerous and peopled by gids, erbs, and deodands, as well as leucomorphs, ghouls and grues. Otherwise I am ignorant. If we survive the journey, it will be a miracle indeed.”

Derwe Coreme looked wistfully back toward Cil, then shrugged and became silent.

The frugal meal was at its end. Cugel leaned back against the byre, to enjoy the warmth of the fire, but Firx would allow no respite, and Cugel, grimacing, jumped to his feet. “Come; we must set forth. The spite of lu-counu permits no less.”

Down the slope they walked, following what appeared to be an old road. The landscape changed. Heath gave way to a damp bottomland; presently they came to the forest Cugel eyed the gloomy shadows with distrust. “We must go quietly, and hope to arouse nothing baneful. I will watch ahead, and you behind, to ensure that nothing follows to leap on our backs.”

“We will lose our way.”

“The sun hangs in the south: this is our guide.”

Derwe Coreme shrugged once more; they plunged forward into the shade. The trees stood tall overhead and the sunlight, filtered through the foliage, only exaggerated the gloom. Coming upon a stream, they walked along its banks and presently entered a glade where flowed a brimming river.

On the bank near a moored raft sat four men in ragged garments. Cugel looked Derwe Coreme over critically, and took the jeweled buttons from her garments. “These by all odds are bandits and we must lull their cupidity, even though they seem a poor lot.”

“Better that we avoid them,” said Derwe Coreme. “They are animals, no better.”

Cugel demurred. “We need their raft and their guidance, which we must command; if we supplicate, they will believe themselves to have a choice, and become captious.” He strode forward and Derwe Coreme willy-nilly was forced to follow.

The rogues did not improve upon closer view. Their hair was long and, matted, their faces gnarled, with eyes like beetles and mouths showing foul yellow teeth. Withal, their expressions were mild enough, and they watched Cugel and Derwe Coreme approach with wariness rather than belligerence. One of them, it so appeared, was a woman, though this was hardly evident from garments, face or refinement of manner. Cugel gave them a salute of lordly condescension, at which they blinked in puzzlement.

“What people are you?” asked Cugel.

“We call ourselves Busiacos,” responded the oldest of the men. “It is both our race and our family; we make no differentiation, being somewhat polyandrous by habit.”

“You are denizens of the forest, familiar with its routes and trails?”

“Such is a fair description,” admitted the man, “though our knowledge is local. Remember, this is the Great Erm, which sweeps on league after league without termination.”

“No matter,” said Cugel. “We require only transfer across the river, then guidance upon a secure route to the lands of the south.”

The man consulted the others of his group; all shook their heads. “There is no such route; the Mountains of Magnate lie in the way.”

“Indeed,” said Cugel.

“If I were to ferry you across the river,” continued the old Busiaco, “you would be as good as dead, for the region is haunted by erbs and grues. Your sword would be useless, and you carry only the weakest magic — this I know for we Busiacos smell magic as an erb sniffs out meat.”

“How then may we Achieve our destination?” demanded Cugel.

The Busiacos showed little interest in the question. But the man next in age to the eldest, glancing at Derwe Coreme, had a sudden idea, and looked across the river as if pondering. The effort presently overwhelmed him, and he shook his head in defeat.

Cugel, observing carefully, asked, “What baffles you?”

“A problem of no great complexity,” replied the Busiaco. “We have small practice in logic and any difficulty thwarts us. I only speculated as to which of your belongings you would exchange for guidance through the forest.”

Cugel laughed heartily. “A good question. But I own only what you see: namely garments, shoes, cape and sword, all of which are necessary to me. Though, for a fact, I know an incantation which can produce a jeweled button or two.”

“These would be small inducement. In a nearby crypt jewels are heaped as high as my head.”

Cugel rubbed his jaw reflectively. “The generosity of the Busiacos is everywhere known; perhaps you will lead us past this crypt.”

The Busiaco made a gesture of indifference. “If you wish, although it is adjacent to the den of a great mother gid, now in oestrus.”

“We will proceed directly toward the south,” said Cugel. “Come, let us depart at once.”

The Busiaco maintained his stubborn crouch. “You have no inducement to offer?”

“Only my gratitude, which is no small matter.”

“What of the woman? She is somewhat gaunt, but not unappealing. Since you must die in the Mountains of Magnatz, why waste the woman?”

“True.” Cugel turned to look at Derwe Coreme. “Perhaps we can come to terms.”

“What?” she gasped in outrage. “Do you dare suggeest such a thing? I will drown myself in the riverl”

Cugel took her aside. “I am not called Cugel the Clever for nothing,” he hissed in her ear. “Trust me to outwit this moon-calf!”

Derwe Coreme surveyed him with distrust, then turned away, tears of bitter anger streaming down her cheeks. Cugel addressed the Busiaco. “Your proposal is clearly the better part of wisdom; so now, let us be off.”

“The woman may remain here,” said the Busiaco, rising to his feet “We walk an enchanted path and rigid discipline is necessary.”

Derwe Coreme took a determined stride toward the river. “No!” cried Cugel hastily. “She is of sentimental temperament, and wishes to see me safely on my way to the Mountains of Magnatz, even though it means my certain death.”

The Busiaco shrugged. “It is all one.” He led them aboard the raft, cast oS the rope, and poled across the river. The water seemed shallow, the pole never descending more than a foot or two. It seemed to Cugel that wading across would have been simplicity itself.

