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Authors: John Brunner
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the ramparts of the city, another figure was appearing amid a cloud of smoke – a figure so gigantic, so bloated, so colossal, that the Quadruple God seemed a dwarf or midget by comparison. This apparition bore a head with glaring yellow eyes and twenty-foot-long fangs in its gash of a mouth; it had arms like a hundred barrels; it had legs planted either side of a tall building.
And this figure was growing. It was rising as though from the depths of the earth, and all four heads of the Quadruple God were striving to fix their eyes on it at once.
Gracefully, considering its bulk – this was thanks to an afterthought of Eadwil’s – the bloated colossus raised its arms into a posture of menace. From the camp of the men of Acromel the naked eye could not detect the fine silk cords governing its motions.
And then this construct of inflated wineskins, of paint and osier and waxed fabric supported by hot air – a smidgin supplemented by that quick charm of Eadwil’s – spoke with the massed voices of all the citizens of Ryovora, a sound like the crashing of a landslide.
“Go away!” said the monster with terrible emphasis. “Go away!”
Whereat the Quadruple God burst his chains, stamped on the torchbearers, and took to his multiple heels.
Only once was his panicky progress interrupted before he regained the familiar sanctuary of his temple at Acromel.
That was when a gaunt and scarecrowlike person rushed into his path, crying in a voice which though thin and reedy caused cracks to open in the surface of the land and strange colors to muddy the clear blue of the heavens.
The Quadruple God trampled this nuisance with three of his eight massive feet, leaving nothing but a smear like a crushed beetle to mark the spot.
Triumphantly the inhabitants of Ryovora went forward in the wake of those who had come from Acromel, and with their ad hoc weapons they wrought considerable havoc among the laggards. Not the most tongue-tied among them was Brim the locksmith, who expended more breath on shouting praise of his own perceptiveness than on catching up with the rearguard of the enemy.
But certain of his fellows who had been lukewarm in their acceptance of Bernard Brown as a ready-made god turned aside to surround Brim in a hostile fashion. “Nonsense!” they said emphatically. “If we had not been lured by fools like you away from our customary trust in common sense, we would have seen what he saw and done what he advised anyway!”
Then they set about Brim with meticulous thoroughness, impressing the extent of his stupidity upon him in such fashion as to ensure he could never again overlook their various mementos. The tools of his trade that he carried in his leather apron proved ideally adapted to the task.
That chore attended to, and the Acromel party in utter disarray, they returned with satisfaction to their homes. By nightfall the aura of blue depression which had pervaded the atmosphere these many weeks past had dissipated; the cause for rejoicing which this gave them made them forget altogether about Bernard Brown.
The margrave and his nobles assembled again in the Moth Garden. The people had begun to reclaim the offerings they had set before Bernard’s altar, to feast on them and deck themselves in gaudy ceremonial attire. To preoccupy the nobles, though, there were still problems, and Eadwil spoke of the most pressing when they met.
He said, “I think, sirs and ladies, that the era of enchantment is passing.”
The margrave nodded. So did many others. All of them glanced at the place which had been – briefly – Tyllwin’s.
“Regard it this way,” said Eadwil musingly. “Of its nature enchantment, magic, whatever term you give the art, is a survival of the chaos which we know reigned before time. But the imprint of that chaos is fading from the world. The confusion which causes stone idols to walk, elementals to be personified in storm-clouds, humans to blend with animals, and spirits to speak
And this figure was growing. It was rising as though from the depths of the earth, and all four heads of the Quadruple God were striving to fix their eyes on it at once.
Gracefully, considering its bulk – this was thanks to an afterthought of Eadwil’s – the bloated colossus raised its arms into a posture of menace. From the camp of the men of Acromel the naked eye could not detect the fine silk cords governing its motions.
And then this construct of inflated wineskins, of paint and osier and waxed fabric supported by hot air – a smidgin supplemented by that quick charm of Eadwil’s – spoke with the massed voices of all the citizens of Ryovora, a sound like the crashing of a landslide.
“Go away!” said the monster with terrible emphasis. “Go away!”
Whereat the Quadruple God burst his chains, stamped on the torchbearers, and took to his multiple heels.
Only once was his panicky progress interrupted before he regained the familiar sanctuary of his temple at Acromel.
That was when a gaunt and scarecrowlike person rushed into his path, crying in a voice which though thin and reedy caused cracks to open in the surface of the land and strange colors to muddy the clear blue of the heavens.
The Quadruple God trampled this nuisance with three of his eight massive feet, leaving nothing but a smear like a crushed beetle to mark the spot.
Triumphantly the inhabitants of Ryovora went forward in the wake of those who had come from Acromel, and with their ad hoc weapons they wrought considerable havoc among the laggards. Not the most tongue-tied among them was Brim the locksmith, who expended more breath on shouting praise of his own perceptiveness than on catching up with the rearguard of the enemy.
But certain of his fellows who had been lukewarm in their acceptance of Bernard Brown as a ready-made god turned aside to surround Brim in a hostile fashion. “Nonsense!” they said emphatically. “If we had not been lured by fools like you away from our customary trust in common sense, we would have seen what he saw and done what he advised anyway!”
Then they set about Brim with meticulous thoroughness, impressing the extent of his stupidity upon him in such fashion as to ensure he could never again overlook their various mementos. The tools of his trade that he carried in his leather apron proved ideally adapted to the task.
That chore attended to, and the Acromel party in utter disarray, they returned with satisfaction to their homes. By nightfall the aura of blue depression which had pervaded the atmosphere these many weeks past had dissipated; the cause for rejoicing which this gave them made them forget altogether about Bernard Brown.
The margrave and his nobles assembled again in the Moth Garden. The people had begun to reclaim the offerings they had set before Bernard’s altar, to feast on them and deck themselves in gaudy ceremonial attire. To preoccupy the nobles, though, there were still problems, and Eadwil spoke of the most pressing when they met.
He said, “I think, sirs and ladies, that the era of enchantment is passing.”
The margrave nodded. So did many others. All of them glanced at the place which had been – briefly – Tyllwin’s.
“Regard it this way,” said Eadwil musingly. “Of its nature enchantment, magic, whatever term you give the art, is a survival of the chaos which we know reigned before time. But the imprint of that chaos is fading from the world. The confusion which causes stone idols to walk, elementals to be personified in storm-clouds, humans to blend with animals, and spirits to speak
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