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slope of detritus to emerge into the lights of the Suns of Scorpio.
    Kov Loriman, shattered by the death of his lady Hebe, existing now like a man drugged or in a trance, had been the cause of Seg’s, Nath’s and my enforced further entrapment in the maze of the Coup Blag.
    By this time, as was clearly apparent, old Nath the Impenitent recognized he was lumbered with Kov Loriman. Nath was conscious of his insular Vallian blood, and of the fact that the lords of the land cared nothing for him, and this famous Hunting Kov was not even Vallian, he was from Yumapan in the west of the island of Pandahem. Well, Nath would be saying to himself, they might be stumbling about in a damned hole in the ground in Pandahem, he’d drag this haughty noble out of it by the scruff of the neck and then pitch him over onto his nose. This, I fancied, would also be the reading Seg would give to the situation.
    The rocky corridor turned twice upon itself and then led into a room where some light seeped in from a webwork of cracks in the ceiling.
    “If that lot’s due to fall down—” began Nath, ominously.
    “—we’ll depart with the utmost urgency,” finished Seg, cheerfully.
    Loriman slumped to the stone floor with a thump. His head hung down so that his armored shoulders peaked. He’d lost his helmet. Looking at this once blustery, damn-you-to-hell fellow, I experienced a sudden, quick, quite surprising stab of pity.
    Mind you, if Delia was — well, never mind that.
    “Two exits,” sang out Seg. “D’you have a fancy?”
    “They both look the same,” observed Nath.
    “Toss a blade,” I said.
    Now the meaning of a couple of odd looks Nath had given me when he’d met up with me again revealed themselves.
    “Need to stand from under if you toss up that great bar of iron, Jak.”
    He’d seen me use the Krozair longsword in action; now I realized he’d seen me step out with the old scarlet breechclout and with the longsword cocked up and, of course, all the legends and tales of Dray Prescot would have come into his mind. That was how Dray Prescot, the Emperor of Vallia, whirled about the world, righting wrongs, rescuing both princesses and tavern girls from danger, slaying dire monsters and putting Vallia back together again and recreating the empire as a place where folk could live happily in safety.
    There would be absolutely no connection in his head. I was Jak the Bogandur, admittedly a lesser noble of some kind; but a decent enough fellow for a lord, as was our comrade Seg the Horkandur. The Emperor of Vallia was altogether another fellow, a rogue and cramph Nath detested wholeheartedly.
    He’d already said he disbelieved the tales about Dray Prescot. Well, that made two of us.
    Once we were out of this maze I’d have to make the attempt to put the record straight. Nath had been court-martialed, and I had promised myself that I’d have that lot sorted, too. The main priorities now were getting out of the Coup Blag, of finding our Vallian aerial fleet, and of going and bashing the fliers of those Opaz-forsaken Shanks.
    We went through the left-hand door and found only another of these baffling corridors.
    Loriman shambled along like a drugged wild animal chained and leashed by callous performing-animal handlers.
    “He won’t be much good if we get into another fight.” Seg paced along like a savage wild animal himself, chained and leashed by this damned maze.
    “Maybe that would bring him back to his senses.”
    “If that were so, then bring on the fight sharpish.”
    None of us recognized any of the passageways and chambers through which we made our way. These subterranean burrowings would be either natural formations or sorcerous constructs fashioned by Csitra. All Phunik’s magical architecture had vanished along with him, and good riddance too, by Krun.
    We spoke little, going cautiously.
    Nath the Impenitent did say, with that grumbly growl: “There’s been no food lately and my insides are like the purse