Mazirian the Magician by Jack Vance

mercy. Therefore few dare to bring their faces before this god.”
    â€œAnd to this god we go,” said Etarr with grim pleasure. “The three of us, and the three of us shall face justice.”
    They returned across the moors to Etarr’s cabin, and he searched his books for means to transport them to the ancient site. In vain; he had no such magic at his command. He turned to Javanne.
    â€œDo you know of magic to take us to this ancient god?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhat is this magic?”
    â€œI will call three winged creatures from the Iron Mountains, and they will carry us.”
    Etarr gazed at Javanne’s white face sharply.
    â€œWhat reward do they demand?”
    â€œThey kill those whom they transport.”
    â€œAh, witch,” exclaimed Etarr, “even with your will drugged and your answers willy-nilly honest, you contrive to harm us.” He stood towering over the beautiful evil of red hair and wet lips. “How may we get to the god unharmed and unmolested?”
    â€œYou must put the winged creatures under a charge.”
    â€œSummon the things,” Etarr ordered, “and place them under the charge; and bind them with all the sorcery you know.”
    Javanne called the creatures; they settled flapping on great leather wings. She placed them under a pact of safety, and they whined and stamped with disappointment.
    And the three mounted, and the creatures took them swiftly through the night air, which already smelled of morning.
    East, ever east. Dawn came, and the dim red sun ballooned slowly upward into the dark sky. The black Maurenron Range passed under; and the misty Land of the Falling Wall was left behind. To the south were the deserts of Almery, and an ancient sea-bed filled with jungle; to the north, the wild forests.
    All during the day they flew, over dusty waste, dry cliffs, another great range of mountains, and as sunset came they slowly sloped downward over a green parkland.
    Ahead shone a glimmering sea. The winged things landed on the wide strand, and Javanne bound them to immobility for their return.
    The beach, the woodland behind, both were bare of any trace of the wondrous city of the past. But a half-mile out to sea rose a few broken columns.
    â€œThe sea has come,” Etarr muttered. “The city has foundered.”
    He waded out. The sea was calm and shallow. T’sais and Javanne followed. With the water around their waists, and dusk coming from the sky, they came through the broken columns of the ancient temple.
    A brooding presence pervaded the place, dispassionate, supernal, of illimitable will and power.
    Etarr stood in the center of the old temple.
    â€œGod of the past!” he cried. “I know not how you were called, or I would invoke you by name. We three come from a far land to the west to seek justice of you. If you hear and will administer us each our due, give me a sign!”
    A low sibilant voice came from the air: “I hear and will give each his due.” And each saw a vision of a golden six-armed figure with a round, calm face, sitting impassive in the nave of a monstrous temple.
    â€œI have been bereft of my face,” said Etarr. “If you deem me fit, restore me the face I once wore.”
    The god of the vision extended its six arms.
    â€œI have searched your mind. Justice shall be meted. You may remove your hood.” Slowly Etarr doffed his mask. He put his hand to his face. It was his own.
    T’sais looked numbly at him. “Etarr!” she gasped. “My brain is whole! — I see the world! ”
    â€œTo each who comes, justice is done,” said the sibilant voice.
    They heard a moan. They turned and looked at Javanne. Where was the lovely face, the strawberry mouth, the fair skin?
    Her nose was a three-fold white squirming thing, her mouth a putrefying blotch. She had dangling mottled jowls and a peaked black forehead. The only thing left of Javanne was the long red hair