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"You help me get down and Ill write you into the saga as the most wicked, iniquitous and depraved evil warlord there has even been, understand?" The bead came up again, wheezing. "All right, all right. But you gotta promise . . . "
"And if you betray me, remember that I dont know the Code! I dont have to let Dark Lords get away!" They descended in silence and, in Harrys case, mostly with his eyes shut. Off to one side and a long way down, a foothill that was now a valley still Rimed and bubbled. "Wed never even find the bodies," said the minstrel, as they sought for a path. "Ah, and thatd be cos they didnt die, see?" said Harry. "Theyd have come up with some plan at the last minute, you can bet on it. "
"Harry-"
"You can call me Evil, lad. "
"Evil, they spent the last minute falling down a mountain!"
"Ah, but maybe they kind of glided through the air, see? And theres all those lakes down there. Or maybe they spotted where the snow was really deep. " The minstrel stared. "You really think they could have survived?" he said. There was a slight touch of desperation in Harrys raddled face. "Sure. O course. All that talk from Cohen . . . that was just talk. Hes not the sort to go around dyin all the time. No old Cohen! I mean . . . not him. Es one of a kind. " The minstrel surveyed the Hublands ahead of him. There were lakes and there was deep snow. But the Horde was not in favour of cunning. If they needed cunning, they hired it. Otherwise, they simply attacked. And you couldnt attack the ground. Its all mixed up, he thought. Just like that captain said. Gods and heroes and wild adventure . . . but when the last hero goes, it all goes. Hed never been keen on heroes. But he realised that he needed them to be there, like forests and mountains . . . he might never see them, but they filled some sort of hole in his mind. Some sort of hole in everyones mind. "Bound to be fine. " said Evil Harry, behind him. "Theyll probably be waitin for us when we get down there. "
"Whats that, hanging on that rock?" said the minstrel. It turned out, when theyd scrambled up to it over slippery rocks, to be part of a shattered wheel from Mad Hamishs wheelchair. "Doesnt mean nothing," said Evil Harry, tossing it aside. "Come on, lets get a move on. This is not a mountain you want to be on at night. "
"No. Youre right. It doesnt. " said the minstrel. He unslung his lyre and began to tune it. "It doesnt mean anything. " Before he turned to leave, he reached into a ragged pocket and pulled out a small leather bag. It was full of rubies. He tipped them out on to the snow, where they glowed. And then he walked on. There was a field of deep snow. Here and there a hollow suggested that the snow had been thrust aside with great force by a falling body, but the edges had been softened by the wind drift.
The seven horsewomen landed gently, and the thing about the snow was this: there were hoofprints in it, but they did not appear exactly where the horses trod or exactly when they did. They seemed superimposed on the world, as if they had been drawn first and the artist did not have much time to paint the reality behind them. They waited for a while. "Well, this is jolly unsatisfactory. " said Hilda (soprano). "They ought to be here. They do know theyre dead, dont they?"
"We havent come to the wrong place, have we?" said Gertrude (mezzo- soprano). "Ladies? If you would be so kind as to dismount?" They turned. The seventh Valkyrie had drawn her sword and was smiling at them. "What cheek. Here, youre not Grimhilda!"
"No, but I think I could probably beat all six of you:" said Vena, tossing aside the helmet. "I shoved her in the privy with one hand. It would be . . . better if you simply dismounted. "
"Better? Better than what?" said Hilda. Mrs McGarry sighed. "This," she said. The snow erupted old men. "Evening, miss!" said Cohen, grabbing Hildas bridle. "Now, are you goin to do like she says, or shall I get my friend Truckle here to ask you? Only hes a bit. . . uncivil. "
"Hur hur hur!"
"How dare you-"
"Ill dare anything, miss. Now get off or Ill push yer off!"
"Well, really!"
"Excuse me? I say? Excuse me?" said Gertrude. "Are you dead?"
"Are we dead, Willie?" said Cohen. "We ought be be dead. But I dont feel dead. "
"I aint dead!" roared Mad Hamish. "Ill knock any man doon as tells me am dead!"
"Theres an offer you cant refuse," said Cohen, swinging himself on to Hildas horse. "Saddle up, boys. "
"But. . . excuse me?" said Gertrude, who was one of those people afflicted with terminal politeness. "We were supposed to take you to the great Halls of the Slain. Theres mead and roast pork and fighting in between courses! Just for you! Thats what you wanted! They laid it on just for you?"
"Yeah? Thanks all the same, but we aint goin," said Cohen. "But thats where dead heroes have got to go!"
"I dont remember signin anythin," said Cohen. He looked up at the sky. The sun had set and the first stars were coming out. Every one was a world, eh? "You still not joining us, Mrs McGarry?" he said. "Not yet, boys. " Vena smiled. "Not quite ready, I flunk. Therell come a time. "
"Fair enough. Fair enough. Well be going, then. Got a lot to do . . . "
"But-" Mrs McGarry looked across the snowfield. The wind had blown the snow over . . . shapes. Here a sword hilt projected from a drift, there a sandal was just visible. "Are you dead or not?" she said. Cohen scanned the snow. "Well, the way I see it. we dont think we are, so why should we care what anyone else thinks? We never have. Ready. Hamish? Then follow me, boys!" Vena watched as the Valkyries, squabbling among themselves, made their way back to the mountain. Then she waited. She had a feeling that there would be something to wait for. After a while, she heard another horse whinny. "Are you collecting?" she said, and turned to look at the mounted figure.
