Free Tales of the Dying Earth by Jack Vance Page B

And one had a nose like a three-fold white worm, a mouth that was a putrefying blotch, a mottled jowl and black malformed forehead; the whole a thing of retch and horror. To this Etarr directed T'sais' gaze. She saw and her muscles knotted. "There," said Etarr in a muffled voice, "there is a face twin to the one below this hood."
    And T'sais, staring at Etarr's black concealment, shrank back.
    He chuckled weakly, bitterly . . . After a moment T'sais reached out and touched his arm. "Etarr."
    He turned back to her. "Yes?"
    "My brain is flawed. I hate all I see. I cannot control my fears.
    Nevertheless that which underlies my brain— my blood, my body, my spirit—that which is me loves you, the you underneath the mask."
    Etarr studied the white face with a fierce intentness. "How can you love when you hate?"
    "I hate you with the hate that I give to all the world; I love you with a feeling nothing else arouses."
    Etarr turned away. "We make a strange pair . . ."
    The turmoil, the whimpering joinings of flesh and half-flesh, quieted.
    A tall man in a conical black hat appeared on the dais. He flung back his head, shouted spells to the sky, wove runes in the air with his arms. And as he chanted, high above a gigantic wavering figure began to form, tall, taller than the highest trees, taller than the sky. It shaped slowly, green mists folding and unfolding, and presently the outline was clear—the wavering shape of a woman, beautiful, grave, stately. The figure slowly became steady, glowing with an unearthly green light. She seemed to have golden hair, coiffed in the manner of a dim past, and her clothes were those of the ancients.
    The magician who had called her forth screamed, exulted, shouted vast windy taunts that rang past the crags.
    "She lives!" murmured T'sais aghast. "She moves! Who is she?"
    "It is Ethodea, goddess of mercy, from a time while the sun was still yellow," said Etarr.
    The magician flung out his arm and a great bolt of purple fire soared up through the sky and spattered against the dim green form. The calm face twisted in anguish, and the watching demons, witches and necrophages called out in glee. The magician on the dais flung out his arm again, and bolt after bolt of purple fire darted up to smite the captive goddess. The whoops and cries of those by the fire were terrible to hear.

    Then there came, the clear thin call of a bugle, cutting brilliantly through the exaultation. The revel jerked breathlessly alert.
    The bugle, musical and bright, rang again, louder, a sound alien to the place. And now, breasting over the crags like spume, charged a company of green-clad men, moving with fanatic resolve.
    "Valdaran!" cried the magician on the dais, and the green figure of Ethodea wavered and disappeared.
    Panic spread through the amphitheater. There were hoarse cries, a milling of lethargic bodies, a cloud of rising shapes as the demons sought flight. A few of the sorcerers stood boldly forth to chant spells of fire, dissolution, and paralysis against the assault, but there was strong counter-magic, and the invaders leapt unscathed into the amphitheater, vaulting the dais. Their swords rose and fell, hacking, slashing, stabbing without mercy or restraint.
    "The Green Legion of Valdaran the Just," whispered Etarr. "See, there he stands!" He pointed to a brooding black-clad figure on the crest of the ridge, watching all with a savage satisfaction.
    Nor did the demons escape. As they flapped through the night, great birds bestrode by men in green swooped down from the darkness. And these bore tubes which sprayed fans of galling light, and the demons who came within range gave terrible screams and toppled to earth, where they exploded in black dust.
    A few sorcerers had escaped to the crags, to dodge and hide among the shadows. T'sais and Etarr heard a scrabbling and panting below.
    Frantically clambering up the rocks was she whom Etarr had come seeking— Javanne, her red hair streaming back from her clear