by Hugh Cook
Meanwhile, down on the wasteland to the west of the walls of Lorford, a cloud of fog suddenly swelled above a patch of nettles, then materialized into four people "and four horses. Moments later, Morgan Hearst, the wizard Miphon, Lord Blackwood and Drake Douay had mounted up and were galloping away to the west, to freedom.
62
Hollern River: flows south from Lake Armansis (in Penvash Peninsular) to vicinity of Lorford, then bends west and runs for the Central Ocean.
In the austere confines of the western gatehouse, there was no loot to delay the mob. The first rioter to peer through an arrow-slit saw four men on horseback on the wasteland beyond Lorford, saw those men riding for the river-road, and cried: 'They're escaping west!'
Whereupon the mob commandeered four horses, three mules, two donkeys, seven camels, a water buffalo, a yak, a quagga, three wood-carts drawn by dog-packs, and a chariot (belonging to Mistress Turbothot, previously of the fair city of Selzirk) which was drawn by four silver-haired wolves.
Thus equipped, the mob gave chase. Those who could not ride did as best as they could on their own two legs. And every hound, mutt, cur, bitch, mastiff, mongrel and pariah dog in Lorford ran with them. The lead was slim, and the pursuit was hot.
Drake heard dogs baying, and was sore afraid. The dog, of course, is the favourite beast of the Demon, being stupid, and ugly, and undiscriminating, and a defiler of public places, and ruinous to the public peace, and a source of disease, and good to eat with fried mushrooms and garlic-flavoured cow's udder. But, while Drake loved dogs, he
did not want to meet so many at once. Not so many so hot for his blood.
What if he fell from his horse? What if his horse fell lame?
'Carry me, ganch!' yelled Drake to his horse.
Upon which the horse stumbled amidst hardened mud-ruts, hit a boggy patch, slipped, and threw its rider. Drake fell heavily. Spray - nine parts liquid mud - flew up around him.
'Stop!' he yelled.
But the others were riding hell-for-leather for the west. Their horses, disorientated by being whirled in and out of the red bottle, unsettled by the fear of their riders and unnerved by the yammering mob, were galloping almost out of control.
Cursing and swearing, Drake scrambled to his feet. His horse was getting up. Slowly.
'You'd better not be broken, horse,' said Drake, his voice trembling. 'You'd better not be broken, or I'll kick your head in!'
The horse stood upright. So it could stand, at least. Drake put foot into stirrup. Swung himself up into the saddle.
'Move, ganch!' he said. 'Or I'll cut your ears off!'
The horse took the hint, and got moving.
Blackwood, Miphon and Hearst were far ahead, but slowing, yes, slowing as they brought their mounts under control.
'I'm right behind you!' yelled Drake.
But guessed that they never heard him.
When Hearst glanced back from a little rise a half-league west of Lorford, he was dismayed to see some of the rabble had managed to find mounts.
'Shall we get our people from the bottle?' said Blackwood. 'Shall we fight?'
'No,' said Hearst. 'For if we tangle ourselves in combat with those who ride, then those following on foot will finish us. Ride!'
Hearst spurred his mount. Ahead, the road was smooth and hard. But he knew it became narrow and marshy in less than a league. A coppice lay to left, and riverside trees to the right. And what was that in the trees?
'A boat!' said Hearst.
It was, by the looks of it, a fishing boat, a sturdy thing with one mast, one cabin and a single fish-hold. It was moored to the bank in a spot so well-hidden by riverside trees that it was invisible until they were almost upon it.
'That'll do us,' said Hearst.
He got everyone unloaded from the bottle, so weight of numbers would be on his side if it came to an argument. 'Where's Drake?' said Zanya. 'He's coming,' said Hearst.
'You've left him, haven't you?' said Zanya, her voice starting to rise.
Blackwood, fearing she would alert anyone on board the boat, grabbed her from behind, clamping a hand over her mouth. She bit. He pulled his hand away. She screamed.
'Hysterical women!' said Hearst.
And led a charge onto the boat, leaving Blackwood to deal with Zanya as best he could.
The crew had been sleeping, for they had brought their boat upriver under cover of darkness, and expected to be busy again when the stars next shone. But, as the heroes came aboard, the crewmen woke smartly, dived overboard, and swam for the further shore.
'Morgan!' cried Blackwood. 'For pity's sake!'
Zanya had got an armlock on him, and was about to break his arm.
'Let him go, you mad red bitch!' yelled Hearst. 'Look down the path - there's your lover in plain view.'
True! Galloping toward them down the ragged road was Drake Douay, bouncing in the saddle and hallooing wildly.
'You still left him behind!' yelled Zanya.
And, taking revenge, she pushed Blackwood into the river.
By the time Blackwood had hauled himself out of the river, dripping with mud and water, those aboard the boat had discovered that its fish-hold was full: but not with fish.
'What's this?' said Hearst, examining the cargo. 'Booze!'
They had caught themselves a smuggling boat, bringing in liquor by stealth to avoid the local alcohol taxes. Hearst slit open a skin of the contraband, letting it run to the river. The reek of its contents told him immediately where this cargo had come from.
