Educate me on Vancian system

[Sykar]

Alright so I do know that the system is named after Jack Vance and his fantasy novels but I never read the novels. Did the author ever give an explanation why magic users lose the spell he had memorized?

 

[Scroo]

It's been years since I read about this but iirc it was something about the spells being so complicated and too much for the brain to hold grasp to it so it is eradicated from the mind the moment it is cast or else the caster would go insane.

Don't pin me down on it tho

 

[gurugeorge]

Alright so I do know that the system is named after Jack Vance and his fantasy novels but I never read the novels. Did the author ever give an explanation why magic users lose the spell he had memorized?

In Vance, spells have an almost Lovecraftian vibe about them - the syllables swim on the page, are difficult to read, and once memorized they're so eldritch that they writhe in the mind, they're difficult to hold in the mind, and it's actually a strain to keep them in mind. So you can only hold a few, and once they're discharged it's such a relief that you instantly forget them.

Cantrips are just easy-mode low-level spells that aren't such a strain to memorize and you can hold a few in memory as long as you like.

Pretty neat really. I think if people understood the rationale, they'd be more into it - without understanding the above rationale, it just seems really dumb that you'd need to keep "memorizing" spells.

Also, the thing about Vancian magic (in Vance) is that none of it is done by the wizard him or herself. The magic is done by entities (often called "Sandestins" - functionally equivalent to the spirits and demons, sylphs and salamanders of "real" magic lore) who inhabit magical dimensions of reality and who have the actual power to warp and bend reality. So effectively the spell is a "control rod" for the Sandestins to do the magic. Sandestins are also quirky beings who often try to get the better of the magician, and I think that's where the "intelligence" aspect often comes in, more so than in the actual spells - you have to be pretty sharp to keep them under control and doing your reality-warping for you.

This is very different in conception from the Sorcerer, who's more or less a jumped-up mediaeval superhero, who has the power in themselves.

 

[Naveen]

Not a precise explanation as far I remember, but that would go against the spirit of the setting, where magic has degraded from Science to a sort of a cargo cult. Even the most powerful mages (and they are very powerful) don't really get what they are doing; they just know it works, but no new spells are being created, and barely a hundred spells are known to exist.

Rhialto the Marvelous has a preface with some minor explanations concerning magic:

Magic is a practical science, or, more properly, a craft, since emphasis is placed primarily upon utility, rather than basic understanding, This is only a general statement, since in a field of such profound scope, every practitioner will have his individual style, and during the glorious time of Grand Motholan, many of the magician-philosophers tried to grasp the principles which governed the field.
In the end, these investigators, who included the greatest names in sorcery, learned only enough to realize that full and comprehensive knowledge was impossible [...]

A spell in essence corresponds to a code, or set of instructions, inserted into the sensorium of an entity which is able and not unwilling to alter the environment in accordance with the message conveyed by the spell. These entities are not necessarily 'intelligent,' nor even 'sentient', and their conduct, from the tyro's point of view, is unpredictable, capricious and dangerous. [...]

From a scene in the first Cugel's book, when he actually has to memorize a spell, it seems written spells, the instructions, work like triggers, they are mnemonic codes that force some kind of hyperdimensional entity to create the desired effect:

“Cugel opened and read; finding an appropriate spell, he held the fire-ball close the better to encompass the activating syllables. There were four lines of words, thirty-one syllables in all. Cugel forced them into his brain, where they lay like stones.”

This trigger can be held in one's mind, but it's very powerful and most brains can hardly keep a few. If it's released, it dissipates, as it is assumed to be an alien pattern of highly advanced logic, mathematics, or who-knows-what that the human brain cannot actually understand (at least, humans during Dying Earth's time, as it seems some great magicians of past Aeons did understand it.)

 

[Scruffy]

On memorizing spells:

...They would be poignant corrosive spells, of such a nature that one would daunt the brain of an ordinary man and two render him mad. Mazirian, by dint of stringent exercise, could encompass four of the most formidable, or six of the lesser spells. ...Mazirian made a selection from his books and with great effort forced five spells upon his brain: ...


On having used a spell:

...The mesmeric spell had been expended, and he had none other in his brain.


On having spells at the ready:

"You may in any event, Mazirian. Are you with powerful spells today?"


also, in Vance's stories, you don't cast "magic missile", you cast some complicated shit that's going to kill your enemy dead. You don't cast "mirror images", you cast some shit that makes you invulnerable, etc.

 

[gurugeorge]

This trigger can be held in one's mind, but it's very powerful and most brains can hardly keep a few. If it's released, it dissipates, as it is assumed to be an alien pattern of highly advanced logic, mathematics, or who-knows-what that the human brain cannot actually understand (at least, humans during Dying Earth's time, as it seems some great magicians of past Aeons did understand it.)