THAT IS SOMETHING ABOUT WHICH I DO NOT PROPOSE TO ENLIGHTEN YOU, said Death. "But you are here. " said Vena, although now she felt a lot more like Mrs McGarry again. Vena would probably have killed a few of the horsewomen just to make sure the others paid attention, but theyd all looked so young, I AM. OF COURSE, EVERYWHERE. Mrs McGarry looked up at the stars. "In the olden days," she said, "when a hero had been really heroic, the gods would put them up in the stars. " THE HEAVENS CHANGE, said Death. WHAT TODAY LOOKS LIKE A MIGHTY HUNTER MAY LOOK LIKE A TEACUP IN A HUNDRED YEARS TIME. "That doesnt seem fair. " NO ONE EVER SAID IT HAD TO BE. BUT THERE ARE OTHER STARS. At the base of the mountain, at Venas camp. Harry got the fire going again while the minstrel sat and picked out notes. "I want you listen to this," he said, after a while, and played something. It went on, it seemed to Evil Harry, for a lifetime. He wiped away a tear as the last notes died away. "Ive got to do some more work on it. " said the minstrel, in a faraway voice. "But will it do?"
"You asking me will it do?" said Evil Harry. "Youre telling me you think you could make it even better? "Yes. "
"Well, its not like . . . a real saga," said Evil Harry hoarsely. "Its got a tune. You could whistle it, even. Well, hum it. I mean, it even sounds like them. Like theyd sound if they was music . . . "
"Good. "
"Its . . . wonderful. . . "
"Thank you. It will get better as more people hear it. Its music for people to listen to. "
"And . . . its not like we found any bodies, is it?" said the very small Dark Lord. "So they could be alive somewhere. " The minstrel picked a few notes on the lyre. The strings shimmered. "Somewhere," be agreed. "Yknow, kid. " said Harry, "I dont even know your name. " The minstrels brow wrinkled. He wasnt certain himself, any more. And he didnt know where he was going to go, or what he was going to do. but he suspected that life might be a lot more interesting from now on. "Im just the singer. " he said. "Play it again," said Evil Harry. Rincewind blinked, stared, and then looked away from the window. "Weve just been overtaken by some men on horseback. " he said. "Ook," said the Librarian, which probably meant. "Some of us have got some flying to do. "
"I just thought Id mention it. " Spiralling through the air like a drunken clown, the Kite climbed the column of hot air from the distant crater. It was the only instruction Leonard had given before g
oing and sitting so quietly at the back of the cabin that Carrot was getting seriously worried. "He just sits there whispering things like "ten years!" and "the whole world!"," he reported. "Its come as a terrible shock. What a penance!"
"But he looks cheerful," said Rincewind. "And he keeps drawing sketches. And hes leafing through all those pictures you took on the moon. "
"Poor chap. Its affecting his mind. " Carrot leaned forward. "We ought to get him home as soon as possible. Whats the usual direction? "Second star to the left and straight on til morning"?"
"I think that may very probably be the stupidest piece of astronavigation ever suggested. " said Rincewind. "Were just going to head for the lights. Oh. and wed better be careful not to look down on the gods. " Carrot nodded. "Thats quite hard. "
"Practically impossible. " said Rincewind. And in a place on no map the immortal Mazeda, bringer of fire, lay on his eternal place. Memory can play tricks after the first ten thousand years, and he wasnt quite sure what had happened. There had been some old men on horseback, whod swooped out of the sky. Theyd cut his chains, and given him a drink, and had taken it in turns to shake his withered hand. Then theyd ridden away, into the stars, as quickly as theyd come. Mazeda lay back into the shape his body had worn into the stone over the centuries. He wasnt quite sure about the men. or why theyd come, or why theyd been so happy. He was only sure, in fact, about two things. He was sure it was nearly dawn. He was sure that he held, in his right hand, the very sharp sword the old men had given him. And he could hear, corning closer with the dawn, the beat of an eagles wings. He was going to enjoy this. It is in the nature of things that those who save the world from certain destruction often dont get hugely rewarded because, since the certain destruction does not take place, people are uncertain how certain it may have been and are, therefore, somewhat tight when it comes to handing out anything more substantial than praise. The Kite was landed rather roughly on the corrugated surface of the river Ankh and, as happens to public things lying around which dont appear to belong to anyone, quickly became the private property of many, many people. And Leonard began the penance for his hubris. This was much approved of by the Ankh-Morpork priesthood. It was definitely the sort of thing to encourage piety. Lord Vetinari was therefore surprised when he received an urgent message three weeks after the events recounted, and forced his way through the mob to the Temple of Small Gods. "Whats going on?" he demanded of the priests peering around the door. "This is . . . blasphemy!" said Hughnon Ridcully. "Why? What has he painted?"