Free Mazirian the Magician by Jack Vance Page A

defile my body. She made me witness her play with these things, and when I pointed out the creature that sickened me the most, by magic she gave me its face, the face I wear now.”
    â€œCan such women exist?” marvelled T’sais.
    â€œIndeed.” The grave blue eyes studied her attentively. “At last one night while the demons tumbled me across the crags behind the hills, a flint tore the rune from my arm. I was free; I chanted a spell which sent the shapes shrieking off through the sky, and returned to the villa.
    â€œAnd I met Javanne of the red hair in the great hall, and her eyes were cool and innocent. I drew my knife to stab her throat, but she said, ‘Hold! Kill me and you wear your demon-face forever, for only I know how to change it.’ So she ran blithely away from the villa, and I, unable to bear the sight of the place, came to the moors. And always I seek her, to regain my face.”
    â€œWhere is she now?” asked T’sais, whose troubles seemed small compared to those of Etarr the Masked.
    â€œTomorrow night, I know where to find her. It is the night of the Black Sabbath — the night dedicated to evil since the dawn of Earth.”
    â€œAnd you will attend this festival?”
    â€œNot as a celebrant — though in truth,” said Etarr ruefully, “without my hood I would be one of the things who are there, and would pass unnoticed.”
    T’sais shuddered and pressed back against the wall. Etarr saw the gesture and sighed.
    Another idea occurred to her. “With all the evil you have suffered, do you still find beauty in the world?”
    â€œTo be sure,” said Etarr. “See how these moors stretch, sheer and clean, of marvellous subtle color. See how the crags rise in grandeur, like the spine of the world. And you,” he gazed into her face, “you are of a beauty surpassing all.”
    â€œSurpassing Javanne?” asked T’sais, and looked in puzzlement as Etarr laughed.
    â€œIndeed surpassing Javanne,” he assured her.
    T’sais’ brain went off at another angle.
    â€œAnd Javanne, do you wish to revenge yourself against her?”
    â€œNo,” answered Etarr, eyes far away across the moors. “What is revenge? I care nothing for it. Soon, when the sun goes out, men will stare into the eternal night, and all will die, and Earth will bear its history, its ruins, the mountains worn to knolls — all into infinite dark. Why revenge?”
    Presently they left the cottage and wandered across the moor, Etarr trying to show her beauty — the slow river Scaum flowing through green rushes, clouds basking in the wan sunlight over the crags, a bird wheeling on spread wings, the wide smoky sweep of Modavna Moor. And T’sais strove always to make her brain see this beauty, and always did she fail. But she had learned to check the wild anger that the sights of the world had once aroused. And her craving to kill diminished, and her face relaxed from its tense set.
    So they wandered on, each to his own thoughts. And they watched the sad glory of the sunset, and they saw the slow white stars rise in the heavens.
    â€œAre not the stars beautiful?” whispered Etarr through his black hood. “They have names older than man.”
    And T’sais, finding only mournfulness in the sunset, and thinking the stars but small sparks in meaningless patterns could not answer.
    â€œSurely two more unfortunate people do not exist,” she sighed.
    Etarr said nothing. They walked on in silence. Suddenly he grasped her arm and pulled her low in the furze. Three great shapes went flapping across the afterglow. “The pelgrane!”
    They flew close overhead — gargoyle creatures, with wings creaking like rusty hinges. T’sais caught a glimpse of hard leathern body, great hatchet beak, leering eyes in a wizened face. She shrank against Etarr. The pelgrane flapped across the forest.
    Etarr laughed