threads of white or bile-green splashes. Hearst counted the rafts: only eight left. On one was nothing but a corpse; on others sat men in various stages of collapse. The survivors were as pale as the inner bark of trees, the white flesh of grubs, the kernels of almonds. Some had inflamed scarlet rashes, boils, and stinking ulcers.
Blackwood had cold, grey, slimy smoke drifting in coils about him. He coughed, and more smoke vomited out of his mouth. Hearst went to help him. Blackwood waved smoke away from his face.
'I wouldn't come any closer if I was you,' said Blackwood.
'He's right,' said Miphon. 'Stay away for the moment. The smoke is parasitic, but the light will weaken it. Soon it'll trouble him less, and be too weak to batten onto anything else.'
'How can I get rid of it?' said Blackwood.
'You can't,' said Miphon.
Hearst shook Alish by the shoulder.
'Time to move,' he said.
'Time ran out long ago,' muttered Alish.
Hearst again tried to rouse him to action, then gave up.
'Oars into water,' sang out Hearst, getting to his feet. His voice drifted away over the dazzling surface of the lake. Slowly men began to grub away the sodden ropes holding down the sweep-oars. Every knife was rusty and blunt; one could have wept to see those fine blades so cankered and dishonoured. With oars in the water, the men began to work the rafts toward the shore. Seven moved; the eighth, with only a corpse on board, stayed where it was. Slowly they drew away from it.
'You're lighter,' said Hearst to Gorn.
'My travelling companion has suffered,' said Gorn, looking ruefully at the remnants of his paunch. 'The wizard Garash also looks lighter than he was.'
The rafts crawled along under the sun like crippled insects. Hearst tried to strike up a rowing chant, but none would take up the song, so he let his voice trail away. On the eighth raft, the one they had left behind, the body stood up. Hearst realised it was Valarkin, who now cut free an oar and set the raft in motion.
'We mustn't lose him,' said Miphon. 'He's got the ring to the bottle. We should try and get into that bottle soon.'
'Yes,' said Gorn. 'There's food in there.' 'We'll take him when he gets to the shore,' said Garash.
'He's going the wrong way,' said Gorn. Hearst shouted.
'Valarkin! Where are you going? Valarkin!'
'Maybe he's heading for the other side of the lake,' said Gorn. 'Shall I swim after him?'
'What's the use?' said Hearst. 'He could always throw the ring in the water if you caught him. Besides, there might still be Melski in the water.'
'There's a bow tied to my pack,' said Blackwood. 'Over there. The quiver is inside the pack. You might try that.'
Hearst found the bow. He fitted an arrow to the string and drew the bow. The string snapped. it's rotted through,' said Hearst. 'Garash?' i have enough power to kill him,' said Garash. i have more than enough power to kill him, but the fire would also destroy the ring.'
They had no way of catching Valarkin.
Under the sun the fungus grew brittle, curled up, became black, writhed and began to stink. Slowly, too slowly to leave more than the slightest ripple of wake, the rafts worked their way toward the shore. Those not on the oars lay for the most part as if dead, sheltering from the sun under weatherworn cloaks.
Gorn drew a helmet-full of water and peered at his reflection.
'How's your beauty?' said Hearst.
'Better than I'd expected. I'd have thought my hair would have gone grey after all we've been through.'
Garash peered at the shore with his protuberant eyes. In places the rocks were black, in places red; some were stained yellow with the sulphur-spill of hot-water springs. Steam rose in plumes from fumaroles. it won't be easy getting up those cliffs,' said Garash.
'Weil make it,' said Hearst. 'How do you feel now, Alish?' i feel like the yolk spilt from an eggshell.'
'Rest then. You'll feel better later.'
The first raft crunched against the stones of the shore. Those on the oars let them drop and sat down or lay down.
'Ashore!' yelled Hearst. 'On your feet and get ashore. Move now, move! My sword's in my hand, and it won't be the flat of it I'll be using.'
He got them moving.
It was hot; the water which fell on the stones as they splashed ashore dried swiftly. The sun had already begun to scald pallid flesh. Hearst had spindly trees cut down to make crude shelters for them to work under. He ordered the survivors – there were forty-six of them – to unpack and spread everything out to dry. The packs disgorged gear white with fungus, musky with rot, dripping with slime.
'Andranovory!' yelled Hearst, seeing a man standing idle.
'I haven't got a pack,' protested Andranovory. 'Mine's missing.'
'You haven't got a cock, either,' shouted Hearst, 'but that never stopped you sucking one. There's more packs than men, so get your finger out of your arse and do something useful with it.'
Andranovory, grumbling, secured a spare pack and dumped a load of mouldy clothes and rotten food to the stones. A small bundle broke apart, scattering the glitter of jewels and golden coins. His morale improved immediately.
'That's mine!' cried a man suddenly.
'Yes, sure,' said Andranovory. 'Like your third nipple and your fourth arse,' which was a traditional insult in the parts he hailed from. 'You want to fight me for them? Well then, come on.'
And he drew a blade.
'Belay that, you mother-riding animals!' shouted Hearst.
And proceeded to castigate them severely, using terms so obscene that even Gorn was seen to blush.
Hearst had just restored order when one man suddenly doubled over and began to cough up worms. They were blood-red: the colour of the gills of a fish. They wriggled on the hot stones. Hearst squashed one with the toe of his boot: blood squirted out. Miphon knelt down beside the victim, though he suspected there was nothing he could do.
Garash lit a fire to dry out a small cache of supplies he had carried with him. Finding his maps and manuscripts reduced to pulp, he swore in a language nobody else could understand. Stones around the fire trembled: one split apart, shattering into flying fragments. His rage was impressive, but it wasted energy.
With gear spread out to dry, men set to work on knives, swords and battle axes with sharpening stones. Many fires were lit; there was no need for all of them, but it was good to see fire again and smell smoke.
Hearst knew the smoke, rising into the clear blue sky, would betray them to any observers… but judged that the risk was worth it. He would let the men have their friendly fires. At Hearst's orders, some men dragged one of the rafts ashore, then split the logs, using axe heads as wedges. The sun would dry the wood soon enough, giving them plenty of fuel.
Hearst examined his own gear. The stitching of his boots was rotten and they were falling apart. He would have to see what he could do about it…
Gorn was boiling something up in his helmet. It proved to be handfuls of pale blue water snails, some almost the size of a thumb.
'There's plenty of them on the rocks near the shore,' said Gorn, 'In water less than knee-deep.'
'Good,' said Hearst. 'Good…'
One man was barbering. At his feet, the colours of straw, bark, soot and flame shone in the sunlight. A bumblebee, the workaday insect common to all the world, lumbered along the shore. Hearst savoured the intense pungent smell of an aromatic herb hidden somewhere among the thin, scrubby trees. He stretched, then smiled, then laughed aloud.
– Truly, we have come through.
On the lake, Valarkin was a dot in the distance.
