haul one of the rafts onto the lake. From the height Hearst's men had reached, the Melski looked like insects setting sail on a bit of twig. When the Melski were well clear of the shore, they stopped; perhaps they were fishing.
The expedition was still climbing at nightfall; they finished their climb by starlight. Before they reached the top, one man slipped and went rattling away down the slope. He shouted as he slid away, but they did not hear him cry out again. Perhaps he hit his head on a rock. When morning came, they saw his body lying lifeless far below.
The sun, rising in the east, glittered on the vast expanse of the Araconch Waters, and illuminated snow which capped the higher peaks of the mountains to the west. The men, still somewhat weak from the underground raft journey and the consequent underfeeding, could have done with more sleep and rest, but Hearst got them moving.
They set off in a northerly direction, beginning a trek through a land of barren hills, steep bluffs and overhanging cliffs, gorges and waterless riverbeds. This shattered landscape would make for slow going.
Some twenty leagues to the north, clearly visible from the higher ground, rose the cone of a volcano, from which a little smoke ascended. From memories of an old and faded map never seen by his own eyes – the wizard Phyphor had consulted it once, in Castle Margus -Hearst named that volcano: Barg. The name was a contraction of the name of the sometime ruler of the Empire of Wizards, Barglan Stanash Alkiway.
And Hearst remembered the inscription mapped over the countryside around the volcano: Here Be Dragons.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
'No closer,' said Comedo. 'No closer, or I swallow it.' He kissed the ring.
Miphon took another step forward. Comedo grinned and parted his lips, stretching a thread of saliva to breaking point. His tongue lolled out to accept the glistening gold. Suddenly he snapped his mouth shut and gulped. Miphon swore. Comedo plucked the ring from his mouth and capered up and down: a grotesque figure of dust and blood, blood and tatters. He was, Miphon was sure, quite mad. i fooled you then, didn't I? Your heart squeaked nicely, nay? A mouse, and I stepped on it. I fancy that, for Miphon's fancy's fool, the mute word's moron. Nay?'
Then suddenly the pretense of humour was gone: 'Now down on your knees and grovel! Or I'll swallow it.'
Miphon shook his head, and said, as he might say to a dog or a horse: 'Soft now, soft, I'm no harm to you, soft now, easy.'
Slowly, carefully, as if easing out over thin ice, he began to close the distance. Comedo lept away, and shouted: 'Belly down to the dust or I'll swallow the ring.'
'Swallow it then,' said Miphon, suddenly angry. He drew a knife. 'Swallow it, and I'll rip you from vent to gills.'
'That blade may kill, but hardly the hand that holds it.'
'You're still walking, but that doesn't make you immortal.' i'm mad,' said Comedo. 'You mustn't hurt me. I'm mad, I can't help it.'
An extravagant cringing fear had replaced Comedo's arrogance. He was like… like what? Like a patch of sky in which any sort of weather might manifest itself. Princes have the opportunity to create the kind of reality that suits them. i won't hurt you,' said Miphon, regretting his outburst of anger.
'You couldn't anyway,' said Comedo, suddenly fierce, drawing a blade and snarling. 'Magic doesn't work in the bottle, does it? Blade against blade, I can take you. No contest. Now what will you tell your toenails if I go outside with the ring and leave you counting days to years – forever!'
'Try it,' said Miphon.
'Not today,' said Comedo. 'I'm a prince, not a prince's fool, my princely fool. But the swords won't be waiting outside forever. The dragon will munch them down, soon if not later. I saw the dragon from the shores of the lake. It flew from my dreams: practising. Wonderful! Bones crunch slowly. I wish I could watch.'
Miphon watched Comedo as one might watch a scorpion. The subdued green light from the walls of the bottle allowed him to see everything clearly here, for they were in the neck of the bottle. Downstairs the rooms would be gloomier. How many rooms were there? How many chambers? Miphon had no idea. He had never studied the magic of enchantment of bottles: it was old lore, now commanded, to the best of his knowledge, only by the order of Varkarlor.
Suddenly Comedo ran for the spiral staircase that led downwards. Miphon chased him down the stairs, and found himself in a storeroom a hundred times the size of the room above. Firestones studded the ceiling, shedding light on massive barrels of water, ale and wine, on sacks bulging with potatoes and onions, on fish smoked and salted, dried meat, pickles, hams, bunches of herbs and dried figs.
'Come and get me,' said Comedo, with a giggle. 'Come and get me.'
'I will,' said Miphon grimly.
This was getting too dangerous. He should have knifed Comedo in the room above. Would Hearst have hesitated, or Gorn, or Alish? Even Blackwood would not have hesitated under the circumstances. Comedo dangled the ring over a drop-hole.
'Don't drop it down there!' said Miphon.
'Why not?'
'We'll never see it again.'
Miphon knew all about the drop-holes. They would have a common opening located beneath the overhang of a tower at one of the wizard castles – in the case of this bottle, most probably Castle Vaunting. Anything thrown into one would finish up in the flame trench which circled the castle.
'We don't need to see it again,' said Comedo. 'We already know what it looks like.'
Miphon lunged at Comedo, who skipped back, snatched something from a shelf and hurled it at Miphon. It shattered at Miphon's feet: a jar of pickled pigs' trotters. Comedo threw another one. Miphon ducked. The jar clipped a barrel and burst in a shower of ceramic shards.
'Come on then,' said Comedo.
Miphon threw a jar at him.
'Missed,' said Comedo.
The prince danced away down another flight of stairs. The chase ended in a totally bare room. It was much larger than the one above, but was split in two by a massive stone wall which was fantastically carved with figures of wizards, warriors, dragons, and creatures of the Swarms. In the wall was a single doorway, flanked by twisting stone pillars.
There were no firestones here, but the bare floor was patterned with a filigree tracery of green light which supplemented the dull glow from the outer walls., 'You can't run much further,' said Miphon. 'Give it to me.'
Comedo backed toward the doorway. Miphon followed him cautiously. The other half of the room was also bare and featureless, apart from a stairway leading downwards. Miphon tried to circle round Comedo to cut off his escape down that stairway.
'Don't hurt me,' said Comedo. 'Oh don't hurt me.'
'Give me the ring,' said Miphon. 'Now!'
Comedo's fingers opened, and the ring fell to the stone floor. It rolled round and round in ever-diminishing circles, then fell, shivered and was still. Comedo backed away. Miphon stalked toward the ring, now ready to kill Comedo if he tried to grab it back. But Comedo kept retreating, with fear, despair and terror written on his torn and bloodstained face. Miphon scooped up the ring.
Comedo skipped back through the doorway and threw a lever hidden in the decorative carvings on the other side of the wall. A huge portcullis crashed down between him and Miphon, blocking the doorway. Miphon stood there unbelieving. Comedo had tricked him. Just like that. He had managed it so easily, so easily.
Comedo laughed.
'Now you'll grovel,' said Comedo. 'Now you'll grovel, now, down on your slime on your belly, because it's mine now. Mine!'
For a moment Miphon was dismayed, then he smiled. Of course! One turn of the ring would dissolve his body into mist, which would reassemble outside the bottle.
'You forget,' said Miphon. 'I've got the ring.' 'Have you now?' said Comedo. 'Have you now? Take a closer look,
