Robert Silverberg: The Mountains of Majipoor

"You know about my new mission?"

"Know about it? I helped to arrange it!"

"You what?"

"Oh, it was mostly your cousin Vildimuir who set things up for you," Tembidat said, grinning broadly. "He was the first to hear the story about those nitwit scientists who got themselves captured by the wild men of the mountains, and he started in right away among the Coronal’s men, angling for you to be placed in charge of the rescue mission. Then he told me about it, and I put a word in for you with the Ministry of Frontier Affairs, which as you might expect is terribly excited about the whole thing because there’s a newly discovered primitive culture involved that’s going to require special handling, and that might just lead to a bigger budget for the Ministry; and I managed to convince none other than Inamon Ghaznavis that you were absolutely the best man to go up there and talk to them, in view of your diplomatic background and the fact that you were stationed here in Ni-moya anyway, just a hop and a skip from the foothills of the Marches, and so—"

"Wait a minute," Harpirias broke in. "I can’t believe what you’re saying. Isn’t it bad enough that I’ve been dumped into this miserable dead-end job here? Did you and Vildimuir think it was going to make things any better for me by entangling me in some crazy expedition into a horrendous frostbitten place where no civilized man has ever gone before?"

"Absolutely."

"How so?"

Tembidat glared at him as though he were thick-witted.

"Listen to me, Harpirias," he said. "This expedition is the only chance you have to save yourself from having to spend the rest of your days pushing moronic government papers around in this office."

"The Coronal, so you once swore to me, was going to pardon me after a few months and let me come back to—"

"Listen to me," said Tembidat. "The Coronal has forgotten all about you. Don’t you think he’s got other things on his mind? The only bit of information he’s likely to remember about Harpirias of Muldemar is that he did something once that got Prince Lubovine very angry, and Lubovine can be such a pain in the neck that the Coronal doesn’t want to stir him up again over whatever it is that you did, so whenever one of us brings up the subject of recalling you to Castle Mount he just brushes it aside. And after a time he won’t even remember who you were or why there’s any reason to reinstate you at the Castle. All right. Now you get sent off into the Marches to rescue a bunch of lost scientists from a lost tribe of ferocious savages. No doubt your journey is going to be extremely harrowing and grueling and you’ll be called upon to perform all sorts of grand heroic deeds along the way." "No doubt," Harpirias said blackly. "There’s no question of it. Be serious, Harpirias." "I’m trying to be," Harpirias said. "It’s not easy." He was surprised himself at how sharp and cynical and suspicious he had become, here in Ni-moya. The Harpirias of Castle Mount had been nothing at all like that. There were times these days that he could hardly recognize himself, so thoroughly had he changed.

Tembidat went on undaunted. "So your trip will be a glorious epic endeavor. You’ll go to the northlands, perform bravely and well under highly difficult circumstances, and make your way safely back through all the perils, bringing the hostages with you. In all probability the Coronal, who is easily stirred by tales of great exploits and high adventure that seem to hearken back to some more romantic era, is going to want to hear all about your experiences. So you’ll be called back to the Castle to deliver your report in person, and Lord Ambinole will be tremendously delighted by your stirring account of heroic thrills and chills on the ice-fields of the north, Harpirias, tremendously delighted, and by the vivid descriptions you’ll give him of your death-defying rescue of those brilliant scientists, a deed which is going to be celebrated for centuries to come in song and story. And of course he’s not going to ship you back to some stupid desk job in Ni-moya after he’s heard all that."

"Of course. Unless I don’t happen to survive this glorious epic adventure in the first place, that is. Unless it turns out that I get clobbered by an avalanche or wind up being eaten by the savages."

"If you want to be a hero of song and story, Harpirias, you have to take a few risks. But there’s no reason in the world why you shouldn’t—"

"Can’t you understand, Tembidat, I don’t want to be a hero of song and story? I just want to get out of this dreadful place and back to the Mount, where I belong."

"Very well. This is the only way to achieve that."

"It’s a lunatic thing to do," said Harpirias. "The risks are overwhelmingly great and the possibility of any kind of real payoff for me is merely hypothetical."

"I agree."

"Then how can you expect me to be willing to—"

Tembidat sighed. "There’s simply no alternative, Harpirias. This is the one and only opportunity you’re going to get. Look here: your distinguished cousin Vildimuir has gone pretty far out on a limb to get you this assignment. It meant crossing departmental lines and pulling strings at three or four Ministries, while at the same time keeping various other people who actually wanted command of this expedition from getting it.

I’m talking about our old friends Sinnim and Graniwain and Noridath, specifically. They thought a little jaunt into the Marches might be fun. Do you remember the concept of fun, Harpirias? Seeing strange scenery, making your way through a dangerous unknown place, coping with a savage warlike race: they were more than eager to go, let me tell you, and they weren’t the only ones. With extreme difficulty Vildimuir succeeded in snaring the assignment for you instead. If you embarrass him now by turning the job down, you can bet that he isn’t going to knock himself out finding you some other way out of Ni-moya, do you follow me? Either you go, Harpirias, or you settle down here for keeps and learn to love the work that you’re doing right now. Those are your only choices."

"I see. What an extremely pretty situation." Harpirias turned away to keep Tembidat from seeing the anguish in his eyes. "So everything really is over for me, isn’t it? All because I fired a single shot at a silly animal with fancy red antlers."

"Don’t be such a pessimist, old man. What’s happened to you? Where’s your sense of adventure? You’ll make the trip, you’ll achieve everything you’re supposed to, and you’ll come home a hero and start your career all over again. Jump for it, Harpirias! How many chances for excitement like this does any of us get in a lifetime? I’d be happy to go with you myself, if I could."

"Would you? What’s stopping you?"

Color came to Tembidat’s face. "I’m here on complicated family business that’s going to take me months to clean up, or I would. You know very well that I would. But never mind, Harpirias. Turn the assignment down, if that’s how you feel. I’ll tell Vildimuir that you were deeply grateful for all his help, but that in the end you decided that you really preferred your nice quiet desk job in Ni-moya, and therefore—"

"Don’t be an imbecile, Tembidat. Of course I’m going to go."

"You are?"

Harpirias managed a smile. The effort was considerable. "Did you ever seriously think I wouldn’t?"

The storm went on and on, hour after hour. After a time, Harpirias came to take it for granted that the world should consist of nothing but whiteness. That other world in which he had once lived, the world of colors, of green trees and red flowers and blue rivers and turquoise sky, seemed now to have been only a dream. What was real was the insistent swarms of small white particles that came endlessly hurtling against the front, screen of the floater on the tireless driving gusts of wind, and the thick mantle of whiteness that wrapped it snugly on every side, above and below, before and behind, blurring everything into indistinguishabily.