The Eyes of the Overworld by Jack Vance Page B

Magnatz.”
    Cugel mused a moment or two. “The route which you delineate, while it may be safer and less taxing than the direct way south, seems of inordinate length. I am disposed to risk the Mountains of Magnatz.”
    The first peasant inspected him with awe. “I surmise you to be a noted wizard, seething with spells.”
    Cugel gave his head a smiling shake. “I am Cugel the Clever; no more, no less. And now — wine!”
    The landlord presently brought forth supper: a stew of lentils and land-crabs garnished with wild ramp and bilberries.
    After the meal the two peasants drank a final cup of wine and departed, while Cugel, the host and the witch-chaser sat before the fire discussing various aspects of existence. The witch-chaser finally arose to retire to his chamber. Before departing he approached Cugel, and spoke in a frank manner. “I have noticed your cloak, which is of quality rarely seen in this backward region. Since you are as good as dead, why do you not bestow this cloak upon me, who has need of it?”
    Cugel tersely rejected the proposal and went to his own chamber.
    During the night he was aroused by a scraping sound near the foot of his bed. Leaping to his feet he captured a person of no great stature. When hauled out into the light, the intruder proved to be the pot-boy, still clutching Cugel’s shoes which he evidently had intended to purloin. “What is the meaning of this outrage?” demanded Cugel, cuffing the lad. “Speak! How dare you attempt such an act!”
    The pot-boy begged Cugel to desist. “What difference does it make? A doomed man needs no such elegant footwear!”
    â€œI 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.”
    â€œWhat?” 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,