There's actually a passage in one of the DE short stories where one of the great magicians of the just-prior generation (Pandelume) gives the hero (forget which one) some lore about Mathematics, and talks about it as being the highest possible study, and the key to unlocking the kind of knowledge the great magicians of past Aeons who created the main spells had.

I'm sure Charlie Stross must have used that as a kernel of inspiration for his excellent Laundry series.

 

[Sykar]

Now I like Vancian magic even more. Maybe I should start reading those novels. Are they any good?

This is very different in conception from the Sorcerer, who's more or less a jumped-up mediaeval superhero, who has the power in themselves.

Indeed I was never very fond of the sorcerer because his spell selection is even more limited than any specialist mage's and I enjoy Vancian system more than most magic systems.
What is even more annoying is how wrong so many morons are who tout that sorcerer is just a better mage because "there are so few useful spells" only to have dozens of discussions about what spells to pick in the long run and how useless some spells are at higher levels like "Sleep" and I just sit here and think to myself "why are you thinking sorcerer is more powerful? Because actual application is brain dead?". Never mind the other benefits mages have even in BG 2 which is a very house ruly adaption of 2nd Ed with a dash of 3rd (sorcerer mostly).

 

[gurugeorge]

Now I like Vancian magic even more. Maybe I should start reading those novels. Are they any good?

Hell yeah, he's one of the true greats. But a bit idiosyncratic - never really destined to be a popular writer, he's a writer's writer (e.g. many s-f and fantasy writers have acknowledged his influence and have great respect for him) with a moderate-sized but dedicated following. Ranges from s-f to mystery to fantasy.

He loves playing with language, particularly old language forms and odd words (sometimes coinages) and there are also a lot of typical recurring scenarios (like the "arrival at a weird inn and negotiating with the innkeeper"). His use of place and detail (in terms of landscapes, plants, food, etc.), and his naming of things and places, are extraordinarily evocative (put you right there in the scene). He's also quite philosophically sharp and has thought a lot about big topics (like what are the causes and limits of civilization, the pros and cons of tradition vs. innovation, etc.) He seldom has an easy answer in those areas, but presents good cases for the various points of view and leaves it up to the reader to think about. His humour is also really sharp - sometimes you only get the punchline after thinking about it for a bit.

Mainly, he's one of those authors who, for all his faults, evokes a tremendous sense of wonder.

On the negative side, his plots often start strong but peter out a bit towards the end (though some stay strong to the end, like the Lynonesse trilogy).

 

[nikolokolus]

Vance Must Reads:
Lyonesse
DE Novels and short stories
Demon Princes
Planet Adventure
Alastor
The Cadwal Chronicles
The Fox Valley Murders
The Languages of Pao

I mean . . . there's definitely more worth reading, but those are probably the cream of the crop.

 

[CappenVarra]

i have the following stashed as vancian.txt for at least 10 years:

Spoiler

"In ages gone," the Sage had said, his eyes fixed on a low star, "a thousand spells were known to sorcery and the wizards effected their wills. Today, as Earth dies, a hundred spells remain to man's knowledge, and these have come to us through the ancient books... But there is one called Pandelume, who knows all the spells, all the incantations, cantraps, runes, and thaumaturgies that have ever wrenched and molded space..." He had fallen silent, lost in his thoughts.


Turjan, remembering this conversation, descended to his study, a long low hall with stone walls and a stone floor deadened by a thick russet rug. The tomes which held Turjan's sorcery lay on the long table of black steel or were thrust helter-skelter into shelves. These were volumes compiled by many wizards of the past, untidy folios collected by the Sage, leather-bound librams setting forth the syllables of a hundred powerful spells, so cogent that Turjan's brain could know but four at a time.


Turjan found a musty portfolio, turned the heavy pages to the spell the Sage had shown him, the Call to the Violent Cloud. He stared down at the characters and they burned with an urgent power, pressing off the page as if frantic to leave the dark solitude of the book. Turjan closed the book, forcing the spell back into oblivion. He robed himself with a short blue cape, tucked a blade into his belt, fitted the amulet holding Laccodel's Rune to his wrist. Then he sat down and from a journal chose the spells he would take with him. What dangers he might meet he could not know, so he selected three spells of general application: the Excellent Prismatic Spray, Phandaal's Mantle of Stealth, and the Spell of the Slow Hour.


