The Mountains of Majipoor

you, he hates to be hurried. But he has agreed to let you see them this very afternoon, when his men bring them their regular meal.' 'Fine. Where are they?' 'An ice- cave on the side of the mountain, high above the north end of the valley. He says the climb is extremely strenuous and difficult.'

'Especially for an effeminate lordling like me, I suppose. Let him know that I look forward enthusiastically to the chance for a little exercise.'

'I already have, prince.'

'Have you, now? How very thoughtful of you, Korinaam.'

As it turned out, 'strenuous' was a moderate term indeed for the ascent of the mountain. Young as he was, strong as he was, Harpirias found himself pushed almost to the edge of his endurance. The route, narrow and rough, went by way of a maddening series of hairpin switchbacks that traced a slowly rising curve along the face of the canyon wall. Menacing jagged rocks, half-hidden in the snow-speckled trail, jutted upward from it every few yards, offering the unwary climber the possibility of tripping and slipping and plunging into the ever-deepening chasm that yawned without a guard rail at their left elbows. The air grew colder and colder as they rose, and powerful gusts of icy wind beat remorselessly at their faces. Ungainly big-beaked birds, roused from their nests amongst the crags, flapped screeching about their heads, beating at the intruders with broad powerful wings.

These were unaccustomed privations. The muscles of Harpirias’s legs quickly began to protest. Bands of pain sprang up across his breast and gut. His eyes ached, his nostrils stung. But he made a point of concealing even the slightest indication that he found the climb a struggle. This was a test which he had insisted upon taking, and he knew he must pass it.

With him he had brought not only Korinaam but also the Skandar Eskenazo Marabaud, whose size and strength would make him a comforting presence. Five of the Othinor accompanied them: the high priest and four men of the warrior caste. The king stayed behind, having excused himself from the climb with a show of such cool insouciant self-regard that Harpirias could only be charmed by the man’s audacity. 'I would go with you in a minute, and gladly so,' Toikella explained. 'But my people need me always close at hand. I must never ignore their wishes.' Was that a wink? Harpirias wondered. And a royal smirk?

The path took them over crackling crusts of hardened snow and then across a perilous-looking bridge of ice. Below that flimsy span passed a rushing stream that came spurting from the heart of the cliff like a gush of dark blood. Beyond it the switchbacks abruptly ended and the trail shot straight upward at a heart-straining angle over loose gravelly rocks glazed by ice. Harpinas’s bare fingertips turned numb and he thought his chest would crack from the coldness of the air.

And this was summer! Othinor summer! By the Lady, how did these people survive the winters in this place? Were they made of stone? Did icy waters flow in their veins?

The air up here was thin and pale. Harpirias told himself that he could see right through it, and then asked himself in some perplexity what he had meant by that. Was his mind beginning to give way under the stress of the climb? He warned himself to be on guard against nonsensical thoughts. The altitude, the latitude —  ‘the attitude’, he added — the altitude, the latitude, the attitude — the words ran through his mind over and over, an infuriatmgly relentless jingle.

The others evidently were having no trouble with the climb. All the Othinor but the priest were carrying heavy sacks of provisions for the prisoners, without the slightest difficulty. Eskenazo Marabaud actually appeared to be enjoying himself more and more as the difficulties of the ascent increased. Even the flimsily built Korinaam was striding readily along. Harpirias found that mortifying; but he reminded himself that his companions all were people of cold-weather climates, accustomed to such harsh conditions as these. He, young and strong as he was, had lived all his life in the gentle climes of Castle Mount.

He looked down once, only once. The village was a mere outline, white against white, a collection of distant tiny boxes huddling against the mountain wall. The sight dizzied him and he swayed, but Eskenazo Marabaud reached out easily with his lower left hand to steady him.

They were not far below the rim of the wall now. Harpirias could see it, a wide flat summit, stretching back away from him. Here the trail turned a corner and unexpectedly broadened to two or three times its usual width. A short way below the summit a dark uneven oval in the face of the cliff announced the presence of a cave. Boulders were piled high to block its mouth; two fur-clad Othinor armed with swords stood guard before it, their arms folded, their faces expressionless.

The high priest — Mankhelm was his name — said a few brusque words to them. The sentinels saluted and made haste to roll back the uppermost level of the boulders so that they could enter.

All was dark within. There was a long business of lighting torches; and then Harpirias saw that they were in a low-roofed cavern, deep and narrow, that ran back far into the core of the rocky wall. Seepage from some mountain spring had coated its sides everywhere with an icy skin, which glinted with a beautiful bluish sheen by the torches’ smoky glow.

Shadowy figures came lurching out of the cavern’s depths, blinking and murmuring as they approached the light.

In a formal tone Harpirias said, 'I am the ambassador of His Highness Lord Ambinole, come to win your freedom for you. Harpirias is my name. Prince Harpirias of Muldemar.'

'Divine be praised! What year is this?'

'What — year?' Harpirias was taken aback. 'Why, the thirteenth of the Pontificate of Taghin Gawad. Does it seem that you’ve been here so long?'

'Forever. Forever.'

