He clung desperately to Twoflower’s waist as the dragon circled slowly, tilting the world at a dangerous angle. The new knowledge that the scaley back he was astride only existed as a sort of three-dimensional daydream did not, he had soon realised, do anything at all for his ankle-wrenching sensations of vertigo. His mind kept straying towards the possible results of Twoflower losing his concentration.
‘Not even Hrun could have prevailed against those crossbows,’ said Twoflower stoutly.
As the dragon rose higher above the patch of woodland, where the three of them had slept a damp and uneasy sleep, the sun rose over the edge of the disc. Instantly the gloomy blues and greys of pre-dawn were transformed into a bright bronze river that flowed across the world, flaring into gold where it struck ice or water or a light-dam. [28]
In front of them the billion-ton impossibility that was the magic-wrought Wyrmberg hung against the sky and that was not too bad, until Rincewind turned his head and saw the mountain’s shadow slowly unroll itself across the cloudscape of the world …
‘What can you see?’ said Twoflower to the dragon.
‘See?’ said Twoflower. ‘Hrun’s probably fighting for his life at this very moment.’
Rincewind was silent. After a moment Twoflower looked around. The wizard was staring intently at nothing at all, his lips moving soundlessly.
‘Rincewind?’
The wizard made a small croaking noise.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Twoflower. ‘What did you say?’
‘… all the way … the great fall …’ muttered Rincewind. His eyes focused, looked puzzled for a moment, then widened in terror. He made the mistake of looking down.
‘Aargh,’ he opined, and began to slide. Twoflower grabbed him.
‘What’s the matter?’
Rincewind tried shutting his eyes, but there were no eyelids to his imagination and it was staring widely.
‘Don’t you get scared of heights?’ he managed to say.
Twoflower looked down at the tiny landscape, mottled with cloud shadows. The thought of fear hadn’t actually occurred to him.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Why should I? You’re just as dead if you fall from forty feet as you are from four thousand fathoms, that’s what I say.’
Rincewind tried to consider this dispassionately, but couldn’t see the logic of it. It wasn’t the actual falling, it was the
Twoflower grabbed him quickly.
‘Steady on,’ he said cheerfully. ‘We’re nearly there.’
‘I wish I was back in the city,’ moaned Rincewind. ‘I wish I was back on the ground!’
‘I wonder if dragons can fly all the way to the stars?’ mused Twoflower. ‘Now
‘You’re mad,’ said Rincewind flatly. There was no reply from the tourist, and when the wizard craned around he was horrified to see Twoflower looking up at the paling stars with an odd smile on his face.
‘Don’t you even think about it,’ added Rincewind, menacingly.
‘Hmm?’ said Twoflower, still looking at the paling stars.
‘What?’ said Rincewind urgently.
‘Oh yes. Hrun.’ said Twoflower. ‘I hope we’re in time. Dive now! Go low!’
Rincewind opened his eyes as the wind increased to a whistling gale. Perhaps they were blown open—the wind certainly made them impossible to shut.
The flat summit of the Wyrmberg rose up at them, lurched alarmingly, then somersaulted into a green blur that flashed by on either side. Tiny woods and fields blurred into a rushing patchwork. A brief silvery flash in the landscape may have been the little river that overflowed into the air at the plateau’s rim. Rincewind tried to force the memory out of his mind, but it was rather enjoying itself there, terrorising the other occupants and kicking over the furniture.
‘I think not,’ said Liessa.
Hrun took the wine cup, slowly. He grinned like a pumpkin.
Around the arena the dragons started to bay. Their riders looked up. And something like a green blur flashed across the arena, and Hrun had gone.
The winecup hung momentarily in the air, then crashed down on the steps. Only then did a single drop spill.
This was because, in the instant of enfolding Hrun gently in his claws, Ninereeds the dragon had momentarily synchronised their bodily rhythms. Since the dimension of the imagination is much more complex than those of time and space, which are very junior dimensions indeed, the effect of this was to instantly transform a stationary and priapic Hrun into a Hrun moving sideways at eighty miles an hour with no ill-effects whatsoever, except for a few wasted mouthfuls of wine. Another effect was to cause Liessa to scream with rage and summon her dragon. As the gold beast materialised in front of her she leapt astride it, still naked, and snatched a crossbow from one of the guards. Then she was airborne, while the other dragonriders swarmed towards their own beasts.
The Loremaster, watching from the pillar he had prudently slid behind in the mad scramble, happened at that moment to catch the cross-dimensional echoes of a theory being at the same instant hatched in the mind of an early psychiatrist in an adjacent universe, possibly because the dimension-leak was flowing both ways, and for a moment the psychiatrist saw the girl on the dragon. The Loremaster smiled.
‘Want to bet that she won’t catch him?’ said Greicha, in a voice of worms and sepulchres, right by his ear.
The Loremaster shut his eyes and swallowed hard.
‘I thought that my Lord would now be residing fully in the Dread Land,’ he managed.
‘I am a wizard,’ said Greicha. ‘Death Himself must claim a wizard. And, aha, He doesn’t appear to be in the neighbourhood …’
SHALL WE GO? asked Death.
He was on a white horse, a horse of flesh and blood but red of eye and fiery of nostril, and He stretched out a bony hand and took Greicha’s soul out of the air and rolled it up until it was a point of painful light, and then He swallowed it.
Then He clapped spurs to his steed and it sprang into the air, sparks corruscating from its hooves.
‘Lord Greicha!’ whispered the old Loremaster, as the universe flickered around him.
‘That was a mean trick,’ came the wizard’s voice, a mere speck of sound disappearing into the infinite black dimensions.
‘My Lord … what is Death like?’ called the old man tremulously.
‘When I have investigated it fully, I will let you know,’ came the faintest of modulations on the breeze.
‘Yes,’ murmured the Loremaster. A thought struck him. ‘During daylight, please,’ he added.
‘You clowns,’ screamed Hrun, from his perch on Ninereed’s foreclaws.
‘What did he say?’ roared Rincewind, as the dragon ripped its way through the air in the race for the heights.
‘Didn’t hear!’ bellowed Twoflower, his voice torn away by the gale. As the dragon banked slightly he looked down at the little toy spinning top that was the mighty Wyrmberg and saw the swarm of creatures rising in pursuit. Ninereed’s wings pounded and flicked the air away contemptuously. Thinner air, too. Twoflower’s ear popped for the third time.
Ahead of the swarm, he noticed, was a golden dragon. Someone on it, too.
‘Hey, are you all right?’ said Rincewind urgently. He had to drink in several lungfuls of the strangely distilled air in order to get the words out.
