Rhialto winced. “I as well?”
Shalukhe, preoccupied with her own musings, ignored the remark. “At the Court of the East-Rising Moon I was Paragon, the Best of the Best! Gentlemen of rank came eagerly to touch my hand; when I passed, my perfume evoked sighs of wistful passion and sometimes, after I passed, I heard muffled exclamations, which I took to signify admiration. Here I am shunned as if I were the Worst of the Worst; no one cares whether I leave a perfume in my wake or the odor of a pig-sty. I have become gloomy and full of doubts. Am I so bland, dull and tiresome that I instill apathy everywhere I go?”
Rhialto leaned back in his seat and stared towards the sky. “Absurdity! Mirage! Dream-madness!”
Shalukhe smiled a tremulous bitter-sweet smile. “If you had treated me shamefully, and ravished me to your desires, at least I would have been left with my pride. Your courteous detachment leaves me with nothing.”
Rhialto at last found his voice. “You are the most perverse of all maidens! How often my hands have tingled and twitched to seize you; always I have held back so that you might feel secure and easy! And now you accuse me of cold blood and call me a crocodile! My graceful and poetic restraint you choose to regard as senile disability. It is I who should feel the pangs!”
Jumping to his feet, Rhialto went to sit beside her; he took her hands. “The most beautiful maidens are also the most cruel! Even now you use a subtle means to rack my emotions!”
“Oh? Tell me, so that I may do it again.”
“You are troubled because I seemed to ignore your presence. But, by this reasoning, you would feel equally diminished in your pride had the man been Dulce-Lolo with his expressive feet, or Zilifant, or even Byzant the Necrope. That it was I, Rhialto, who treated you so shabbily seems to be incidental! My own vanity now torments me; am I then so unappealing? Do you feel not the slightest regard for me?”
Shalukhe the Swimmer at last smiled. “Rhialto, I will say this: were you Dulce-Lolo, or Zilifant, or Byzant, or any other than Rhialto, I would not be sitting here holding your hands so tightly in my own.”
Rhialto sighed in relief. He drew her close; their faces met. “Confusions and cross-purposes: they are now resolved; perhaps the Twenty-first Aeon now seems a less dismal time.”
Shalukhe looked sidelong towards the sun where it hung low over the River Ts. “To a certain extent. Still, what if the sun goes out even while we sit here: what then?”
Rhialto rose to his feet and pulled her up after him; he kissed the upturned face. “Who knows? The sun may totter and lurch still another hundred years!”
The maiden sighed and pointed. “Ah! Notice how it blinks! It seems tired and troubled! But perhaps it will enjoy a restful night.”
Rhialto whispered a comment in her ear, to the effect that she should not expect the same. She gave his arm a tug, and the two, close together, walked slowly back to Falu.
III
Morreion
1
The archveult Xexamedes, digging gentian roots in Were Wood, became warm with exertion. He doffed his cloak and returned to work, but the glint of blue scales was noticed by Herark the Harbinger and the diabolist Shrue. Approaching by stealth they leapt forth to confront the creature. Then, flinging a pair of nooses about the supple neck, they held him where he could do no mischief.
After great effort, a hundred threats and as many lunges, twists and charges on the part of Xexamedes, the magicians dragged him to the castle of Ildefonse, where other magicians of the region gathered in high excitement.
In times past Ildefonse had served the magicians as preceptor and he now took charge of the proceedings. He first inquired the archveult’s name.
“I am Xexamedes, as well you know, old Ildefonse!”
“Yes,” said Ildefonse, “I recognize you now, though my last view was your backside, as we sent you fleeting back to Jangk. Do you realize that you have incurred death by returning?”
“Not so, Ildefonse, since I am no longer an archveult of Jangk. I am an immigrant of Earth; I declare myself reverted to the estate of a man. Even my fellows hold me in low esteem.”
“Well and good,” said Ildefonse. “However, the ban was and is explicit. Where do you now house yourself?” The question was casual, and Xexamedes made an equally bland response.
“I come, I go; I savor the sweet airs of Earth, so different from the chemical vapors of Jangk.”
Ildefonse was not to be put off. “What appurtenances did you bring: specifically, how many IOUN stones?”
“Let us talk of other matters,” suggested Xexamedes. “I now wish to join your local coterie, and, as a future comrade to all present, I find these nooses humiliating.”
The short-tempered Hurtiancz bellowed, “Enough impudence! What of the IOUN stones?”
“I carry a few such trinkets,” replied Xexamedes with dignity.
“Where are they?”
Xexamedes addressed himself to Ildefonse. “Before I respond, may I inquire your ultimate intentions?”
Ildefonse pulled at his white beard and raised his eyes to the chandelier. “Your fate will hinge upon many factors. I suggest that you produce the IOUN stones.”
“They are hidden under the floorboards of my cottage,” said Xexamedes in a sulky voice.
“Which is situated where?”
“At the far edge of Were Wood.”
Rhialto the Marvellous leapt to his feet. “All wait here! I will verify the truth of the statement!”
The sorcerer Gilgad held up both arms. “Not so fast! I know the region exactly! I will go!”
Ildefonse spoke in a neutral voice. “I hereby appoint a committee to consist of Rhialto, Gilgad, Mune the Mage, Hurtiancz, Kilgas, Ao of the Opals, and Barbanikos. This group will go to the cottage and bring back all contraband. The proceedings are adjourned until your return.”
