Rhialto had already expressed his concern at the direction of events. Now he spoke again, more emphatically. “It is all very well to point out that the man lacks facility; as he asserts, sheer force can overpower sophistication.”
Ildefonse said bluffly, “Morreion’s force is that of hysteria, diffuse and undirected.”
“Therein lies the danger! What if by some freak his wrath focuses upon us?”
“Bah, what then?” demanded Ildefonse. “Do you doubt my ability, or your own?”
“The prudent man anticipates contingencies,” said Rhialto with dignity. “Remember, a certain area of Morreion’s life remains clouded.”
Ildefonse tugged thoughtfully at his white beard. “The aeons have altered all of us; Morreion not the least of any.”
“This is the core of my meaning,” said Rhialto. “I might mention that not an hour since I essayed a small experiment. Morreion walked the third balcony, watching the stars pass by. His attention being diverted, I took occasion to project a minor spell of annoyance towards him — Houlart’s Visceral Pang — but with no perceptible effect. Next I attempted the diminutive version of Lugwiler’s Dismal Itch, again without success. I noted, however, his IOUN stones pulsed bright as they absorbed the magic. I tried my own Green Turmoil; the stones glowed bright and this time Morreion became aware of the attention. By happy chance Byzant the Necrope passed by. Morreion put an accusation upon him, which Byzant denied. I left them engaged in contention. The instruction is this: first, Morreion’s stones guard him from hostile magic; second, he is vigilant and suspicious; third, he is not one to shrug aside an offense.”
Ildefonse nodded gravely. “We must certainly take these matters into consideration. I now appreciate the scope of Xexamedes’s plan: he intended harm to all. But behold in the sky yonder! Is that not the constellation Elektha, seen from obverse? We are in familiar precincts once more. Kerkaju must lie close ahead, and with it that extraordinary planet Jangk.”
The two strolled to the forward part of the pavilion. “You are right!” exclaimed Rhialto. He pointed. “There is Kerkaju; I recognize its scarlet empharism!”
The planet Jangk appeared: a world with a curious dull sheen.
At Morreion’s direction, Vermoulian directed the palace down to Smokedancers Bluff, at the southern shore of the Quicksilver Ocean. Guarding themselves against the poisonous air, the magicians descended the marble steps and walked out on the bluff, where an inspiring vista spread before them. Monstrous Kerkaju bulged across the green sky, every pore and flocculation distinct, its simulacrum mirrored in the Quicksilver Ocean. Directly below, at the base of the bluff, quicksilver puddled and trickled across flats of black hornblende; here the Jangk ‘dragoons’ — purple pansy-shaped creatures six feet in diameter — grazed on tufts of moss. Somewhat to the east the town Kaleshe descended in terraces to the shore.
Morreion, standing at the edge of the bluff, inhaled the noxious vapors which blew in from the ocean, as if they were a tonic. “My memory quickens,” he called out. “I remember this scene as if it were yesterday. There have been changes, true. Yonder far peak has eroded to half its height; the bluffs on which we stand have been thrust upwards at least a hundred feet. Has it been so long? While I built my cairns and pored over my books the aeons flitted past. Not to mention the unknown period I rode through space on a disk of blood and star-stuff. Let us proceed to Kaleshe; it was formerly the haunt of the archveult Persain.”
“When you encounter your enemies, what then?” asked Rhialto. “Are your spells prepared and ready?”
“What need I for spells?” grated Morreion. “Behold!” He pointed his finger; a flicker of emotion spurted forth to shatter a boulder. He clenched his fists; the constricted passion cracked as if he had crumpled stiff parchment. He strode off toward Kaleshe, the magicians trooping behind.
The Kalsh had seen the palace descend; a number had gathered at the top of the bluff. Like the archveults they were sheathed in pale blue scales. Osmium cords constricted the black plumes of the men; the feathery green plumes of the women, however, waved and swayed as they walked. All stood seven feet tall, and were slim as lizards.
Morreion halted. “Persain, stand forth!” he called.
One of the men spoke: “There is no Persain at Kaleshe.”
“What? No archveult Persain?”
“None of this name. The local archveult is a certain Evorix, who departed in haste at the sight of your peregrine palace.”
“Who keeps the town records?”
Another Kalsh stepped forth. “I am that functionary.”
“Are you acquainted with Persain the archveult?”
“I know by repute a Persain who was swallowed by a harpy towards the end of the 21st Aeon.”
Morreion uttered a groan. “Has he evaded me? What of Xexamedes?”
“He is gone from Jangk; no one knows where.”
“Djorin?”
“He lives, but keeps to a pink pearl castle across the ocean.”
“Aha! What of Ospro?”
“Dead.”
Morreion gave another abysmal groan. “Vexel?”
“Dead.”
Morreion groaned once more. Name by name he ran down the roster of his enemies. Four only survived.
When Morreion turned about his face had become haunted and haggard; he seemed not to see the magicians of Earth. All of his scarlet and blue stones had given up their color. “Four only,” he muttered. “Four only to receive the charge of all my force … Not enough, not enough! So many have won free! Not enough, not enough! The balance must adjust!” He made a brusque gesture. “Come! To the castle of Djorin!”
In the palace they drifted across the ocean while the great red globe of Kerkaju kept pace above and below. Cliffs of mottled quartz and cinnabar rose ahead; on a crag jutting over the ocean stood a castle in the shape of a great pink pearl.
The peregrine palace settled upon a level area; Morreion leapt down the steps and advanced toward the castle. A circular door of solid osmium rolled back; an archveult nine feet tall, with black plumes waving three feet over his head, came forth.
Morreion called, “Send forth Djorin; I have dealings with him.”
“Djorin is within! We have had a presentiment! You are the land-ape Morreion, from the far past. Be warned; we are prepared for you.”
“Djorin!” called Morreion. “Come forth!”
“Djorin will not come forth,” stated the archveult, “nor will Arvianid, Ishix, Herclamon, or the other archveults of Jangk who have come to combine their power against yours. If you seek vengeance, turn upon the real culprits; do not annoy us with your peevish complaints.” The archveult returned within and the osmium door rolled shut.
Morreion stood stock-still. Mune the Mage came forward, and stated: “I will winkle them out, with Houlart’s Blue Extractive.” He hurled the spell toward the castle, to no effect. Rhialto attempted a spell of brain pullulations, but the magic was absorbed; Gilgad next brought down his Instantaneous Galvanic Thrust, which spattered harmlessly off the glossy pink surface.
