Illustrations

Snibril gains a horse

Then, as the creature hurtled by him, he snatched at the reins, raced for a second by the pounding hooves, and flung himself up into the saddle.

Glurk

Glurk resembled his father in every way, from his broad shoulders to his great thick neck, the battering centre of his mighty strength... He could lift a horse with one hand, and once -- it was said -- had raised a man-sized boulder of grit with both.

Pismire's cave

And someone was lying on a heap of ferns by a small fire, with his hat pulled over his face.

Snibril attacks a moul

Snargs could run fast, but they could not move as quickly as a horse, and Snibril was able to taunt the great brute several times more until Snarfgorm was taunted beyond all control.

Battle with the snargs

Some hidden door that he had never known before opened inside Snibril, and his fear turned to cold anger. He looked at the snags thrusting between the carts, and tugged the still shivering spear from the ground.

Hymetors tending their hives

They saw later how the syrup fruit fitted into the life of the yellow country when they passed a hive, a tall honeycomb hanging between the hairs. Striped creatures peered down from their lofty fortress and hummed angrily as the carts passed beneath.

The Wights' varnish forge

"You never know anything where Wights are concerned. You remember tales, see things, pick up little bits of knowledge here and there, but you never know" - Bane

Bane

"Bane the Wanderer I was, and Bane the Wanderer I still am, though a Dumii general too."

Pismire

Pismire was old, old enough to have already been old when most of the tribe were children

The last termagant

And then the termagant did stop. For it had seen another termagent. There, in the shield, a scaly green face looked back at it. A necklace hung over one ear. For a moment the creature had found company. Then, stepping back, Snibril tilted the shield, and the face was gone.

Brocando

"Ah! My race is deftmene. Have you not heard of us?" asked Brocando in a tone which suggested that if Snibril had not heard of deftmenes his life was an empty thing.

A carrie

The city of Jeopard

Jeopard was a high hill of grit. On the tip of the rock glittered a temple, and below that was the palace of Broc. A winding road round the rock led to the cluster of houses and towers in its shadows. Gardens had been built on the rock, and small temples and statues lined the road.

Brocando opening the passage into the Underlay

There was a statue of a deftmene under the dome. His wooden body was chipped and dust grown, but still he stood with outstretched sword, pointing at the city.

The cavern under the Carpet

They shuffled on along the ledge. Anything in the depths below would hardly have seen them, eleven little specks inching along the roots of the hairs.

The battle of the King's return

When Bane and Snibril returned to the great hall Brocando had Gormaleesh under his sword.

Glurk's Disguise

Then the Vortgorn reached out and placed one gnarled hand about each hairy neck. The voice disappeared into a strangled squeak. The Vortgorn brought his hands together again. Crack! went the mouls' heads in the dim hall.

The pones

It sounded like the creaking of a door, but magnified a thousand times. It boomed around the stable until Pismire's ears rang. The other pones raised their heads and answered, and it was louder than the wind in the caverns of Underlay.

The pones escape

So only Glurk saw the pones leaping from the platform, one by one. As they jumped they opened the side leathery wings that had been folded by their flanks, and soared away.

Glurk on Fang

They sped on again, Glurk lying low on Fang's back as the Snarg plunged through thickets and dust, over roots and through bushes, and on like a black arrow towards the Land.

Culain

He was tall, with the thin face of a wight, but it was red-brown and wrinkled as old apples. His hair was brown also, and it billowed around him, almost hiding the grubby, torn robe -- which might once have been red -- that was all he wore.

Culain's camp

The Thunorg beckoned them under his roof and when they were seated in the dust reappeared out of the shadows with a wooden jug and some mugs.

The fight for the varnish boiler

"Run!" hissed the wight. "Gather your people and run!"

Snibril allies with the Dumii

"Kneel down. Now, draw your own sword. Lay it across mine. Now repeat after me: 'I, Snibril Orkson, from the Woodwall, captain of the... er... cavalry division of the Fifteenth Legion, which is called the Red Dragon of Hern, do swear thus upon the sword of my general.'"

Riding with the Dumii

"Do you know what I'm going to do when this is all over? I'm going to walk out of Ware with my sword over my shoulder , and I'm going to walk and walk until I come to a place where someone says 'What's that thing you've got there? Some kind of big knife?'"

Arrival in Ware

The crossbows were lowered at an order from the gatekeeper, and the gates ahead ground open. They marched on into the city.

Stagbat, Vortgorn king

Between the two mouls sat, on the back of a sad brown horse, a big man in bronze armour. He looked very much like Glurk, except his hair was the colour of bronze. Bronze plates sheathed his body. Snibril did not know his name, but it was Stagbat, king of the Vortgorns.

Fireballs

There was a whistling sound, and something the size of a house came tumbling down out of the hairs. It was on fire, and hit the ram in a storm of sparks.

Snibril fights Gormaleesh

Gormaleesh was standing on the rubble. His armour was battered and he was dishevelled. He swayed from side to side, hissing, a green fire in his eyes. The first wild thrust ripped the cloak from the Munrung's shoulder, but he brought his club cracking down on Gormaleesh's arm. For a second they were face to face, and Snibril's heart lurched as he saw the hatred.

Going home

He smiled, and patted Roland's neck. Then, with rising hope and streaming hair, he urged the white horse into a gallop and they disappeared among the crowding hairs.