A few rocks fell from the rim of the chasm as Snaugenhutt barreled through, but they missed the riders on his back. Of the armed Xi-Murogg who normally guarded the way out there was no sign.
As they emerged into open desert Buncan allowed himself a sigh of relief. “That’s it. We did it, we made it.”
Snaugenhutt was slowing. “Don’t count your retirement money yet, human.”
Off to their left the armored ape stood tapping his massive ax against an open palm the size of a small plateau. The rising sun glinting off his red armor made him look as if he was on fire. Nearby, the sword-wielding giant cat stood surveying the landscape, its pointed ears scraping the clouds. Moreover, they were no longer alone. Snaugenhutt came to a halt. As far as they could see, perhaps a third of the buttes and mesas of the Tamas were coming to life, each one revealing and releasing a different soldier from some long-forgotten war of the titans. One by one they sloughed off their ancient shackles the way a sleeping human might shed a cosmetic mudpack, rising to their feet and stretching mightily in the warming sun. The noise of ton upon ton of cracking, crumbling, falling rock was deafcrumbling, falling rock was deafd from side to side, searching. “Which way?”
Gragelouth cupped his hands to his mouth to make himself heard. “Northwest, Snaugenhutt! Ever to the northwest!”
Viz pivoted on his perch atop the rhino’s head. “Why?” The sloth shrugged. “That is where we must go, and under the circumstances it seems as good a way as any.”
Viz nodded, relaying the instructions to Snaugenhutt. The rhino resumed his heavy-footed lope, heading down a slope in the indicated direction.
As he jogged along, rock spilled from the butte on their immediate right. Something with three heads emerged, unlike anything Buncan had ever seen or heard described. Four legs supported the squat body, and a barbed tail the size of an oceangoing ship whipped reflexively back and forth. Each hand held a club the size of Clothahump’s tree. Espying them, the monstrosity let out a bellow and reached down with a third hand that blotted out the sun as it descended. Even though Snaugenhutt accelerated to his maximum speed, Buncan saw there was no possibility of avoiding those immense fingers. They would smash them flat or pluck them from the ground as easily as he would a flower. Gragelouth was mumbling something under his breath, the otters held each other, Viz bravely elected to perish with his old friend, and Buncan simply shut his eyes.
He felt something massive but controlled patting bun gently on the head. Opening his eyes, he saw that the hand was similarly caressing his companions.
It withdrew, and the apparition straightened. Its subsequent bellowing could, with difficulty, be comprehended.
“FREE! FREE FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE BEFORE TIME!” The barbed tail lashed a gully in the ground as the entity’s three heads inclined to stare down at them. “I WHO HAVE KNOWN NOTHING BUT TIME NOW SAY THERE IS NOT ENOUGH TIME WITH WHICH TO THANK YOU FOR YOUR SONG.”
Squill grinned nonchalantly. “Well, you know ‘ow it is, guv. We just like to sing.”
“Yeah, ‘e’s a real altruist, me bro’ is.” Buncan threw Neena a warning look. Naturally she ignored him.
All around them, as far as they could see, the liberated giants were embracing. Some were crying pond-sized tears. Others clapped long-petrified acquaintances on the back, sending booming shock waves rolling across the plain.
“I wonder how many have come this way before and remarked on the outlines in the rocks,” Gragelouth murmured, “never dreaming it was not then’ imaginations at work but their perception.”
Since it was apparent they were not about to be crushed into paste, Snaugenhutt saw no harm in slowing to a walk. Shielding his gaze against the rising sun, Buncan spoke to the specter.
“What will you do now that you’re free?”
The three heads replied in chorus. “WHY, RETURN TO WHERE WE CAME FROM, OF COURSE. IF IT STILL EXISTS.”
An utterly unexpected voice bellowed behind them. “I’ll loll you all. I am not afraid of anything, be it god or mortal!”
Squill turned in his seat. “Well, I’ll be double-buggered. Look who’s comin’.”
Waving his sword defiantly above his head, Chi-churog, First Rider of the Xi-Murogg, was galloping in pursuit, urging his nervous blindered mount onward while screaming defiance.
“Illusions!” they heard him howl. “You have manufactured illusions to fool my people! You have disturbed their minds, but you do not fool me! I will cut your heads off. I will have you roasted alive over the cooking fires. I will . . .!”
The armored ape reached over and down. An enormous thumb descended. Chi-churog barely had time to look up and emit a single startled squeak before he was turned into a dark smudge against the earth.
“Bloody effective illusion,” Neena observed demurely.
None of Chi-churog’s fellow villagers seemed inclined to mimic their chiefs action. There was no sign of any further pursuit.
Extending arms the length of rivers, the great creatures linked hands (and in one instance, tentacles) across the Tamas. Ancient warriors of a forgotten titanic land, paralyzed gods of another place and time, whatever they were, they suddenly began to ascend slowly heavenward. Final vestiges of their long earthly imprisonment, a few clinging rocks and boulders tumbled from their sides, plunging to the ground as they drifted up through the clouds toward the intensifying sunshine. As they rose they diminished in size until they looked almost normal, then minuscule, finally vanishing entirely into an all-encompassing sky. Dust still rose from the enveloping rock they had shed.
For a long time no one said anything. There was only the sound of dust and rock settling, and Snaugenhutt’s heavy breathing.
“I wonder where they came from,” Buncan eventually murmured after the rhino had resumed his march northwestward. “Gragelouth?”
The merchant shook his head. “Who can say? The world is full of wonders. Too many times we look right at them and recognize only their shape and not their reality. It took your necromancy to restore life to those.” He nodded skyward. “To find wonders one must first know how to look.”
“An’ sing,” Neena added. “You ‘ave to know ‘ow to sing.”
Gragelouth conceded the issue. “Perhaps the next time we require assistance you could be a tad less motivated? The next apparitions you conjure might turn out to be less grateful.”
“Not to worry, guv.” Squill was bursting with confidence. “We know exactly wot we’re about, don’t we, Neena?”
“Oi, to be sure.” She looked back over her shoulder at the sloth. “You can relax, merchant. We’re goin’ to escort you safely to this ‘ere Grand Veritable, an’ nothin’ better get in our way, wot?”
Gragelouth pursed his lips. “The assurance of ignorant youth. There are forces at work in the universe you cannot begin to comprehend.” He raised his eyes to Buncan. “You are clever, and far more important, I think, lucky. But you are not your fathers.”
“I don’t pretend to be.” Buncan checked to make sure the duar was secure against his back. “And you know what? I’m glad. Jon-Tom’s music tends to get a little old-fogeyish sometimes. You need new music and new words to make new magic.”
“Wotcher,” agreed Squill.
Peering ahead, Buncan thought he could just make out a line of hills. Where there were hills there might soon be mountains, and that would mean cooler temperatures, more water, game, and shade. The end of the Tamas.
Gragelouth wagged a proverbial finger at him. “Sometimes the old magic is best. This is known.”
Buncan replied without turning. “I won’t dispute that because I can’t, merchant, but I will say this. Where both music and magic are concerned, you have to go with what you feel.”