The trio were supposed to leave Selzirk at noon, travelling by ship down the Velvet River to Androlmarphos, and from there by sea to the Castle of Controlling Power. However, Hearst doubted that they would survive such a journey. Even if Farfalla did not plot against them, their wealth – the red and green bottles and the death-stone – would tempt their guides and escorts beyond endurance.
Accordingly, Blackwood, Hearst and Miphon left Selzirk before dawn, setting out along the Salt Road on fast horses. Hearst had decided that, if they were pursued, he would not hesitate to use the death-stone; he hoped he would not be put to that necessity.
Hearst was deeply troubled by his new insights into the past; Miphon, for his part, was already beginning to worry about the delicate task of diplomacy that would face him at the Castle of Controlling Power, when he would have to introduce a Rovac warrior to the Confederation of Wizards.
But Blackwood travelled with a light heart, for, thanks to Miphon, he no longer saw visions. He had been released from the weight of an intolerable burden: he was free. Free for what? He had not yet decided: for the moment he was content to travel the Salt Road under the summer sun. Occasionally he thought of other places, other times: but it was over a year since they had first marched from Castle Vaunting, leaving it in the grip of a mad-jewel; the memories of the past were fading, and Blackwood faced the future.
Blackwood carried a fine Selzirk bow and a quiver of arrows; when they camped at evening, he set up a target and practised, sending the arrows singing home. If they sheltered in a village, Blackwood negotiated to secure food and lodgings; if they met travellers on the road, he hailed them, and passed the time of day with them for a while, exchanging information about conditions on the road.
Miphon and Hearst, busy with their own thoughts, were happy to let Blackwood handle these responsibilities. They had every confidence in him. For Blackwood, much had changed since he first left Estar: the greatest change was that he could now inspire confidence in a wizard of the order of Nin and a warrior of Rovac.
And so they travelled south, through the Harvest Plains to Veda.
Veda's battlements, blood red, towered into the sky, suggesting a monument to evil. But inside, all was peace: windowless corridors of luminous milky white, curving away in smooth arcs, led to libraries, sleeping quarters, meditation chambers and study rooms. The corridors were warm; asking about the warmth, the travellers were told that Veda fed upon heat from deep underground.
The varied wonders of Veda made little impression on the travellers, who were by now prepared to take anything in their stride; Veda would only have surprised them if it had turned out to be commonplace. Besides, Veda's greatest treasures were works of art, which none of the three had much of an eye for.
Morgan Hearst could appraise the approximate value of a piece of gold or jewellery, or tell a fine weapon at a glance, but hardly noticed Veda's artworks. Blackwood liked tapestries showing people and animals, and Miphon liked landscape paintings, but there was nothing like that in Veda. There was Aromsky's sculpture in bronze: The Ethical Structure of the Universe. There was the anonymous ivory called The Seven Spheres of Space and Time. There was Kere-mansky's Temptation of Zero by Infinity. The travellers, when they noticed these masterpieces at all, thought them cold, alien, ugly, uninviting.
Life in Veda itself was strange. All work was done by the Secular Arm, an organisation dominated by military and mercantile considerations. The Secular Arm would recruit anyone and anything that could stand on two legs; for administrative convenience it used the Galish Trading Tongue.
The sages of Veda, who spoke a language almost identical to the High Speech of wizards, lived lives of meditation, prayer and study. The travellers, regarding Veda only as a waystation, did not attempt to study the sages, but did try and bargain with them for a bodyguard. Hearst, remembering how they had been picked out by Erhed on first entering Selzirk, wanted armed protection for the journey through the Rice Empire.
Miphon, negotiating with the head of the Secular Arm, took the trouble of reading the man's mind. He had given up doing this without excellent cause: he had swiftly grown profoundly tired of the murky hatred, jealousy, lust, envy, deceit, self-pity, cowardice, greed, treachery and self-delusion dominating so many human minds. He was pleased to find that the head of the Secular Arm was an honourable man who would keep to the bargain they had made.
