“These Mabden speak truth,” said Morandi Pag. “But they must be about their business. They have to reach the Maaschanheem. From there they must go via Rootsenheem and Fluugensheem to the Nightmare Marches.”
“The Nightmare Marches!” Faladerj Oro was genuinely horrified. “Who would volunteer to venture there?”
“It is a matter of saving all Six Realms from Sharadim and her allies,” said von Bek. “We have no choice.”
“You are heroes indeed,” said Whiclar Hald-Halg. She laughed to herself. “Mabden heroes! Now there’s a pretty irony…”
“I will take you to the first gateway myself,” Morandi Pag told us.
“But what of Sharadim and her armies? How shall you deal with them?”
Groaffer Rolm shrugged. “We are all together now. And we have our ring of fire. They’ll be hard put to enter that. And should they breach Adelstane’s defences, they must find us. There are many ways we can delay them.”
Jermays the Crooked helped himself from a jug of wine. “But she infects all the realms,” he said. “She can alter her personality to appeal to any culture she encounters. What is happening in this realm also happens, in a different way, elsewhere. How shall that be countered?”
“It is not our business and neither do we have the capacity to fight the wars of the other realms,” said Groaffer Rolm. “We can only hope to hold her off in Adelstane. But if Chaos breaks through and makes itself her ally, then we are doomed I think.”
We made our farewells to the Ursine Princes and Morandi Pag took us along the ancient canal banks of the great, slow river, climbing slowly into the heavy shadows cast by mountain walls on all sides. Here at last he paused and was about to speak when it seemed the very mountains shivered and the darkness began to fill with a white radiance which, as it gathered in strength, could be seen to contain all colours. Gradually there formed in that clearing beside the river a set of six pillars which formed a perfect circle and had the appearance of a temple.
“It’s miraculous,” said von Bek. “I am always amazed.”
Morandi Pag passed a white paw over his old brow. “You must make haste,” he said. “I can sense that the Mabden armies close on Adelstane. Will you go with them, Jermays?”
“Let me remain here,” Jermays said. “I have to see if my old trick of travelling has returned. If it has, I will be of greater use to you. Farewell, Champion. Farewell, beautiful lady. Count von Bek, farewell.”
Then we had stepped into the space between the pillars and almost at once were looking upwards. Then we were moving in the direction we faced.
The sensation of movement was stranger still without the apparent solidity of a boat. We were not entirely weightless. Instead it was as if we were borne on a current of water, though water which did not threaten to drown us.
Ahead I could see a misty grey light. My head began to spin and for a few seconds my body felt as if it had been plucked up by a gigantic and gentle hand. Seconds later I was on firm ground though still surrounded by the pillars of light. Alisaard stood beside me and, nearby, a fascinated von Bek. The German count shook his head in wonderment again. “Why are there not gateways like this between my own world and the Middle Marches?”
“Different worlds have gateways which take different forms,” Alisaard told him. “This form is native to the Worlds of the Wheel.”
We stepped out of the circle of light and found ourselves in the familiar, overcast landscape of the Maaschanheem. Everywhere was coarse grass, reeds, pools of water, glinting marsh. Pale waterbirds flew overhead. As far as we could see there was only flat ground and shallow water.
Alisaard reached into her pouch and drew out a small book of folded charts. She squatted to consult one of these charts, spreading it on the relatively dry ground. “We must seek The Wounded Crayfish anchorage. This is The Laughing Pike. We have no choice but to try to walk there. A way is possible, according to this map. There are trails through the marsh.”
“How far is The Wounded Crayfish from here?” asked von Bek.
“Seventy-five miles,” she said.
In somewhat depressed spirits, we began to trudge northwards.
We had not gone more than perhaps fifteen miles when we saw ahead of us on the low horizon the dark outline of a great travelling hull. It seemed to be making rather more smoke than was usual, yet it did not seem to be moving. We guessed that it might be in difficulties. I was for avoiding the vessel, but Alisaard felt that there was a small chance we could get some sort of help from them.
“Most peoples are inclined to trust Gheestenheemers,” she said.
