“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. 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.
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.
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.