The night was wearing on. A blue light wavered in the forest. Turjan watched a moment, then at last squared himself and uttered the Call to the Violent Cloud. All was quiet; then came a whisper of movement swelling to the roar of great winds. A wisp of white appeared and waxed to a pillar of boiling black smoke. A voice deep and harsh issued from the turbulence. "At your disturbing power is this instrument come; whence will you go?" "Four Directions, then One," said Turjan. "Alive must I be brought to Embelyon." The cloud whirled down; far up and away he was snatched, flung head over heels into incalculable distance. Four directions was he thrust, then one, and at last a great blow hurled him from the cloud, sprawled him into Embelyon.


In this fashion did Turjan enter his apprenticeship to Pandelume. Day and far into the opalescent Embelyon night he worked under Pandelume's unseen tutelage. He learned the secret of renewed youth, many spells of the ancients, and a strange abstract lore that Pandelume termed "Mathematics." "Within this instrument," said Pandelume, "resides the Universe. Passive in itself and not of sorcery, it elucidates every problem, each phase of existence, all the secrets of time and space. Your spells and runes are built upon its power and codified according to a great underlying mosaic of magic. The design of this mosaic we cannot surmise; our knowledge is didactic, empirical, arbitrary. Phandaal glimpsed the pattern and so was able to formulate many of the spells which bear his name. I have endeavored through the ages to break the clouded glass, but so far my research has failed. He who discovers the pattern will know all of sorcery and be a man powerful beyond comprehension." So Turjan applied himself to the study and learned many of the simpler routines. "I find herein a wonderful beauty," he told Pandelume. "This is no science, this is art, where equations fall away to elements like resolving chords, and where always prevails a symmetry either explicit or multiplex, but always of a crystalline serenity."


Mazirian stroked his chin. Apparently he must capture the girl himself. Later, when black night lay across the forest, he would seek through his books for spells to guard him through the unpredictable glades. They would be poignant corrosive spells, of such a nature that one would daunt the brain of an ordinary man and two render him mad. Mazirian, by dint of stringent exercise, could encompass four of the most formidable, or six of the lesser spells.


The Magician climbed the stairs. Midnight found him in his study, poring through leather-bound tomes and untidy portfolios ... At one time a thousand or more runes, spells, incantations, curses and sorceries had been known. The reach of Grand Motholam—Ascolais, the Ide of Kauchique, Almery to the South, the Land of the Falling Wall to the East — swarmed with sorcerers of every description, of whom the chief was the Arch-Necromancer Phandaal. A hundred spells Phandaal personally had formulated — though rumor said that demons whispered at his ear when he wrought magic. Pontecilla the Pious, then ruler of Grand Motholam, put Phandaal to torment, and after a terrible night, he killed Phandaal and outlawed sorcery throughout the land. The wizards of Grand Motholam fled like beetles under a strong light; the lore was dispersed and forgotten, until now, at this dim time, with the sun dark, wilderness obscuring Ascolais, and the white city Kaiin half in ruins, only a few more than a hundred spells remained to the knowledge of man. Of these, Mazirian had access to seventy-three, and gradually, by stratagem and negotiation, was securing the others.


Mazirian made a selection from his books and with great effort forced five spells upon his brain: Phandaal's Gyrator, Felojun's Second Hypnotic Spell, The Excellent Prismatic Spray, The Charm of Untiring Nourishment, and the Spell of the Omnipotent Sphere. This accomplished, Mazirian drank wine and retired to his couch.

Days went by and lucounu's trap, if such existed, remained unsprung, and Cugel at last came to believe that none existed. During this time he applied himself to lucouuu's tomes and folios, but with disappointing results. Certain of the tomes were written in archaic tongues, indecipherable script or arcane terminology; others described phenomena beyond his comprehension; others exuded a waft of such urgent danger that Cugel instantly clamped shut the covers. One or two of the work-books he found susceptible to his understanding. These he studied with great diligence, cramming syllable after wrenching syllable into his mind, where they rolled and pressed and distended his temples. Presently he was able to encompass a few of the most simple and primitive spells, certain of which be tested upon lucounu: notably Lugwiler's Dismal Itch. But by and large Cugel was disappointed by what seemed a lack of innate competence. Accomplished magicians could encompass three or even four of the most powerful effectuants; for Cugel, attaining even a single spell was a task of extraordinary difficulty. One day, while applying a spatial transposition upon a satin cushion, he inverted certain of the pervulsions and was himself hurled backward into the vestibule.


Returning to the great hall, he consumed the repast set forth by Jince and Skivvee, his two comely stewardesses, then immediately applied himself to his studies. Tonight they concerned themselves with the Spell of Forlorn Encystment, a reprisal perhaps more favored in earlier eons than the present, and the Agency of Far Despatch, by which lucounu had transported him to the northern wastes. Both spells were of no small power; both required a bold and absolutely precise control, which Cugel at first feared he would never be able to supply. Nevertheless he persisted, and at last felt able to encompass either the one or the other, at need.


