'Valarkin said as much,' said Comedo, looking pale and agitated. 'But it can't be true! I said to go home! Days ago! I've had enough, do you hear me? I want to go back.'
'My lord,' said Hearst. 'You're surely comfortable enough in your miraculous green bottle.'
'Didn't you hear me? I want to go back.'
'You pledged yourself to pursue Heenmor to the uttermost limit and to do all in your power to destroy him,' said Hearst. 'We're to kill Heenmor and give his magic death-stone to the wizards for them to take south and return to the Dry Pit.' i withdraw my pledge,' said Comedo.
Hearst spat.
'A man's word is not like a snake that comes out of a hole to look at the sun. It can't run back inside.'
Comedo started to scream. Some men looked up, slow and lazy as Hearst was, and studied his face. Comedo screamed himself hoarse. It did him no good. i want to go home,' said Comedo.
Hearst laughed in his face.
Comedo's face twisted in anger. His mouth clutched breath, then he began to scream again. Screaming, he spun round and round, then suddenly twisted the ring on his finger and dissolved into smoke which was sucked back into the bottle.
The rafts drifted on down the river.
They enjoyed hot, lazy, sunlit weather in which a single day seemed to stretch half-way to eternity. Drifting downriver in that golden weather, the men sunbathed, gambled, tattooed each other, swam in the riverdrift, told jokes and obscene stories, exchanged confidences, caught fish and invented new ways of cooking it: with cloves and a pinch of siege dust; smoked slowly over burning pine resin; guts and flesh mixed together in a clay ball with a little barley flour, and baked. Some men, like Durnwold and Alish, practised weapon skills. Elkor Alish put on spectacular displays of shadow-fighting as he accustomed himself to the balance of an antique Melski blade which he had taken for his own use.
And Comedo did not return.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Alish lay half-asleep in the sun, dreaming vaguely about conquering Argan with the death-stone. Should he take Prince Comedo on his campaigns? There might be rulers in Argan who would find it easier to bow to a prince of the Favoured Blood than to a Rovac mercenary. He would think about it… 'Elkor Alish.'
He opened his eyes, and saw the woodsman Blackwood. 'What is it?'
'We're almost there. We're almost at Ep Pass.'
'Good,' said Alish, getting to his feet.
Throughout the flotilla, men began to rouse themselves. They heaved on sweep-oars, guiding the rafts toward a stony beach on the eastern side of the river. Beyond the beach was a gap in the cliffs about two hundred paces wide: the beginning of Ep Pass, the way through the Spine Mountains.
Downstream, the river narrowed, running swiftly between towering cliffs; perched on rocks by the racing river were a few dozen Melski, some with small fires burning. Some of the men tried the range with arrows.
'That's enough of that!' said Alish.
There was no point in going to war with the Melski, who had passed up every chance of ambush and seemed to be planning no more than the recovery of some of their rafts. It would be a long, slow journey for them to oar their way upstream, but for the task they had greater strength in their chests and arms than most humans.
On landing, Alish had the rafts dragged ashore. 217 Despite the proximity of the Melski, he did not want to march east immediately, thinking it best to scout ahead a little first, to get an idea of what the country was like. He chose Hearst and Durnwold to go with him.
As they set off, Hearst called to the wizards: 'Garash! Care to stretch your legs?'
Garash looked up, but did not favour them with a reply.
'I don't think he's exactly thrilled at the idea of mountain climbing,' said Durnwold.
'Stiff socks,' said Hearst, meaning tough cheese. 'He needs a good sweat to unblubber him.'
It was a hot, dry, bluesky day: one of those days on which it is impossible to believe that it will ever be wet or cold again. They walked uphill between scattered rocks, some many times the height of a man. Though the ground was stony, gnarled and twisted trees with dark green leaves wrested a livelihood from the soil, making little thickets between the rocks.
The cliffs closed in; it grew quieter. Soon they could no longer hear the noise of the river or the men by the river, only the sounds of their boots on rocks, the tatcheting of insects, the hush of their own breathing. Small lizards darted over the rocks, sprinting for shelter as the men approached.
'Stop,' said Alish.
'What is it?' said Durnwold.
T see it,' said Hearst. 'Smoke! Over there!' it could be Melski,' said Durnwold.
'Or Heenmor,' said Alish.
'We don't know enough to start laying bets,' said Hearst, 'but we'd best go back for the wizards in case it is Heenmor.'
Alish looked at him.
'Are you afraid… friend dragon-killer?' For a moment, they stared at each other. 'What do you think?' said Hearst, i think you know the answer better than me.'
'He's not afraid,' said Durnwold. 'There's no sword -'
'Enough,' said Hearst. 'Weil go on. But if it is Heenmor, how will we take him?'
'His only protection is a blast of fire or the bite of that snake of his. If we come at him from three different directions, if he hesitates for a moment – we should do it.'
'And what if we run into something altogether different?' said Hearst. 'What if it's a band of twenty head- hunting nomads? Who knows what manner of people live in this part of Argan?' if it's not Heenmor,' said Alish, 'we retreat, quietly. I estimate the smoke is… a hundred paces ahead. Let's split up. Durnwold can go right, I'll go left and you go straight ahead.'
Hearst nodded.
'Draw your sword now,' said Alish to Durnwold, 'so when you're closer you won't have to take it from its sheath.' it's sheathed in oiled leather,' said Durnwold. it won't make any noise.'
'Yes, but if you're crawling forward through vines or brambles, you might make a noise like earth's own bone- breaking if you have to jerk out your sword in a hurry.'
Durnwold drew his sword. Hearst already had Hast in his hand, and Alish was holding his Melski blade. 'Quiet now,' said Alish.
They separated. Durnwold went right, Alish went left, and Hearst went straight ahead. Hearst had the hardest job: he was making his way through a close-growth of runtling trees.
He went tenderfoot and slow. The highriding sun pooled his shadow at his feet. Everything was very bright. He saw the yellow-green veins patterning every leaf. His heart beat soft-quick thud. Stepping forward, he used the side of his boot to ease away any twigs before letting his weight settle as smoothly as unguent oil easing onto a baby's backside. Finally he could see the little cooking fire that was sending up the smoke.
There was Heenmor, twice the height of any ordinary man, hair ginger, beard blue. And there, asleep on a rock at his feet, was the snake. Hearst could see a shack, a latrine, a stack of firewood. Heenmor had been there quite some time: waiting for any pursuers? Heenmor was sitting with his back to a small cliff. Hearst could see Durnwold was working his way to the top of that cliff. He could not see where Alish had got to.
Hearst started to ease forward. Suddenly, Heenmor looked up from his fire. He stared straight at the trees where Hearst was hiding. Hearst froze. He saw the snake had woken: its head was weaving this way and that, seeming to point at the trees. Heenmor got to his feet.
At the top of the cliff, Durnwold put down his sword and picked up a rock. Hearst could see him clearly. The boy was thinking! Slowly, Heenmor lifted his staff of power, and pointed it at the trees where Hearst was hiding. Durnwold stepped to the edge of the cliff, raising the rock high to cast it down.
And the lip of the cliff gave way.
