Hugh Cook - The wizards and the warriors

'Quite not quite,' said Miphon. 'A single word cannot 250 hold the secret. In a word, that simple word you want, the Balance is harmony. If a wizard cannot achieve it then the quest for power will kill him. What do you want now – a lecture on the applied metaphysics of self-determined intelligences, or a piece of this scrawny fowl?'

'Compared to me, the bird's positively fat,' said Hearst. 'I'd love a piece.'

As they ate, Hearst remembered – vaguely, as one may remember words spoken in dreams – why Stronghold Handfast was so important. Its makers, long dead and forgotten, had mastered the art of creating architecture which would protect its inhabitants against the force in the universe which would attempt to destroy an anomaly. Once there, Heenmor, having no need to divert any of his energy to the preservation of the Balance, would be able to devote all his powers to the study of the death-stone.

Hearst tried to remember what Stronghold Handfast looked like. He was irritated to find that he could not picture it clearly. But he could remember what it was built of: millions of blocks, variously blue, green, red, and yellow, each block as shiny as glass, and each block no larger than a man's thumb.

He stopped eating.

'What's the matter?' said Miphon. 'You look very peculiar. Have you found worms in the meat?' i was…' 'What?'

'Nothing,' said Hearst. 'Nothing.'

Miphon chewed a bit of meat in a meditative way, the sharper pangs of his hunger now appeased; he swallowed, spat out a small piece of bone, then, suspecting the source of Hearst's discomfort, spoke: 'You'll find you've inherited at least some of Phyphor's memories along with things like a knowledge of the High Speech. You won't have access to those memories at first, because they'll be completely disor ganised to begin with. However 'What?' said Hearst, in alarm. 'He'll take over my mind?'

'He's dead,' said Miphon. 'The mind-masters are the wizards of Ebber, not the wizards of Arl.'

'But if I'm thinking thoughts that aren't mine -'

'Then what? Are you ever afraid your dreams will take you over? No? Then look on these memories as a new set of dreams – only it's usual to forget dreams, bit by bit. These dreams you'll recall. Slowly. Sometimes a word may help the recall – not a magic word, just one with special meaning. Consider this one: Araconch.'

Araconch.

Hearst thought about it, and smelt… dried ink. Remembered faded lines crawling across parchment. An inscription in a crabbed hand: Here Be Dragons. Irritation at hearing someone laugh, in, of all places, the Sourcing Room: the Map Room. Maps. Of course…

'These are the Araconch waters,' said Hearst, indicating the expanse of lake. 'To the north… difficult country… then… the Blue Lakes, yes. Then the Broken Lands. A river… if we can get that far, then the river will take us to Kalatanastral, the city of glass… from there, yes, the Ringwall Mountains themselves…'

Hearst fell silent, thinking of the distances they had to cover. Since he had orientated himself by sun and stars, he knew they were in the north-west quadrant of the lake; they would have to march north for about fifty leagues over broken country to reach the Blue Lakes, after which another fifty leagues or so would take them to a tributary of the Amodeo River.

If they could find or make a boat, three hundred leagues or so by river would bring them to Kalatanastral, from where it would be about seventy leagues across plains, hills and mountains to the towers of Stronghold Handfast. All in all, the better part of five hundred leagues.

'They say the winters here are harsh,' said Hearst.

'Then we should make all speed to try and reach Stronghold Handfast before the snows,' said Miphon.

'How soon can the soldiers travel?'

'The worm-sick man will be dead by tomorrow,' said Miphon, working a bird's tail feather into his faded, weatherstained hat, which, stored in his pack throughout the underground journey to this southern lake, looked almost too decrepit to withstand the sunlight.

'And the others?'

'Give them ten days or so to rest and harden their skin to the sun.' 'What about Blackwood?' i think… I think he won't survive the winter. But he should still be able to travel with us.'

T had a dream,' said Hearst. 'I had a dream that he might be cured by a draught of the blood of a dragon and the blood of a man.'

Miphon guessed that Hearst, falling asleep, had heard Miphon telling Blackwood about the cure for his illness, and had worked the words into his dream.

'A dream is a dream,' said Miphon, dismissing it.

Miphon knew Hearst owed his life to Blackwood, thanks to the episode at the lopsloss pit; the last thing Miphon wanted was for Hearst to throw his own life away in a reckless attempt to kill a dragon for blood with which to redeem Blackwood's life.

'So there's no saving him,' said Hearst.

'He might last a little longer if we could shelter him in the green bottle. But of course Valarkin's taken the ring.'

'I'd thought of setting a trap for Comedo,' said Hearst, 'but that might be difficult since a twist of a ring can take him from us. Any ideas?'

'Grab him,' said Miphon. if he uses the ring you'll be pulled inside with him, where you can overpower him.'

'Good,' said Hearst.

'What will you do with him when you catch him?' 253 'I've nothing special in mind,' said Hearst. 'AH I want is the ring. But if I could get my hands on Valarkin – I'd roast him over a slow fire till his bones blubbered.'

Valarkin, refusing them the use of the green bottle after Durnwold's death at Ep Pass, had cost many men their lives, for no good reason. Thinking of the geography of Argan, Hearst realised that once Valarkin found the outlet from the lake, he would be on the Velvet River, which would take him downstream through the Manaray Gorge and the Kingdom of Chenameg to the Harvest Plains and the city of Selzirk.

Once the expedition had recovered the death-stone, if their path to the south took them through Selzirk, then Hearst, perhaps, might get a chance to hunt Valarkin down. He wondered whether to inscribe another death-pledge on his sword, to stand alongside the rune which marked his vow to take the life of the spy, Volaine Persaga Haveros. He decided against it. Haveros, though an oath-breaker, was a warrior: Valarkin was simply vermin, unworthy of the honour of a death-pledge.

Digesting food slowly, Hearst began to plan how he would ready his men for the journey north. First, they would catch lots of fish, and smoke them; with that, plus the little remaining siege dust, they would be able to cross the broken country to the north.

Miphon, with fewer immediate worries, lay back and looked at the sky, scanning the birds. He looked as if he was at peace, but he was not. There was a problem he had not quite solved. At Ep Pass, when the rocks had started to move, one had charged for the men, killing five and injuring Phyphor before demolishing three rafts and plunging to its destruction in the waters of the river.

No rock had charged after that.

In the panic of those moments, Miphon had found the minds of the rocks wide open, and had managed to control them sufficiently to stop any further charges. If he ever again met rocks which had been liberated by the death-stone, would he be able to gain complete control over them? How many could he control at once? And for how long? Such questions might one day mean the difference between life and death.

Overhead, wheeling through the clear empyrean, was a bird. Miphon sensed its special kind of remorseless questing, and named it for what it was: vulture. If he chose, he could call it down by deluding it into thinking it saw dead men lying there. Miphon did not hesitate: vultures were edible, and he was still hungry.