The bargain was that Miphon would heal all illnesses that were brought to him within the next ten days – Miphon demonstrated his skills by healing the headman's haemorrhoids – then the Secular Arm would provide a bodyguard of two hundred troops to see the expedition through the Rice Empire, plus papers certifying that they constituted an embassy from Veda travelling to Provincial Endergeneer.
Day after day, while Miphon saw long lines of people, Hearst practised with his sword, continuing the training Farfalla had started him on. Meanwhile Blackwood went hunting in the surrounding countryside, riding out each day with horse and falcon.
Miphon found his labours exhausting yet exhilarating. Nothing defeated the sleeping secrets. He destroyed the most stubborn infections; he made limbs regenerate; he healed injuries to the brain. Often before, working with needle and thread, sulphur and mercury, cloves and laudanum, he had found himself helpless in the face of trauma or disease. But not now!
The day they were to leave, they were invited to an audience with the Grand Master of Veda – an unusual honour, to say the least, as many of the sages themselves never got to see that worthy. They went with some trepidation; ushered into the Presence, Miphon immediately scanned the Grand Master's mind for evil intent. He was reassured by what he found.
'Greetings,' said the Grand Master.
His tone was grave and formal. That, together with the man's tranquility in repose, reminded Blackwood very much of the Melski. He remembered the day – it seemed very long ago – when he had last met with Hor-hor-hurulg-murg. Being reminded of the Melski brought back painful memories.
'Greetings,' said Miphon, using the High Speech.
Following custom, they then drank mint tea and talked at length about nothing in particular (falconry, the herbal teas of the Ravlish Lands, the comparative merits of the stave bow and the composite bow, rumours about the politics of the Chenameg Kingdom, the trade in sponges and keflo shells, the possible extent of the domination of dragons in the heartland of Argan), and then the Grand Master broached the subject which really interested him: 'Often people become legends in their own time,' said the Grand Master, 'but usually because of a trick of perspective which conjures a mortal man to the stature of a giant. I've met several living legends, but none have impressed me – till now.'
'Many songs praise us, up and down the Salt Road,' said Hearst, 'but a song sings for pleasure, not for truth.'
'One is always wary of rumour,' said the Grand Master, 'but these last ten days have seen miracles happening under my own roof. By miracle, of course, I mean an anomaly for which I have no explanation.'
'All magic is anomalous,' said Miphon. 'Wizards work by producing and controlling an anomaly in the natural order of things.' i know that,' said the Grand Master. 'As does the least of my students. However, I had thought I knew the limits of this power to… to generate anomaly.'
'So your horizons now widen,' said Miphon. indeed. We've always thought only limited power could be achieved by generating anomalies, so we've strived instead to exploit the natural lines of force which support the universe.'
'So I've heard,' said Miphon. 'But your mysteries are beyond me.' i won't try and explain then,' said the Grand Master. 'Suffice it to say that in our days of glory, before the destruction caused by the Long War, we had begun to control both the animate and the inanimate. The legends telling of sages mastering dragons are true. And as for the inamimate, investigation into the force-lines of the universe had shown us that even the air itself holds a potential for power. Before the Long War, we attempted to extract and control that potential: our efforts generated tremendous thunderstorms, killing many of the experimenters, but we thought our chances of ultimate success were good.'
'So?' said Miphon.
'So here we are, four thousand years after the Long War, only just beginning to recover the power of ages past. It occurs to me that an alliance between the two kinds of power, that to exploit anomalies and that to ex ploit the natural structure of the universe, would open up possibilities that we can only guess at.'
'I will give it my consideration,' said Miphon politely.
Everyone in the room knew that was tantamount to a refusal.
'Don't let the old, old legends about the Days of Wrath influence your thinking. Some say wizards give credence to those legends, but I think of them more as fables than as history.* i will most certainly give the matter my earnest consideration,' said Miphon. 'My way lies south, as you know; mature reflection may, perhaps, convince me to return.'
'As you will.' said the Grand Master.
