Hugh Cook - The wizards and the warriors

As they set off, Hearst called to the wizards: 'Garash! Care to stretch your legs?'

Garash looked up, but did not favour them with a reply.

'I don't think he's exactly thrilled at the idea of mountain climbing,' said Durnwold.

'Stiff socks,' said Hearst, meaning tough cheese. 'He needs a good sweat to unblubber him.'

It was a hot, dry, bluesky day: one of those days on which it is impossible to believe that it will ever be wet or cold again. They walked uphill between scattered rocks, some many times the height of a man. Though the ground was stony, gnarled and twisted trees with dark green leaves wrested a livelihood from the soil, making little thickets between the rocks.

The cliffs closed in; it grew quieter. Soon they could no longer hear the noise of the river or the men by the river, only the sounds of their boots on rocks, the tatcheting of insects, the hush of their own breathing. Small lizards darted over the rocks, sprinting for shelter as the men approached.

'Stop,' said Alish.

'What is it?' said Durnwold.

T see it,' said Hearst. 'Smoke! Over there!' it could be Melski,' said Durnwold.

'Or Heenmor,' said Alish.

'We don't know enough to start laying bets,' said Hearst, 'but we'd best go back for the wizards in case it is Heenmor.'

Alish looked at him.

'Are you afraid… friend dragon-killer?' For a moment, they stared at each other. 'What do you think?' said Hearst, i think you know the answer better than me.'

'He's not afraid,' said Durnwold. 'There's no sword -'

'Enough,' said Hearst. 'Weil go on. But if it is Heenmor, how will we take him?'

'His only protection is a blast of fire or the bite of that snake of his. If we come at him from three different directions, if he hesitates for a moment – we should do it.'

'And what if we run into something altogether different?' said Hearst. 'What if it's a band of twenty head-hunting nomads? Who knows what manner of people live in this part of Argan?' if it's not Heenmor,' said Alish, 'we retreat, quietly. I estimate the smoke is… a hundred paces ahead. Let's split up. Durnwold can go right, I'll go left and you go straight ahead.'

Hearst nodded.

'Draw your sword now,' said Alish to Durnwold, 'so when you're closer you won't have to take it from its sheath.' it's sheathed in oiled leather,' said Durnwold. it won't make any noise.'

'Yes, but if you're crawling forward through vines or brambles, you might make a noise like earth's own bone-breaking if you have to jerk out your sword in a hurry.'

Durnwold drew his sword. Hearst already had Hast in his hand, and Alish was holding his Melski blade. 'Quiet now,' said Alish.

They separated. Durnwold went right, Alish went left, and Hearst went straight ahead. Hearst had the hardest job: he was making his way through a close-growth of runtling trees.

He went tenderfoot and slow. The highriding sun pooled his shadow at his feet. Everything was very bright. He saw the yellow-green veins patterning every leaf. His heart beat soft-quick thud. Stepping forward, he used the side of his boot to ease away any twigs before letting his weight settle as smoothly as unguent oil easing onto a baby's backside. Finally he could see the little cooking fire that was sending up the smoke.

There was Heenmor, twice the height of any ordinary man, hair ginger, beard blue. And there, asleep on a rock at his feet, was the snake. Hearst could see a shack, a latrine, a stack of firewood. Heenmor had been there quite some time: waiting for any pursuers? Heenmor was sitting with his back to a small cliff. Hearst could see Durnwold was working his way to the top of that cliff. He could not see where Alish had got to.

Hearst started to ease forward. Suddenly, Heenmor looked up from his fire. He stared straight at the trees where Hearst was hiding. Hearst froze. He saw the snake had woken: its head was weaving this way and that, seeming to point at the trees. Heenmor got to his feet.

At the top of the cliff, Durnwold put down his sword and picked up a rock. Hearst could see him clearly. The boy was thinking! Slowly, Heenmor lifted his staff of power, and pointed it at the trees where Hearst was hiding. Durnwold stepped to the edge of the cliff, raising the rock high to cast it down.

And the lip of the cliff gave way.

Heenmor snapped his head around at the noise, saw Durnwold falling, and threw himself to one side. Durnwold crashed to the ground. The copper-strike snake lunged at him. One beat of the heart, two, three, five – and the poison had done its work.

Heenmor wheeled, raised his staff, and shouted a Word. Hearst threw himself flat. A blast of heat roared through the trees. He smelt the stench of burning leather as it singed the heels of his boots. The trees around him crackled into flame.

As Heenmor shouted, again, again, blasting the ground to right and to left, Hearst lept to his feet. Flames were roaring up around him from the burning trees. He forced his way back the way he had come, chopping away burning boughs which tried to hold him.

At last, Hearst reached bare rock, and collapsed to the ground, coughing, gasping. His eyes were streaming with smoke-tears. His knuckles, cheeks and neck stung from minor burns; his leathers were scarred by fire in a dozen places. Alish? Where was Alish? Hearst almost called out: but that would warn Heenmor.

Slowly Hearst began to advance on Heenmor's position, skirting round the burning thicket, crouching low to make himself hard to see.

Meanwhile, Elkor Alish, who had sheltered behind a rock when Heenmor scoured the surrounds with flame, now stepped out to challenge the wizard. As Alish strode forward, Heenmor raised his staff and shouted a Word.

Nothing happened.

Heenmor's power was exhausted.

The copper-strike snake slithered forward, dominating the space between Heenmor and Elkor Alish. It moved this way and that, swaying, bead-black eyes unblinking. Now was Alish's chance to kill Heenmor. If he stepped forward, the snake would bite him. Then he would die. But, before dying, he would still have time to shorten Heenmor by a head.

Heenmor took something from his khaki robes.

'With this, I can conquer the world,' said Heenmor.

Then he smiled, raising the death-stone above his head. He spoke a Word.

Elkor Alish turned and ran, crashing through the burning vegetation, bounding from stone to stone, gasping air and acrid smoke.

'Alish!'

That was Hearst.

'Run!' screamed Alish. 'The death-stone!'

They ran, and it was downhill all the way as they lept from stone to stone, taking desperate chances in their efforts to get away.

From behind came a harsh, aggressive grinding sound. Underfoot the rocks trembled, shifted. The two men slipped, fell, picked themselves up and ran on. Bursting into the camp site, they found men already on their feet, startled, alarmed.

'To the rafts!' shouted Hearst. 'Rafts, or you're dead! The death-stone!'

The grinding noise was getting louder. The sky above was turning grey. Men dashed for the rafts, many screaming in hysteria. Once afloat, some tried to go downstream, where the Melski were now diving into the water. Others shouted that they must try to oar upstream against the current. Blackwood, riverwise in the Melski way, and also cool enough to see the obvious – that they could never row upstream fast enough -roared out the first orders of his life: 'Downstream! Downstream! All speed away!'

Men took up the shout: 'Downstream! Downstream!'

The rocks of Ep Pass were beginning to move. One broke free from the earth and charged for the rafts, roaring huge unintelligible words. Five men were crushed in its path, pulped like newborn chickens hit with a hammer.

Phyphor, running for dear life, collided with Garash, who shoved him toward the charging rock. It struck him a glancing blow then crashed into the rafts still left on the beach. Splintered logs flew through the air. Then the rock fell into the river and was silenced by the water.