The keeper shrugged. “Another of the Mad King’s jocularities. He loosed the entire assemblage upon the countryside, to the general disturbance. The creatures, endowed with an eclectic fecundity, became more rather than less bizarre, and now they roam the Plain of Oparona and Blanwalt Forest in great numbers.”
“So then, what of us?” demanded Cugel. “We wish pack-animals, docile and frugal of habit, rather than freaks and curiosities, no matter how edifying.”
“Certain of my ample stock are capable of this function,” said the keeper with dignity. “These command the highest prices. On the other hand for a single terce you may own a long-necked big-bellied creature of astounding voracity.”
“The price is attractive,” said Garstang with regret. “Unfortunately we need beasts to carry food and water across the Silver Desert.”
“In this case we must be more pointed.” The keeper fell to studying his charges. “The tall beast on two legs is perhaps less ferocious than he appears …”
Eventually a selection of beasts numbering fifteen was made, and a price agreed upon. The keeper brought them to the gate; Garstang, Cugel and Casmyre took possession and led the fifteen ill-matched creatures at a sedate pace through the streets of Erze Damath, to the West Gate. Here Cugel was left in charge, while Garstang and Casmyre went to purchase stores and other necessaries.
By nightfall all preparations were made, and on the following morning when the first maroon ray of sunlight struck the Black Obelisk, the pilgrims set forth. The beasts carried panniers of food and bladders of water; the pilgrims all wore new shoes and broad-brimmed hats. Garstang had been unable to hire a guide, but had secured a chart from the geographer, though it indicated no more than a small circle labeled “Erze Damath” and a larger area marked “Songan Sea”.
Cugel was given one of the beasts to lead, a twelve-legged creature twenty feet in length, with a small foolishly grinning child’s head and tawny fur covering all. Cugel found the task irking, for the beast blew a reeking breath upon his neck, and several times pressed so close as to tread on his heels.
Of the fifty-seven pilgrims who had disembarked from the raft, forty-nine departed for the fane on the shores of the Songan Sea, and the number was almost at once reduced to forty-eight. A certain Tokharin, stepping off the trail to answer a call of nature, was stung by a monster scorpion, and ran northward in great leaps, screaming hoarsely, until presently he disappeared from view.
The day passed with no further incident. The land was a dry gray waste, scattered with flints, supporting only ironweed. To the south was a range of low hills, and Cugel thought to perceive one or two shapes standing motionless along the crest. At sunset the caravan halted; and Cugel, recalling the bandits who reputedly inhabited the area, persuaded Garstang to post two sentries: Lippelt and Mirch-Masen. In the morning they were gone, leaving no trace, and the pilgrims were alarmed and oppressed. They stood in a nervous cluster looking in all directions. The desert lay flat and dim in the dark low light of dawn. To the south were a few hills, only their smooth top surfaces illuminated; elsewhere the land lay flat to the horizon.
Presently the caravan started off, and now there were but forty-six. Cugel, as before, was put in charge of the long many-legged beast, who now engaged in the practice of butting its grinning face into Cugel’s shoulder blades.
The day passed without incident; miles ahead became miles behind. First marched Garstang, with a staff, then came Vitz and Casmyre, followed by several others. Then came the pack-beasts, each with its particular silhouette: one low and sinuous; another tall and bifurcate, almost of human conformation, except for its head, which was small and squat like the shell of a horseshoe crab. Another, convex of back, seemed to bounce or prance on its six stiff legs: another was like a horse sheathed in white feathers. Behind the pack-beasts straggled the remaining pilgrims, with Bluner characteristically walking to the rear, in accordance with the exaggerated humility to which he was prone. At the camp that evening Cugel brought forth the expansible fence, once the property of Voynod, and enclosed the group in a stout stockade.
The following day the pilgrims crossed a range of low mountains, and here they suffered an attack by bandits, but it seemed no more than an exploratory skirmish, and the sole casualty was Haxt who suffered a wound in the heel. But a more serious affair occurred two hours later. As they passed below a slope a boulder became dislodged, to roll through the caravan, killing a pack-beast, as well as Andle the Funambulous Evangel and Roremaund the Skeptic. During the night Haxt died also, evidently poisoned by the weapon which had wounded him.
With grave faces the pilgrims set forth, and almost at once were attacked from ambush by the bandits. Luckily the pilgrims were alert, and the bandits were routed with a dozen dead, while the pilgrims lost only Cray and Magasthen.