He forced the two to walk to a flat area behind the manse, and stood them somewhat apart. "Fianosther, your doom is well-merited. For your deceit, avarice and odious mannerisms I now visit upon you the Spell of Forlorn Encystment!" Fianosther wailed piteously, and collapsed to his knees. Cugel took no heed. Consulting the work-book, he encompassed the spell; then, pointing and naming Fianosther, he spoke the dreadful syllables. But Fianosther, rather than sinking into the earth, crouched as before. Cugel hastily consulted the workbook and saw that in error he had transposed a pair of pervulsions, thereby reversing the quality of the spell. Indeed, even as he understood the mistake, to all sides there were small sounds, and previous victims across the eons were now erupted from a depth of forty-five miles, and discharged upon the surface. Here they lay, blinking in glazed astonishment; though a few lay rigid, too sluggish to react. Their garments had fallen to dust, though the more recently encysted still wore a rag or two. Presently all but the most dazed and rigid made tentative motions, feeling the air, groping at the sky, marveling at the sun.


So now Cugel applied himself to the Agency of Far Despatch, and established the activating sounds carefully within his mind. "Prepare yourselves," he called, "and farewell!" With that he sang forth the spell, hesitating at only one pervulsion where uncertainty overcame him. But all was well. From on high carne a thud and a guttural outcry, as a coursing demon was halted in mid-flight. "Appear, appear!" called Cugel. "The destination is as before: to the shore of the northern sea, where the cargo must be delivered alive and secure! Appear! Seize the designated persons and carry them in accordance with the command!" A great flapping buffeted the air; a black shape with a hideous visage peered down. It lowered a talon; Cugel was lifted and carried off to the north, betrayed a second time by a misplaced pervulsion.


THE SPELL known as the Inside Out and Over was of derivation so remote as to be forgotten. An unknown Cloud-rider of the Twenty-first Eon had construed an archaic version; the half-legendary Basile Blackweb had refined its contours, a process continued by Veronifer the Bland, who had added a reinforcing resonance. Archemand of Glaere had annotated fourteen of its pervulsions: Phandaal had listed it in the 'A,' or 'Perfected' category of his monumental catalogue. In this fashion it had reached the workbook of Zaraides the Sage, where Cugel, immured under a hillock, had found it and spoken it forth.


Cugel, not finding what he sought in the work-book, drew forth a tome. This bore the title: ZARAEDES THE WIZARD His Compendium of Spells Beware! Cugel opened and read; finding an appropriate spell, he held the fire-ball close the better to encompass the activating syllables. There were four lines of words, thirty-one syllables in all. Cugel forced them into his brain, where they lay like stones.


If only I had my librams, my folios, my work-books! What spells, what spells! I would rive this warren end to end; I would convert each of these man-rodents into a blaze of green fire. I would punish Fabeln for cheating me... Hmmm. The Gyrator? Lug-wiler's Dismal Itch?" "The Spell of Forlorn Encystment has its advocates," Cugel suggested. Zaraides nodded. "The idea has much to recommend it... But this is an idle dream: my spells were snatched away and conveyed to some secret place." Fabeln snorted and turned aside. From behind the grate came a shrill admonition: "Regrets and excuses are poor substitutes for items upon your score.


"Silence!" Pharesm came forward. "Notice this object!" He displayed an ivory sphere the size of two fists, carved in exceedingly fine detail. "Here you see the pattern from which my great work is derived. It expresses the symbolic significance of NULLITY to which TOTALITY must necessarily attach itself, by Kratinjae's Second Law of Cryptorrhoid Affinities, with which you are possibly familiar." "Not in every aspect," said Cugel. "But may I ask your intentions?" Pharesm's mouth moved in a cool smile. "I am about to attempt one of the most cogent spells ever evolved: a spell so fractious, harsh, and coactive, that Phandaal, Ranking Sorcerer of Grand Motholam, barred its use. If I am able to control it, you will be propelled one million years into the past. There you will reside until you have accomplished your mission, when you may return." Cugel stepped quickly from the black disk. "I am not the man for this mission, whatever it may be. I fervently urge the use of someone else!"


Cugel asked cautiously: "And you yourself are a magician?" "Alas! I lack the strength. I can grasp a trifling spell against stinging insects, and another to quiet howling dogs, but magic like yours, which wafts a ship through the air, is beyond my capacity. And while we are on the subject, what of the object you wear on your hat: it exhales an unmistakable flux!"