The Busiaco, observing, said, “The river swarms with glass reptiles, and an unwary man, stepping forth, is instantly attacked.”

“Indeed!” said Cugel, eying the river dubiously.

“Indeed. And now I must caution you as to the path. We will meet all manner of persuasions, but as you value your life, do not step aside from where I lead.”

The raft reached the opposite bank; the Busiaco stepped ashore and made it fast to a tree. “Come now, after me.” He plunged confidently off among the trees. Derwe Coreme followed, with Cugel coming in the rear. The trail was so faint that Cugel could not distinguish it from the untrodden forest, but the Busiaco never faltered. The sun, hanging low behind the trees, could be glimpsed only infrequently, and Cugel was never certain of the direction they traveled. So they proceeded, through sylvan solitudes where not so much as a bird-call could be heard.

The sun, passing its zenith, began to descend, and the trail became no more distinct. Cugel at last called ahead, “You are certain of the trail? It seems that we veer left and right at random.”

The Busiaco stopped to explain. “We of the forest are an ingenuous folk, but we have this peculiar facility.” He tapped his splayed nose significantly. “We can smell out magic. The trail we follow was ordained at a time too remote to be recalled, and yields its direction only to such as ourselves.”

“Possibly so,” said Cugel petulantly. “But it seems overly circuitous, and where are the fearsome creatures you mentioned? I have seen only a vole, and nowhere have I sensed the distinctive odor of the erb.”

The Busiaco shook his head in perplexity. “Unaccountably they have taken themselves elsewhere. Surely you do not complain? Let us proceed, before they return.” And he set forth once again, by a track no less indistinguishable than before.

The sun sank low. The forest thinned somewhat; scarlet rays slanted along the aisles, burnishing gnarled roots, gilding fallen leaves. The B.usiaco stepped into a clearing, where he swung about with an air of triumph. “I have successfully achieved our goal!”

“How so?” demanded Cugel. “We are still deep in the forest.”

The Busiaco pointed across the clearing. “Notice the four well-marked and distinct trails?”

“This seems to be the case,” Cugel admitted grudgingly.

“One of these leads to the southern verge. The others plunge into the forest depths, branching variously along the way.”

Derwe Coreme, peering through the branches, uttered a sharp ejaculation. “There, fifty paces yonder, is the river and the raft!”

Cugel turned the Busiaco a dire look. “What of all this?”

The Busiaco nodded solemnly. “Those fifty paces lack the protection of magic. I would have been scamping my responsibility to convey us here by the direct route. And now—” He advanced to Derwe Coreme, took her arm, then turned back to Cugel. “You may cross the glade, whereupon I will instruct you as to which trail leads to the southern verge.” And he busied himself fixing a cord about Derwe Coreme's waist. She resisted with a fervor and was only subdued by a blow and a curse. “This is to prevent any sudden leaps or excursions,” the Busiaco told Cugel with a sly wink. “I am not too fleet of foot and when I wish the woman I do not care to pursue her here and there. But are you not in haste? The sun declines, and after dark the leucomorphs appear.”

“Well then, which of the trails leads to the southern verge?” Cugel asked in a frank manner.

“Cross the clearing and I will so inform you. Of course, if you distrust my instructions, you may make your own choice. But remember, I have vigorously exerted myself for a waspish, gaunt and anemic woman. As of now we are at quits.”

Cugel looked dubiously across the clearing, then to Derwe Coreme, who watched in sick dismay. Cugel spoke cheerfully. “Well, it seems to be for the best. The Mountains of Magnatz are notoriously dangerous. You are at least secure with this uncouth rogue.”

“No!” she screamed. “Let me free of this rope! He is a cheat; you have been duped! Cugel the Clever? Cugel the Fool!”

“Such language is vulgar,” stated Cugel. “The Busiaco and I struck a bargain, which is to say, a sacred covenant, which must be discharged.”

“Kill the brute!” cried Derwe Coreme. “Employ your swordl The edge of the forest cannot be far away!”

“An incorrect trail might lead into the heart of the Great Erm,” argued Cugel. He raised his arm in farewell. “Far better to drudge for this hirsute ruffian than risk death in the Mountains of Magnatz!”

The Busiaco grinned in agreement, and gave the line a proprietary jerk. Cugel hurried across the clearing with Derwe Coreme's imprecations ringing in his ears, until she was silenced by some means Cugel did not observe. The Busiaco called, “By chance you are approaching the correct path. Follow and you shall presently come to an inhabited place.”

Cugel returned a final salute and set forth. Derwe Coreme gave a scream of hysterical mirth: “Cugel the Clever he calls himself! What an extravagant joke!”

Cugel proceeded quickly along the trail, somewhat troubled. “The woman is a monomaniac!” he told himself. “She lacks clarity and perceptiveness; how could I have done else, for her welfare and my own? I am rationality personified; it is unthinking to insist otherwisel”

Scarcely a hundred paces from the clearing the trail emerged from the forest Cugel stopped short. Only a hundred paces? He pursed his lips. By some curious coincidence three other trails likewise left the forest nearby, all converging to one near where he stood. “Interesting,” said Cugel. “It is almost tempting to return to seek out the Busiaco and exact some sort of explanation....”