On the fourth morning they saw on the horizon a remembered band of pearly light. They pressed on swiftly, crossing great fells, always in sight of the sea. Evening found them once more clear of the hills; and by dusk they reached the coast. The sun, sinking in a yellow blaze, showed the outlines of a huge earthwork, brooding humpbacked over a shadowy foreland. Nearer stretched a desolate beach. Sand dunes were laced with wiry grass, through which the wind sang mournfully.
Rat walked to the water’s edge and pointed. ‘That is the castle I told you of,’ she said. ‘The Lake King sits there, with a thousand men to guard him. Beyond is Long Spit.’ She chewed a knuckle thoughtfully. ‘I was captured on a fishing boat,’ she said. ‘There are villages somewhere to the west here. We are too few to man a warship, even if we could steal one; a fishing boat it must be.’ She glanced up sidelong at Elgro. ‘Unless your magic can grow us fins and tails,’ she said, ‘and swim us home in comfort.’
They walked some distance before coming on signs of habitation. The villages they finally reached were ramshackle and dirty. Boats there were, certainly; but all were drawn up firmly, and watchfires burned close by. Also dogs set up a shrill chorus at the party’s approach. They saw what they wanted finally; a chubby, unhandy-looking little vessel, beached by herself in saltings a mile or so from the castle mound. Close by, smoke rose from a low hovel built of turves. There were no other signs of life.
Elgro circled away, pressing a finger to his lips. They saw him flit across the mud; moments later, straining ears might have caught a dull thump, the faintest of splashes. Then the Dancing Man was back. He squatted, driving his knife-blade into the ground to clean it. He said, ‘She has a sail and oars, and water in the casks.’
Launching the vessel proved nearly beyond their strength. They strained and splashed, panting. A rising tide helped them; eventually, the boat slid clear. They sculled cautiously half an hour or more before hoisting the sail. A light breeze blew, steady to the south. Matt took the tiller; Long Spit, and the castle with its torchlit walls, faded in the gloom astern. The boat rolled, water chuckling and slapping under her blunt bows; and Elgro felt his spirits rise at the tang of salt.
He stood in the bows, muffled in his cloak, Rand at his side. ‘My Lord,’ he said softly, ‘you have seen by now, surely, how the world goes. The crops spring, fish swim in the sea, there are men and women and towns. As in our own country, so in this; there is no Land of Ghosts. Also’ - he jerked his head amidships, to where Rat dutifully tended the sail - ‘you have, to my eyes at least, replaced all you have lost. Let us stand further from the coast. Smaller ships than this have sailed to Sealand.’
But Rand turned a shocked face in the gloom. ‘Elgro,’ he said, ‘that would be a shameful thing. She is no more than a child; also my word is given. What sort of men would we be, to save her from a Worm then bring her to more grief?’
Elgro opened his mouth again, closed it with a snap. He groaned inwardly, and held his peace.
They made good time. In the dawn they saw, stretching to the left, a great steely estuary; and Rat, crowing, called for Matt to alter course to the west. They sailed through the morning, closing slowly with the land. At midday she pointed again. Blue hills rose inland; beyond, ghost-pale against the sky, was a great massif. ‘Snow Mountain,’ she said. ‘The highest hill in our country. My Lord, you will very soon be safe.’
Rand turned absentmindedly, and squeezed her shoulder.
They stood in once more toward the coast. To the right and left, bobbing specks resolved themselves into fishing boats. The Lakeland vessel creamed between them, Rat capering and shouting in the bow. Shouts answered her, from every little ship.
They rounded a great snake-like promontory. Beyond was a narrowing estuary. Rat pointed excitedly. ‘The Old Ones had a castle there,’ she said. ‘Then the Fire Giants came, blasting the land. Only we survived. We are the People of the Dragon, the oldest folk in the world.’
They passed the ruins, rising amid a green tide of trees. Beyond was a well-built town. A harbour was guarded by watchtowers and high earth walls; above, on the hill, reared a white-painted Hall. Boats were tied up at the quays, and great-ships of unfamiliar design. Elgro, frowning, nudged his Lord’s arm. He said, ‘They have no trusses. How can that be?’
She turned to him scornfully. ‘It is our secret,’ she said. ‘Our scribes wrote many secrets, hiding them in magic caves.’ Then to Matt, ‘Hold the centre of the channel, Sealander; the water shoals fast here.’
The sail came down at the run. The vessel rolled, .bumped alongside the quay. Ropes were thrown and caught; and a surge of men came running, some with swords in their hands, some with spears. Elgro clawed at his belt, cursing; but the Rat jumped ashore, shouting delightedly. ‘Dyserth, Cilcain,’ she said. ‘Put your weapons down this instant, and help my friends; or my father will have your ears.’
