Chapter the Fifth of Part the Sixth

In which the narrative recounts acts from the life of Malcoomb Nordrench in Merithwell.

“Dragon’s dung!” Malcoomb cursed. “There’s nothing we can do!”

But the girl from Brendan’s world, of all people, told the boys to start singing again. How useless can you get? Malcoomb asked himself. Hardly more useless than I am already, Malcoomb answered himself. The ruins of his life were so vast that Malcoomb could not take them in. He felt as if his empire had been destroyed as suddenly and completely as Tel Arman’s Empire had been. Right when he had Merithwell in his grasp as a sorcerous power base, it slipped out of his fingers that had become more ineffectual than Dunsland’s in Drakkenfleiss. The greatest spell he had cast in his life was undone by the cursed place, returning his own voice back to him as if it had never left him. Far worse, Merithwell had turned out to be the fortress the Master Magi had identified as the base for the errant magi who had to be wiped off the face of all worlds. There was no way that he could ever convince Premiere Master Magus Donanskorall that he was not himself the errant magus who had built up the fortress in defiance of their authority. There was no way he could face his parents after the disgrace he had inflicted on his family, a disgrace from which they would not recover for many generations, if ever.

Mark and the other boys had called him a coward and Pir Min and Raissa and Morrass had called him the same before they rashly plunged into the sorcerous shaft to rescue Dunsland. Their failure to return confirmed his conviction that penetrating the sorcerous shaft from Merithwell and escaping back to this place was not possible. But none of the boys were going to listen to reason. He had also been blamed for bringing the Master Magi and the other students to Merithwell when he had done no such thing. And yet Malcoomb knew that if he thought it possible, he would betray Merithwell faster than a magical snap of the fingers in order to reinstate himself with the Master Magi. His rash and worthless attack spell in defense of Merithwell had closed up that option as well.

The singing started up again in the teeth of the darkness and the buzzing that made it hard for Malcoomb to think, useless as the singing was. And yet, to his surprise, Malcoomb found himself singing along with the other boys as best he could, which wasn’t very good, as he had sung the song less even than the boys who had tagged along with Mark and Brendan in recent visits. Malcoomb decided that he didn’t want just to do nothing, and so he went along with doing something that was worthless. Gwendarin and Forsikt came out of nowhere and Gwendarin spoke into his ear.

“What?” Malcoomb asked, not hearing her words clearly over the buzzing and the desperate singing.

“Now is the time to go after Dunsland and the others, while the Master Magi are preoccupied here” Gwendarin yelled loud enough for him to make out the words.

“Why bring them back to a tower that’s going to break apart?” Malcoomb asked.

“I’m not so sure they can break this place apart,” said Forsikt. “If we can bring Dunsland here, it’s very likely they won’t be able to destroy this place.”

“Besides, it’s the only decent thing to do,” Gwendarin added.

Malcoomb wondered where Gwendarin got the idea of being decent to anybody. It wasn’t a virtue taught in Drakkenfleiss. Perhaps she got it from Dunsland who got from—from Merithwell and the other boys here, Malcoomb concluded.

“Can’t you see how impossible it is?” Malcoomb asked her.

“Doing nothing is impossible for me,” said Forsikt.

“Are you coming?” Gwendarin asked.

Malcoomb was trapped. His only chance of picking up his life again hinged on breaking into the sorcerous shaft and rescuing Dunsland and his first group of rescuers. If he didn’t, and Merithwell and the boys in it survived, none of them would forgive him and there would be no place for him in any of the seven worlds. If he succeeded, the boys might forgive him for his treatment of Dunsland. After all, they had been more forgiving of Tel Arman than Malcoomb thought anybody could ever be. But then again, perhaps he had gone too far and nobody was going to forgive him for anything, no matter what he did. On the other hand, if Merithwell should be destroyed and he with it, then he wouldn’t lose anything more than he’d lost already. That would be better than spending the rest of his life trapped in the sorcerous shaft, with a group of people who would blame him for their plight and torture him as much as the shaft itself would. But risking the worst of outcomes was his only chance of doing better than losing everything. Knowing that his last chance would slip away forever if he waited an instant later, he jumped to his feet and walked straight at the wall in the direction of Drakkenfleiss and the sorcerous shaft.

“I’m going after Dunsland whether you’re ready or not,” Malcoomb said over his shoulder to Gwendarin and Forsikt.

“We’re coming,” said Gwendarin as she and Forsikt hurried to catch up to him.

“Concentrate real hard on Dunsland and Raissa and Morrass and Pir Min,” Malcoomb instructed them.