He devotes himself to the study of marvels and prodigies, and every jack-leg magician with two spells in his head is feted and celebrated and treated to the best of the city."


So went the conversation until the spy departed, whereupon, at Cugel's request, Bazzard instructed him in that cantrap controlling the Twelve-fold Bounty. Then, upon sudden thought, Bazzard addressed Vasker, now wearing eye, ear and arm. "Another of our small magics which might help Cugel on his way: the Spell of the Tireless Legs." Vasker chuckled. "What a thought! Cugel will not care to be visited with a spell customarily reserved for our wheriots! Such a spell does not accord with his dignity." "I give dignity second place to expedience," said Cugel. "What is this spell?" Bazzard said half-apologetically: "It guards the legs from the fatigue of a long day's march, and as Vasker indicates, we use it mainly to encourage our wheriots." "I will consider the matter," said Cugel, and there the subject rested.


Cugel said thoughtfully: "As I consider the way ahead, I become ever more favorably inclined to the Spell of the Untiring Legs." "It is the work of a few minutes only," said Bazzard. "Let us consult my fathers." The two repaired to the parlour, where Archimbaust consulted an index of spells. Encompassing the syllables with effort, he released the salutary force toward Cugel. To the amazement of all, the spell struck Cugel's legs, rebounded, struck again without effect, then clattered away, reverberated from wall to wall, and finally lapsed in a series of small grinding sounds. The four wizards consulted together at length. Finally Dissen turned to Cugel: "This is a most extraordinary happening! It can only be explained by the fact that you carry 'Spatter-light', whose alien force acts as a crust against earthly magic!" Bazzard cried out in excitement: "Try the Spell of Internal Effervescence upon Cugel; if it proves fruitless, then we shall know the truth!" "And if the spell is efficacious?" asked Disserl coldly. "Is this your concept of hospitality?" "My apologies!" said Bazzard in confusion. "I failed to think the matter through."


Iucounu strove to keep his voice even. "This is becoming all too clear." Throwing himself back in his chair, he glowered morosely at Cugel's cap. Making a sudden impatient gesture, he muttered a spell of eleven syllables, so that the air between himself and Cugel twisted and thickened. The forces veered out toward Cugel and past, to rattle away in all directions, cutting russet and black streaks through the grass.

 

[gurugeorge]

i have the following stashed as vancian.txt for at least 10 years:

Spoiler

"In ages gone," the Sage had said, his eyes fixed on a low star, "a thousand spells were known to sorcery and the wizards effected their wills. Today, as Earth dies, a hundred spells remain to man's knowledge, and these have come to us through the ancient books... But there is one called Pandelume, who knows all the spells, all the incantations, cantraps, runes, and thaumaturgies that have ever wrenched and molded space..." He had fallen silent, lost in his thoughts.


Turjan, remembering this conversation, descended to his study, a long low hall with stone walls and a stone floor deadened by a thick russet rug. The tomes which held Turjan's sorcery lay on the long table of black steel or were thrust helter-skelter into shelves. These were volumes compiled by many wizards of the past, untidy folios collected by the Sage, leather-bound librams setting forth the syllables of a hundred powerful spells, so cogent that Turjan's brain could know but four at a time.


Turjan found a musty portfolio, turned the heavy pages to the spell the Sage had shown him, the Call to the Violent Cloud. He stared down at the characters and they burned with an urgent power, pressing off the page as if frantic to leave the dark solitude of the book. Turjan closed the book, forcing the spell back into oblivion. He robed himself with a short blue cape, tucked a blade into his belt, fitted the amulet holding Laccodel's Rune to his wrist. Then he sat down and from a journal chose the spells he would take with him. What dangers he might meet he could not know, so he selected three spells of general application: the Excellent Prismatic Spray, Phandaal's Mantle of Stealth, and the Spell of the Slow Hour.


The night was wearing on. A blue light wavered in the forest. Turjan watched a moment, then at last squared himself and uttered the Call to the Violent Cloud. All was quiet; then came a whisper of movement swelling to the roar of great winds. A wisp of white appeared and waxed to a pillar of boiling black smoke. A voice deep and harsh issued from the turbulence. "At your disturbing power is this instrument come; whence will you go?" "Four Directions, then One," said Turjan. "Alive must I be brought to Embelyon." The cloud whirled down; far up and away he was snatched, flung head over heels into incalculable distance. Four directions was he thrust, then one, and at last a great blow hurled him from the cloud, sprawled him into Embelyon.