Consternation, on the quay. A man prostrated himself; others leaped to steady the boat. The noise spread; a crowd began to form, jostling and shoving. Elgro sheathed his sword, stood staring up. ‘Rat,’ he said gravely, ‘who might your father be?’
She turned jauntily, hands on her ragged hips. ‘Talsarno King,’ she said. ‘Lord of the Western Hills.’
Lines of torches lit the Hall with a warm orange glow. The light gleamed from glassware and brooches, costly silver plate. Board after board was piled with delicacies; trays of spiced meat, pastry, fresh-baked fish. Sucking pigs smoked, garnished with herbs and apples; lobsters reared blood-red, their claws locked in mock battle. Musicians played and jangled on a gallery; serving people moved among the many guests, replenishing horns and drinking cups from jar after jar of yellow Midsea wine. Sweet-smelling rushes covered the floor of the place; on the walls tapestries, heavy with golden thread, showed dogs and fishes and dragons. Mer-things swam and dolphins; the Great Orm reared its fearsome bulk, in a shower of glistening spray.
It was a feast such as the Sealanders had never seen. They lolled at ease, winepots in their hands, while a minstrel sang the tale of the great fight, repeated already a dozen times or more. Men roared their approval, banging cups and goblets; but Rand shook his head. ‘It was a sad thing, living underground,’ he said. ‘I think it meant no harm.’
The song ended; and Talsarno clapped his hands. He sat at the head of the great table, the Rat beside him in a dress of blue and green, her hair bound with flowers and silver leaves.
‘Now, King Rand,’ he said, ‘Name what gift you choose. A woman here or there is nothing much; but a daughter is a different thing, more so as one grows old.’
Rand smiled. ‘Honour my men,’ he said, ‘and it will please me well, my Lord. Elgro here struck the blow; and the Navigator brought us safely through our many troubles.’
This is true,’ said the Rat brightly. ‘Also the Magician guarded me very well, taking me under his cloak to shield me from the cold. Yet for the love he bears our House, he offered me no harm.’
Rand toyed with his cup. ‘I seek nothing save wisdom,’ he said. ‘Among ourselves we call these lands the Isles of Ghosts. If the dead in their country can be visited, then I must journey there; or know no rest.’
The King pulled at his beard. ‘It saddens me to hear of such a wish,’ he said. He lowered his voice. ‘If I may counsel you,’ he said, ‘from greater years if not from greater wisdom, then I say this; that sorrows pass. All sorrows. King Rand, you are still young. Nothing endures.’
Rand said gravely, ‘This will endure.’
Talsarno shrugged, and drained his cup. ‘I have no skill in these matters,’ he said. ‘But there is a Sage, of whom my daughter spoke. For forty years and more he has shunned the light, communing only with the Gods. Old he was in my father’s time; and his father before him, so they say. My seal will part his lips, if this is truly what you desire; but my spirits tell me no joy will come of it.’ He laid a hand earnestly on Rand’s arm. ‘My Lord,’ he said. ‘Let me equip a greatship, to carry you to your homeland. Gold you can have in plenty, and wine and cloth; a dowry, for my daughter’s life. You will sit in your own high Hall again; and the years will bring you peace.’
But Rand stayed silent, staring down; and the other sighed. ‘More wine,’ he said. ‘In the morning, my daughter will guide you to the Sage. For the rest, we have no cause to love your countrymen; but between my house and the people of the Crab shall be eternal friendship. This my scribes will write and this I swear; by the White Hill and the Dragon, by Talgarrec and the Sons of Osin, who founded this kingdom when the Giants died and Time began afresh.’
The party was lodged for the night, richly enough; but Rand turned and tossed, waiting for the dawn. In another part of the place Rat too lay sleepless, wetting the new silk sheets with tears.
The track led up through a green valley, set thickly with lilac and tall spikes of delphinium. Higher, the hill slopes flamed with gorse and poppies. Rat led the way, astride a shaggy, goat-footed little pony. Myrnith, chief priest of the Dragon, followed; Rand and his Sealanders brought up the rear, with a file of Talsarno’s soldiers. From time to time the Dancing Man swore, slapping at his arms and neck. The heat was intense; above each rider buzzed a cloud of stinging flies.
Beyond the treeline the air was cooler. They crossed screes of naked grey rock. The sun shone from a deep blue sky; a buzzard circled, a dot in the vast emptiness. Ahead were peaks and rock-walls, drenched in light. A breeze blew, lifting Rand’s hair, bringing the scents of summer from the rich valleys below.
