Breakfast was some small barley meal cakes; they would eat properly when they got back to the castle. Shortly, with all woken, breakfasted and packed, they moved off, glad to get moving to get some warmth into their bones.
'I heard a stone thinking today,' said Miphon.
'We settled the question of stones yesterday,' said Garash with a growl; he thought he was being baited again.
'Your thinking doesn't stop theirs,' said Miphon. 'This one thought most prettily.'
'Really?' said Garash. 'Did it ask your hand in marriage?'
'It said that Heenmor's magic made it free to move for a time.'
'Magic cannot create life,' said Garash, reciting an ancient dogma. 'So how could the stone come alive?'
'It was alive to start with,' said Miphon. 'From the minds of mountains, we of Nin know that they and all their kin have been alive from the beginning of time.'
'What is time then, if you're so clever?' said Garash.
'Time is that which permits,' said Miphon, giving the traditional answer, which is, of course, no answer at all. 'Forget about time, because -'
'Because what? Will forgetting time make me immortal?'
'Garash,' said Phyphor, sharply, 'Hear him out.'
'As you wish,' said Garash. 'I'm sure it's good therapy for him to air his delusions.'
'Let's talk about what you've seen with your own two eyes,' said Miphon, considering and then abandoning the idea of a lecture on the inner life of rocks. 'You've seen stone trees, smashed trees, smashed trails, rocks at the end of the trails. How did the rocks get there? Giants didn't throw them there, and rocks don't fall from the sky.'
'They do, you know,' said Blackwood.
'Shut up!' yelled Garash, sick of this impertinent woodsman who dared to intrude on the debates of wizards.
'Mister,' said Blackwood, with dignity, 'I've seen it myself. A rock fell from the sky when I was a child. In the Barley Hills, it was. As big as a house. Big, and hot as fire.'
'If you believe that,' said Garash, 'you're in your second childhood already.'
'You don't know everything,' said Blackwood. And then, voicing something which sounded like a venture into the field of metaphysics, but was actually an expression of contempt: 'You can't.'
Garash stopped, and turned on Blackwood.
'The woodsman is under our protection,' said Hearst swiftly; he liked Blackwood's mettle, and did not wish to see him come to harm.
'Step back, old man,' said Blackwood, fearless as he was ignorant of his danger. He gave Garash a little shove. 'Back! I don't want to hurt you.'
'Please!' said Miphon.
Garash breathed heavily. He was angry, but not too angry to think. He had lost most of his power trying to blast the dragon on the southern border. If he used the rest to kill Blackwood, he would be helpless in any confrontation with Phyphor.
'It pleases me,' said Garash, 'to let him live. For the moment.'
'Thank you, mister,' said Blackwood. Til do you the same courtesy in return.'
As their march had come to a halt, Phyphor decided to settle the question of rocks and stones before going any further. He asked a question: 'Miphon, what's this argument about rocks in aid of? What are you trying to tell us? From looking around us, we know that Heenmor's got power enough to destroy a city at a single blow. That's a cruel thing to know – but it's simple. We can all tell its significance, so we don't need lectures. Apart from that – is there anything else to know?'
Miphon hesitated, looking round at his listeners: the wizards Phyphor and Garash, the Rovac warriors Alish and Hearst, and the woodsman Blackwood. He had to make them understand! He spoke, choosing his words carefully: 'Heenmor has stolen magic from the Dry Pit,' said Miphon. 'I can now guess the nature of that magic. When used, it destroys part of the world created by the great god Ameeshoth – the world in which we live. The creatures of the Horn, meaning rocks and stones, are set free.
'So far, Heenmor can only command a temporary destruction of a small part of the fabric of the world. But if he could learn to control this magic well enough to destroy the fabric of the world of Ameeshoth and then the world of the Horn, he could uncover the original Chaos.
'And if he could learn to shape and control that, then he could make himself into a god. That, I think, could well be what he's planning. Even if he fails, he might destroy the entire universe just by trying. Against such danger, we need all the strength we can muster. I ask all of you here today to join with me in pledging yourself to a common cause.' Alish laughed, harshly: 'A common cause? Between wizards and the Rovac? Forget it!' Blackwood looked blank.
'What have gods got to do with it?' asked Blackwood, who hadn't followed the argument at all.
'Miphon,' said Phyphor, with unaccustomed gentleness, 'Even if what you say is true, you can't make instant diplomacy between wizards and Rovac'
'And it can't be true,' said Garash, 'because rocks don't walk, think or talk.'
'Come on,' said Hearst, eager to quit this forest where men under his command had suffered and died.
And, yielding to his initiative, they resumed their march. Warm skies fared above them as they walked; reaching the region of living things, Blackwood murmured:
Sky, blue sky, the colour of my lover's eyes; Leaf, young leaf, her hands no softer.
Miphon, delighting in the forest of spring, and remembering the forest of stone they had left behind, thought for the first time in a long time of the sleeping secrets. Heenmor had a power greater than any other known – but the order of Nin also had powers. Great powers. The sleeping secrets. Was this the time to recall those secrets, to open, as the saying went, the book of Nariq?
No.
Only those who sought life, peace and understanding joined the order of Nin. None joined for power – but when they were initiated, the sleeping secrets were revealed to them, giving them powers too terrible for human beings to be trusted with. In the depths of the Shackle Mountains, in the shadow of thunder, in the place between darkness and light, they were taught by the Book of Nariq, and then they were taught to forget.
None dare start the rites of recall except in the most dire emergency. 'What is known must be unknown; what is revealed must be hidden.' Miphon, tempted, controlled himself. The sleeping secrets could not help them find Heenmor. And once they found him, a knife in the back or an arrow in the heart would serve their purpose. Yet. all the way back to Lorford, he thought of the secret powers which needed only the rites of recall to be his.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Galish: the traders of the Salt Road. Their language, the Trading Tongue (known often simply as 'Galish') serves as a lingua franca for every market place from the Castle of Controlling Power to Chi'ash-lan.
Galish, of necessity, is the unifying language of the polyglot pirate community of the Greater Teeth. Dialects of Galish are also spoken in Sung (in Ravlish East) and on the fishing islands of the Lesser Teeth, both areas first colonised by Galish traders.
The sky was clouding over as they neared Lorford. Arriving, they found Melski rafts moored in shallow water upstream from the bridge. Galish – hostile, angry and determined – were loading the rafts. Even two of their pregnant women were hard at work. Right now, camels were being herded into custom-built pens on the rafts.
A man – the wizards recognised him as a sea captain from the Harvest Plains – was trying to negotiate a deal with the Galish. They were not interested. When he grabbed one by the shoulder to remonstrate with him, he was knocked unconscious by an elbow jolt. A ragged cheer went up from locals looking on.
