Nin: one of the weakest of the eight orders of wizards, having power over the minds of wild things.
Miphon woke to sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows of the top room of Nin's four-storey tower. Wondering why he had slept so well, he remembered that the castle stones had no voices. For once he had slept without hearing stones, rocks and mountains grumbling and complaining. The process used to build the castle had killed all life in the rock thus employed, letting Miphon sleep without that mournful cry always in his head: 'Lemarl…'
A broken windowpane allowed him a clear view across the glitter of the Hollern River and the trees of Looming Forest to the distant northern mountains of the Penvash Peninsular rising high and steep under the blue vault of the heavens.
Momentarily, he remembered an ocean-going canoe of the Driftwood Islands which had been named The Blue Vault of the Heavens. But that was long ago and far away… and he could never go back. It was too late for that. Years too late.
He slopped out, making use of a drop-shaft which overhung the flame trench. He ate some siege dust, through it almost choked him – they would have to arrange rations with the castle. He would see if he could sort something out with the cook or quartermaster before he saw Comedo.
'Enter,' said Prince Comedo.
Miphon went into the prince's room. The first thing he saw was a girl – small, thin, pale, hairless and almost breastless. There was blood on her thighs. She parted curtains, vanishing into an adjoining chamber.
Miphon bowed, and tried a few courtesies on the prince, inwardly lamenting the deficiencies of the Galish Trading Tongue. Designed for haggling, it permitted few flatteries. Translated into Galish, words like 'Greetings, my lord' meant, literally, 'Hi, camel master', while 'I am at your service' suggested something like 'I'm willing to bargain'.
Miphon need not have worried. Prince Comedo, having received much homage in Galish, believed that phrases such as 'Hi, camel master' were tokens of great respect. All his life, Galish had been, to him, a formal, courtly tongue; he was completely ignorant of the irreverent, vernacular life the Trading Tongue lived in the marketplaces of the Salt Road.
Abruptly, Comedo demanded how one became a wizard. Miphon was taken aback, but, recovering swiftly, spoke in generalities about Venturing, Testing" and Proving.
'Heenmor said as mucli,' said Comedo, apparently irritated. 'But he never told me precisely what makes a wizard.'
'You wish to know, my lord?'
'Yes!'
'The heart of the matter is service,' said Miphon. 'One works as a humble apprentice for many years. One studies with humility. One serves another who is prepared to teach.'
'Is that the only way?'
'Yes. One must serve.'
'For a long time?'
'Yes, my lord.'
'I would not serve. Others serve me. That's the way things are supposed to be. Heenmor served me. He's gone now, of course. I miss him. I was the only ruler in the known world to own a wizard. I owned him, but he made too many demands. He was… so tall. His shadow was too long.
'I told Morgan Hearst to kill him. We were eating chestnuts at the time. But the wizard fled. He made a magic to kill my men. I can show you one who didn't die. He wants to die, but I keep him. He's unique. I'll show you… but not today. Not today. But believe me, I have him. The only one.'
'Did Heenmor say where he was going? Do you know where he went?'
'Don't drop questions so, like hail on my head. Remember, I own the dandelion. One puff, and you're dead. My servants – they told you about my foot?'
'Yes, my lord,' said Miphon.
And was soon at work.
Comedo, walking barefoot to bed, had stepped on a needle, which had broken off in his foot. After some days, his heel was now red and inflamed, yellow pus swelling the skin round the puncture site. Miphon heated a needle in the flame of a candle to kill 'the life which feeds on the eye which cannot see it'. He broke open the skin, expressed globs of pus and wiped them away. Then began to dig.
Comedo's hands knotted together, his mouth twisted, and sweat broke out on his brow, though Miphon doubted if he was hurting more than a fraction, if at all. Finally Miphon saw the black stump of the broken needle. He coaxed it to the surface and drew it out. It was black, corroded, rotten. Miphon exhibited his prize.
'Here it is. See.'
'No,' said Comedo, shielding his face. 'I don't want to see. I don't, I won't. You're finished, you can go.'
'Not yet,' said Miphon calmly. 'A hot poultice comes next, to draw out the corruption.'
He prepared and placed the poultice. Comedo complained of the heat of it, but Miphon soothed him as one might sooth a child, and Comedo allowed himself to be soothed.
'They tell me,' said Comedo, while the poultice did its work, 'that you'll hunt off shortly after Heenmor. He always feared pursuit… I don't know why.'
'We can't follow him unless we know where he is.'
'You came from the south.'
'Yes,' said Miphon. 'He won't have gone south.'
'He could have gone north… the Melski would know. But the Melski are animals, they'd never tell us. Perhaps he went east to my cousin Jcferies… that's a long way, though.'
'How far?'
'From here to the High Castle in Trest… about a hundred leagues.' 'Ten marches.'
'Yes,' said Comedo. 'You take the Eastway. For the first fifteen leagues, that's a road. Then you reach Sepik. After that, there's a path. It goes through the swamps.'
'My lord,' said Miphon, 'Before we set out. we'd like to see the place where Heenmor used magic to kill the men chasing him. If that's no trouble…'
'It's in deep forest. You'd never find it. There's nobody here who'd dare guide you there.'
'Surely a prince so wealthy as yourself, a prince able to maintain such a magnificent retinue – I am impressed to find even Rovac warriors in your service – must surely have, somewhere, within the wide bounds -'
'Enough,' said Prince Comedo, holding up a hand for silence. 'I will think on it. Thinking will do me no harm. Perhaps I will think of someone for you. In the meantime: you may go.'
'Yes, my lord.'
Exiting from Comedo's chambers, Miphon heard a distant, echoing voice shouting: 'Andranovory! Let him go!' He still hadn't arranged about rations.