Again Miphon checked to see no evil was being plotted against the travellers: again he was satisfied. The travellers bowed and left the Presence, returning to their quarters to complete their packing. Shortly after they were finished, a messenger boy called to lead them to the southern gate of Veda, where their convoy had assembled.
Miphon, still unsettled by the meeting with the Grand Master, scanned the messenger boy's mind to reassure himself that, again, everything was in order. As they followed the boy through the luminous tunnel-maze of curving corridors, Miphon pleased himself with the thought that his ability to mind-read, and to alter minds where appropriate, gave him perfect pro: tection against attack.
He was just thinking this when the ambush was sprung.
Miphon woke. He heard footsteps. But that was ridiculous. He was in the green bottle, wasn't he? He glanced at the green glowing walls. Yes, he was definitely in the green bottle. In the confusion of the ambush, finding no magic of his would work, Miphon had turned the ring on his finger to take him into the green bottle. Nobody could have followed him.
Yet he was certain he had heard footsteps.
What could it be then?
Darkly, Miphon imagined hideous evil slouching out from the murky depths of the bottle which he had never dared explore. He clawed for a sword. Hast was that blade. Miphon had snatched the sword Hast even as Hearst, clubbed from behind, had fallen toward the ground.
Again,' footsteps.
And voices, yes: a mutter, a curse, a short laugh, a hissed order silencing someone. Intruders were coming down the stairs. This was no menace from the depths of the bottle: this was invaders from without. Miphon gripped the sword tighter.
His enemies came in sight: grinning soldiers dressed and armed like men of the Secular Arm of Veda. But that was impossible! Miphon had scanned the minds of the headman of the Secular Arm, the Grand Master, and even the messenger boy. Everything had been in order.
'Ho, Mister Wizard,' cried one of the men. 'What's with the sword? Curing pox the sharp way, are we?'
'Keep back!' said Miphon, menacing him. Then: 'How did you get in here?'
'The same way you get up your own bum,' said the man. 'By magic, hey. Now throw down your blade, pox doctor, before your arse has an accident.'
There were five of them. Strong, bold and aggressive. Hearst's sword was clumsy in Miphon's hand. Before they could close with him, he tucked the sword under his arm – and turned the ring on his finger.
A moment of darkness as Miphon was swept out of the green bottle. A moment of disorientation as he arrived without. Then he took stock of his surround- ings: a large egg-shaped chamber with luminous white walls. In it stood a dozen members of the Secular Arm.
'Good morning, Mister Wizard,' said a man, in Estral. Then, switching from Estar's language to the Galish Trading Tongue: 'Bare blades are bad manners. Didn't you know?'
The stranger had thin lips, set in a line of self-satisfaction. Sharp, hard little eyes. A narrow nose. A narrow face, hard bones showing through the skin.
'Don't you recognise me? I'm Durnwold's brother.'
'Valarkin!' said Miphon.
Given the chance, Miphon would have destroyed him without hesitation. But, as when he had confronted Heenmor's snake in Stronghold Handfast, he found none of his magic worked.
'You shouldn't have found me so hard to remember,' chided Valarkin. it's scarcely a year since we parted at the Araconch Waters. Still, your gift compensates for your manners.'
'Gift?' said Miphon, blankly.
'This!' said Valarkin.
He unravelled a length of cloth. Something fell to the floor. The death-stone! Miphon charged forward, roaring. A fighting man lept forward to intercept him. Another thrust a spear-butt between Miphon's ankles. Miphon tripped and went down. His sword was kicked away, and he was seized in a hammerlock.
Valarkin smiled, wrapped up the death-stone, tucked it away carefully, picked up the green bottle, then relieved Miphon of a ring. Valarkin now had both of the rings which commanded the green bottle. He backed out of the egg-shaped chamber. On a signal, Miphon was released; Valarkin's men exited the chamber. Valarkin remained at the entrance, smiling.
'You'll be smiling out of your arse soon,' said Miphon savagely. 'The Grand Master will kill you for this.'