In this fashion did Turjan enter his apprenticeship to Pandelume. Day and far into the opalescent Embelyon night he worked under Pandelume's unseen tutelage. He learned the secret of renewed youth, many spells of the ancients, and a strange abstract lore that Pandelume termed "Mathematics." "Within this instrument," said Pandelume, "resides the Universe. Passive in itself and not of sorcery, it elucidates every problem, each phase of existence, all the secrets of time and space. Your spells and runes are built upon its power and codified according to a great underlying mosaic of magic. The design of this mosaic we cannot surmise; our knowledge is didactic, empirical, arbitrary. Phandaal glimpsed the pattern and so was able to formulate many of the spells which bear his name. I have endeavored through the ages to break the clouded glass, but so far my research has failed. He who discovers the pattern will know all of sorcery and be a man powerful beyond comprehension." So Turjan applied himself to the study and learned many of the simpler routines. "I find herein a wonderful beauty," he told Pandelume. "This is no science, this is art, where equations fall away to elements like resolving chords, and where always prevails a symmetry either explicit or multiplex, but always of a crystalline serenity."


Mazirian stroked his chin. Apparently he must capture the girl himself. Later, when black night lay across the forest, he would seek through his books for spells to guard him through the unpredictable glades. They would be poignant corrosive spells, of such a nature that one would daunt the brain of an ordinary man and two render him mad. Mazirian, by dint of stringent exercise, could encompass four of the most formidable, or six of the lesser spells.


The Magician climbed the stairs. Midnight found him in his study, poring through leather-bound tomes and untidy portfolios ... At one time a thousand or more runes, spells, incantations, curses and sorceries had been known. The reach of Grand Motholam—Ascolais, the Ide of Kauchique, Almery to the South, the Land of the Falling Wall to the East — swarmed with sorcerers of every description, of whom the chief was the Arch-Necromancer Phandaal. A hundred spells Phandaal personally had formulated — though rumor said that demons whispered at his ear when he wrought magic. Pontecilla the Pious, then ruler of Grand Motholam, put Phandaal to torment, and after a terrible night, he killed Phandaal and outlawed sorcery throughout the land. The wizards of Grand Motholam fled like beetles under a strong light; the lore was dispersed and forgotten, until now, at this dim time, with the sun dark, wilderness obscuring Ascolais, and the white city Kaiin half in ruins, only a few more than a hundred spells remained to the knowledge of man. Of these, Mazirian had access to seventy-three, and gradually, by stratagem and negotiation, was securing the others.


Mazirian made a selection from his books and with great effort forced five spells upon his brain: Phandaal's Gyrator, Felojun's Second Hypnotic Spell, The Excellent Prismatic Spray, The Charm of Untiring Nourishment, and the Spell of the Omnipotent Sphere. This accomplished, Mazirian drank wine and retired to his couch.

Days went by and lucounu's trap, if such existed, remained unsprung, and Cugel at last came to believe that none existed. During this time he applied himself to lucouuu's tomes and folios, but with disappointing results. Certain of the tomes were written in archaic tongues, indecipherable script or arcane terminology; others described phenomena beyond his comprehension; others exuded a waft of such urgent danger that Cugel instantly clamped shut the covers. One or two of the work-books he found susceptible to his understanding. These he studied with great diligence, cramming syllable after wrenching syllable into his mind, where they rolled and pressed and distended his temples. Presently he was able to encompass a few of the most simple and primitive spells, certain of which be tested upon lucounu: notably Lugwiler's Dismal Itch. But by and large Cugel was disappointed by what seemed a lack of innate competence. Accomplished magicians could encompass three or even four of the most powerful effectuants; for Cugel, attaining even a single spell was a task of extraordinary difficulty. One day, while applying a spatial transposition upon a satin cushion, he inverted certain of the pervulsions and was himself hurled backward into the vestibule.


Returning to the great hall, he consumed the repast set forth by Jince and Skivvee, his two comely stewardesses, then immediately applied himself to his studies. Tonight they concerned themselves with the Spell of Forlorn Encystment, a reprisal perhaps more favored in earlier eons than the present, and the Agency of Far Despatch, by which lucounu had transported him to the northern wastes. Both spells were of no small power; both required a bold and absolutely precise control, which Cugel at first feared he would never be able to supply. Nevertheless he persisted, and at last felt able to encompass either the one or the other, at need.


He forced the two to walk to a flat area behind the manse, and stood them somewhat apart. "Fianosther, your doom is well-merited. For your deceit, avarice and odious mannerisms I now visit upon you the Spell of Forlorn Encystment!" Fianosther wailed piteously, and collapsed to his knees. Cugel took no heed. Consulting the work-book, he encompassed the spell; then, pointing and naming Fianosther, he spoke the dreadful syllables. But Fianosther, rather than sinking into the earth, crouched as before. Cugel hastily consulted the workbook and saw that in error he had transposed a pair of pervulsions, thereby reversing the quality of the spell. Indeed, even as he understood the mistake, to all sides there were small sounds, and previous victims across the eons were now erupted from a depth of forty-five miles, and discharged upon the surface. Here they lay, blinking in glazed astonishment; though a few lay rigid, too sluggish to react. Their garments had fallen to dust, though the more recently encysted still wore a rag or two. Presently all but the most dazed and rigid made tentative motions, feeling the air, groping at the sky, marveling at the sun.


