Discworld - The Colour of Magic Part 17

"You mean I just thought of you and there you were?"

Yes.

"It was magic?"

Yes.

"But I've thought about dragons all my life!"

In this place the frontier between thought and reality is probably a little confused. All I know is that once I was not, and then you thought me, and then I was. Therefore, of course, I am yours to command.

"Good grief!"

Half a dozen guards chose that moment to turn the bend in the corridor. They stopped, open-mouthed. Then one remembered himself sufficiently to raise his crossbow and fire.

The dragon's chest heaved. The quarrel exploded into flaming fragments in midair. The guards scurried out of sight. A fraction of a second later a wash of flame played over the stones where they had been standing.

Twoflower looked up in admiration.

"Can you fly, too?" he said.

Of course.

Twoflower glanced up and down the corridor, and decided against following the guards. Since he knew himself to be totally lost already, any direction was probably an improvement. He edged past the dragon and hurried away, the huge beast turning with difficulty to follow him.

They padded down a series of pa.s.sages that crisscrossed like a maze. At one point Twoflower thought he heard shouts, a long way behind them, but they soon faded away. Sometimes the dark arch of a crumbling doorway loomed past them in the gloom. Light filtered through dimly from various shafts and, here and there, bounced off big mirrors that had been mortared into angles of the pa.s.sage. Sometimes there was a brighter glow from a distant light-well.

What was odd, thought Twoflower as he strolled down a wide flight of stairs and kicked up billowing clouds of silver dust motes, was that the tunnels here were much wider. And better constructed, too. There were statues in niches set in the walls, and here and there faded but interesting tapestries had been hung. They mainly showed dragons-dragons by the hundred, in flight or hanging from their perch rings, dragons with men on their backs hunting down deer and, sometimes, other men. Twoflower touched one tapestry gingerly. The fabric crumbled instantly in the hot dry air, leaving only a dangling mesh where some threads had been plaited with fine gold wire.

"I wonder why they left all this?" he said.

I don't know said a polite voice in his head. said a polite voice in his head.

He turned and looked up into the scaly horse face above him.

"What is your name, dragon?" said Twoflower.

I don't know.

"I think I shall call you Ninereeds."

That is my name, then.

They waded through the all-encroaching dust in a series of huge, dark-pillared halls which had been carved out of the solid rock. With some cunning too; from floor to ceiling the walls were a ma.s.s of statues, gargoyles, bas-reliefs and fluted columns that cast weirdly-moving shadows when the dragon gave an obliging illumination at Twoflower's request. They crossed the lengthy galleries and vast carven amphitheaters, all awash with deep soft dust and completely uninhabited. No one had come to these dead caverns in centuries.

Then he saw the path, leading away into yet another dark tunnel mouth. Someone had been using it regularly, and recently. It was a deep narrow trail in the gray blanket.

Twoflower followed it. It led through still more lofty halls and winding corridors quite big enough for a dragon (and dragons had come this way once, it seemed; there was a room full of rotting harness, dragon-sized, and another room containing plate and chain mail big enough for elephants). They ended in a pair of green bronze doors, each so high that they disappeared into the gloom. In front of Twoflower, at chest height, was a small handle shaped like a bra.s.s dragon.

When he touched it the doors swung open instantly and with a disconcerting noiselessness.

Instantly sparks crackled in Twoflower's hair and there was a sudden gust of hot dry wind that didn't disturb the dust in the way that ordinary wind should but, instead, whipped it up momentarily into unpleasantly half-living shapes before it settled again. In Twoflower's ears came the strange shrill twittering of the Things locked in the distant dungeon Dimensions, out beyond the fragile lattice of time and s.p.a.ce. Shadows appeared where there was nothing to cause them. The air buzzed like a hive.

In short, there was a vast discharge of magic going on around him.

The chamber beyond the door was lit by a pale green glow. Stacked around the walls, each on its own marble shelf, were tier upon tier of coffins. In the center of the room was a stone chair on a raised dais, and it contained a slumped figure which did not move but said, in a brittle old voice, "Come in, young man."

Twoflower stepped forward. The figure in the seat was human, as far as he could make out in the murky light, but there was something about the awkward way it was sprawled in the chair that made him glad he couldn't see it any clearer.

"I'm dead, you know," came a voice from what Twoflower fervently hoped was a head, in conversational tones. "I expect you can tell."

"Um," said Twoflower. "Yes." He began to back away.

"Obvious, isn't it?" agreed the voice. "You'd be Twoflower, wouldn't you? Or is that later?"

"Later?" said Twoflower. "Later than what?" He stopped.

"Well," said the voice. "You see, one of the advantages of being dead is that one is released as it were from the bonds of time and therefore I can see everything that has happened or will happen, all at the same time except that of course I now know that Time does not, for all practical purposes, exist."

"That doesn't sound like a disadvantage," said Twoflower.

