Cohen pinched out the end of his ragged cigarette, stuffed it behind his ear, and looked up at the green ice.

"It's not too late to turn back," said Evil Harry. "If anyone wanted to, I mean."

"Yes it is," said Cohen, without looking around. "Besides, someone's not playing fair."

"Funny, really," said Vena. "All my life I've gone adventuring with old maps found in old tombs and so on, and I never ever worried about where they came from. It's one of those things you never think about, like who leaves all the weapons and keys and medicine kits lying around in the unexplored dungeons."

"Someone be setting a trap," said Boy Willie.

"Probably. Won't be the first trap I've walked into," said Cohen.

"We're going up against the gods, Cohen," said Harry. "A man does that, a man's got to be sure of his luck."

"Mine's worked up to now," said Cohen. He reached out and touched the rock face in front of him. "It's warm."

"But it's got ice on!" said Harry.

"Yeah. Strange, eh?" said Cohen. "It's just like the scrolls said. And see the way the snow's sticking to it? It's the magic. Well . . . here goes . . ."