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The old man had a large white horse tethered to a withered tree in a snow…filled gully some way from the circles。 It was sleek； glossy and the general effect of a superb battle charger was only very slightly spoiled by the haemorrhoid ring tied to the saddle。
'Okay； put me down。 There'sh a bottle of shome linament shtuff in the shaddle bag； if you wouldn't mind 。 。 。' Rincewind propped Twoflower as nicely as possible against the tree； and by moonlight … and； he realised； by the faint red light of the menacing new star … took the first real look at his rescuer。
The man had only one eye； the other was covered by a black patch。 His thin body was a network of scars and； currently； twanging white…hot with tendonitis。 His teeth had obviously decided to quit long ago。
'Who are you？' he said。
'Bethan；' said the girl； rubbing a handful of nasty…smelling green ointment into the old man's back。 She wore the air of one who； if asked to consider what sort of events might occur after being rescued from virgin sacrifice by a hero with a white charger； would probably not have mentioned linament； but who； now linament was apparently what did happen to you after all； was determined to be good at it。
'I meant him；' said Rincewind。
One star…bright eye looked up at him。
'Cohen ish my name； boy。' Bethan's hands stopped moving。
'Cohen？' she said。 'Cohen the Barbarian？'
'The very shame。'
'Hang on； hang on；' said Rincewind。 'Cohen's a great big chap； neck like a bull； got chest muscles like a sack of footballs。 I mean； he's the Disc's greatest warrior； a legend in his own lifetime。 I remember my grandad telling me he saw him 。 。 。 my grandad telling me he 。 。 。 my grandad 。 。 。'
He faltered under the gimlet gaze。
'Oh；' he said。 'Oh。 Of course。 Sorry。'
'Yesh；' said Cohen； and sighed。 Thatsh right； boy。 I'm a lifetime in my own legend。'
'Gosh；' said Rincewind。 'How old are you； exactly？'
'Eighty…sheven。'
'But you were the greatest！' said Bethan。 'Bards still sing songs about you。'
Cohen shrugged； and gave a little yelp of pain。
'I never get any royaltiesh；' he said。 He looked moodily at the snow。 That'sh the shaga of my life。 Eighty yearsh in the bushiness and what have I got to show for it？ Backache； pilesh； bad digeshtion and a hundred different recipesh for shoop。 Shoop！ I hate shoop！'
Bethan's forehead wrinkled。 'Shoop？'
'Soup；' explained Rincewind。
Yeah； shoop；' said Cohen； miserably。 'It'sh my teeths； you shee。 No…one takes you sheriously when you've got no teeths； they shay 〃Shit down by the fire； grandad； and have shome shoo…〃 Cohen looked sharply at Rincewind。 That'sh a nashty cough you have there； boy。'
Rincewind looked away； unable to look Bethan in the face。 Then his heart sank。 Twoflower was still leaning against the tree； peacefully unconscious； and looking as reproachful as was possible in the circumstances。
Cohen appeared to remember him； too。 He got unsteadily to his feet and shuffled over to the tourist。 He humbed both eyes open； examined the graze； felt the pulse。
'He'sh gone；' he said。
'Dead？' said Rincewind； In the debating chamber of his mind a dozen emotions got to their feet and started shouting。 Relief was in full spate when Shock cut in on a point of order and then Bewilderment； Terror and Loss started a fight which was ended only when Shame slunk in from next door to see what all the row was about。
'No；' said Cohen thoughtfully； 'not exshactly。 Just … gone。'
'Gone where？'
'I don't know；' said Cohen； 'but I think I know shomeone who might have a map。'
Far out on the snowfield half a dozen pinpoints of red light glowed in the shadows。
'He's not far away；' said the leading wizard； peering into a small crystal sphere。
There was general mutter from the ranks behind him which roughly meant that however far away Rincewind was he couldn't be further than a nice hot bath； a good meal and a warm bed。
Then the wizard who was tramping along in the rear stopped and said； 'Listen！'
They listened。 There were the subtle sounds of winter beginning to close its grip on the land； the creak of rocks； the muted scuffling of small creatures in their tunnels under the blanket of snow。 In a distant forest a wolf howled； felt embarrassed when no…one joined in； and stopped。 There was the silver sleeting sound of moonlight。 There was also the wheezing noise of half a dozen wizards trying to breathe quietly。
'I can't hear a thing…' one began。
'Ssshh！'
'All right； all right…'
Then they all heard it； a tiny distant crunching； like omething moving very quickly over the snow crust。
'Wolves？' said a wizard。 They all thought about hundreds of lean； hungry bodies leaping through the night。
'N…no；' said the leader。 'It's too regular。 Perhaps it's a messenger？'
It was louder now； a crisp rhythm like someone eating celery very fast。
'I'll send up a flare；' said the leader。 He picked up a handful of snow； rolled it into a ball； threw it up into the air and ignited it with a stream of octarine fire from his fingertips。 There was a brief； fierce blue glare。
There was silence。 Then another wizard said； 'You daft bugger； I can't see a thing now。'
That was the last thing they heard before something fast； hard and noisy cannoned into them out of the darkness and vanished into the night。
When they dug one another out of the snow all they could find was a tight pressed trail of little footprints。 Hundreds of little footprints； all very close together and heading across the snow as straight as a searchlight。
'A necromancer！' said Rincewind。
The old woman across the fire shrugged and pulled a pack of greasy cards from some unseen pocket。
Despite the deep frost outside； the atmosphere inside the yurt was like a blacksmith's armpit and the wizard was already sweating heavily。 Horse dung made a good fuel； but the Horse People had a lot to learn about air conditioning； starting with what it meant。
Bethan leaned sideways。
'What's neck romance？' she whispered。
'Necromancy。 Talking to the dead；' he explained。
'Oh；' she said； vaguely disappointed。
They had dined on horse meat； horse cheese； horse black pudding； horse d'oeuvres and a thin beer that Rincewind didn't want to speculate about。 Cohen （who'd ad horse soup） explained that the Horse Tribes of the Hubland steppes were born in the saddle； which Rincewind considered was a gynaecological impossibility； and they were particularly adept at natural magic； since life on the open steppe makes you realise how neatly the sky fits the land all around the edges and this naturally inspires the mind to deep thoughts like 'Why？'； 'When？' and 'Why don't we try beef for a change？'
The chieftain's grandmother nodded at Rincewind and spread the cards in front of her。
Rincewind； as it has already been noted； was the worst wizard on the Disc： no other spells would stay in his mind once the Spell had lodged in there； in much the same way that fish don't hang around in a pike pool。 But he still had his pride； and wizards don't like to see women perform even simple magic。 Unseen University had never admitted women； muttering something about problems with the plumbing； but th