A faint sound of drumming came up.  He listened intently, and as he did so his heart quickened and the black cares rolled away from his soul.  All the world and its accidents seemed at that moment false, and without meaning....

He climbed abstractedly to his feet.  Tydomin was talking to her dead husband.  She was peering into the hideous face of ivory, and fondling his violet hair.  When she perceived Maskull, she hastily kissed the withered lips, and got up from her knees.  Lifting the corpse with all three arms, she staggered with it to the extreme edge of the gulf and, after an instant’s hesitation, allowed it to drop into the lava.  It disappeared immediately without sound; a metallic splash came up.  That was Crimtyphon’s funeral.

“Now I am ready, Maskull.”

He did not answer, but stared past her.  Another figure was standing, erect and mournful, not far behind her.  It was Joiwind.  Her face was wan, and there was an accusing look in her eyes.  Maskull knew that it was a phantasm, and that the real Joiwind was miles away, at Poolingdred.

“Turn around, Tydomin,” he said oddly, “and tell me what you see behind you.”

“I don’t see anything,” she answered, looking around.

“But I see Joiwind.”

Just as he was speaking, the apparition vanished.

“Now I present you with your life, Tydomin.  She wishes it.”

The woman fingered her chin thoughtfully.

“I little expected I should ever be beholden for my life to one of my own sex—­but so be it.  What really happened to you in my cavern?”

“I really saw Krag.”

“Yes, some miracle must have taken place.”  She suddenly shivered.  “Come, let us leave this horrible spot.  I shall never come here again.”

“Yes,” said Maskull, “it stinks of death and dying.  But where are we to go—­what are we to do?  Take me to Sant.  I must get away from this hellish land.”

Tydomin remained standing, dull and hollow-eyed.  Then she gave an abrupt, bitter little laugh.  “We make our journey together in singular stages.  Rather than be alone, I’ll come with you—­but you know that if I set foot in Sant they will kill me.”

“At least set me on the way.  I wish to get there before night.  Is it possible?”

“If you are willing to take risks with nature.  And why should you not take risks today?  Your luck holds.  But someday or other it won’t hold—­your luck.”

“Let us start,” said Maskull.  “The luck I’ve had so far is nothing to brag about.”

Blodsombre was over when they set off; it was early afternoon, but the heat seemed more stifling than ever.  They made no more pretence at conversation; both were buried in their own painful thoughts.  The land fell away from Disscourn in all other directions, but toward Sant there was a gentle, persistent rise.  Its dark, distant plateau continued to dominate the landscape, and after walking for an hour they seemed none the nearer to it.  The air was stale and stagnant.