So now Cugel applied himself to the Agency of Far Despatch, and established the activating sounds carefully within his mind. "Prepare yourselves," he called, "and farewell!" With that he sang forth the spell, hesitating at only one pervulsion where uncertainty overcame him. But all was well. From on high carne a thud and a guttural outcry, as a coursing demon was halted in mid-flight. "Appear, appear!" called Cugel. "The destination is as before: to the shore of the northern sea, where the cargo must be delivered alive and secure! Appear! Seize the designated persons and carry them in accordance with the command!" A great flapping buffeted the air; a black shape with a hideous visage peered down. It lowered a talon; Cugel was lifted and carried off to the north, betrayed a second time by a misplaced pervulsion.


THE SPELL known as the Inside Out and Over was of derivation so remote as to be forgotten. An unknown Cloud-rider of the Twenty-first Eon had construed an archaic version; the half-legendary Basile Blackweb had refined its contours, a process continued by Veronifer the Bland, who had added a reinforcing resonance. Archemand of Glaere had annotated fourteen of its pervulsions: Phandaal had listed it in the 'A,' or 'Perfected' category of his monumental catalogue. In this fashion it had reached the workbook of Zaraides the Sage, where Cugel, immured under a hillock, had found it and spoken it forth.


Cugel, not finding what he sought in the work-book, drew forth a tome. This bore the title: ZARAEDES THE WIZARD His Compendium of Spells Beware! Cugel opened and read; finding an appropriate spell, he held the fire-ball close the better to encompass the activating syllables. There were four lines of words, thirty-one syllables in all. Cugel forced them into his brain, where they lay like stones.


If only I had my librams, my folios, my work-books! What spells, what spells! I would rive this warren end to end; I would convert each of these man-rodents into a blaze of green fire. I would punish Fabeln for cheating me... Hmmm. The Gyrator? Lug-wiler's Dismal Itch?" "The Spell of Forlorn Encystment has its advocates," Cugel suggested. Zaraides nodded. "The idea has much to recommend it... But this is an idle dream: my spells were snatched away and conveyed to some secret place." Fabeln snorted and turned aside. From behind the grate came a shrill admonition: "Regrets and excuses are poor substitutes for items upon your score.


"Silence!" Pharesm came forward. "Notice this object!" He displayed an ivory sphere the size of two fists, carved in exceedingly fine detail. "Here you see the pattern from which my great work is derived. It expresses the symbolic significance of NULLITY to which TOTALITY must necessarily attach itself, by Kratinjae's Second Law of Cryptorrhoid Affinities, with which you are possibly familiar." "Not in every aspect," said Cugel. "But may I ask your intentions?" Pharesm's mouth moved in a cool smile. "I am about to attempt one of the most cogent spells ever evolved: a spell so fractious, harsh, and coactive, that Phandaal, Ranking Sorcerer of Grand Motholam, barred its use. If I am able to control it, you will be propelled one million years into the past. There you will reside until you have accomplished your mission, when you may return." Cugel stepped quickly from the black disk. "I am not the man for this mission, whatever it may be. I fervently urge the use of someone else!"


Cugel asked cautiously: "And you yourself are a magician?" "Alas! I lack the strength. I can grasp a trifling spell against stinging insects, and another to quiet howling dogs, but magic like yours, which wafts a ship through the air, is beyond my capacity. And while we are on the subject, what of the object you wear on your hat: it exhales an unmistakable flux!"


He devotes himself to the study of marvels and prodigies, and every jack-leg magician with two spells in his head is feted and celebrated and treated to the best of the city."


So went the conversation until the spy departed, whereupon, at Cugel's request, Bazzard instructed him in that cantrap controlling the Twelve-fold Bounty. Then, upon sudden thought, Bazzard addressed Vasker, now wearing eye, ear and arm. "Another of our small magics which might help Cugel on his way: the Spell of the Tireless Legs." Vasker chuckled. "What a thought! Cugel will not care to be visited with a spell customarily reserved for our wheriots! Such a spell does not accord with his dignity." "I give dignity second place to expedience," said Cugel. "What is this spell?" Bazzard said half-apologetically: "It guards the legs from the fatigue of a long day's march, and as Vasker indicates, we use it mainly to encourage our wheriots." "I will consider the matter," said Cugel, and there the subject rested.


