The pot-boy begged Cugel to desist. “What difference does it make? A doomed man needs no such elegant footwear!”
“I will be the judge of that,” said Cugel. “Do you expect me to walk barefoot to my death in the Mountains of Magnatz? Be off with you!” And he sent the wretched lad sprawling down the hall.
In the morning at breakfast he spoke of the incident to the landlord, who showed no great interest. When it came time to settle his score, Cugel tossed one of the jeweled buttons upon the counter. “Fix, if you will, a fair value upon this gem, subtract the score and give me my change in gold coins.”
The landlord examined the ornament, pursed his lips and cocked his head to the side. “The total of the charges to your account exactly equals the worth of this trinket — there is no change forthcoming.”
“What?” stormed Cugel. “This clear aquamarine flanked by four emeralds? For a cup or two of poor wine, a porridge and sleep disturbed by the villainy of your pot-boy? Is this a tavern or a bandit lair?”
The landlord shrugged. “The charges are somewhat in excess of the usual fee, but money mouldering in the pockets of a corpse serves no one.”
Cugel at last extracted several gold coins from the landlord together with a parcel of bread, cheese and wine. The landlord came to the door, pointed. “There is but a single trail, that leading south. The Mountains of Magnatz rise before you. Farewell.”
Not without foreboding, Cugel set off to the south. For a space the trail led past the tillage of local peasants; then as the foothills bulked to either side, the trail became first a track, then a trace winding along a dry riverbed, beside thickets of prickle-bush, spurge, yarrow, asphodel. Along the crest of the hill paralleling the trail grew a tangle of stunted oak and Cugel, thinking to improve his chances for going unobserved, climbed to the ridge and continued in the shelter of the foliage.
The air was clear, the sky a brilliant dark blue. The sun wallowed up to the zenith and Cugel bethought himself of the food he carried in his pouch. He seated himself, but as he did so the motion of a skipping dark shadow caught his eye. His blood chilled. The creature surely meant to leap upon his back.
Cugel pretended not to notice, and presently the shadow moved forward again: a deodand, taller and heavier than himself, black as midnight except for shining white eyes, white teeth and claws, wearing straps of leather to support a green velvet skirt.
Cugel debated his best course of action. Face to face, chest to chest, the deodand would tear him to pieces. With his sword ready, Cugel might hack and stab and hold the creature at bay until its frenzy for blood overcame its fear of pain and it flung itself forward regardless of hurt. Possibly Cugel was more fleet, and might out-distance the creature, but only after a long and dogged pursuit … It slipped forward again, to stand behind a crumbling outcrop twenty paces down-slope from where Cugel sat. As soon as it had disappeared, Cugel ran to the outcrop, jumped to the top. Here he lifted a heavy stone and as the deodand came skulking below, threw it down upon the creature’s back. It toppled to lie kicking, and Cugel jumped down to deliver the death-stroke. The deodand had pulled himself against the rock and hissed in horror at the sight of Cugel’s naked blade. “Hold your stroke,” it said. “You gain nothing by my death.”
“Only the satisfaction of killing one who planned to devour me.”
“A sterile pleasure!”
“Few pleasures are otherwise,” said Cugel. “But while you live, inform me regarding the Mountains of Magnatz.”
“They are as you see: stern mountains of ancient black rock.”
“And what of Magnatz?”
“I have no knowledge of any such entity.”
“What? The men to the north shudder at the very word!”
The deodand pulled himself slightly more erect. “This well may be. I have heard the name, and consider it no more than a legend of old.”
“Why do travelers go south and none go north?”
“Why should anyone seek to travel north? As for those coming south, they have provided food for myself and my fellows.” And the deodand inched himself up. Cugel picked up a great stone, held it aloft, dashed it down upon the black creature, which fell back, kicking feebly. Cugel picked up another stone.
“Hold!” called the deodand in a faint voice. “Spare me, and I will aid you to life.”
“How is this?” asked Cugel.
“You seek to travel south; others like me inhabit caves along the way: how can you escape them unless I guide you by ways they do not frequent?”
“You can do this?”
“If you undertake to spare my life.”
“Excellent. But I must take safeguards; in your lust for blood you might ignore the agreement.”
“You have maimed me; what further security do you need?” cried the deodand. Cugel nevertheless bound the creature’s arms and arranged a halter around the thick black neck.
In such fashion they proceeded, the deodand limping and hopping, and directing Cugel by a circuitous route above certain caves.
The mountains lifted higher; winds boomed and echoed down the stone canyons. Cugel continued to question the deodand regarding Magnatz, but elicited only the opinion that Magnatz was a creature of fable.
At last they came to a sandy flat high above the lowlands, which the deodand declared beyond the zone of his particular sept.
“What lies beyond?” asked Cugel.
“I have no knowledge; this is the limit of my wandering. Now release me and go your way, and I will return to my people.”
Cugel shook his head. “Night is not too far distant. What is to prevent you from following to attack me once again? Best that I kill you.”
The deodand laughed sadly. “Three others follow us. They have kept their distance only because I waved them back. Kill me and you will never wake to see the morning sun.”
“We will travel further together,” said Cugel.
“As you wish.”
Cugel led the way south, the deodand limping to the rear. The valley became a chasm floored with giant boulders, and looking back Cugel saw black shapes moving among the shadows. The deodand grinned meaningfully at Cugel. “You would be well to halt at once; why wait until dark? Death comes with less horror while the light shines.”
Cugel made no response, but pressed forward with all speed. The trail left the valley, climbed to a high meadow where the air blew cool. Larch, kaobab and balm-cedar grew to either side, and a stream ran among grasses and herbs. The deodand began to evince uneasiness, jerking at its halter, limping with exaggerated debility. Cugel could see no reason for the display: the countryside, except for the presence of the deodands, seemed without threat. Cugel became impatient. “Why do you delay? I hope to find a mountain hospice before the coming of dark. Your lagging and limping discommode me.”
“You should have considered this before you maimed me with a rock,” said the deodand. “After all, I do not accompany you of my own choice.”
