'Most are fled or dead,' said Alish. 'They're no match for the fighters here. There was never a proper invasion - just a few men sent from Tameran to burn the temple and scout out the land.'
'If the prince isn't here,' said Garash, 'Why are you guarding his chambers?'
'Within is a fortune worth murdering your mother for. Morgan Hearst slew the dragon on Maf. He's a hero. He gouged a giant ruby from its eye socket, as proof. That's what we're guarding.'
'Is that Hearst?' said Miphon, indicating the tall swordsman.
The swordsman laughed. He looked like a fighting man's fighting man. Big grappling hands; a barrel chest; a face scarred and beer-battered, marked by a network of broken red veins. The left ear was missing. He was older than Alish or Gorn; when he spoke, his voice was deep, and slightly hoarse: 'No,' he said, accenting the Trading Tongue strangely. 'I'm not Morgan Hearst. I have the pride and pleasure of being Volaine Persaga Haveros, lately Lord Commander of the Imperial City of Gendormargensis, but now out of favour with our lord Khmar, who has placed a price on my head.'
'A Collosnon soldier!' said Phyphor, with surprise.
Volaine Persaga Haveros bowed, slightly.
Gendormargensis, as all the world knew, was the ruling city of Khmar's empire – a city by the Yolantar-ath River commanding the strategic gap between the Sarapine Ranges and the Balardade Massif, deep in the heartland of Tameran, far north of Estar.
'Are all three of you Collosnon soldiers?' said Phyphor.
'No,' said Haveros. 'Just me. Alish and Gorn have never set foot in Tameran. They're from the west. Rovac warriors.'
Phyphor's face registered shock. But it was Garash who spoke first: 'What? Those two? Rovac warriors? A runt with the face of a pig and a fop in a pretty cloak?'
Alish put his hand to the hilt of his sword, then restrained himself. His pleasure would come later. He made a promise to himself: sooner or later, he would see the green of this wizard's spleen.
'What did you expect?' he said. 'We're only men, whatever the legends say. But when you meet Morgan Hearst, then you'll meet a hero.'
'It's not Hearst we're after,' said Phyphor. 'It's the prince.'
'All in good time,' said Alish, carelessly. 'His hunt should end by evening. Come, we'll find you quarters.'
'We'll sleep in our towers,' said Phyphor. 'We'll be quite comfortable there.'
'Of course,' said Alish. 'Do you know the way?'
'I've been here before,' said Phyphor.
He was glad to get away. So there were Rovac in Estar! Never before had he met the ancient enemy face to face. Despite his laughter at the time, he was rather shaken by the speed with which Alish had attacked and mastered Garash. And he was appalled to think that a Rovac warrior now had the protection of his oath.
Well, despite what Garash had said, oaths could be broken…
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Arl: one of the most powerful of the eight orders of wizards, having power over light and over fire.
From the fifth level of the gatehouse keep the wizards exited onto the battlements, which were twenty paces wide, with the flame trench moat on one side and a four-storey drop to the flagstones of the central courtyard on the other. Overhead the gatehouse keep towered skywards for another sixty-six levels, terminating at the seventieth floor.
'You should have killed him when he attacked me,' said Garash, speaking of Alish. 'He might have killed me.'
'And I might have been grateful,' said Phyphor. 'You need me! You can't kill Heenmor on your own!' 'I could use help – but you were no help at all when the dragon attacked us.' 'Neither was that wizard of Nin,' said Garash. 'Please allow me – ' began Miphon. 'Quiet!' shouted Phyphor.
For once, they obeyed – the word came out as a howl of anguish, shocking them to silence.
Phyphor stood there, trembling. With an unaccustomed sense of hopelessness, he remembered so many similar situations from the past, when wizards, ranting, raging, burning white-hot with unreasonable fury, had embroiled themselves in their own little melodramas, while about them empires fell and the world rode down the wide road to ruin. Without a word, he led them on.
Five hundred paces took them from the gatehouse keep to the tower of the order of Seth, pierced with a gateway which anyone could use – though only a wizard of Seth could enter the tower. Next came the tower of Arl, where they stopped; beyond lay the tower of Nin.
'Miphon,' said Phyphor. 'Come inside with us.'
'Are you mad?' said Garash. 'We can't have a wizard from another order in our tower.'
Phyphor turned a cold eye on his apprentice.
'For the last time,' said Phyphor, 'remember your place.'
'I won't stand for it! The order of Arl has never – ' 'Garash! Enough!'
'You may be the master here and now,' said Garash, heatedly, 'but what will our order say if they hear you've let the order of Nin into our tower – the order of bird-callers and fish-ticklers? There's no precedent for such a thing.'
'I've heard you out,' said Phyphor. 'Now you hear me. There's no precedent for our mission. Never before has a wizard ventured to the Dry Pit. Who knows what Heenmor found there? Who knows what he left in the tower? Maybe twenty different kinds of death. The more of us and the more skills we have between us, the better. And while I'm about it, don't despise bird-calling and fish-tickling – that talent has fed us often enough on this mission.'
Garash nodded as if he agreed – then grabbed for the chain round his neck.
Phyphor's staff thwacked against his fingers. Then he jabbed Garash in the ribs. Garash squealed. The staff chopped into his kidneys. Garash fell to the ground. The staff swept back for another blow.
'No,' said Miphon, restraining Phyphor. 'You'll kill him.'
'Perhaps I should,' said Phyphor, breathing heavily. 'My best efforts to teach him – and he turns out like this. Kill him, yes. It's not a bad idea.'
But he did not strike.
Garash, curled up in pain, moaned.
'On your feet,' said Phyphor. 'Come on! Up! Now! Up up up! Stop snivelling! Get up! On your feet, yes, that's better. Now look me in the eyes. In the eyes!'
Garash could not or would not meet his gaze.
'What was your plan?' said Phyphor. 'Kill me, then go home? Listen. There's no excuse for going back. Our mission is too important for that. We'll follow Heenmor if we have to track him all the way to Chi'ash-lan. If we've lost his trail, we'll search until we pick it up again, even if that means quartering the Ravlish Lands and searching Tameran entire.
'If I offend against protocol, you can prosecute me in front of the order when we return. But if you return to the Castle of Controlling Power without completing this mission, the order will kill you on arrival.'
'I'll be pissing blood for a week,' moaned Garash. 'I'll be pissing blood for a week.'
'Pox doctor, heal thyself,' said Phyphor, without sympathy. 'Now let's go in. You first. Now!'
He shoved Garash toward the wall. Garash stumbled, tried to turn, and fell backwards. The wall parted like mist around him.
'Come,' said Phyphor, 'Take my hand.'
Taking Phyphor's hand – to get into the tower of Arl he needed physical contact with a wizard of Arl -Miphon walked through the wall as if through fog, and was inside.
Garash was on the floor.