'He'll never hear of it. My organisation's entirely 456 watertight. I've found some good people in the short time I've been here. We had all kinds of plans – we were going to take over all of Veda in a few years. But now you've happened along, we've decided to take over the world instead.' 'You're mad,' said Miphon.
'But very efficient,' said Valarkin, grinning, i've got the death-stone, and I've taken Hearst and Blackwood prisoner. One of you must know the spell for working the death-stone.'
Miphon remembered struggling with Ebonair, the wizard of Ebber, at Selzirk. He recalled the injunction which had thwarted the power of the sleeping secrets: Segenarith. What would happen if Valarkin held the death-stone and proclaimed that injunction? Perhaps nothing – or perhaps the experiment would kill him.
'I'll tell you how to command the death-stone,' said Miphon. The Word is Segenarith.' is it?' said Valarkin.
'On my honour.'
'On a pox doctor's honour, hey? Well, I'll check. I'll ask Hearst for the right word.' 'And if he won't tell you?'
'I'll persuade him. I've got plenty of time. After all, nobody's going to come looking for you. Nobody even suspects the existence of my organisation.'
'We were supposed to join the convoy. The headman of the Secular Arm was waiting for us.'
'Ah yes, so he was. And now you've failed to turn up. So what's happened? Maybe you've grown wings and flown away through the air. Or become invisible and walked off down the Salt Road. Or found one of the old chasm gates the legends speak of. Who knows? All we know is that our guests have power enough to defeat wizards, warriors, armies, dragons, wilderness. So why fear for your safety? The very idea would be ridiculous. Nobody's going to search for you, least of all in here.' i can command minds at a distance,' said Miphon.
'Can you?' said Valarkin. 'Not from here you can't.'
Miphon snatched up the sword Hast and attacked Valarkin, aiming to hack off his head.
But at the mouth of the egg-shaped chamber, Miphon was halted abruptly by what felt like a huge spider-web. It was flexible but as strong as steel. He slashed at the invisible barrier with the sword – encountering no resistance. The invisible net did not restrain steel, but Miphon himself could not pass through.
'Interesting, isn't it?' said Valarkin. 'Back in the days of the Long War, sages came to distrust wizards. Places such as this were built in Veda, refuges proof against magic. No magic works here. Furthermore, no wizard can enter this place.'
'I'm here!'
'You were carried here while you were in the green bottle, thinking yourself safe.' So he was trapped.
Was there any point in throwing the sword Hast at Valarkin? He might miss. Besides, even if he killed Valarkin, Valarkin's followers would retrieve all the artefacts of power from the corpse, and Miphon would still be trapped. Only suicide could protect the secret of commanding the death-stone.
'I'm going to see if Hearst confirms your version of how to command the death-stone,' said Valarkin. T will be back. You can be sure of that. Meanwhile, I guarantee you won't be disturbed. This place lies far underground, far from Veda's life and work.'
Valarkin bowed, mocking his prisoner with an excess of courtesy, and left with his men. They were soon out of sight, lost to view round the curve of the luminous white tunnel which was the only way to and from the egg-shaped chamber where Miphon was imprisoned.
Miphon hefted Hast in his hand. He tested the sharpness of the blade. It could be done quickly – but it would hurt. Oh yes, it would hurt. He remembered the pain when the wizard Ebonair had ripped his flesh open in the struggle at Selzirk. It is hard enough to take a wound in the heat of battle, when the blood seethes with adrenalin, but harder still to administer a mortal wound in the tranquility of solitude. Yet Hearst would have done it.
Not for the first time, Miphon remembered how he had stumbled and bungled in the green bottle after Comedo had trapped him behind the portcullis. It had taken him days to escape, even when he had the means of escape in his hands. Now, if he killed himself, he might be overlooking some obvious way of escape that a common-sense man like Hearst would have seen immediately.