“I’m doing it.”

Malcoomb was doing it, too, as well as he could. He doubted that his desire was sufficiently full-hearted to get him into the sorcerous shaft with Dunsland, but the desire of Gwendarin definitely was. When Malcoomb heard singing that echoed the singing from Merithwell and felt a burning itch run up his leg, he knew he had made it into the sorcerous shaft and he wished he hadn’t.

“Gwendarin! Forsikt!” Raissa cried. “I knew you’d come. Sorry you have to suffer this!”

Gwendarin and Forsikt were in too much agony to reply. Malcoomb felt the burning itch strike him in the shoulder. When he reached to scratch it, the itch jumped over to the middle of his back. Pir Min and Dunsland and Morrass were singing, with painful effort, the same song the boys in Merithwell.

“Malcoomb, what are you doing here?” Raissa asked her.

The question made Malcoomb felt slightly less furious over not being noticed sooner.

“I’m being stupid for getting caught in here with you guys, that’s what I’m doing,” Malcoomb snapped back.

“Well, don’t help or anything,” said Raissa.

Malcoomb looked back the way he and Gwendarin had come in. Thinking he saw the outline of the entrance back to Merithwell, he dove towards it, but the wall of the sorcerous shaft sent a jolt throughout Malcoomb’s body.

“We’re stuck here,” Malcoomb moaned, “and getting back there won’t do—any good.”

“Why not?” asked Dunsland, leaving Pir Min and Morrass to struggle with the singing on their own.

As Malcoomb suspected, Dunsland did indeed have his own voice back.

 “The Master Magi and the other students are attacking Merithwell. They think it’s the fortress of the errant magi,” Malcoomb answered.

“WHO SHATTERED THE BRAINS OF THE MASTER MAGI TO MAKE THEM THINK THE BOYS OF MERITHWELL ARE ERRANT MAGI THREATENING ALL SEVEN WORLDS?” Raissa yelled.

“I think they shattered their own brains with their spells and the boys are suffering for it,” said Gwendarin,

“Then we’ve got to get back there and help,” Dunsland gasped, even as he winced from another stinging jab from the sorcerous shaft. “We need—magic and singing,” said Dunsland.“A little more of—both might do it.”

“A lot of good I can do you,” said Malcoomb. “I can’t get any magic to work and I can’t sing that well.”

“I know you can sing,” said Dunsland, “SO DO IT.”

“I don’t know your song,” said Malcoomb. “I’ve already tried it with the other boys and I can’t do it.”

“I’ll—try,” Forsikt promised, shaming Malcoomb further.

“Good,” said Dunsland. “Listen to me and Pir Min and Morrass and then sing when you can. Malcoomb can do nothing—if he wants.”

“Can I help with the magic?” asked Gwendarin.

“Yes,” said Raissa. “The singing weakens the sorcerous shaft and attack magic weakens it more. I think with you here, we have enough of both to break through and escape to Merithwell.”

Dunsland rejoined Pir Min and Morrass in singing the song. Forsikt added his voice tentatively after hearing the song a couple of times. The stabs of burning, itching pain made it hard for him to concentrate, but Malcoomb knew that if the others escaped the sorcerous shaft without his help, his fate was sealed as much as it was sealed if he spent the rest of his life in the clutches of the Master Magi who would never forgive him for the treason they blamed him for. Desperately, Malcoomb listened to the song and then began to sing.

Western wynde, when wilt thou blow,
The small raine down can raine.
Christ, if this shaft would break apart
And lead to Merithwell again.

His own voice, different as it was from Dunsland’s, sounded so good that Malcoomb wondered why he had ever tried to get rid of it. Raissa and Gwendarin worked their spell against the wall of the sorcerous shaft where it blocked the entrance back to Merithwell. Not even the efforts of five singers and two spell casters seemed able to break open the sorcerous shaft. Malcoomb felt that the singing was bouncing off the walls of the shaft and stuffing itself back in his mouth. Each repetition of the song was harder to sing than the last until a high-pitched melody soared above the tune the boys were singing. The smothering feeling lifted just long enough for the boys to belt out the song while the girls struck the shaft with a fiery spear. The sorcerous shaft exploded, leaving the captives in dark swirling clouds under a large silver star that rose above them. The relief from the constant discomfort was immediate and Malcoomb relaxed.

“Where are we now?” asked a frightened Pir Min.

“It’s the assembly room of Drakkenfleiss,” Raissa answered. “I don’t know how we get back to Merithwell from here, though.”

“We Follow the star,” said Dunsland.

Proceed to Chapter the Sixth of Part the Sixth

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