“Have you forgotten what happened aboard the Frowning Shield?” I reminded her. “In helping von Bek and myself you infringed the most sacred codes of the Massing. My guess would be that your folk are not at all welcome anywhere here. What diplomatic harm you did was doubtless made use of by Sharadim, who would have done all she could to win allies here and poison minds against you. And as for us, we are probably fair game for any party of Binkeepers who happens to spot us. I would be disinclined to hail that vessel.”
Von Bek was frowning as he peered ahead. “I have a feeling it does not represent danger to us,” he said. “Look. That’s not smoke from her funnels. She’s burning! She’s been attacked and destroyed!”
Alisaard seemed more shocked than either von Bek or myself. “They war amongst themselves! This has not happened for centuries. What can it mean?”
We began to run over the soft, uneven ground, heading for the ruined hull.
Long before we reached it, we could see what had happened. Fire had gone through the entire vessel. Blackened bodies in every posture of agony lay against the charred rails, upon the smoking decks. They hung like broken dolls in the smashed timbers of the yards. And from everywhere came the stink of death. Carrion birds swaggered amongst this wealth of flesh, fat as domestic pets. Men and women, children and babies, all had died. The hull lay half on her side, beached, looted.
About fifty yards from the remains of the great hull we saw a few figures rise up from the reeds and begin to move away from us. Several were blind and had to be helped by the rest and this is why their progress was so slow. I called out to them:
“We mean you no harm. What hull was that?”
The survivors turned scared, white faces towards us. They were in rags—wrapped in anything they had been able to salvage from the wreck. They looked half-starved. Most were older women, but there were a few girls and youths in the group.
Alisaard now wore her ivory visor, as a matter of habit. She lifted it, saying softly: “We are friendly to you, good folk. We would offer you our names.”
One tall old woman said, with surprising firmness: “We know you. All three. You are Flamadin, von Bek and the renegade Ghost Woman. Outlaws all. Enemies of our enemies, perhaps, but we have no reason to think you friends. Not now the world betrays everything we value. Princess Sharadim seeks you, does she not? And also that bloody-handed parvenu Armiad, her most ferocious ally…”
Von Bek was impatient. He started forward again. “Who are you? What has happened here?”
The old woman raised her hand. “You are not welcome here. You brought the evil into our realm. The evil we had thought exiled for ever. Now there is war again between the hulls.”
“We have met,” I said suddenly. “But where?”
She shrugged. “I was Praz Oniad, Consort to the Snowbear Defender. Co-captain and Rhyme Sister to the Toirset Larens. And what you see is all that is left of our home hull, the New Argument, and all that is left of our families. There is a second War between the Hulls, led by Armiad. And although you did not begin that war, you were part of its excuse. By breaking the rules of the Massing you brought in every kind of uncertainty.”
“But we cannot be held responsible for Armiad’s ambition!” cried Alisaard. “That existed before we did what we did.”
“I said ‘excuse’,” said Praz Oniad. “He claimed that other hulls had aided the
Ghost Women in the raid on his hull. He claimed that. And next he argued that he must protect himself. So allies came from Draachenheem. Hardened fighters who knew how to kill, how to make war. Before long he had allies, of course, amongst other hulls who feared his strength and did not wish to be destroyed as we and so many more have been destroyed. Armiad now commands thirty hulls and they defile the Massing Ground, turning it into an armed camp, their stronghold, together with their Draachenheemer allies. Now all other hulls must pay tribute and acknowledge Armiad King Admiral, a title which we abolished hundreds of years since.”
“How could this have happened in so short a time?” murmured von Bek to me.
“You forget,” I told him, “that time passes at somewhat different rates in different realms. In relation, that is, to one another. It seems several months have gone by since we left the Great Massing.
“We hope to put a stop to Princess Sharadim and her allies,” I informed the old woman. “Her plans and those of Armiad were made long before we knew of them. They would destroy us because we know a way of defeating them.”
The old woman looked at us skeptically, but a little hope showed in her worn features. “It is not revenge we of the New Argument seek,” she said. “We would gladly die if it meant a stop to this terrible war.”