The girl reined. Beside the path was set a tall square post, outlandishly carved and painted. The party halted, uncertainly; and Myrnith turned, his round dark face impassive. ‘Your men will wait here,’ he said, in his lilting voice. ‘The ground beyond is holy; only priests may enter.’
Elgro dismounted awkwardly, hitching at his belt. ‘I am holy too,’ he said, ‘having danced away greater ghosts than any in this country. Also, I serve the King. Where he goes, I go.’
The soldiers muttered, frowning; and Myrnith shook his head. He said stonily, ‘It is forbidden. It is the Law of the Dragon.’
The Dancing Man dropped a hand to his sword hilt. ‘When one Law meets another,’ he said equably, ‘a test of strength is customary. Which of you will discuss the matter with me?’
A pause, that lengthened; then the priest shrugged. ‘Defy the Gods if you choose,’ he said. ‘On your head be it, friend.’
Rat swung her legs from the pony, hitched his reins to the totem. ‘I also claim my right,’ she said. ‘I am a priest, by privilege of birth.’
Myrnith stared down at her gravely. He said, ‘You will not like what you see.’
They climbed again. The path steepened, angling across a great slope of granite. Above, the shoulder of the mountain rose in soaring buttresses. The priest stepped to the cliff face, raised a hand. ‘Wait here,’ he said. ‘Perhaps the Old One will speak, perhaps not.’ He moved forward, vanished behind a projecting spur of rock. He was gone some time. ‘The Gods favour you,’ he said when he returned. ‘Also he knows your errand, by some skill of his own. Listen, but do not question. If you question him, he will not answer.’
Rand stepped forward, the girl at his elbow, the Dancing Man close behind. The spur concealed a cleft in the apparently solid rock. Within it, the air struck chill. The cliff walls closed, gleaming with damp. A dozen paces, and the way widened again. The King stopped involuntarily, the girl clinging to his arm.
It was as if at some time gigantic forces had split the entire mountain. The walls of the fissure in which he stood soared to an unguessed height. Above, all that was left of the sky was a ragged silver thread. What light reached the floor of the place was grey and dim. The wind bawled, over the distant peak; the chasm responded, uttering a single note that shook the rock, passed to silence.
Some fifty paces ahead the walls of the place swept together. He made out a flight of rough-hewn steps, bowls piled with rotted offerings. Above, the rock was pierced by a single hole, no more than a handspan wide. A heavy stench came from it; round it roughly mortared blocks showed where the anchorite had been sealed alive. They were stained and blotched, as if over the years the thing had become a filthy throat.
His stomach rebelled. He choked, and would have turned away; but a voice spoke from the cell, thin and reedy as a ghost
‘In the old times,’ it said, ‘the Giants came. Elwin Mydroylin was King in the west. The warboats came, the boats of floating iron. Forests grew on their decks. Others sailed beneath the water, hurling javelins that scorched the earth. The crops were withered, and trees in the passes next the sea. The cities of the Giants were destroyed. Elwin Mydroylin went down to night, and his sons who killed the Dragon on Brondin Mere. The Wanderer came to the White Hill. He saw the love of women, and it was false. He saw the love of men, and it was false. The Dragons came in the north. The hills were shaken.’
Elgro’s voice rang in the cleft.
‘Seer, where is the Land of Ghosts?’
The rock-walls caught the words, flinging them mockingly forward and back; and the wind roared, playing the place like a gigantic pitch-pipe.
The noise faded. The voice went on, inexorably. ‘Elwin went down to night. The House of Mydroylin was extinguished. Haern came, and Morfa, and Amlwych Penoleu. The Dragons fought in the north, and the sea was let in. The indivisible was divided.’
The stink gusted. Rand swayed, feeling sweat start out on him coldly. The voice came again. ‘The Mere People took the south, loosing the Devils of the Fen. Beyond, the Forest grew.’ The seeker after Gods must pass it. None succeeds. After the realm of Gods, there may be Ghosts.’
A pause; and a scrabbling, at the hole. A hand appeared, and forearm; mired with filth, streaked with bright sores. The sores moved and throbbed. The voice rose in a shout of laughter. ‘Approach, Sealander,’ it said. ‘Receive my blessing.’
Rand’s sight flickered. He reeled, felt the Dancing Man grip his arms. He turned, hands to his face; when he could see again the sun was hot on his back. Above rose the cliff; below, a great distance away, were the horses and waiting men. He panted, shuddering; and Elgro took his shoulders. ‘Now we have seen wisdom,’ said the Dancing Man between his teeth. ‘Where to next, my Lord?’