"Scarcely a constructive ambition, " Rackhir said.
"Construction is a meaningless word—like all words, like all so-called existence. Everything means nothingthai is the only truth."
"But what of this world? Barren as it is, it still has light and firm rock. You have not succeeded in reasoning that out of existence, " Lamsar said.
"That will cease when I cease, " the man said slowly, "just as you will cease to be. Then there can be nothing but nothing and Law will reign unchallenged."
"But Law cannot reign—it will not exist either, according to your logic."
"You are wrong—nothingness is the Law. Nothingness is the object of Law. Law is the way to its ultimate state, the state of non-being."
"Well, " said Lamsar musingly, "then you had better tell us where we may find the next gate."
"There is no gate."
"If there were, where would we find it?" Rackhir said.
"If a gate existed, and it does not, it would have been inside the mountain, close to what was once called the Sea of Peace."
"And where was that?" Rackhir asked, conscious, now of their terrible predicament. There were no landmarks, no sun, no stars—nothing by which they could determine direction.
"Close to the Mountain of Severity."
"Which way do you go?" Lamsar enquired of the man.
"Out—beyond—to nowhere."
"And where, if you succeed in your object, will we be consigned?"
"To some other nowhere. I cannot truthfully answer. But since you have never existed in reality, therefore you can go on to no non-reality. Only I am real—and I do not exist."
"We are getting nowhere, " said Rackhir with a smirk which changed to a frown.
"It is only my mind which holds the non-reality at bay, " the man said, "and I must concentrate or else it will all come flooding back and I shall have to start from the beginning again. In the beginning, there was everything—Chaos. I created nothing."
With resignation, Rackhir strung his bow, fitted an arrow to the string and aimed at the frowning man.
"You wish for non-being?" he said.
"I have told you so." Rackhir's arrow pierced his heart, his body faded, became solid and slumped to the grass as mountains, forests, and rivers appeared around them. It was still a peaceful, well-ordered world and Rackhir and Lamsar, as they strode on in search of the Mountain of Severity, savoured it. There seemed to be no animal life here and they talked, in puzzled terms, about the man they had been forced to kill, until, at length, they reached a great smooth pyramid which seemed, though it was of natural origin, to have been carved into this form. They walked around its base until they discovered an opening.
There could be no doubt that this was the Mountain of Severity, and a calm ocean lay some distance away.
They went into the opening and emerged into a delicate landscape. They were now through the last gateway and in the Domain of the Grey Lords.
There were trees like stiffened spider-webs.
Here and there were blue pools, shallow, with shining water and graceful rocks balanced in them and around their shores. Above them and beyond them the light hills swept away towards a pastel yellow horizon which was tinted with red, orange, and blue, deep blue.
They felt overlarge, clumsy, like crude, gross giants treading on the fine, short grass. They felt as if they were destroying the sanctity of the place.
Then they saw a girl come walking towards them.
She stopped as they came closer to her. She was dressed in loose black robes which flowed about her as if in a wind, but there was no wind. Her face was pale and pointed, her black eyes large and enigmatic. At her long throat was a jewel.
"Sorana, " said Rackhir thickly, "you died."
"I disappeared, " said she, "and this is where I came. I was told that you would come to this place and decided that I would meet you."
"But this is the Domain of the Grey Lords—and you serve Chaos."
"I do—but many are welcome at the Grey Lords' Court, whether they be of Law, Chaos, or neither. Come, I will escort you there."
Bewildered, now, Rackhir let her lead the way across
the strange terrain and Lamsar followed him.
Sorana and Rackhir had been lovers once, in Yeshpotoom-Kahlai, the Unholy Fortress, where evil blossomed and was beautiful. Sorana, sorceress, adventuress, was without conscience but had had high regard for the Red Archer since he had come to Yeshpotoom-Kahlai one evening, covered in his own blood, survivor of a bizarre battle between the Knights of Tumbru and Loheb Bakra's brigand-engineers. Seven years ago, that had been, and he had heard her scream when the Blue Assassins had crept into the Unholy Fortress, pledged to murder evil-makers. Even then he had been in the process of hurriedly leaving Yeshpotoom-Kahlai and had considered it unwise to investigate what was obviously a death-scream. Now she was here—and if she was here, then it was for a strong reason and for her own convenience. On the other hand, it was in her interests to serve Chaos and he must be suspicious of her.
Ahead of them now they saw many great tents of shimmering grey which, in the light, seemed composed of all colours. People moved slowly among the tents and there was an air of leisure about the place.
"Here, " Sorana said, smiling at him and taking his hand, "the Grey Lords hold impermanent court. They wander about their land and have few artifacts and only temporary houses which you see. They will make you welcome if you interest them."
"But will they help us?"
"You must ask them."
"You are pledged to Eequor of Chaos, " Rackhir observed, "and must aid her against us, is that not so?"
"Here, " she smiled, "is a truce. I can only inform Chaos of what I learn of your plans and, if the Grey Lords aid you, must tell them how, if I can find out."
"You are frank, Sorana."
"Here there are subtler hypocrisies—and the subtlest lie of all is the full truth, " she said, as they entered the area of tall tents and made their way towards a certain one.
In a different realm of the Earth, the huge horde careered across the grasslands of the North, screaming and singing behind the black-armoured horseman, their leader. Nearer and nearer they came to lonely Tanelorn, their motley weapons shining through the evening mists. Like a boiling tidal wave of insensate flesh, the mob drove on, hysterical with the hate for Tanelorn which Narjhan had placed in their thin hearts. Thieves, murderers, jackals, scavengers—a scrawny horde, but huge...
And in Tanelorn the warriors were grim-faced as their out-riders and scouts flowed into the city with messages and estimates of the beggar army's strength.
Brut, in the silver armour of his rank, knew that two full days had passed since Rackhir had left for the Sighing Desert Three more days and the city would be engulfed by Narjhan's mighty rabble—and they knew there was no chance of halting their advance. They might have left Tanelorn to its fate, but they would not. Even weak Uroch would not. For Tanelorn the Mysterious had given them all a secret power which each believed to be his only, a strength which filled them where before they had been hollow men. Selfishly, they stayed—for to leave Tanelorn to her fate would be to become hollow again, and that they all dreaded.