Hugh Cook - The wizards and the warriors

For no purpose. And Heenmor, given time to experiment with the death-stone, would doubtless one day obtain sufficient control of it to destroy the world – and of course Rovac was part of the world the wizard would destroy.

Accepting his death, accepting his failure, Alish sat silently, his mind empty, or slept, dreaming of shadows and glottal rock-swallowing boglands. Hearst talked to him, shook him, abused him, pleaded with him, threatened him, hit him, sang to him, threw water in his face: all to no avail. Alish had given up. He was certain to die before very many more days had passed.

It was about this time that Blackwood started coughing. The rafts drifted on, occasionally bumping and grating against loose logs from those rafts which had been smashed to pieces. Blackwood coughed… and coughed… and slept… and woke coughing. There was phlegm in his throat. When he coughed with his hand to his mouth, his hand came away greasy. He did not know what was wrong with him, but he felt sick.

Now that Alish would no longer make his rounds, Blackwood and Gorn helped Hearst. Blackwood went from raft to raft, coughing. At least he could give men something to swear at. More men died, and the bodies were rolled overboard. Each time Blackwood pushed a body into the water, he remembered the words of Saba Yavendar:

The will may require, but the night has the flesh: To darkness, to darkness.

Darkness, yes, darkness, and the darkness went on for so long that in the end Blackwood began to dream he had been born in it. He thought it would go on forever.

It was Blackwood who saw the light first, but he took the distant glimmer for no more than another of the hallucinations that had begun to make his waking moments nightmarish. Then Hearst, who still trusted himself to tell reality when he saw it, named that far-off rumour of day.

'Light,' was all he said.

Light.

Soon they could all see it. It was faint: pallid as the belly of a dead fish. But it was daylight.

As they drew closer, things began to take on shape, then colour. Looking around, they found it hard to recognise their comrades because of their ragged beards and prison pallor.

Then the river shot the rafts down a foaming white-water chute, swept them out into the sun, and left them drifting on the surface of a huge lake hemmed in by high cliffs. The water shimmered with heat-haze. Some cried out in pain, for the sun hurt like the blinding light after the darkness of the womb.

'There's a bird scratching my eyes,' wailed one man, waking from nightmare to nightmare.

Gorn cursed him, and he was silent.

The rafts drifted, idle, silent. The survivors lay face down under the hammer of the sun, sheltering their faces from the blinding light. Then Hearst rolled over; but he kept his hands over his eyes. Red bloodlight filtered through his fingers. Light…

– So we have come through. Yes. And some have said that Morgan Hearst would never lie down till death laid him out, but I'm happy enough to lie here now. Now, yes, and forever if I could…

The sun beat down on his corpse-flesh.

After a while, he opened a narrow slit between his fingers. Slowly he scanned the drifting rafts. He was amazed at the height of the heavens, at the intense blue of the sky, at the ferocity of the sun. His lips cracked apart in a smile.

– Yes, we have come through. And then:

– But look at us! A meal for vultures. Or, at best, a band of half-dead runaway slaves.

Fungus sprouted from the logs in mounds and lugs, white, orange and purple. It sprawled across leather in threads of white or bile-green splashes. Hearst counted the rafts: only eight left. On one was nothing but a corpse; on others sat men in various stages of collapse. The survivors were as pale as the inner bark of trees, the white flesh of grubs, the kernels of almonds. Some had inflamed scarlet rashes, boils, and stinking ulcers.

Blackwood had cold, grey, slimy smoke drifting in coils about him. He coughed, and more smoke vomited out of his mouth. Hearst went to help him. Blackwood waved smoke away from his face.

'I wouldn't come any closer if I was you,' said Blackwood.

'He's right,' said Miphon. 'Stay away for the moment. The smoke is parasitic, but the light will weaken it. Soon it'll trouble him less, and be too weak to batten onto anything else.'

'How can I get rid of it?' said Blackwood.

'You can't,' said Miphon.

Hearst shook Alish by the shoulder.

'Time to move,' he said.

'Time ran out long ago,' muttered Alish.

Hearst again tried to rouse him to action, then gave up.

'Oars into water,' sang out Hearst, getting to his feet. His voice drifted away over the dazzling surface of the lake. Slowly men began to grub away the sodden ropes holding down the sweep-oars. Every knife was rusty and blunt; one could have wept to see those fine blades so cankered and dishonoured. With oars in the water, the men began to work the rafts toward the shore. Seven moved; the eighth, with only a corpse on board, stayed where it was. Slowly they drew away from it.

'You're lighter,' said Hearst to Gorn.

'My travelling companion has suffered,' said Gorn, looking ruefully at the remnants of his paunch. 'The wizard Garash also looks lighter than he was.'

The rafts crawled along under the sun like crippled insects. Hearst tried to strike up a rowing chant, but none would take up the song, so he let his voice trail away. On the eighth raft, the one they had left behind, the body stood up. Hearst realised it was Valarkin, who now cut free an oar and set the raft in motion.

'We mustn't lose him,' said Miphon. 'He's got the ring to the bottle. We should try and get into that bottle soon.'

'Yes,' said Gorn. 'There's food in there.' 'We'll take him when he gets to the shore,' said Garash.

'He's going the wrong way,' said Gorn. Hearst shouted.

'Valarkin! Where are you going? Valarkin!'

'Maybe he's heading for the other side of the lake,' said Gorn. 'Shall I swim after him?'

'What's the use?' said Hearst. 'He could always throw the ring in the water if you caught him. Besides, there might still be Melski in the water.'

'There's a bow tied to my pack,' said Blackwood. 'Over there. The quiver is inside the pack. You might try that.'

Hearst found the bow. He fitted an arrow to the string and drew the bow. The string snapped. it's rotted through,' said Hearst. 'Garash?' i have enough power to kill him,' said Garash. i have more than enough power to kill him, but the fire would also destroy the ring.'

They had no way of catching Valarkin.

Under the sun the fungus grew brittle, curled up, became black, writhed and began to stink. Slowly, too slowly to leave more than the slightest ripple of wake, the rafts worked their way toward the shore. Those not on the oars lay for the most part as if dead, sheltering from the sun under weatherworn cloaks.

Gorn drew a helmet-full of water and peered at his reflection.

'How's your beauty?' said Hearst.

'Better than I'd expected. I'd have thought my hair would have gone grey after all we've been through.'

Garash peered at the shore with his protuberant eyes. In places the rocks were black, in places red; some were stained yellow with the sulphur-spill of hot-water springs. Steam rose in plumes from fumaroles. it won't be easy getting up those cliffs,' said Garash.

'Weil make it,' said Hearst. 'How do you feel now, Alish?' i feel like the yolk spilt from an eggshell.'

'Rest then. You'll feel better later.'

The first raft crunched against the stones of the shore. Those on the oars let them drop and sat down or lay down.

'Ashore!' yelled Hearst. 'On your feet and get ashore. Move now, move! My sword's in my hand, and it won't be the flat of it I'll be using.'