Hugh Cook - The wizards and the warriors

Miphon watched Comedo as one might watch a scorpion. The subdued green light from the walls of the bottle allowed him to see everything clearly here, for they were in the neck of the bottle. Downstairs the rooms would be gloomier. How many rooms were there? How many chambers? Miphon had no idea. He had never studied the magic of enchantment of bottles: it was old lore, now commanded, to the best of his knowledge, only by the order of Varkarlor.

Suddenly Comedo ran for the spiral staircase that led downwards. Miphon chased him down the stairs, and found himself in a storeroom a hundred times the size of the room above. Firestones studded the ceiling, shedding light on massive barrels of water, ale and wine, on sacks bulging with potatoes and onions, on fish smoked and salted, dried meat, pickles, hams, bunches of herbs and dried figs.

'Come and get me,' said Comedo, with a giggle. 'Come and get me.'

'I will,' said Miphon grimly.

This was getting too dangerous. He should have knifed Comedo in the room above. Would Hearst have hesitated, or Gorn, or Alish? Even Blackwood would not have hesitated under the circumstances. Comedo dangled the ring over a drop-hole.

'Don't drop it down there!' said Miphon.

'Why not?'

'We'll never see it again.'

Miphon knew all about the drop-holes. They would have a common opening located beneath the overhang of a tower at one of the wizard castles – in the case of this bottle, most probably Castle Vaunting. Anything thrown into one would finish up in the flame trench which circled the castle.

'We don't need to see it again,' said Comedo. 'We already know what it looks like.'

Miphon lunged at Comedo, who skipped back, snatched something from a shelf and hurled it at Miphon. It shattered at Miphon's feet: a jar of pickled pigs' trotters. Comedo threw another one. Miphon ducked. The jar clipped a barrel and burst in a shower of ceramic shards.

'Come on then,' said Comedo.

Miphon threw a jar at him.

'Missed,' said Comedo.

The prince danced away down another flight of stairs. The chase ended in a totally bare room. It was much larger than the one above, but was split in two by a massive stone wall which was fantastically carved with figures of wizards, warriors, dragons, and creatures of the Swarms. In the wall was a single doorway, flanked by twisting stone pillars.

There were no firestones here, but the bare floor was patterned with a filigree tracery of green light which supplemented the dull glow from the outer walls., 'You can't run much further,' said Miphon. 'Give it to me.'

Comedo backed toward the doorway. Miphon followed him cautiously. The other half of the room was also bare and featureless, apart from a stairway leading downwards. Miphon tried to circle round Comedo to cut off his escape down that stairway.

'Don't hurt me,' said Comedo. 'Oh don't hurt me.'

'Give me the ring,' said Miphon. 'Now!'

Comedo's fingers opened, and the ring fell to the stone floor. It rolled round and round in ever-diminishing circles, then fell, shivered and was still. Comedo backed away. Miphon stalked toward the ring, now ready to kill Comedo if he tried to grab it back. But Comedo kept retreating, with fear, despair and terror written on his torn and bloodstained face. Miphon scooped up the ring.

Comedo skipped back through the doorway and threw a lever hidden in the decorative carvings on the other side of the wall. A huge portcullis crashed down between him and Miphon, blocking the doorway. Miphon stood there unbelieving. Comedo had tricked him. Just like that. He had managed it so easily, so easily.

Comedo laughed.

'Now you'll grovel,' said Comedo. 'Now you'll grovel, now, down on your slime on your belly, because it's mine now. Mine!'

For a moment Miphon was dismayed, then he smiled. Of course! One turn of the ring would dissolve his body into mist, which would reassemble outside the bottle.

'You forget,' said Miphon. 'I've got the ring.' 'Have you now?' said Comedo. 'Have you now? Take a closer look, Mr Wizard. Take a closer look.' Miphon held up the ring to study it by the dim green underseas light. But one ring looks much like another. He jammed it on a finger and turned it. Nothing happened.

'Do you want the magic ring?' said Comedo. 'Do you want it?'

Miphon walked to the portcullis. On the other side, Comedo grinned at him. Comedo opened his mouth, and fingered a ring out of the dark wet shadows within.

'You're my prisoner now,' said Comedo.

Miphon put his hands to the cold metal bars of the portcullis. He tried to shift it. He might as well have tried to move a mountain.

'You need me,' said Miphon, thinking quickly now. 'You could die from your injuries. They're starting to rot already. I can tell. You're going to die if you don't get my help.'

'Pox doctor!' i tell you, if you don't get my help -"

Comedo shouted Miphon down, screamed at him, alternating rage with sarcasm, bitterness and spite. Miphon's bluff had failed. Turning, he walked away toward the staircase that led downwards deeper into the bottle.

'Run then,' said Comedo. 'Run then. You'll be back, when you get tired of drinking your own piss. You have to eat, you know. I'll feed you – once you've eaten. I've got you now. I'll have you licking out the inside of my nostrils before I'm finished with you.'

At the head of the stairs there was a hatch which Miphon could close and bolt after him. He did so, shutting out the sound of Comedo's ranting. Water, yes, he would need water: he was already thirsty, his throat dusty from that long slide down the scree slope.

But did he really dare venture downwards in search of it?

The stairs were dark. The steps, hollowed by many feet, reminded him of the bottle's great antiquity. It dated back to the Long War against the Swarms, thousands of years before his birth. It might well contain dangers unknown to the age he had been born into.

He did not hesitate. He had no choice.

He descended the darkened stairs.

On reaching the bottom, Miphon found himself in a huge room bigger than any of the chambers above. The dim light from floor and walls showed him the room was empty.

Prince Comedo had been indulging in histrionics when he had sobbed that inside the bottle it was 'so jolty sway'. There was no trace of motion inside the bottle. The horizons were always the same. The fluids within the inner ear were as quiet and steady as the silent waters of a landlocked underground sea. The bottle was a self-contained world where the air felt dead and lifeless, as if nothing had stirred in it for centuries. The dull green glow from the walls, like the eye-vein patterns sprawled across the floor, had nothing to do with the world outside; the illumination was a property of the bottle itself, giving no hint of night or day. The temperature was constant, cool but not chill; neither sun nor frost in the world outside could alter it.

Miphon tried to remember his days in the sunlight -which already seemed a long time ago. He tried to remember the bottle swinging from Blackwood's belt. It widened from the neck for a third of its height, then for the next two-thirds it tapered very slightly to a flat base. Since the rooms were still getting larger, he could not have descended more than a third of the way to the bottom, if that.

Someone's tracks showed in the sparse scattering of dust on the floor. Miphon followed them to the next stairway and descended. He guessed Valarkin had left the tracks, as he doubted that Comedo would have cared to explore this bottle on his own – and the tracks had all been made by one person.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Miphon entered a room where the walls were almost lost in the misty green distance. He followed dusty footprints till he was close enough to the walls to see the chairs, desks and shelves of books that were arrayed there. Valarkin, judging by the tracks, had lost his nerve and turned back at this point. And no wonder. The silence was enormous.