Miphon studied the smooth, glowing white surface of the egg. Would it yield to the sword? A few blows proved the wall unyielding. Would spells command it? Miphon tried three Spells of Opening, with no success; the architecture of sages refused the commands of wizards. There was no way through the walls.
That left the doorway, blocked only by an invisible spiderweb. Material things such as swords could pass through it. And, as Miphon had seen, it did not impede men. Only wizards. Miphon pressed against it and shouted the Ultimate Injunction.
'Segenarith!'
The barrier still restrained him. Why? It had no eyes to recognise him as a wizard – Miphon, in any case, looked just like an ordinary man. He had to think quickly, before Valarkin returned to torture him for the secret of the death-stone. Miphon knew the High Speech: pain would force him to decipher the writing graved on the death-stone's flank. Even his suicide could not safeguard the secret against betrayal by Blackwood or Hearst; even if all three died, Valarkin could go out into the wider world to find someone who could read that writing.
The barrier.
It was made by sages. It restrained wizards. The 459 Grand Master said the sages exploited the natural lines of force supporting the universe. What is the universe? The universe is… a pattern imposed on chaos. A pattern created by the great god Ameeshoth: the world of Amarl, in which wizards are an anomaly. Any intensification of that natural pattern would be inimical to wizards, who in any case had to rely on the Meditations of Balance to counter the natural tendency of the world to destroy any anomaly. The barrier must be a subtle form of such an intensification.
Miphon thought his problem through.
And found a possible solution.
By discarding his powers – at least those relating to the world of Amarl, the world of day-to-day living – he might be able to pass through the barrier.
Perhaps.
But even to think of the experiment was almost intolerable. Destroying his own powers would nullify years of work, deprivation, effort, agony. Miphon remembered the Shackle Mountains… trials in the darkness… the seven tests that may not be named… the agony and the loneliness of the long wait.
Above all else, he did not want to lose the power of the sleeping secrets, which allowed him to heal any injury or overcome any evil. That power was incalculable, despite the fact that he had been helpless when kidnapped by Valarkin and those members of the Secular Arm that Valarkin had suborned for his own purposes.
No wizard could ever be invulnerable, for an arrow in the back could kill even the most powerful. With the sleeping secrets, the limiting factor on his power was time. The ten days he had spent in Veda had been busy, busy, busy, as he had treated a succession of patients; lie had lacked the time, and indeed the inclination, to search through many of the minds, often unclean or repulsive, that dwelt within the effective range of his powers.
He believed he had the maturity and the spiritual grace to use those powers for good. Yet he had to surrender them. Spells and physical force had both failed to release him from the egg. As a wizard he was trapped, so he must cease to be a wizard, a Force incarnate in the flesh, a Power in the World of Events, a Light in the Unseen Realm, a Graduate of the Trials of Strength, a Motivator of History, a master of lore versed in the logic of the Cause and the nature of the Beginning.
He would miss that.
And there were so many other things he would miss. The exultation in the mind of the hawk as it stooped… the night thoughts of the badger… the aura of strength in the forest in spring… his satisfaction as a fat fish, lured from the depths of a cold pond, flapped in his hands…
Accepting the death of his hopes and ambitions, Miphon adopted the pose he used for the Meditations. He would destroy his power in three stages. First, his power to use the sleeping secrets, to read and change minds and heal and change bodies by the application of thought at a distance. Then, his power to read and communicate with the minds of animals. And last, if necessary, even such minor powers as he possessed to read and command the minds of animated rocks, the creatures of the world of the Horn, Lemarl.
Miphon began. Swiftly, he released all the power associated with the sleeping secrets. That power had to go somewhere, but could not escape from the egg, which hummed with a high-pitch resonance as vibrations built up.
Miphon felt uncomfortable. His ears began to hurt. It grew hot. He sweated. His sweat dried the moment it appeared on his skin. His eyes stung. The air took on a violet tinge. The walls of the egg began to vibrate. They cracked: a million hairline fractures appeared.
