Slaye stood back, grinning in triumph. “Now away with you and the girl. I keep my word to you, no more. You have your miserable lives: depart.”
“Grant me one desire!” pled Cugel. “Transport us to Almery, to the Valley of the Xzan, where I may rid myself of a canker called Firx!”
“No,” said Slaye. “I deny you your heart’s-desire. Go at once.”
Cugel lifted Derwe Coreme to her feet. Still dazed she stared at the wreckage of the hall. Cugel turned to Slaye. “The ghoul waits in the promenade.”
Slaye nodded. “This well may be true. Tomorrow I shall chastise him. Tonight I call sub-world artisans to repair the hall and restore the glory of Cil. Hence! Do you think I care how you fare with the ghoul?” His face became suffused and his hand strayed toward the carbuncles of the amulet. “Hence, at once!”
Cugel took Derwe Coreme’s arm and led her from the hall to the great front portal. Slaye stood with feet apart, shoulders hunched, head bent forward, eyes following Cugel’s every move. Cugel eased back the bolts, opened the door, stepped out upon the terrace.
There was silence along the promenade. Cugel led Derwe Coreme down the steps and off to the side, into the rank growth of the old garden. Here he paused to listen. From the palace came sounds of activity: rasping and scraping, hoarse shouts and bellows, the flash of many-colored lights. Down the center of the promenade came a tall white shape, stepping from the shadow of one pedestal to the next. It paused to listen to the sounds and watch the flaring lights in wonder. While it was so absorbed Cugel led Derwe Coreme away, behind the dark banks of foliage, and so off into the night.
Chapter III
The Mountains of Magnatz
Shortly after sunrise Cugel and Derwe Coreme emerged from the hillside byre where they had huddled the night. The air was chill and the sun, a wine-colored bubble behind high mist, produced no warmth. Cugel clapped his arms, jigged back and forth, while Derwe Coreme stood pinch-faced and limp beside the old byre.
Cugel presently became irritated by her posture, which implied a subtle disparagement of himself. “Fetch wood,” he told her curtly. “I will strike a fire; we will breakfast in comfort.”
Without a word the erstwhile princess of Cil went to gather furze. Cugel turned to inspect the dim expanse to the east, voicing an automatic curse upon Iucounu the Laughing Magician, whose rancor had flung him into this northern wasteland.
Derwe Coreme returned with an armful of twigs; Cugel gave a nod of approval. For a brief period after their expulsion from Cil she had carried herself with an inappropriate hauteur, which Cugel tolerated with a quiet smile for himself. Their first couching had been both eventful and taxing; thereafter Derwe Coreme had modified at least her overt behavior. Her face, delicate and clear of feature, lost little of its brooding melancholy, but the arrogance altered, as milk becomes cheese, to a new and wakeful appreciation of reality.
The fire crackled cheerfully; they ate a breakfast of rampion and pulpy black gallberries, while Cugel put questions regarding the lands to the east and south. Derwe Coreme could return only small information, none of which was optimistic. “The forest is said to be endless. I have heard it called several names: the Great Erm, the Forest of the East, the Lig Thig. To the south you see the Mountains of Magnatz, which are reputedly dreadful.”
“In what respect?” demanded Cugel. “The knowledge is of importance; we must cross these mountains on our way to Almery.”
Derwe Coreme shook her head. “I have heard only hints, and paid no great heed, as never did I expect to visit the region.”
“Nor I,” grumbled Cugel. “Were it not for Iucounu I would be elsewhere.”
A spark of interest animated the listless face. “Who is this Iucounu?”
“A detestable wizard of Almery. He has a boiled squash for a head, and flaunts a mindless grin. In every way he is odious, and displays the spite of a scalded eunuch.”
Derwe Coreme’s mouth moved in a small cool smile. “And you antagonized this wizard.”
“Bah! It was nothing. For a trivial slight he flung me north on an impossible mission. I am not Cugel the Clever for nothing! The mission is achieved and now I return to Almery.”
“And what of Almery — is this a pleasant land?”
“Pleasant enough, compared to this desolation of forest and mist. Still, imperfections exist. Wizardry is rife, and justice is not invariable, as I have intimated.”
“Tell me more of Almery. Are there cities? Are there folk other than rogues and wizards?”
Cugel frowned. “Certain cities exist, sad shadows of bygone glory. There is Azenomei, where the Xzan joins Scaum Flow, and Kaiin in Ascolais, and others along the shore opposite Kauchique, where the folk are of great subtlety.”
Derwe Coreme nodded thoughtfully. “I will go to Almery. In your company, from which I can soon recover.”
Cugel glanced at her sidewise, not liking the flavor of the remark, but before he could particularize, she asked: “What lands lie between us and Almery?”
“They are wide and dangerous and peopled by gids, erbs, and deodands, as well as leucomorphs, ghouls and grues. Otherwise I am ignorant. If we survive the journey, it will be a miracle indeed.”
Derwe Coreme looked wistfully back toward Cil, then shrugged and became silent.
The frugal meal was at its end. Cugel leaned back against the byre, to enjoy the warmth of the fire, but Firx, that agent of coercion implanted by Iucounu in Cugel’s viscera, would allow no respite, and Cugel, grimacing, jumped to his feet. “Come; we must set forth. The spite of Iucounu permits no less.”
Down the slope they walked, following what appeared to be an old road. The landscape changed. Heath gave way to a damp bottomland: presently they came to the forest. Cugel eyed the gloomy shadows with distrust. “We must go quietly, and hope to arouse nothing baneful. I will watch ahead, and you behind, to ensure that nothing follows, to leap on our backs.”
“We will lose our way.”
“The sun hangs in the south: this is our guide.”
Derwe Coreme shrugged once more; they plunged forward into the shade. The trees stood tall overhead and the sunlight, filtered through the foliage, only exaggerated the gloom. Coming upon a stream they walked along its banks and presently entered a glade where flowed a brimming river.
On the bank near a moored raft sat four men in ragged garments. Cugel looked Derwe Coreme over critically, and took the jeweled buttons from her garments. “These by all odds are bandits and we must lull their cupidity, even though they seem a poor lot.”
“Better that we avoid them,” said Derwe Coreme. “They are animals, no better.”
Cugel demurred. “We need their raft and their guidance, which we must command; if we supplicate, they will believe themselves to have a choice, and become captious.” He strode forward and Derwe Coreme willy-nilly was forced to follow.
The rogues did not improve upon closer view. Their hair was long and matted, their faces gnarled, with eyes like beetles and mouths showing foul yellow teeth. Withal, their expressions were mild enough, and they watched Cugel and Derwe Coreme approach with wariness rather than belligerence. One of them, it so appeared, was a woman, though this was hardly evident from garments, face or refinement of manner. Cugel gave them a salute of lordly condescension, at which they blinked in puzzlement.
“What people are you?” asked Cugel.
