The Color of Magic (Discworld 1)

“I wish I was back in the city,” moaned Rincewind. “I wish I was back on the ground.”

“I wonder if dragons can fly all the way to the stars?” mused Twoflower. “Now that would be something…”

“You’re mad,” said Rincewind flatly. There was no reply from the tourist, and when the wizard craned around he was horrified to see Twoflower looking up at the paling stars with an odd smile on his face.

“Don’t” you even think about it,” added Rincewind, menacingly.

The man you seek is talking to the dragon-woman said the dragon.

“Hmm?” said Twoflower, still looking at the paling stars.

“What?” said Rincewind urgently.

“Oh yes. Hrun,” said Twoflower. “I hope we’re in time. Dive now. Go low.”

Rincewind opened his eyes as the wind increased to a whistling gale. Perhaps they were blown open - the wind certainly made them impossible to shut.

The flat summit of the Wyrmberg rose up at them, lurched alarmingly, then somersaulted into a green blur that flashed by on either side. Tiny woods and fields blurred into a rushing patchwork. A brief silvery flash in the landscape may have been the little river that overflowed into the air at the plateau’s rim. Rincewind tried to force the memory out of his mind , but it was rather enjoying itself there, terrorizing the other occupants and kicking over the furniture.

“I think not,” said Liessa.

Hrun took the wine cup, slowly. He grinned like a pumpkin.

Around the arena the dragons started to bay. Their riders looked up. And something like a green blur flashed across the arena, and Hrun had gone. The winecup hung momentarily in the air, then crashed down on the steps. Only then did a single drop spill.

This was because, in the instant of enfolding Hrun gently in his claws, Ninereeds the dragon had momentarily synchronized their bodily rhythms. Since the dimension of the imagination is much more complex than those of time and space, which are very junior dimensions indeed, the effect of this was to instantly transform a stationary and priapic Hrun into a Hrun moving sideways at eighty miles an hour with no ill-effects whatsoever, except for a few wasted mouthfuls of wine. Another effect was to cause Liessa to scream with rage and summon her dragon. As the gold beast materialised in front of her she leapt astride it, still naked, and snatched a crossbow from one of the guards. Then she was airborne, while the other dragonriders swarmed towards their own beasts.

The Loremaster, watching from the pillar he had prudently slid behind in the mad scramble happened at that moment to catch the cross dimensional echoes of a theory being at the same instant hatched in the mind of an early psychiatrist in an adjacent universe, possibly because the dimension-leak was flowing both ways, and for a moment the psychiatrist saw the girl on the dragon. The loremaster smiled.

“Want to bet that she won’t catch him?” said Greicha, in a voice of worms and sepulchres, right by his ear.

The loremaster shut his eyes and swallowed hard.

“I thought that my Lord would now be residing fully in the Dread Land,” he managed.

“I am a wizard,” said Greicha. “Death Himself must claim a wizard. And, aha, He doesn’t appear to be in the neighbourhood…”

SHAL WE GO? asked Death.

He was on a white horse, a horse of flesh and blood but red of eye and fiery of nostril, and He stretched out a bony hand and took Greicha’s soul out of the air and rolled it up until it was a point of painful light, and then He swallowed it.

Then He clapped spurs to his steed and it sprang into the air, sparks corruscating from its hooves.

“Lord Greicha!” whispered the old Loremaster, as the universe flickered around him.

“That was a mean trick,” came the wizard’s voice, a mere speck of sound disappearing into the infinite black dimensions.

“My Lord… what is Death like?” called the old man tremulously.

“When I have investigated it fully, I will let you know,” came the faintest of modulations on the breeze.

“Yes,” murmured the loremaster. A thought struck him. “During daylight, please,” he added.

“You clowns,” screamed Hrun, from his perch on Ninereed’s foreclaws.

“What did he say?” roared Rincewind, as the dragon ripped its way through the air in the race for the heights.

“Didn’t hear.” bellowed Twoflower, his voice torn away by the gale. As the dragon banked slightly he looked down at the little toy spinning top that was the mighty Wyrmberg and saw the swarm of creatures rising in pursuit. Ninereed’s wings pounded and flicked the air away contemptuously. Thinner air, too. Twoflower’s ear popped for the third time.