“War threatens all Six Realms.” Alisaard stood beside her now and gently took her hand. “Good lady, this is Sharadim’s doing. When her brother refused compliance, she blackened his name and outlawed him.”
The old woman looked suspiciously at me. “They say this is not Prince Flamadin at all but a doppelgänger. They say he is in reality the Archduke Balarizaaf of Chaos, assuming human form. They say Chaos must soon erupt throughout all the Realms of the Wheel.”
“Part of what you have heard has substance,” I said. “But I assure you I’m no friend to Chaos. We seek to conquer Chaos. And we hope, in that conquest, to bring peace back to the Six Realms. To that purpose, we are on our way to the Nightmare Realm…”
Praz Oniad voiced a sharp, bitter laugh. “No human willingly ventures into that realm. Are these more lies? You would not survive. Your mind would melt. The illusions of that realm cannot be perceived by mortals without those mortals going mad.”
“It is our only hope of defeating Sharadim and all her allies,” said Alisaard. “Those allies, it is true, include the Archduke Balarizaaf.”
The old woman sighed. “What hope is there?” she said. “This is no more than desperate folly.”
“We journey to The Wounded Crayfish to find a gateway,” von Bek said. “What anchorage is this, good lady?”
“This is The Fountain Overflowing,” she said. “Anchorage of the Imaginary Fish, also destroyed by Armiad’s fire-flingers, the same he got from Sharadim. We have no weapons. He now has many. The Wounded Crayfish is miles from here. How do you travel?”
“On foot,” said Alisaard. “We have no choice, good lady.”
The old woman frowned, making some sort of calculation for herself. Then she said: “We have a punt. It is of no use to us. If you speak truth, and I would guess you do, then you are our hope. Poor hope is better than none. Take the punt. It will be possible to use the shallows and be at The Wounded Crayfish by tomorrow.”
They dragged the flat-bottomed boat from out of the burned hull. It stank of the fire and the destruction, but it was undamaged and floated easily on the nearby water. We were given poles and instructed how best to use them. And then we left the pathetic little party on the bank while we shoved our punt on towards The Wounded Crayfish.
“Be careful,” cried the Lady Praz Oniad, “for Armiad’s raiders are everywhere now. They have ships of the Draachenheem pattern which can easily overtake one of ours.”
Warily we continued our journey, taking turns to rest as we poled on through the night. And then at last Alisaard consulted her charts and pointed ahead. In the dawn we detected a shimmer of white light.
The gateway was already there.
But between us and it loomed the huge bulk of another hull. And this one was by no means incapacitated. She flew all her colours.
“There’s a vessel ready for battle,” said von Bek.
“Could Armiad or Sharadim have wind of our journey and sent this hull to intercept us?” I asked Alisaard.
She shook her head dumbly. She did not know. We were already exhausted from poling the flatboat and had no means of fighting the huge hull.
All we could do was to beach our boat and make a dash for the pulsating gateway. This we did, stumbling and flailing as we forced ourselves on, up to our knees in marsh, falling when our feet became trapped by clumps of weed. Slowly the gateway came closer. But we had been seen. There were shouts from the hull. I saw figures landing on the headland close to the gateway. They were dressed in dark green and yellow armour and bore swords and pikes. Without weapons, we had virtually no chance against them.
Still we floundered on towards the gateway, hearts pounding, hoping for some stroke of luck which would allow us to reach the gate before the heavily armed warriors who now called to each other, spreading out as they ran towards us.
Within moments we were surrounded. We prepared to fight with our bare hands.
I had seen no armour like theirs in the Maaschanheem. To me it resembled Draachenheemer war-gear. When the leader stepped forward, awkward in all that restraining metal and leather, and removed his helmet, I knew why I had thought as I did.
The sweating, unwholesome head which was exposed was familiar enough to me. I had expected Armiad or one of his Binkeepers. Instead I faced Lord Pharl Asclett, whom we had left bound in Sharadim’s chambers when we made our escape from her palace. His face was twisted in a kind of snarling grin.
