By discarding his powers – at least those relating to the world of Amarl, the world of day-to-day living – he might be able to pass through the barrier.
Perhaps.
But even to think of the experiment was almost intolerable. Destroying his own powers would nullify years of work, deprivation, effort, agony. Miphon remembered the Shackle Mountains… trials in the darkness… the seven tests that may not be named… the agony and the loneliness of the long wait.
Above all else, he did not want to lose the power of the sleeping secrets, which allowed him to heal any injury or overcome any evil. That power was incalculable, despite the fact that he had been helpless when kidnapped by Valarkin and those members of the Secular Arm that Valarkin had suborned for his own purposes.
No wizard could ever be invulnerable, for an arrow in the back could kill even the most powerful. With the sleeping secrets, the limiting factor on his power was time. The ten days he had spent in Veda had been busy, busy, busy, as he had treated a succession of patients; lie had lacked the time, and indeed the inclination, to search through many of the minds, often unclean or repulsive, that dwelt within the effective range of his powers.
He believed he had the maturity and the spiritual grace to use those powers for good. Yet he had to surrender them. Spells and physical force had both failed to release him from the egg. As a wizard he was trapped, so he must cease to be a wizard, a Force incarnate in the flesh, a Power in the World of Events, a Light in the Unseen Realm, a Graduate of the Trials of Strength, a Motivator of History, a master of lore versed in the logic of the Cause and the nature of the Beginning.
He would miss that.
And there were so many other things he would miss. The exultation in the mind of the hawk as it stooped… the night thoughts of the badger… the aura of strength in the forest in spring… his satisfaction as a fat fish, lured from the depths of a cold pond, flapped in his hands…
Accepting the death of his hopes and ambitions, Miphon adopted the pose he used for the Meditations. He would destroy his power in three stages. First, his power to use the sleeping secrets, to read and change minds and heal and change bodies by the application of thought at a distance. Then, his power to read and communicate with the minds of animals. And last, if necessary, even such minor powers as he possessed to read and command the minds of animated rocks, the creatures of the world of the Horn, Lemarl.
Miphon began. Swiftly, he released all the power associated with the sleeping secrets. That power had to go somewhere, but could not escape from the egg, which hummed with a high-pitch resonance as vibrations built up.
Miphon felt uncomfortable. His ears began to hurt. It grew hot. He sweated. His sweat dried the moment it appeared on his skin. His eyes stung. The air took on a violet tinge. The walls of the egg began to vibrate. They cracked: a million hairline fractures appeared.
The barrier blocking the way out of the egg became visible as a web of blue-white energies, pulsing like an eye in which the pressure of the heart's blood is rising so high that it threatens rupture. But the barrier held. Miphon gave a small cry: a dry croak. The heat was rapidly killing him.
He had surrendered all the power of the sleeping secrets.
He refused to surrender any more.
He charged the barrier. He hit it – and a shock of pure energy flung him back, knocking him to the floor of the egg. He lay there, at first unable to move. The air pulsed and sang. Intolerable resonating energies throbbed around him. Bursts of white light sang from the walls of the egg. The walls were warm to the touch.
Miphon knew he had little time left. Unless he got out quickly, he would be dead. He composed himself, and swiftly accomplished the second phase of destroying his power. The heat intensified.
He resolved to charge the barrier again.
He wanted to escape with at least some of his powers intact: those to affect the world of Lemarl, the world of stone. He refused to surrender everything. Yet, remembering the pain when he had last touched the barrier, he was afraid.
Miphon seized the sword Hast, remembering Hearst, and the intensity with which the warrior moved on the attack, committing himself absolutely to the needs of the moment. Wild words came to Miphon's aid: 'Ahyak Rovac!'
Screaming that challenge, swinging that sword, he charged. And went right through the barrier. He was free!
But, inside the egg he had escaped from, the energies he had released were becoming more coherent by the moment, converting themselves into a pulse, a resonance, a unified power of destruction. If that barrier was to give way… looking at the pulsing barrier, Miphon decided it was a question of when, not if. The barrier would not hold for long. So what to do then? Run!
He turned and fled down the luminous corridor. He saw a doorway: an empty egg. Another doorway: a dusty storeroom. Another: into dead darkness. Then another: opening into a room in which lay Blackwood, bound hand and foot.
'You!' said Blackwood, the word distorted as his mouth was badly bruised and cut.
'None other,' said Miphon, cutting Blackwood's bonds with the sword Hast. The blade slipped, slicing flesh. 'Sorry.'
'It's nothing,' said Blackwood, stemming the bleeding.
'Where's Hearst?'
'I don't know.'
'Come on then.'
They raced on down the corridor. The luminous white curves drew them on. From up ahead they heard a scream. They ran faster, panting. Then they burst into a chamber, a glance revealing: Hearst, tied hand and foot to a metal frame; a young man holding a bloodstained bodkin; half a dozen onlookers, all armed.
Miphon screamed: 'Ahyak Rovac!'
The battlesword Hast took out the nearest. As the rest drew weapons, Blackwood grabbed the tripod legs of a brazier and hurled its burning coals toward them. The torture chamber evoked all the horrors of Prince Comedo's dungeons. Snatching up an iron rod, Blackwood attacked, striking out furiously. Miphon fought beside him, reckless in his disregard for his own safety. He had lost everything he valued: nothing remained to tempt him to make the calculations of cowardice.
It was all over almost as soon as it had begun. Three of the armed men were dead. The rest: running for their lives.
'Are you hurt?' said Miphon to Hearst.
'Like a virgin unvirgined,' said Hearst. 'No, don't look for the damage, you blue-tailed pox doctor. Cut me loose! Quickly, man, quickly!' i don't want to cut you.'
'Don't worry about that, let's just get out of here.'
Miphon sliced away the last rope. Hearst, released from the metal frame, stumbled, almost fell. Deep-gouped rope patterns ringed his wrists and ankles. Blackwood supported him as they left the chamber.
'This way,' said Blackwood.
'How do you know?' said Miphon.
'The tunnel slants upwards here, doesn't it?'
'Why, so it does,' said Miphon.
They went as fast as they could, Hearst hobbling, Miphon still carrying Hearst's sword.
'Where's the green bottle?' said Miphon.
'Valarkin had it the last time I saw him,' said Hearst. 'That was shortly before… before you rescued me.'
Despite their long association, Hearst was reluctant to name a wizard as his rescuer. It had been bad enough at Selzirk, when Miphon had rescued Hearst from magic – a warrior cannot, after all, hope to fight magic directly. Here it was worse: to be rescued from armed men by a wizard wielding a Rovac sword.
'Where did he go?' said Miphon.
'He was called away,' said Hearst. 'One of Valarkin's cronies heard that the headman of the Secular Arm wanted a fellow called Esteneedes, who happened to be searching the red bottle that Valarkin's got stashed away somewhere. So Valarkin went to get the man out of the bottle. Up here?'
Ahead the corridor branched.
'This way,' said Blackwood, choosing at random. Then: 'I've been out hunting with Esteneedes. He's a noted tracker. The headman must be wanting to recruit him for a search party to look for us.'