Now there was grumbling and long looks turned eastward toward Erze Damath. Garstang rallied the flagging spirits: “We are Gilfigites; Gilfig spoke! On the shores of the Songan Sea we will seek the sacred fane! Gilfig is all-wise and all-merciful; those who fall in his service are instantly transported to paradisiacal Gamamere! Pilgrims! To the west!”
Taking heart the caravan once more set forth, and the day passed without further incident. During the night however three of the pack-beasts slipped their tethers and decamped, and Garstang was forced to announce short rations for all.
During the seventh day’s march, Thilfox ate a handful of poison berries and died in spasms, whereupon his brother Vitz, the locutor, went raving mad and ran up the line of pack-beasts, blaspheming Gilfig and slashing water bladders with his knife, until Cugel finally killed him.
Two days later the haggard band came upon a spring. In spite of Garstang’s warning, Salanave and Arlo flung themselves down and drank in great gulps. Almost at once they clutched their bellies, gagged and choked, their lips the color of sand, and presently they were dead.
A week later fifteen men and four beasts came over a rise to look out across the placid waters of the Songan Sea. Cugel had survived, as well as Garstang, Casmyre and Subucule. Before them lay a marsh, fed by a small stream. Cugel tested the water with that amulet bestowed upon him by Iucounu, and pronounced it safe. All drank to repletion, ate reeds converted to a nutritious if insipid substance by the same amulet, then slept.
Cugel, aroused by a sense of peril, jumped up, to note a sinister stir among the reeds. He roused his fellows, and all readied their weapons; but whatever had caused the motion took alarm and retired. The time was middle afternoon; the pilgrims walked down to the bleak shore to take stock of the situation. They looked north and south but found no trace of the fane. Tempers flared; there was a quarrel which Garstang was able to quell only by dint of the utmost persuasiveness. Balch, who had wandered up the beach, returned in great excitement: “A village!”
All set forth in hope and eagerness, but the village, when the pilgrims approached, proved a poor thing indeed, a huddle of reed huts inhabited by lizard people who bared their teeth and lashed sinewy blue tails in defiance. The pilgrims moved off down the beach, and sat on hummocks watching the low surf of the Songan Sea.
Garstang, frail and bent with the privations he had suffered, was the first to speak. He attempted to infuse his voice with cheer. “We have arrived, we have triumphed over the terrible Silver Desert! Now we need only locate the fane, perform our devotions; we may then return to Erze Damath and a future of assured bliss!”
“All very well,” grumbled Balch, “but where may the fane be found? To right and left is the same bleak beach!”
“We must put our trust in the guidance of Gilfig!” declared Subucule. He scratched an arrow upon a bit of wood, touched it with his holy ribbon. He called: “Gilfig, O Gilfig! Guide us to the fane! I hereby toss high a marked pointer!” And he flung the chip high into the air. When it alighted, the arrow pointed south. “South we must fare!” cried Garstang. “South to the fane!”
But Balch and certain others refused to respond. “Do you not see that we are fatigued to the point of death? In my opinion Gilfig should have guided our steps to the fane, instead of abandoning us to uncertainty!”
“Gilfig has guided us indeed!” responded Subucule. “Did you not notice the direction of the arrow?”
Balch gave a croak of sardonic laughter. “Any stick thrown high must come down, and it will point south as easily as north.”
“You blaspheme Gilfig!” Subucule drew back in horror.
“Not at all; I am not sure that Gilfig heard your instruction, or perhaps you gave him insufficient time to react. Toss up the stick one hundred times; if it points south on each occasion, I will march south in haste.”
“Very well,” said Subucule. He once again called upon Gilfig and threw up the chip, but when it struck the ground the arrow pointed north.
Balch said nothing. Subucule blinked, then grew red in the face. “Gilfig has no time for games. He directed us once, and deemed it sufficient.”
“I am unconvinced,” said Balch.
“And I.” “And I.”
Garstang held up his arms imploringly. “We have come far; we have toiled together, rejoiced together, fought and suffered together — let us not now fall in dissidence!”
Balch and the others only shrugged. “We will not plunge blindly south.”
“What will you do then? Go north? Or return to Erze Damath?”
“Erze Damath? Without food and only four pack-beasts? Bah!”
“Then let us fare south in search of the fane.”
Balch gave another mulish shrug, at which Subucule became angry. “So be it! Those who fare south to this side, those who cast in with Balch to that!”
Garstang, Cugel and Casmyre joined Subucule; the others stayed with Balch, a group numbering eleven, and now they fell to whispering among themselves, while the four faithful pilgrims watched in apprehension.