"You don't think so? Imagine every moment being at one and the same time a distant memory and a nasty surprise and you'll see what I mean. Anyway, I now recall what it was I am about to tell you. Or have I already done so? That's a fine-looking dragon, by the way. Or don't I say that yet?"

"It is rather good. It just turned up," said Twoflower.

"It turned up?" said the voice. "You summoned it!"

"Yes, well, all I did-"

"You have the Power!"

"All I did was think of it."

"That's what the Power is! Have I already told you that I am Greicha the First? Or is that next? I'm sorry, but I haven't had too much experience of transcendence. Anyway, yes-the Power. It summons dragons, you know."

"I think you already told me that," said Twoflower.

"Did I? I certainly intended to," said the dead man.

"But how how does it? I've been thinking about dragons all my life, but this is the first time one has turned up." does it? I've been thinking about dragons all my life, but this is the first time one has turned up."

"Oh well, you see, the truth of the matter is that dragons have never existed as you (and, until I was poisoned some three months ago, I I) understand existence. I'm talking about the true dragon, draconis n.o.bilis draconis n.o.bilis, you understand; the swamp dragon, draconis vulgaris draconis vulgaris, is a base creature and not worth our consideration. The true true dragon, on the other hand, is a creature of such refinement of spirit that they can only take on form in this world if they are conceived by the most skilled imagination. And even then the said imagination must be in some place heavily impregnated with magic, which helps to weaken the walls between the world of the seen and unseen. Then the dragons pop through, as it were, and impress their form on this world's possibility matrix. I was very good at it when I was alive. I could imagine up to, oh, five hundred dragons at a time. Now Liessa, the most skilled of my children, can barely imagine fifty rather nondescript creatures. So much for a progressive education. She doesn't really dragon, on the other hand, is a creature of such refinement of spirit that they can only take on form in this world if they are conceived by the most skilled imagination. And even then the said imagination must be in some place heavily impregnated with magic, which helps to weaken the walls between the world of the seen and unseen. Then the dragons pop through, as it were, and impress their form on this world's possibility matrix. I was very good at it when I was alive. I could imagine up to, oh, five hundred dragons at a time. Now Liessa, the most skilled of my children, can barely imagine fifty rather nondescript creatures. So much for a progressive education. She doesn't really believe believe in them. That's why her dragons are rather boring-while yours," said the voice of Greicha, "is almost as good as some of mine used to be. A sight for sore eyes, not that I have any to speak of now." in them. That's why her dragons are rather boring-while yours," said the voice of Greicha, "is almost as good as some of mine used to be. A sight for sore eyes, not that I have any to speak of now."

Twoflower said hurriedly, "You keep saying you're dead..."

"Well?"

"Well, the dead, er, they, you know, don't talk much. As a rule."

"I used to be an exceptionally powerful wizard. My daughter poisoned me, of course. It is the generally accepted method of succession in our family, but," the corpse sighed, or at least a sigh came from the air a few feet above it, "it soon became obvious that none of my three children is sufficiently powerful to wrest the lordship of the Wyrmberg from the other two. A most unsatisfactory arrangement. A kingdom like ours has to have one ruler. So I resolved to remain alive in an unofficial capacity, which of course annoys them all immensely. I won't give my children the satisfaction of burying me until there is only one of them left to perform the ceremony." There was a nasty wheezing noise. Twoflower decided that it was meant to be a chuckle.

"So it was one of them that kidnapped us?" said Twoflower.

"Liessa," said the dead wizard's voice. "My daughter. Her power is strongest, you know. My sons' dragons are incapable of flying more than a few miles before they fade."

"Fade? I did notice that we could see through the one that brought us here," said Twoflower. "I thought that was a bit odd."

"Of course," said Greicha. "The Power only works near the Wyrmberg. It's the inverse square law, you know. At least, I think it is. As the dragons fly further away they begin to dwindle dwindle. Otherwise my little Liessa would be ruling the whole world by now, if I know anything about it. But I can see I mustn't keep you. I expect you'll be wanting to rescue your friend."

Twoflower gaped. "Hrun?" he said.

"Not him. The skinny wizard. My son Lio!rt is trying to hack him to pieces. I admired the way you rescued him. Will, I mean."

Twoflower drew himself up to his full height, an easy task. "Where is he?" he said, heading toward the door with what he hoped was an heroic stride.

"Just follow the pathway in the dust," said the voice. "Liessa comes to see me sometimes. She still comes to see her old dad, my little girl. She was the only one with the strength of character to murder me. A chip off the old block. Good luck, by the way. I seem to recall I said that. Will say it now, I mean."

The rambling voice got lost in a maze of tenses as Twoflower ran along the dead tunnels, with the dragon loping along easily behind him. But soon he was leaning against a pillar, completely out of breath. It seemed ages since he'd had anything to eat.

