He flew to the highest peak of the black range and turned himself to stone, there to await Talkne, Serpent of the Still Waters, who would come to contest the land of Qod with him. The people made pilgrimages to that place, and Nyalith offered sacrifices at his feet. Prodromolu, Father of the Age, Opener of the Way, they called him in tireless chant, bathing him in honey and spices, wine and blood.
He felt his spirit rise, singing, to flash beyond the mountains. Then the deadlands twisted and churned beneath him. He dropped through a fading night toward brightness.
Pol awoke with a feeling of well-being. He opened his eyes and regarded the window through which the morning light leaked. He drew a deep breath and flexed his muscles. A cup of steaming coffee would be delightful, he decided, knowing full well that such was not attainable upon this world. Not yet, anyway. It was on his list of things to look into when he had the chance. Now...
At that instant, his dream returned to him, and he saw it to be the source of his pleasure. With it came remembrance of other dreams of a similar nature, dreams--he realized now--which had come to him every night since the nameless sorcerer had visited him on the trail and changed his appearance. But these, unlike the others, were uniformly pleasant despite a certain grotesqueness.
He rose, to visit the latrine, to wash, to dress, to rinse the streak in his hair with a jar of liquid he had purchased from an apothecary on the way home the previous evening. While he was about these things, he heard Mouseglove stirring. He dismantled the warning spells while he waited for the man to ready himself. Then the two of them stopped by Ibal's quarters but were told by a servant that the master could not be disturbed.
"Then let's take a walk and find some breakfast," Mouseglove suggested.
Pol nodded, and they made their way back to the small street with the cafes. The night's sparkle and sheen faded as they dined; and as the sun climbed higher a certain dinginess appeared here and there in the brighter quarters about them.
"Sleep well?"
"Yes. Yourself?"
Pol nodded.
"But I--"
Mouseglove's eyes shifted sharply to his left and he nodded in that direction. Pol leaned back in his chair and stretched, rolling his head as he did so.
The man who was approaching down the narrow street was clad in black and red as he had been the previous evening. He was looking in their direction.
Pol leaned forward and raised his mug of tea.
"You still can't recall... ?" he asked.
Mouseglove shook his head.
"But he's coming this way," he muttered without moving his lips.
Pol took a sip and listened for footfalls. The man had a very soft tread and was almost beside him before he heard a sound.
"Good morning," he said, moving into view. "You are the one called Madwand, of Ibal's company?"
Pol lowered the mug and raised his eyes.
"I am."
"Good." The other smiled. "My name is Larick. I have been appointed to conduct the candidates for initiation to the entrance on the western height of Belken this afternoon. I will also be your guide through the mountain tonight."
"The initiation is to be tonight? I'd thought it was not held until near the end of things?"
"Normally, that is the case," Larick replied, "but I had not been reading my ephemeris recently. I only learned last night when I was appointed to this post that there will be a particularly favorable conjunction of planets tonight--whereas things will not be nearly so good later on."
"Would you care for a cup of tea?"
Larick began to shake his head, then eyed the pot.
"Yes, I am thirsty. Thanks."
He drew up a chair while Pol signaled for a fresh pot.
"My friend's name is Mouseglove," Pol said.
The men studied each other and clasped hands.
"Glad."
"The same."
Larick produced a piece of parchment and a writing stick.
"By the way, I do not really have your name, Madwand, for the list of candidates. How are you actually called?"
In instant reaction Pol's mind slid over the present and back to an earlier time.
"Dan," he said, "Chain--son."
"Dan Chainson," Larick repeated, writing it. "You are fourth on my list. I still have six to go."
"I take it that the rescheduling is as much a surprise to all those involved?"
"I'm afraid so. That's why I have to find everyone in a hurry."
The tea arrived and Pol poured.
"We will meet at the Arch of the Blue Bird," Larick said, gesturing. "It is the farthest archway to the west. It is somewhat south of here, also."
Pol nodded.
"I'll find it. But when do we meet?"
"I was hoping we could all get together by noon," he answered. "But that seems unrealistic, the way things are going. Let's say by the time the sun lies midway between noon and sunset."
"All right. Anything special I should bring?"
Larick studied him for a moment.
"How much preparation have you had for thisP" he asked.
Pol wondered whether the flush he felt in his cheeks was visible through his magical disguise, scar and all.
"It depends upon what you mean by preparation," he said. "I've had some instruction as to the metaphysical side of things, but I was counting on more time here for learning something of the practical aspects."
"Then you did not--as your nickname implies--serve what might be referred to as a normal apprenticeship?"
"I did not. I know what I know by means of aptitude, practice and some study--on my own."
Larick smiled.
"I see. In other words, you have had as little preparation as one can have had and still be said to have had some preparation."
"I'd say you've put it properly."
Larick took a drink of tea.
"There is some risk, even for those with full training," he said.
"I already know that."
"Well, it is your decision, and I will have time to go over things somewhat during the climb and while we wait for sundown outside the entrance. To answer your first question, though, bring nothing but the clothes you wear, one small loaf of bread and a flask of water. These may be consumed at any time during the journey, up until the actual entry into the mountain. I would suggest you keep most of it until near the end, as we maintain a total fast during the night's progress through Belken."
Larick finished his tea and rose.
"I'll have to be locating the others now," he said. "Thanks for the tea. I'll see you at the Blue Bird Archway."
"A moment," said Mouseglove.
"Yes?"
"At what point on the mountain will you be emerging in the morning?"
"We'll come out of a cave low on the eastern fece--this side, that is. You can't see the place from here. If you want to walk along with me I'm going up to a higher level now. I might be able to point it out to you from there."
"Yes, I'll come."
Mouseglove rose. Pol did also.
A flight of tarnished butterflies swept by as they mounted the stair. When Pol rested his hand against an ornamental column, it felt more like the trunk of a tree than cold stone. The huge gems set into walls had lost much of their brilliance in day's hard glare. But Pol smiled, for the impression of beauty still held despite all of this.
They climbed a hill and Larick pointed at the mountain.
"Yes. Over there," he said. "Near the base--that triangular, darkened area. You can see it if you look closely."
"I see it," Mouseglove said.
"Yes," said Pol.
"Very well. Then I must be on my way. I will see you later."