Cugel said thoughtfully: "As I consider the way ahead, I become ever more favorably inclined to the Spell of the Untiring Legs." "It is the work of a few minutes only," said Bazzard. "Let us consult my fathers." The two repaired to the parlour, where Archimbaust consulted an index of spells. Encompassing the syllables with effort, he released the salutary force toward Cugel. To the amazement of all, the spell struck Cugel's legs, rebounded, struck again without effect, then clattered away, reverberated from wall to wall, and finally lapsed in a series of small grinding sounds. The four wizards consulted together at length. Finally Dissen turned to Cugel: "This is a most extraordinary happening! It can only be explained by the fact that you carry 'Spatter-light', whose alien force acts as a crust against earthly magic!" Bazzard cried out in excitement: "Try the Spell of Internal Effervescence upon Cugel; if it proves fruitless, then we shall know the truth!" "And if the spell is efficacious?" asked Disserl coldly. "Is this your concept of hospitality?" "My apologies!" said Bazzard in confusion. "I failed to think the matter through."


Iucounu strove to keep his voice even. "This is becoming all too clear." Throwing himself back in his chair, he glowered morosely at Cugel's cap. Making a sudden impatient gesture, he muttered a spell of eleven syllables, so that the air between himself and Cugel twisted and thickened. The forces veered out toward Cugel and past, to rattle away in all directions, cutting russet and black streaks through the grass.

"He forced the two to walk to a flat area behind the manse, and stood them somewhat apart. "Fianosther, your doom is well-merited. For your deceit, avarice and odious mannerisms I now visit upon you the Spell of Forlorn Encystment!" Fianosther wailed piteously, and collapsed to his knees. Cugel took no heed. Consulting the work-book, he encompassed the spell; then, pointing and naming Fianosther, he spoke the dreadful syllables. But Fianosther, rather than sinking into the earth, crouched as before. Cugel hastily consulted the workbook and saw that in error he had transposed a pair of pervulsions, thereby reversing the quality of the spell. Indeed, even as he understood the mistake, to all sides there were small sounds, and previous victims across the eons were now erupted from a depth of forty-five miles, and discharged upon the surface. Here they lay, blinking in glazed astonishment; though a few lay rigid, too sluggish to react. Their garments had fallen to dust, though the more recently encysted still wore a rag or two. Presently all but the most dazed and rigid made tentative motions, feeling the air, groping at the sky, marveling at the sun."

That passage in particular is an inimitable expression of Vance's wild imagination, as well as being typically droll.

 

[Zed Duke of Banville]

Alright so I do know that the system is named after Jack Vance and his fantasy novels but I never read the novels.

Now I like Vancian magic even more. Maybe I should start reading those novels. Are they any good?

Start by reading the original six Dying Earth stories (Turjan of Miir, Mazirian the Magician, T'sais, Lian the Wayfarer, Ulan Dhor, and Guyal of Sfere) before moving on to the related two Cugel novels and three Rhialto stories. Also note that Jack Vance was the author of a number of other brilliant stories that you would miss out on by focusing solely on the novels, in particular The Moon Moth, The Dragon Masters, and The Last Castle which are all classics.

Artwork by Stephen Fabian

 

[gurugeorge]

Several years ago some Vance fans undertook the monumental task of doing a corrected official edition of Vance's ouevre (with Vance's permission and help) - i.e. the books as Vance had intended them, minus some dubious editorial decisions from his many publishers over the years (though keeping a few that Vance had agreed with). The resulting definitive edition was called the Vance Integral Edition, which was very expensive at the time, and also had the books divvied up in a way that wasn't like the original way they'd been published (as separate books).

The VIE has now been re-published as the "Signature Series," this time re-split back into the way the books had actually been published (as separate books), in both e-book and print on demand format (with paperback versions that have rather lovely classic s-f illustrated covers):-

 

[Archibald]

So is the end result actually better than the originals?

 

[gurugeorge]

So is the end result actually better than the originals?

It's not really a huge difference, it's just some words (incl some typos that had been constantly reprinted) and grammar tweaks here and there and a few more substantial passages that were cut or altered by editors, usually for the worse, but occasionally for the better (and those have been kept, with JV's agreement). It's just nice to know that you're reading the definitive versions.

I think there was a newsletter (Cosmopolis?) that gave a blow-by-blow account of some phases of the process, and the principles used were open and discussed. It was a remarkable crowdsourcing effort, before "crowdsourcing" even became a word IIRC, and a testament to how much his work is loved by his fans.