The barrier blocking the way out of the egg became visible as a web of blue-white energies, pulsing like an eye in which the pressure of the heart's blood is rising so high that it threatens rupture. But the barrier held. Miphon gave a small cry: a dry croak. The heat was rapidly killing him.
He had surrendered all the power of the sleeping secrets.
He refused to surrender any more.
He charged the barrier. He hit it – and a shock of pure energy flung him back, knocking him to the floor of the egg. He lay there, at first unable to move. The air pulsed and sang. Intolerable resonating energies throbbed around him. Bursts of white light sang from the walls of the egg. The walls were warm to the touch.
Miphon knew he had little time left. Unless he got out quickly, he would be dead. He composed himself, and swiftly accomplished the second phase of destroying his power. The heat intensified.
He resolved to charge the barrier again.
He wanted to escape with at least some of his powers intact: those to affect the world of Lemarl, the world of stone. He refused to surrender everything. Yet, remembering the pain when he had last touched the barrier, he was afraid.
Miphon seized the sword Hast, remembering Hearst, and the intensity with which the warrior moved on the attack, committing himself absolutely to the needs of the moment. Wild words came to Miphon's aid: 'Ahyak Rovac!'
Screaming that challenge, swinging that sword, he charged. And went right through the barrier. He was free!
But, inside the egg he had escaped from, the energies he had released were becoming more coherent by the moment, converting themselves into a pulse, a resonance, a unified power of destruction. If that barrier was to give way… looking at the pulsing barrier, Miphon decided it was a question of when, not if. The barrier would not hold for long. So what to do then? Run!
He turned and fled down the luminous corridor. He saw a doorway: an empty egg. Another doorway: a dusty storeroom. Another: into dead darkness. Then another: opening into a room in which lay Blackwood, bound hand and foot.
'You!' said Blackwood, the word distorted as his mouth was badly bruised and cut.
'None other,' said Miphon, cutting Blackwood's bonds with the sword Hast. The blade slipped, slicing flesh. 'Sorry.'
'It's nothing,' said Blackwood, stemming the bleeding.
'Where's Hearst?'
'I don't know.'
'Come on then.'
They raced on down the corridor. The luminous white curves drew them on. From up ahead they heard a scream. They ran faster, panting. Then they burst into a chamber, a glance revealing: Hearst, tied hand and foot to a metal frame; a young man holding a bloodstained bodkin; half a dozen onlookers, all armed.
Miphon screamed: 'Ahyak Rovac!'
The battlesword Hast took out the nearest. As the rest drew weapons, Blackwood grabbed the tripod legs of a brazier and hurled its burning coals toward them. The torture chamber evoked all the horrors of Prince Comedo's dungeons. Snatching up an iron rod, Blackwood attacked, striking out furiously. Miphon fought beside him, reckless in his disregard for his own safety. He had lost everything he valued: nothing remained to tempt him to make the calculations of cowardice.
It was all over almost as soon as it had begun. Three of the armed men were dead. The rest: running for their lives.
'Are you hurt?' said Miphon to Hearst.
'Like a virgin unvirgined,' said Hearst. 'No, don't look for the damage, you blue-tailed pox doctor. Cut me loose! Quickly, man, quickly!' i don't want to cut you.'
'Don't worry about that, let's just get out of here.'
Miphon sliced away the last rope. Hearst, released from the metal frame, stumbled, almost fell. Deep-gouped rope patterns ringed his wrists and ankles. Blackwood supported him as they left the chamber.
'This way,' said Blackwood.
'How do you know?' said Miphon.
'The tunnel slants upwards here, doesn't it?'
'Why, so it does,' said Miphon.
They went as fast as they could, Hearst hobbling, Miphon still carrying Hearst's sword.
'Where's the green bottle?' said Miphon.
'Valarkin had it the last time I saw him,' said Hearst. 'That was shortly before… before you rescued me.'
Despite their long association, Hearst was reluctant to name a wizard as his rescuer. It had been bad enough at Selzirk, when Miphon had rescued Hearst from magic – a warrior cannot, after all, hope to fight magic directly. Here it was worse: to be rescued from armed men by a wizard wielding a Rovac sword.