Why don't you fly? said Ninereeds, inside his head. The dragon spread its wings and gave an experimental flap, which lifted it momentarily off the ground. Twoflower stared for a moment, then ran forward and clambered quickly onto the beast's neck. Soon they were airborne, the dragon skimming along easily a few feet from the floor and leaving a billowing cloud of dust in its wake. said Ninereeds, inside his head. The dragon spread its wings and gave an experimental flap, which lifted it momentarily off the ground. Twoflower stared for a moment, then ran forward and clambered quickly onto the beast's neck. Soon they were airborne, the dragon skimming along easily a few feet from the floor and leaving a billowing cloud of dust in its wake.

Twoflower hung on as best he could as Ninereeds swooped through a succession of caverns and soared around a spiral staircase that could easily have accommodated a retreating army. At the top they emerged into the more inhabited regions, the mirrors at every corridor corner brightly polished and reflecting a pale light.

I smell other dragons.

The wings became a blur and Twoflower was jerked back as the dragon veered and sped off down a side corridor like a gnat-crazed swallow. Another sharp turn sent them soaring out of a tunnel mouth in the side of a vast cavern. There were rocks far below, and up above were broad shafts of light from great holes near the roof. A lot of activity on the ceiling, too...as Ninereeds hovered, thumping the air with his wings, Twoflower peered up at the shapes of roosting beasts and tiny men-shaped dots that were somehow walking upside down.

This is a roosting hall said the dragon in a satisfied tone. said the dragon in a satisfied tone.

As Twoflower watched, one of the shapes far above detached itself from the roof and began to grow larger...

Rincewind watched as Lio!rt's pale face dropped away from him. This is funny, gibbered a small part of his mind, why am I rising?

Then he began to tumble in the air and reality took over. He was dropping to the distant, guano-speckled rocks.

His brain reeled with the thought. The words of the Spell picked just that moment to surface from the depths of his mind, as they always did in time of crisis. Why not say us, they seemed to urge. What have you got to lose?

Rincewind waved a hand in the gathering slipstream.

"Ashonai," he called. The word formed in front of him in a cold blue flame that streamed in the wind.

He waved the other hand, drunk with terror and magic.

"Ebiris," he intoned. The sound froze into a flickering orange word that hung beside its companion.

"Urshoring. Kvanti. Pythan. N'gurad. Feringomalee." As the words blazed their rainbow colors around him he flung his hands back and prepared to say the eighth and final word that would appear in corruscating octarine and seal the spell. The imminent rocks were forgotten.

"-" he began.

The breath was knocked out of him, the spell scattered and snuffed out. A pair of arms locked around his waist and the whole world jerked sideways as the dragon rose out of its long dive, claws grazing just for a moment the topmost rock on the Wyrmberg's noisome floor. Twoflower laughed triumphantly.

"Got him!"

And the dragon, curving gracefully at the top of his flight, gave a lazy flip of his wings and soared through a cavemouth into the morning air.

At noon, in a wide green meadow on the lush tableland that was the top of the impossibly balanced Wyrmberg, the dragons and their riders formed a wide circle. There was room beyond them for a rabble of servants and slaves and others who scratched a living here on the roof of the world, and they were all watching the figures cl.u.s.tered in the center of the gra.s.sy arena.

The group contained a number of senior dragonlords, and among them were Lio!rt and his brother Liartes. The former was still rubbing his legs, with small grimaces of pain. Slightly to one side stood Liessa and Hrun, with some of the woman's own followers. Between the two factions stood the Wyrmberg's hereditary Loremaster.

"As you know," he said uncertainly, "the not-fully-late Lord of the Wyrmberg, Greicha the First, has stipulated that there will be no succession until one of his children feels himself-or as it might be, herself-powerful enough to challenge and defeat his or her siblings in mortal combat."

"Yes, yes, we know all that. Get on with it," said a thin peevish voice from the air beside him.

The Loremaster swallowed. He had never come to terms with his former master's failure to expire properly. Is the old buzzard dead or isn't he? he wondered.

"It is not certain," he quavered, "whether it is allowable to issue a challenge by proxy-"

"It is, it is," snapped Greicha's disembodied voice. "It shows intelligence. Don't take all day about it."

"I challenge you," said Hrun, glaring at the brothers, "both at once."

Lio!rt and Liartes exchanged looks.

"You'll fight us both together?" said Liartes, a tall, wiry man with long black hair.

"Yah."

"That's pretty uneven odds, isn't it?"

"Yah. I outnumber you one to two."

Lio!rt scowled. "You arrogant barbarian-"

"That just about does it!" growled Hrun. "I'll-"

The Loremaster put out a blue-veined hand to restrain him.

"It is forbidden to fight on the Killing Ground," he said, and paused while he considered the sense of this. "You know what I mean, anyway," he hazarded, giving up, and added "As the challenged parties my lords Lio!rt and Liartes have choice of weapons."

"Dragons," they said together. Liessa snorted.