Madwand (Illustrated) by Roger Zelazny Read Free Book Online

passing faces turned his way. High above, the face of the mountain was glowing softly, as if traversed by swarms of fireflies. And even higher, the stars had appeared in a clear sky. Cool breezes moved about him, bringing the odors of exotic incenses, perfumes, of sweet logs burning.
    Mouseglove sniffed and listened, fingers twitching, eyes darting.
    “It would be difficult to know what to steal, in a place where nothing is what it seems,” he remarked.
    “Then you might look upon it as a vacation.”
    “Hardly,” Mouseglove replied, eyeing a demon-face which seemed to regard him from behind a grating high in the wall to his left. “Perhaps as an experience in compulsory education . . . ”

    Ibal, croaking orders to his servants at every turn, seemed to know the way to his quarters. They were, Pol later learned, the same apartments he had always occupied. Their appearance would be radically altered upon each occasion, one of the older servants informed him. Orientation here was a matter of familiarity with position rather than appearance.
    The apartments to which they were conducted as Ibal’s guests seemed extensive and elegant, though the eye-swindling shimmer of glamourie lay upon everything and Pol noted that solid-appearing walls seemed to yield somewhat if he leaned upon them, smooth floors were sometimes uneven to the feet and chairs were never as comfortable as they looked.
    Ibal had dismissed them, saying that he intended to rest and that he would introduce them to the initiation officials on the morrow. So, after bathing and changing their garments, Pol and Mouseglove went out to see more of the town.
    The balls of white light illuminated the major thoroughfares. Globes of various colors drifted above the lesser ways. They passed knots of youths whose overheard conversations were like the ruminations of philosophers and groups of old men who called upon their powers to engage in practical jokes—such as the tiny cloud hovering just beneath an archway which suddenly rattled and drenched anyone who passed below it, to the accompaniment of uproarious laughter from the gnome-like masters lurking in the shadows.
    Brushing away the moisture, Pol and Mouseglove continued on to a narrow stair leading down to a winding street less well-illuminated than those above—blue and red lights, smaller and dimmer than the others, moving slowly above it.
    “That looks to be a possibly interesting way,” Mouseglove indicated, leaning on a railing above it.
    “Let’s go down and have a look.”
    It seemed a place of refreshment. Establishments serving food and beverage, both indoors and out, lined the way. They strolled slowly by all of them, then turned and started back again.
    “I like the looks of that one,” said Mouseglove, gesturing to the right. “One of the empty tables under the canopy, perhaps, where we can watch the people pass.”
    “Good idea,” said Pol, and they made their way over and sat down.
    A small, dark, smiling man wearing a green Kaftan emerged from the establishment’s doorway almost immediately.
    “And what will the gentlemen have?” he inquired.
    “I’d like a glass of red wine,” said Pol.
    “Make mine white and almost sour,” said Mouseglove.
    The man turned away and immediately turned back. He held a tray bearing two glasses of wine, one light, one dark.
    “Useful trick, that,” Mouseglove observed.
    “Private spell,” the other replied.
    The man grew almost apologetic then as he asked them to drop their payment through a small hoop into a basket.
    “All the others are starting it, too,” he said. “Too many enchanted pebbles going around. You might even have some without knowing it.”
    But their coins remained coins as they passed through the charmed circle.
    “We just arrived,” Pol told him.
    “Well, keep an eye out for stones.”
    He moved off to take another order.
    The wine was extremely good, though Pol suspected that a part of its taste was enchantment.