'Who are you?' asked Phyphor in Galish.
The stranger said nothing, but stared blankly at the idol. It had huge eyes which focused on nothing, broad lips parted to suck and absorb, a vast sagging chin; its fingers were tipped with claws.
'Name yourself!' roared Garash.
The young stranger rocked backwards and forwards, humming words without meaning.
'Stranger,' said Miphon quietly, fingering the idol. 'May we know your name? Please.'
'Valarkin,' murmured the man.
'Who burnt this place?'
'Those who did,' said Valarkin.
Which, though true, was unsatisfactory.
Bodies, many half-cremated, littered the ruins. From one, Garash salvaged an amulet.
'The spider,' said Phyphor, as Garash weighed it in his hand. 'Collosnon soldiers have been here.'
'This has no power,' said Garash with contempt, tossing the amulet to one side.
Miphon fielded it. The amulet was an oval ceramic tile with a neckcord – or the charred remains of one -threaded through a small hole. On the front was a black spider on a green background; on the back was a diamond made of a hundred curious hieroglyphs.
'Can you read this?' said Miphon to Phyphor.
'No,' said Phyphor. 'But only Collosnon soldiers wear those things. I know that much.'
Miphon let the amulet fall. Since they lost the donkey, he had learnt to carry essentials only.
'So the Collosnon have reached Estar,' said Garash. 'Perhaps in time we'll see the master of Tameran march his troops to the Great Dyke.'
Phyphor thought of all the northing they had made -through territory watched by the Landguard, by way of Narba to the Rice Empire, past Veda to the Harvest Plains, then to Selzirk, then Runcorn, then through the mountain kingdoms into Estar.
'No,' he said. 'Never.'
'We fought hard,' said the young Valarkin, speaking up unexpectedly. 'We did our best. But they were too many.'
'Do the Collosnon rule Estar now?' asked Phyphor. 'Not yet,' said Valarkin. 'They attacked here, but they were only a raiding party. The prince's soldiers caught them at it. There was a fight. The Collosnon lost – but all our people were dead by then. Saving me.' 'Were you a priest here?'
'Yes,' said Valarkin. Then added: 'I fought in the defence of the temple. I fought well.'
That was a lie. He had fled when the attack started, hiding in darkness until Comedo's troops had arrived to destroy the Collosnon invaders. ' 'Valarkin,' said Miphon, 'Can you tell us if the wizard Heenmor is still at Castle Vaunting?'
'We've not talked with the castle since the dragon ravaged the land,' said Valarkin. 'The castle hates us. Because the dragon burnt the country. They blame us for that.'
The dragon, yes. Phyphor looked at the sky. It was almost dayfail.
'Don't worry about the dragon,' said Valarkin. 'You can stay here – many travellers did. Our god kept the dragon away. Anyway, it's dead now. Our god destroyed it.'
'When?' said Garash.
'The night it burned the countryside. That was the night of its death-agony. Are we to blame for that? Gods are for the care of the dead, not the killing of dragons. The prince was warned.'
'About what?' said Garash.
'That there would be dangers. He's to blame. Comedo. We warned him – but he insisted. So the dragon died a noisy death – what difference does it make? Our god killed it. Not instantly – but it's dead all right.'
'Why is the prince angry then?' said Miphon.
'Because it burnt Lorford,' said Valarkin, looking at him with angry eyes gimlet-sharp. 'It burnt the palace stables. He can only seat twenty men on horseback now – there was plenty of roast horsemeat the night the dragon fle.w.'
Hoping the dragon was indeed dead, the wizards began to make camp. Another day should take them to Lorford.
Elsewhere, after a day spent crawling and climbing through mountain tunnels, the Rovac warrior Morgan Hearst emerged into the evening air at the foot of the mountain of Maf. Soon he found Durnwold. who had been keeping vigil, waiting for a sign. Durnwold had kept Hearst's horse with him, as well as his own. As the two men rode toward the Salt Road, they saw a campfire burning in the temple ruins.
Gaining the road, they headed for Lorford; they did not stop to investigate the camp fire, and those warming themselves by its flames thought it wisest not to challenge the two horsemen passing in the night.
CHAPTER NINE
Name: Johan Meryl Comedo, prince of Estar.
Occupation: ruler of Estar.
Status: Class Enemy of the Common People.
Hobbies: preservation of traditional royal prerogatives by way of rape, torture, looting, arson, sundry oppressions of peasants, incarceration without charge or trial, etc. etc.
Description: not quite the man his father was.
Ten leagues is an easy day for an army, but the twenty thousand paces from the temple to the town of Lorford taxed the wizards severely. Garash, unwilling to drive himself, slowed them up; it was evening when they reached the town – too late to seek entry to Castle Vaunting.
Valarkin, travelling with the wizards, showed them round this strange town which had been built half by optimists above ground, and half by pessimists below. The pessimists had survived the dragon; the rest of the town was in ruins.
They took shelter in an underground tavern crowded with drunks celebrating the death of the dragon. This excuse for boozing had already lasted a night and a day, but enthusiasm still ran high. The dragon's death meant peace and prosperity – promising beer money for everyone.
The dragon had been killed – or so went the story – by Morgan Hearst, a hero from the west. When Valarkin stood up to dispute this, he was jeered at, then beaten up and thrown outside to lie in the street in the company of a few blind drunk gross green Melski males.
The wizards learnt that some Collosnon soldiers -preparing for an invasion, perhaps? – were raiding in Estar. Nobody lamented the lost temple and its dead priests, but the wiser heads realised that the Collosnon, by burning the temple, had destroyed one of Estar's most powerful defences. Still, they were sure Castle Vaunting could stand against any invaders. What worried them was the flame trench on the southern border, which must delay any Galish convoys coming from that direction.
One man longing for the Galish to arrive was a drunken sea captain from the Harvest Plains. In the autumn, he had sailed from Androlmarphos with a cargo of luxuries for the Ravlish Lands. Attacked by pirates, his ship had escaped, only to be severely damaged by a storm. He had brought it up the Hollern River for repairs, anchoring just below the fords of Lorford.
'My troubles were only starting. My screwrot crew deserted to take service with the prince. This end of winter – the winter cost me pretty, never doubt it – the prince seized my cargo's cream. Six boys – six! The best – young slave boys, trained to service. The temple wanted them for sacrifice. To persuade a god to kill a dragon. We all know what killed what in the end. The prince donated them. Easy for him to give, wasn't it? 'There were women, too – but those went to the prince. He's a fine one for taking. And he's not the only one! The Melski have torn the nails from my ship, working underwater. It's grounded on the riverbed. So here I sit till the Galish come so I can sell what's left -then I'll barefoot back to Runcorn and beyond.'
As an introduction to the habits and practises of Johan Meryl Comedo, this was hardly promising; other stories the wizards heard did nothing to advance him in their favour.
Come morning, they walked up Melross Hill to the black battlements of the castle dominating the heights above Lorford. Although it was spring, the cold wind sang a joyless, bitter song as it cut through chinks and gaps in the walls of the hillside hovels of the servants who worked in the castle but were refused shelter there.