Delerium's Mistress: Tales of the Flat Earth Book 4 by Tanith Lee Read Free Book Online Page A

all his doing. And
in that way she forgot he had also been the cause of her peril.
     
    4
     
    AND FOR WHAT curious reward had Oloru gone to so much
trouble? What had he bought from the magician-prince with a delusion of white
bodies and screaming? What indeed, Oloru having proved himself such a competent mage, did he require from
Lak Hezoor that he himself could not manage alone?
    Down, down, down; miles
down beneath the country of men and the comprehension of men: the Underearth,
the demons’ kingdom.
    At the kingdom’s very
boundary wandered Sleep River, sluggish as a blackish treacle, between the high
tasseled heads of the white flax that grew there. Here on the river’s flaxy
shores, with blood-red hounds, the Vazdru hunted, not lion or deer, but the
souls of men asleep, which ran shrieking before them. Though it was only the
souls of those near death, or the insane, which the dogs were able to catch and
tear. Even these were allowed to escape in the end—it was merely a sport to the
demons. Besides, there had been no hunting a long while now, as there had been
little of anything—music, gaming, intrigue, love, the immemorial pastimes of
Druhim Vanashta and its lords. Nor did the hammers of the Drin, the demon
metalsmiths, often sound. Nor did the creatures of that underworld frequently
fly or sing, or the flowers extravagantly bloom, or the waters magnetically
glitter, as once they had. That pall of Azhrarn’s rage and grief hung over
everything.
    Nevertheless, it might
be considered still a place of wonders worth seeing. Centuries before, Kazir
had come here by witchcraft, passing through the River of Sleep, as generally
men did solely inadvertently. Kazir had had a mission to perform. But Lak’s
poet, Oloru, had begged that he too might go
sightseeing through the treacherous underland, in the protective company of Lak.
What songs, opined Oloru, should be made of this excursion after! (And of the
bravura and cunning of the magician.)
    Now, in order to go down
into Underearth, without notation and the spells of the demons themselves to
free the way, the one means was to travel incorporeally—as Kazir did in
the story.
    It was therefore the
soul which must be the traveler, that is to say, the physical or astral soul,
that elemental greater th an mere shadowplay, though formed in the likeness of the
body; equipped also with that body’s talents and learning, whatever they might
be.
    There were in that era
several towering sorcerers abroad on the
earth. Interesting, perhaps, so few of them made this trip below. It would seem
to indicate some excellent reason for even the most wily to keep out. . . .
However, Oloru had inspired his lord to the knowledge that he need have no
qualms. That he, Lak, was a match for the Vazdru, eons ripe in all things
uncanny. In fact, no less than a rival of Azhrarn. Madness.
    So, the orgy
completed, the women left lying like thrown-off clothes, Lak—with scarcely any
preparation, full of drink and meat, lethargic and satisfied—set about the
business of astral descent. “But,” had said Oloru encouragingly, “do not expose me to them, my poor shivering soul. Carry me with you as Azhrarn carried Sivesh—he an eagle,
and Sivesh one feather on his breast. You a lord of lords, and
I . . . some small ornament upon your person.”
    It is not
recorded, the actual caliber of Lak’s magery, but he was mage enough for this, it
seems.
    In a space, the
breath of magic filled the chamber and the magician’s body slumped in its
trance—the soul had gone. While of Oloru, surprisingly, nothing at all remained.
No, not so much as an eyelash on the pillow.
     
    The tide of Sleep River swarmed with faces and forms
and mental wanderings. It took some guile and cerebral purpose to get through
the wash without succumbing. Through it they got, nevertheless, Lak and his
loving friend, and arrived on the shore.
    Here they stood,
gazing out across the ebony landscape, in the sheen of the mystic