'Where did he go?' said Miphon.
'He was called away,' said Hearst. 'One of Valarkin's cronies heard that the headman of the Secular Arm wanted a fellow called Esteneedes, who happened to be searching the red bottle that Valarkin's got stashed away somewhere. So Valarkin went to get the man out of the bottle. Up here?'
Ahead the corridor branched.
'This way,' said Blackwood, choosing at random. Then: 'I've been out hunting with Esteneedes. He's a noted tracker. The headman must be wanting to recruit him for a search party to look for us.'
'Valarkin miscalculated,' said Miphon. 'He thought nobody would try and look for us.'
'Yes,' said Blackwood. 'But obviously they're thinking of searching the countryside – not Veda itself.'
They came to some stairs. Hearst, now able to walk without support, led the way up. There was the distant boom of an explosion, followed by a protracted roar. The walls shook. Cracks opened. Pieces of luminous white fell from the ceiling.
'What was that?' said Hearst.
The stairs were vibrating under their feet. Miphon knew that never before had a wizard stripped himself of his powers, releasing uncontrolled energies into the world. He had no idea what the consequences might be: but he was learning fast. Quite possibly, the energies he had released might tear Veda apart.
'Come on,' he said.
'But what in hell's name is it?'
'Out!' cried Miphon. 'Out, or we're dead!'
They bounded up the stairs two at a time. More stairs led to more corridors; more corridors led to more stairs. Ever upwards they went. The journey started to become nightmarish. Sweat poured off them. Their legs began to lock with fatigue. Heart and lung strained to their limits. The vibrations got worse and worse. Huge chunks fell from the ceilings. Tunnels buckled and twisted.
They began to pass other people, most of whom were running in the same direction. Some, however, had been trapped or disabled by falling masonry. They could not stop to help these casualities.
There was another explosion, louder than the others. The surface underfoot swayed.
'We're never going to get out of here,' said Hearst.
But even as he spoke, they saw daylight. The sun shone through dust: the way to escape was in sight.
From a low hillock a thousand paces from Veda, 465 Miphon, Hearst and Blackwood watched the final stages of the disintegration of the stronghold of the sages. Occasionally rubble was flung high into the air with a shattering roar as blue-white energies burst out from underground.
'What did you do?' said Hearst, watching the dust settling after one of these explosions.
'What do you mean, what did I do?' said Miphon.
'Hearst's not the only one to think you're responsible,' said Blackwood. 'Nobody else has such power.' i've got no power now,' said Miphon sadly, i used it all in blasting my way out of the cell where Valarkin was holding me.'
'You did what you had to,' said Hearst, i only hope Valarkin and the death-stone are buried under that rubble.'
'This is a disaster,' said Miphon. 'The Confederation of Wizards will never believe it!' iil be there to help you make your explanations,' said Hearst.
'And me,' said Blackwood. 'As a friendly witness in the Court of the Highest Law.'
'Now let's get ourselves out of here,' said Hearst. 'Before the survivors organise themselves into a lynch mob.'
The travellers got to their feet. They had the clothes they stood up in, but no weapons except for Hearst's sword Hast. And no tents, pack animals, food, blankets. Not even a change of socks. And no money. It was going to be a hard journey, unless they could improve their position. Hearst looked around.
'We have to go back,' said Hearst. 'Despite the danger. We have to go back to Veda and loot the ruins. That's what I think.' iil trust your judgment,' said Miphon.
'Then I say we go,' said Hearst. 'Blackwood?'
The woodsman stooped and picked up a small, smooth rock. It fitted nicely into his hand.
'When I'm holding a weapon like this, who's going to oppose us?' 'That rock?' said Hearst.
'I'm going to say it's the death-stone,' said Blackwood. 'And if that's what I say, who's going to wait around to find out otherwise?'
'Of course,' said Hearst.
It was a good idea: he should have been the one to think of it.