Terry Pratchett - The Last Hero

The Code was quite clear. One brave man against seven… won. They knew it was true. In the past, they'd all relied on it. The higher the odds, the greater the victory. That was the Code.

Forget the Code, dismiss the Code, deny the Code… and the Code would take you.

They looked down at Captain Carrot's sword. It was short, sharp and plain. It was a working sword. It had no runes on it. No mystic gleam twinkled on its edge.

If you believed in the Code, that was worrying. One simple sword in the hands of a truly brave man would cut through a magical sword like suet.

It wasn't a frightening thought, but it was a thought.

‘Funny thing,’ said Cohen, ‘but I heard tell once that down in Ankh-Morpork there's some watchman who's really heir to the throne but keeps very quiet about it because he likes being a watchman…’

Oh dear, thought the Horde. Kings in disguise… that was Code material, right there.

Carrot met Cohen's gaze.

‘Never heard of him,’ he said.

‘To die for forty-three dollars a month,’ said Cohen, holding the gaze, ‘a man's got to be very, very stupid or very, very brave…’

‘What's the difference?’ said Rincewind, stepping forward. ‘Look, I don't want to break up a moment of drama or anything, but he's not joking. If that… keg explodes here, it will destroy the world. It'll… open a sort of hole and all the magic will drain away.’

‘Rincewind?’ said Cohen. ‘What're you doing here, you old rat?’

‘Trying to save the world,’ said Rincewind. He rolled his eyes. ‘ Again .’

Cohen looked uncertain, but heroes don't back down easily, even in the face of the Code.

‘It'll really all blow up?’

‘Yes!’

‘'S not much of a world,’ Cohen muttered. ‘Not any more…’

‘What about all the dear little kittens—’ Rincewind began.

‘Puppies,’ hissed Carrot, not taking his eyes off Cohen.

‘Puppies, I mean. Eh? Think of them .’

‘Well. What about them?’

‘Oh… nothing.’

‘But everyone will die,’ said Carrot.

Cohen shrugged his skinny shoulders. ‘Everyone dies, sooner or later. So we're told.’

‘There will be no one left to remember,’ said the minstrel, as if he was talking to himself. ‘If there's no one left alive, no one will remember.’

The Horde looked at him.

‘No one will remember who you were or what you did,’ he went on. ‘There will be nothing. No more songs. No one will remember .’

Cohen sighed, ‘All right, then let's say supposing I don't—’

‘Cohen?’ said Truckle, in an unusually worried voice. ‘You know a few minutes ago, where you said “press the plunger”?’

‘Yes?’

‘You meant I shouldn't've?’

The keg was sizzling.

‘You pressed it?’ said Cohen.

‘Well, yes ! You said .’

‘Can we stop it?’

‘No,’ said Rincewind.

‘Can we outrun it?’

‘Only if you can think of a way to run ten miles really, really fast,’ said Rincewind.

‘Gather round, lads! Not you, minstrel boy, this is sword stuff…’ Cohen beckoned the other heroes, and they went into a hurried huddle. It didn't seem to take long.

‘Right,’ said Cohen, as they straightened up. ‘You got all our names down right, Mr Bard?’

‘Of course—’

‘Then let's go, lads!’

They heaved the keg back on to Hamish's wheelchair. Truckle half turned as they started to push it.

‘Here, bard! You sure you made a note of that bit where I—?’

‘We are leaving !’ shouted Cohen, grabbing him. ‘See you later, Mrs McGarry’

She nodded, and stood back. ‘You know how it is,’ she said sadly. ‘Great-grandchildren on the way and everything…’

The wheelchair was already moving fast. ‘Get 'em to name one after me!’ yelled Cohen as he leapt aboard.

‘What're they doing?’ said Rincewind as the chair rolled down the street towards the far gates.

‘They'll never get it down from the mountain quickly enough!’ said Carrot, starting to run.

The chair passed through the arch at the end of the street and rattled over the icy rocks.

As they hurried after it, Rincewind saw it bounce out and into ten miles of empty air. He thought he heard the last words, as the downward plunge began: ‘Aren't we supposed to shout somethinggggg…’

Then chair and figures and barrel became smaller and smaller and merged into the hazy landscape of snow and sharp hungry rocks.

Carrot and Rincewind watched.

After a while the wizard noticed Leonard, out of the corner of his eye. The man had his fingers on his own pulse and was counting under his breath.

‘Ten miles… hmm… allow for air resistance… call it three minutes plus… yes… yes, indeed… we should be averting our eyes around… yes… now . Yes, I think that would be a good i—’

Even through closed lids, the world went red.

When Rincewind crawled to the edge, he saw a small distant circle of evil black and crimson.

Several seconds later thunder boomed up the flanks of Cori Celesti, causing avalanches. And that, too, died away.

‘Do you think they've survived?’ said Carrot, peering down into the fog of dislodged snow.

‘Huh?’ said Rincewind.

‘It wouldn't be the proper story if they didn't survive.’

‘Captain, they fell about ten miles into an explosion which has just reduced a mountain to a valley,’ said Rincewind.

‘They could have landed in really deep snow on some ledge,’ said Carrot.

‘Or there may have been a passing flock of really large soft birds?’ said Rincewind.

Carrot bit his lip. ‘On the other hand… giving up their lives to save everyoneintheworld … that's a good ending, too.’

‘But it was them who were going to blow it up!’

‘Still very brave of them, though.’

‘In a way, I suppose.’

Carrot shook his head sadly. ‘Perhaps we could get down and check.’

‘It's a great bubbling crater of boiling rock!’ Rincewind burst out. ‘It'd take a miracle!’

‘There's always hope.’

‘So? There's always taxes, too. It doesn't make any difference .’

Carrot sighed and straightened up. ‘I wish you weren't right.’

‘ You wish I wasn't right? Come on, let's get back. We're not exactly out of trouble ourselves, are we?’

Behind them, Vena blew her nose and then tucked her handkerchief back into her armoured corset. It was time, she thought, to follow the smell of horses.

The remains of the Kite were the subject of keen but uncomprehending interest among the deitic classes. They weren't certain what it was, but they definitely disapproved of it.

‘I feel,’ said Blind Io, ‘that if we had wanted people to fly, we would have given them wings.’

‘We allow broomthtickth and magic carpeth,’ said Offler.

‘Ah, but they're magical. Magic… religion… there is a certain association. This is an attempt to subvert the natural order. Just anyone could float around the place in one of these things.’ He shuddered. ‘Men could look down upon their gods!’

He looked down upon Leonard of Quirm.

‘Why did you do it?’ he said.

‘You gave me wings when you showed me birds,’ said Leonard of Quirm. ‘I just made what I saw.’

The rest of the gods said nothing. Like many professionally religious people – and they were pretty professional, being gods – they tended towards unease in the presence of the unashamedly spiritual.

‘None of us recognise you as a worshipper,’ said Io. ‘Are you an atheist ?’