“I am very glad to see you again,” he said. “I have an invitation from the Empress Sharadim. She would be pleased to have you attend her forthcoming wedding.”
“So she’s Empress, eh?” Alisaard cast around her for a weakness in their surrounding ranks.
“Did you expect her to fail?” Prince Pharl’s face bore a look of sly superiority.
“And who does the lady marry?” Von Bek also played for time. “Yourself, Pharl of the Heavy Palm? I had heard you had no predilection for the fair sex. Or any, for that matter.”
The Prince of Skrenaw glared. “I would be honoured to serve my Empress in any capacity. Even that. No sir, she marries Prince Flamadin. Hadn’t you heard? There are celebrations in Fluugensheem. They have elected the Empress and her consort to rule over them since the King of the Flying City crashed his command while drunk. Will you come with us, back to our hull? We have waited here for you these past five days…”
“How did you know where to find us?” I asked.
“The Empress has powerful supernatural allies. She is also a great seer in her own right. Besides, she has stationed captains at many gateways of the Maaschanheem and Draachenheem. This was considered one of those you would be most likely to choose, though I must admit I expected you to appear from the gateway…”
He paused as he detected a sound like distant thunder and, turning his horrible head, gasped at what he saw.
We craned for a glimpse. The great hull was attempting to go about, but it seemed to be tangled in an all-encompassing web. I saw a ball of sputtering fire go up from a deck and be flung back as it struck the net. Now I could see a number of sprightly sailing ships, reminiscent of those I had seen in Gheestenheem, surrounding the hull. It was these which had attacked the vessel. The noise had been from the charges used to shoot the tangle of nets across the entire hull.
Before Prince Pharl could voice an order a wave of warriors suddenly rose up from the ground and attacked our captors. They were led by a small figure who wore only a marsh helmet and breastplate, who carried a gaff twice his height and who capered on the fringe of the fight, waving his weapon and urging on his men, all of whom were in the grey-green armour I had first seen in the Maaschanheem. The figure grinned at me. It was Jermays the Crooked
.
“We, too, anticipated the enemy!” he called. He chuckled as his fighters closed on Prince Pharl’s men and swiftly overwhelmed them. Pharl himself was captured. He glared in fury at us all. When the warriors pushed up their visors to reveal in their ranks the faces of Ghost Women as well as native Maaschanheemers, he was close to tears.
Jermays came panting up like a happy dog. “Peoples of several realms now band together against Sharadim and her minions. But we are badly outnumbered. You must go swiftly now. The gateway will soon be useless to you. Sharadim rules in Draachenheem. Ottro was killed in battle. Prince Halmad still fights against the Empress. Neterpino Sloch failed to win the Battle of Fancil Sepaht and paid the price. He is now legless. Sharadim has sent Mabden from this realm into Gheestenheem and battle now threatens the Eldren. Meanwhile she seeks to consolidate gains in Fluugensheem and all Rootsenheem, such as it is, is hers. Her creatures lay heavy siege to Adelstane, since the Ursine Princes failed to succumb to her trickery. Much depends on you. Her power is almost great enough for her to summon Chaos, to blend her conquered realms with theirs! Swiftly—swiftly—through the gate!”
“But we go to Rootsenheem!” I cried. “If she rules there, how can we succeed?”
“Give false names!” was Jermays’s rather unlikely advice.
And so we ran again, plunging between the columns of light, letting them draw us through into another tunnel. Through this we flew, feeling the elation birds must know when they soar on the air currents, and then at last we saw blinding yellow light ahead of us. Within seconds we stood on warm sand, looking towards a massively constructed ziggurat which seemed, in its carved stones, older than the multiverse itself.
Alisaard spoke softly. “We are, indeed, in the Realm of the Red Weepers. You are Farkos, from Fluugensheem. You, Count von Bek, are Mederic of Draachenheem. I am Amelar of the Eldren. No more speaking. They come.” And she pointed.
Already an opening had appeared in the base of the ziggurat. From it came a party of men in strange gear similar to that which I had first observed at the Great Massing.