There was certainly something he had overlooked.
The sleeping secrets: occult strength of the order of Nin.
The sleeping secrets: power too terrible for any human being to be trusted to live with, power sufficient to overwhelm the established order of the world. In the depths of the Shackle Mountains, in the shadow of thunder, in the place between darkness and light, they were taught by the book of Nariq, and then they were taught to forget.
Was this the time to recall the sleeping secrets? To open, as the saying went, the Book of Nariq?
No.
First, because the problem could be resolved by a simple act of murder. And second, because the sleeping secrets, whatever they were, might not be suitable for overcoming Ebonair without killing Morgan Hearst.
Miphon stood over Hearst's body. It would take only a moment: he knew where to put the blade. He could say afterwards that an evil spirit killed Hearst: the story would be true enough in its way. Hearst would have killed, if necessary.
But Hearst… yes, Miphon remembered how he himself, on a ship at sea, drunk with battle, had sent whales again and again to batter Alish's ships. Hearst had thrown a bucket of water over Miphon, to save the life of a man he had once counted as a friend. Yes, in Miphon's situation, Hearst would have killed if necessary – but if there was another way, he would have tried that first. Could a wizard do less than a Rovac warrior?
Yet it was an improper way to use the sleeping secrets. They were meant for the occasion of greatest danger. And what would Morgan Hearst have said to that? Miphon could imagine the answer: i dare!'
And, if Hearst died, there would be no chance for Miphon to present him to the Confederation of Wizards at the Castle of Controlling Power in a bid to resolve the age-old enmity between the wizards and the Rovac.
Miphon, consoling himself with the thought that he worked in the interests of the greatest good, began the Rites of Recall, and was soon lost in a trance of remembrance.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Miphon opened his eyes and saw the Hearst-body studying him intently. It held a leather bag which, Miphon knew, contained the death-stone. 'Hearst?' "What do you think?'
Everything about Hearst-body was subtly wrong: the carriage of the shoulders, the angle the head was held at, the way the feet were together instead of shoulder-width apart.
'Ebonair,' said Miphon.
'Precisely,' said the wizard of Ebber, gloating. 'You know what I hold here?'
'The death-stone,' said Miphon. 'Careful how you use it. It brings stones to life.'
'But not the stones of a wizard castle: they've no minds left to animate. I saw that much when I scanned your memories. From here, I could destroy Selzirk without the slightest risk to myself.'
'But a mad rock might charge the battlements!'
'Ah,' said Ebonair. 'But from this warrior's memories, I see the death-stone repels the rocks it animates. I also see… that with this death-stone, I might become a god.'
'Heenmor killed himself experimenting with the death-stone.'
'I'm not Heenmor,' said Ebonair. 'Besides, I have an advantage he never had: your mind. You can read the thoughts of rock and stone. Isn't that right? A fascinating ability. It may help me much in my research.'
And Miphon thought:
– This has gone on long enough.
– So do it! And he did.
The order of Nin cultivated the ability to read and influence the minds of things that live wild. The powers of the sleeping secrets were the powers to read, understand and control both the minds and bodies of humans, and to change the same. This power could operate at a distance of up to ten leagues.
Miphon closed his eyes. When he closed his eyes, he saw the world around him in terms of life-energies. The stones of the castle were dead, inert. Monstrous powers glowered in the silent machines from the Days of Wrath. Blackwood's mind was a dull red glow, still unconscious. Hearst's mind was another dull glow, but in that glow was a web of green energy, which could be unravelled by… yes, Miphon saw how it could be done.
Miphon stood up. Wrong: his ghost stood up. He looked down on the bodies of flesh and blood. With hands that had no substance, he grasped part of that web of green energy and pulled. The green web started to unravel.
The wizard Ebonair felt his mind disintegrating into the nightmarish turmoil of a bad drug-dream. But in his agony he realised this was no dream: this was his own destruction. He used the last resource available to him. He used the Ultimate Injunction.
'Segenarith!' shouted Ebonair.
Miphon's view of a world of life-energies disappeared. His sensation of inhabiting a ghost-body was gone. He was back in his own flesh. He stared at the swaying Hearst-body. The echo of that shout still rang in his mind: Segenarith. The word had been sufficient to overcome the powers of the sleeping secrets.
'A pity to kill you,' said Ebonair, his voice slow and slurred. 'Such power! But there's no other wav, is there?'
Ebonair dropped the bag containing the death-stone. 443 He drew the sword Hast. Miphon tried to conjure up that vision of a world of life-energies: tried to work his way back into the ghost-body. He failed. 'Die,' slurred Ebonair.
The sword Hast ripped through the air. A wild swing. The wizard was un-coordinated, brain-damaged. He had almost been too late using the Ultimate Injunction.
Miphon leapt back out of reach of the sword. Ebonair slashed at him again. Miphon was forced back, out toward the entrance. If he turned to run, if he took his eyes off that blade, he would be killed.
The sword swung again.
Miphon jumped back – too slow!
He screamed as the blade knifed across his flesh. He fell to the stones of the battlements, clutching his pain. The Hearst-body loomed over him. A voice cried: 'Hold!'
Through eyes that were slits of pain, Miphon saw Blackwood taking the death-stone from its bag. He saw Ebonair wheel, advance on Blackwood, then hesitate. Miphon heard Ebonair begin to speak. It was hard to hear because of the pain. But then the pain was – - less.
– Pox doctor, heal yourself.
– Bone to be bone. Flesh to be flesh. Skin to be skin. And Ebonair was saying: 'Be reasonable. It's a generous offer. To rule the Harvest Plains is no small thing. You can't do it by yourself.'
'Tell me more,' said Blackwood.
Though Ebonair could not see how Miphon was healing, Blackwood could – and was having a hard job to keep his amazement from his face.
'You could become a wizard if you wished,' said Ebonair. 'You already know the High Speech. That makes it much easier. Have you any idea what it means to become a wizard?'
Miphon was ready. He struck.
This time he had no sense of the world as life-energies, no sense of himself as a ghost. He had only needed such tricks of perception while he was first coming to terms with the powers of the sleeping secrets. Now Miphon used his strength swiftly, intuitively, doing exactly what he had to.
One moment Ebonair was talking. The next instant his mind had been torn to pieces. The Hearst-body collapsed again. Miphon looked at Blackwood, who stood flipping the death-stone from one hand to the other.
'You can let it go now,' said Miphon. Blackwood dropped the death-stone as if it was poison.
'Is Hearst dead?' said Blackwood. 'I hope not,' said Miphon.
He examined Hearst's mind. The sensation was almost like listening to the mind of some wild thing -but* sharper, clearer, more painful. Painful because Miphon felt Hearst's agony, his indecision, the suffering of a man trying to cope with the complexities of a world which the heroic simplicities of his upbringing had not equipped him to deal with.
And Miphon realised he could cure that pain, deleting certain memories, closing down certain lines of thought. He could instill, where necessary, an ordered doctrine of etiquette and ethics, shaping Morgan Hearst into the precise tool he needed to perform that highest function: bringing about a peace between wizards and warriors. What greater glory than to serve as a peacemaker?