Harpirias stared. The man with whom he spoke was tall and terribly thin, pale as bleached parchment, with a crest of wiry graying hair fanning far out in every direction from his balding scalp and a thick, unkempt black beard covering nearly all of his face. Two burning half-crazed eyes peered from that thicket of hairy growth. He was dressed in loose fraying rags, pitifully inadequate to the cold.

'You’ve been here only a year,' Harpirias told him. 'Or perhaps just a little more. It’s the middle of the summer in the Marches . The summer of the year Thirteen.'

'Only a year,' the man repeated in wonder. 'It feels like a lifetime. — I am Salvinor Hesz,' he announced, after a moment. Harpirias knew the name. The leader of the ill-starred paleontological expedition, yes.

Others much like him in their raggedness and gauntness stood gathered behind. Harpirias counted quickly: six, seven, eight, nine. Nine. Was one missing?

'Is this the entire group of you?' he asked.

'All of us, yes.'

'There was some question about how many of you had made the journey. Eight, ten — the records were unclear.'

'Nine,' said Salvinor Hesz. 'Changes of personnel were made at the last minute. Two dropped out — what luck for them! — and one replacement was found.'

'Myself,' a man of remarkable height and thinness said, in a black sepulchral voice that seemed to rise from the bottom of the Great Sea . 'It was my good fortune to be allowed to join the expedition just as it was leaving Ni-moya. What an opportunity for furthering my career!' He put out a trembling hand. 'My name is Vinin Salal. How much longer are we to be kept here?'

'I’ve only just arrived,' said Harpirias. 'There’s a formal treaty to negotiate with the king before you can be freed. But I hope to have you out of here before the summer ends. I will have you out of here by then.' He looked from one to another of them, marveling at the fleshlessness of them all. Skin and bones was all they were. 'By the Lady, they’ve been starving you, haven’t they? They’ll pay for this! Tell me: what kind of treatment have you had?'

'They feed us twice a day,' Salvinor Hesz said, without rancor. He gestured to the sacks of provisions which the Othinor had thrown down against the side of the cave, and which the men of the cavern appeared to be in no hurry to fall upon. 'Dried meat, nuts, roots — pretty much the same things they eat themselves. It isn’t a diet one can love. But they do feed us.' 'Every morning, every afternoon, very punctually. A party of them always comes climbing up here with these sacks of food for us,' one of the others said. 'Sometimes we can hear terrible storms raging outside, but they never miss a meal, they come up here all the same. You don’t get plump on Othinor fare, you know. Still, we can hardly say that we’re being starved.'

'No,' someone else agreed. 'Not starved, no.'

'No.'

'Not at all.'

'Treated quite well, in fact.'

'Decent people. Very backward but not unkind, all things considered.'

Harpirias was puzzled by the mildness of their words, the almost benign tone in which they spoke of their savage captors. These men looked like walking skeletons. They had lived a year and something more in this dark glacial hole, far from their homes and loved ones and careers, slowly wasting away on the odds and ends of repellent food that was all the Othinor could provide. Where was their fury? Why were they not raining down curses on their jailers? Had this imprisonment so broken their souls that they were grateful even for the miserable bits and pieces that those who had condemned them to lie here were giving them to eat?

He had heard that prisoners, after many a month and year, sometimes came to love their keepers. But that was a hard thing for him to understand.

'You have no grievances against the Othinor at all?' Harpirias asked. 'Other than having been forced to remain here against your will, I mean?'

They met his question with silence. It seemed to be difficult for these men to think clearly. Their minds as well as their bodies must have been weakened by their privations, Harpirias thought. The hunger, the cold, the separation from the world.

Then Salvinor Hesz said, 'Well, they’ve taken our specimens away. The fossils. That was very distressing. You must try to get them back for us.'

'The fossils,' said Harpirias. 'So you did actually find the bones of these land-dragons?'

'Oh, yes, yes. Quite a spectacular find. A clear link to the maritime species of dragons — an unquestionable evolutionary connection.'

'Is it, now?'

'We succeeded in excavating teeth of astonishing size, ribs, vertebrae, fragments of a huge spinal column—' Salvinor Hesz’s lean face became radiant with excitement. He glowed through the bushy shroud of his beard. 'The largest land creatures that ever existed on this world, by far. And beyond any real doubt the ancestors of our sea-dragons — perhaps a transitional evolutionary form, one that will need a great deal of further study. The bones of their ears indicate clearly that they were designed to hear both on land and under water, for example. We’ve uncovered an entire new chapter in our knowledge of the development of life on Majipoor. And there’s more, much more, waiting to be discovered on that hillside. We had only just finished our scaffolding and begun to dig when the Othinor found us and took us prisoner.'

'And confiscated everything we had uncovered,' said another. 'Reburied it, so we were given to understand.'

'That’s the most maddening part of all,' came a voice from farther back in the cavern. 'Having made a major discovery like that, and not being able to bring our findings back to civilization. We can’t leave here without those things. You will insist on the return of the fossils, won’t you?'

'I’ll see what I can do, yes.'

'And also to get their permission to continue the work. You need to make them see that our excavating these fossils is mere scientific research, that the bones