Hugh Cook: The wizards and the warriors

The mountain, running amok, lurched and staggered toward the fire dyke, toward the helpless men beyond. 'Strength!' shouted Hearst.

'You can do it!' cried Blackwood. 'You can do it!'

Miphon risked taking a moment to close his eyes and calm himself, as he would for the Meditations. He opened his eyes again. The mountain was almost upon its victims.

With an almost physical effort, Miphon punched the 523 mountain sideways. It lurched, skidded, crashed into the sea, screamed, spun, blundered blindly through the water, then – Urged by Miphon, it made for land again.

And swung out onto the dry and hard.

They had made a wild sweep through the ocean, skirting round the flame trench and the fortifications. They had killed hundreds of the creatures of the Swarms, but not a single man.

The mountain began smashing north across the countryside. It was screaming continuously.

'Make it stop!' said Hearst. 'Make it stop!'

But Miphon shook his head. His face was ashen. He was exhausted. At last he said: 'It's gone mad. It's gone well and truly mad. I can't stop it. Nobody could.'

Though he did not say it, his powers were at low ebb. He had used a lot of his last remaining power forcing the mountain through the sea. When he had recovered a little, he settled himself to the Meditations as best he could on that lurching, heaving platform; it was important for him to build his power as swiftly as he could.

The mountain ran on at will all through that day and into the night. When morning came, it was moving more slowly. Miphon did not try to take it under control, but kept working on the Meditations.

Toward the afternoon, they sighted Maf. As the day wore on, the mountain drew closer and closer. Miphon had an idea. He tried it. He used the gentlest of hints to nudge their mountain onto a course that would take it straight for Maf.

It ran on for a while as if it failed to see the obstacle ahead. Then, when it seemed a collision was inevitable, it came to a lurching halt.

Then backed off.

'It sees the other mountain,' said Miphon. 'What now?' said Hearst.

'Wait,' said Miphon.

The three of them waited. And their mountain began to speak to Maf in a gruff, growling thundervoice. Only Miphon understood what it was saying. After a while, Miphon began to weep. Hearst and Blackwood watched him, bewildered; they had no way to understand the tragedy of rocks and mountains.

Finally, the voice of the mountain grew slower and lower, then finally ground to a halt. it's over,' said Miphon.

As he spoke, the mountain shook. Cracks appeared underfoot. The vibrations began to get worse.

'Come,' said Miphon, quietly. 'Let's get off.'

'What's happening?" said Blackwood, as Miphon led the way down.

'The immersions in water are having their effect,' said Miphon.

He did not wish to tell them that the mountain, driven beyond endurance by what it had suffered, was committing suicide. He thought they would think him stark raving mad.

As they got clear of the mountain, it began to collapse. They ran. An avalanche of rock came roaring after them. But, sweeping forward, the rock disintegrated. Becoming sand. Then dust. Then an unimaginably fine silt. It surged around them.

'Sprint!' shouted Hearst.

They fled, panting.

The silt wafted up around their ankles, surged around their calves, rose to their knees. They found themselves waist-deep in the stuff, wading forward as best they could. It rose to their chests. To their necks.

'Hold your breath!' shouted Hearst.

And grabbed a deep breath, closing his eyes as the silt swamped him. He urged himself forward, felt his head break clear, gasped for breath, coughed, sneezed, heard Blackwood cough: 'Miphon?'

Nobody answered.

'Miphon?'

'Here!'

They had come through. They had survived. 'Have we got the death-stone?' said Hearst. 'I've got it,' said Miphon. So they still had a chance. A hope.

That afternoon, they made camp at the foot of Maf. A scouring wind swept the silt in clouds across the countryside, swiftly reducing the enormous pile. Toward evening, they saw a couple of mountains blundering across the countryside in the distance, south of their present position.

'Someone has used a death-stone,' said Miphon, in a sombre voice. it must have been used at the border,' said Hearst.

'So it's set mountains walking,' said Blackwood. 'How many will have moved? They're only small ones, by the looks of things. What will it have done to the fire-dyke? What -' "The only way to answer all your questions is to go south and have a look,' said Miphon. 'But I can tell you this much. The death-stone must have been used soon after we skirted the southern border, otherwise those wandering mountains wouldn't have got as far as they have.' if someone's used a death-stone in the south, they won't be able to use it again for… for how long?' said Blackwood.

'Work it out,' said Miphon. 'Normally we ride a mountain for four days then have to wait another day before using the death-stone again. That's five days in total. So, down in the south they'll have to wait five days. And us? We used our death-stone yesterday, so we won't be able to use it again until the day after the day after tomorrow.'

'By which time the Swarms may be upon us,' said Hearst.

'How do you work that out?' said Miphon.

'If the death-stone was used at the border yesterday, the Swarms must have been attacking then. If they made a second attack yesterday, they may have broken through. If they can go as fast as a mounted man -which I think is a reasonable assumption – they could be here tomorrow. After all, it's only about a hundred leagues to the border from here.'

'Your mounted man is pushing his horse along pretty quickly,' said Miphon. 'It took sixteen days for us to do four hundred leagues from Veda to Narba.'

'Yes,' said Hearst. 'But you didn't have the heart to thrash your mount to exhaustion. Besides, we were moving mostly by night on a bad road. And skirting round cities, which made the journey longer. And – '

'Never mind!' said Blackwood, thoroughly tired of this theorising. 'Let's stick to what we know. We know for a fact that we can't use the death-stone for three days. We know for a fact – well, we can reasonably presume – that the Swarms could get here by then. If indeed they've broken through. So the question is, what should we do?'

'We can't risk running into the Swarms when we don't have a weapon to use against them,' said Miphon. 'At a minimum, we need to hide out somewhere until the death-stone's ready again. Morgan, when you climbed down from Maf i'd been thinking about that,' said Hearst. 'There's a cave system running the whole height of Maf. I know how to get into it. So if the Swarms come, we can run for shelter.'

The next day was bright and clear, with a stiff wind which steadily diminished the remains of the suicided mountain. They saw, once, one of the Neversh circling high in the sky. But no creature of the Swarms came north along the Salt Road. Night came again, and they slept.

They woke to find the sky grey, cloudy, moody. The wind had dropped away. Tomorrow, they would be able to use the death-stone; for today, they could only wait. Miphon concentrated on the Meditations; Hearst, half-heartedly, practised with his sword Hast. Blackwood went scavenging amongst the rocks near the mountain, returning, in due course, with a load of snails which he had found glued to those rocks, settled in for the winter.

They cooked, and ate.

They drank stream-water.

They waited.

Toward, mid-morning, they saw a body of horsemen coming down the Salt Road. They debated whether to risk talking with them.

'We have to know what's happening in the south,' said Blackwood. 'On the other hand, we can't risk the death-stone. So I'll go. You two stay here. Depending on who it is and how the talk goes, I'll either say I'm alone or else say you're here.'