Hugh Cook: The wizards and the warriors

'Good,' said Hearst. 'We've no need for thinking now. Just action.'

They came closer and closer to the tent, which was perched on a sheer cliff face. As they came within hailing distance, men, terrified, stared at them in awestricken silence.

'Hoy,' yelled Hearst. 'You on the mountain!'

Nobody responded.

They seemed paralysed by terror.

'There's Valarkin!' said Blackwood. 'By the tent!'

Valarkin! Yes, Blackwood was right.

'Hello there, Valarkin!' roared Hearst.

Straight away, Valarkin whipped out the death-stone.

'No, Valarkin,' shouted Hearst. 'No!'

But it was too late. Valarkin cried out in the High Speech. And Miphon shouted: 'Segenarith!'

Valarkin cried out in pain as the death-stone grew hot in his hand. He dropped it. His men were running in panic, scattering in all directions.

'Come back!' yelled Blackwood. 'Come back, we'll take you aboard! Back here, or you're dead!'

But, if anyone heard him, nobody obeyed.

'Leave them,' said Hearst, harshly. 'Let's get out of here.'

Miphon began to urge the mountain. Slowly, as the fire of the death-stone grew and grew, the mountain backed off. They watched as a fireball swallowed the cliff-top. Valarkin must be dead by now – unless he had run swiftly, or unless, perhaps, he did have the green bottle in his possession, and had been able to take refuge.

Night was now falling.

By dawn, the southern border of Estar was a sea of flame as the death-stone, frustrated by the Ultimate Injunction, the command Segenarith, released its energies as heat. Steam rose in clouds from the sea where molten rock ran into the water. By now, the mountain of Maf had withdrawn ten leagues from the border.

Miphon made the mountain lie down on its side – a long, slow, difficult manoeuvre. The travellers descended to the ground, then Miphon made the mountain stand again.

Then Miphon used all his skill, talent and strength to work on the mind of Maf, and sent the mountain roaring south. His instructions would take it south into the fire raging on the border. It would stand in that fire. Heat would fuse rock with rock. The mountain would block the way that led into Estar, thus closing the border to all creatures of the Swarms except the Neversh. it is done,' said Miphon.

And Hearst, with something almost like disappointment, realised that they had triumphed – and that he was still alive.

Now he had to make a life for himself.

On a cold winter's day in the land of Estar, a man named Morgan Hearst found the drained body of a man named Elkor Alish. In days past, they had been friends; they had shared the same shadow down many roads. Then Elkor Alish had betrayed his friend, had tried to kill him and had cost him his right hand.

There had been harsh words and bad blood between them; they had led armies against each other; their swords had crossed in anger, blade against blade. Yet Morgan Hearst stood by the body of Elkor Alish, and said Words of Guiding for the dead man's soul.

Where does friendship end and love begin? Amongst the Rovac, it was a question never asked; they lived close enough to the cutting edge of death to value any human loyalty as an alliance against the darkness.

'Be at peace,' said Hearst.

Then he took a ring and a red bottle from the dead man's husk, and, helped by his friends Miphon and Blackwood, raised a funeral pyre, and burnt the mortal remnants of Elkor Alish.

Then they resumed their journey, heading north.

Reaching the Hollern River, they found, to their amazement, that Melross Hill was now topped by a chaotic disorder of smashed stone and torn earth, through which, at random intervals, fire billowed up.

'What a mess!' said Miphon.

'Positively stochastic,' said Blackwood, nodding agreement.

'That reminds me,' said Miphon. 'We never did finish the question of free will, did we?'

'Well,' said Hearst, 'Let's go into town and settle it over a drink or three.'

Whatever had smashed Castle Vaunting – and it could only have been a free-ranging mountain – had missed Lorford, where there were now a few dozen hovel-style shacks. The travellers trudged down the Salt Road toward the shacks.

'We'll build a city here,' said Hearst.

'Will we?' said Blackwood.

'Of course,' said Hearst. 'Who's to rule Estar now, but us? Who's to guard the borders against the Swarms, but us? We've got the death-stone, the red bottle, and an army in the bottle. We've got what we need.'

Blackwood was startled by this. They were to be rulers? Princes? Kings? Well…

He had to admit it was possible.

As they closed with the shacks, shouting children roused the people out to meet the strangers. Coming closer, Blackwood saw faces he half-recognised from days past.

Then, suddenly: 'Mystrel!'

A woman ran forward, and Blackwood ran to meet her. A moment later, they were in each other's arms, crying.

'I thought you were dead,' said Blackwood, i couldn't get back to you, I thought you were dead.'

'What?' said Mystrel, laughing, laughing and crying at the same time. 'The men all go away and the women promptly drop dead? Not so, mister, not so.'

And then they said nothing more, for they were too busy holding each other.

Shortly, they were all seated round a table of sorts in a house of sorts drinking a liquor of sorts, allegedly made out of fermented fish – 'Hell's grief!' said Hearst, tasting it – and all talking at once at roughly the speed of thought.

And Mystrel told all about her wild times with the refugees in the Barley Hills, about pirates and bandits, storms and famine, mad dogs and toadstool poisoning, and, finally, the return to Lorford.

'But how did you ever get out of Castle Vaunting in the first place?' said Blackwood. 'How, when the mad-jewel was guarding it?'

'The fodden led us out,' said Mystrel. 'Some of us, at any rate. It got us clear.'

'Oh,' said Blackwood, looking around. 'Where is it?' i strangled it.'

'You what?'

'It had been feeding on something, in the castle. I asked it what. It was stupid enough to tell me.' 'And what had it been feeding on?' 'You don't want to know.' 'Tell me,' said Blackwood. Mystrel told him. He was shocked. He said so.

'I'm shocked,' said Blackwood. Then, Mystrel's horror-story having awakened a certain line of thought: 'But your child? What happened..?'

'Oh!' said Mystrel, smacking her forehead. 'How could I? Of course.' She raised her voice to a shout: 'Nickle!'

Shortly, a young woman entered, bearing a sturdy boy-child of a little more than a year's growth.

'Nickle is my helper,' said Mystrel, explaining. 'And the child… Blackwood, meet your son, Greenwood.'

Hearst rose to his feet, and lifted his cup.

'A toast,' said Hearst, i propose a toast. Ladies. Gentlemen. Girls. Boys. Dogs, rats. And any priests and princes present. A toast, I say. To the future!'

'I'll drink to that!' said Miphon.

As did they all. ('Hell's grief,' said Hearst again, as the liquor clawed at his throat – but that didn't stop him drinking to the next toast which came along.) That night, Blackwood dreamt that he slept in safety in Lorford with his son and his wife at his side; he woke to the light of dawn, and found, to his relief, that the dream was true.