'This is more of that gut-rot poison from Lorp,' said Hearst. 'You'll not drink that, if you value your health. Now I must go ashore, for I ride for the south. As for the rest of you - go to Brennan, in the Lesser Teeth. I'll send for you when it's safe. Here's the ring.'
'Perhaps you should keep the death-stone,' said Miphon, as he accepted the ring which commanded the red bottle. 'We have the bottle - that's all we need.'
'The death-stone's safer with you,' said Hearst. 'Don't worry about Mystrel, or Greenwood. I'll look after them.'
At which point Drake finally reached them.
'Stop! Stop, you ganch!' screamed Drake, as his noble steed thundered past the boat.
He hauled wildly on the reins - and the horse went crashing into the river, rider and all. As Drake floundered in the water, the horse began to swim for the further bank, doubtless eager to escape.
As Hearst hid himself in a nearby coppice, the others pushed the boat away from the bank. As they drifted past Drake, a soldier hauled him from the water.
'Drake!' cried Zanya.
And she clasped him to her, though water was still streaming from his sodden clothes. He was almost too breathless to kiss - but did his best regardless.
The two were still kissing when the mob came in view, by which time the boat was in midstream, going west with the current, and with the current only, for the wind was against them. Blackwood had bows, arrows, spears and swords brought out of the red bottle, which was rich in weaponry. He strung a bow.
'Do you shoot?' said Blackwood to Drake.
'Man, I had toy bows in plenty as a child.'
'Good,' said Blackwood, handing him a bow and a full quiver.
Great is the mystique of the bowman - but if pursuers swam out to the boat, and Drake shot at them from ten or twenty paces, his boyhood skills would be good enough for a kill.
As the pursuit drew nearer, those on the boat hollered, jeered and shouted. Soon the pursuit was level with the boat.
'Hearst!' shouted Miphon, into the interior of the boat. 'We're far enough from Lorford now. Use the death-stone!'
Most of the pursuers fell back at the threat of the death-stone. Which was there, right enough - though Hearst, of course, was elsewhere. He had, in fact, just exited from the southern side of the coppice, and was beginning a long ride to the southern border of Estar.
'Drake!' shouted a voice from the bank.
It was Yot. Drake nocked an arrow. Drew. Shot. The
bowstring stung his thumb as he loosed the shaft. Which took Yot's horse in the flank. The beast reared, and Yot was thrown.
'Demon-son!' screamed Yot, from the ground. 'Kill him! He's the evil one!'
'Man,' muttered Drake, 'your mouth's a nice big target.'
He aimed for it. And loosed another shaft. But Drake's skill with the bow was minimal - and, besides, he was trembling with adrenalin. His shot went wide.
'Shoot at the mounts,' said Blackwood.
'That's cruel,' said Zanya.
'Dead horses demand no vengeance,' said Blackwood. 'But dead friends do.' Soon, two horses and a camel were on the ground, kicking, screaming. As the way became marshy, the last riders fell behind the boat. The dog-carts and the chariot had been left behind long ago, wheels smashed by their manic race along the rutted road.
'We're clear,' said Miphon. 'Who here's a sailor?'
Drake, finding he was the only sailor amongst them, took charge, and began Investigating the boat, making sure it was ready for the open sea.
'Man,' said Drake to Miphon. 'I don't like this running business. It makes no sense, not when we've got the death-stone. That's fearsome magic'
'But clumsy,' said Miphon. 'For it destroys everything for two leagues in every direction.'
'Yet the person who wields the death survives.'
'Yes, since all within an arm's reach of the death-stone are safe. But all else becomes rock. If we'd used it against our pursuers just then, our boat would have turned to stone. And Lorford also, for we were less than two leagues from the town.'
'Oh,' said Drake.
He was still not convinced.
'What's more,' said Miphon. 'Once the death-stone's been used, it won't work again for some days. Many know that. So if we used the death-stone, any survivors would hunt us without fear.'
'How many days,' said Drake, 'before the death-stone can be used again?'
'You ask too many questions!' said Miphon.
'Then answer me just this one. Where goes Hearst?'
'Why, to rally the southern garrisons, which guard the borders against the Swarms. They're mostly Rovac troops, all loyal.'
'Man,' said Drake, 'if I'd held Lorford there'd have been no shortage of loyal troops on hand.'
'Yes, maybe,' said Miphon. 'But Hearst was always more of a soldier than a politician. No matter. His troops will bring the mob to order soon enough.'
'And hang young Sully Yot!'
'Very likely,' said Miphon.
Who, though he did not like Yot, did not really approve of Drake's enthusiasm.
Thus it was that the death-stone, the magic red bottle and the ring which commanded that bottle went west down the Hollern River and out to sea, on a boat commanded by Drake Douay. Meanwhile, Morgan Hearst rode south.
And Sully Yot made plans of his own.
63
Lesser Teeth: group of low-lying sandy islands lying east of Lorp, south of the Ravlish Lands and north of the Greater Teeth. The inhabitants live without rulers. While usually peaceful, they will yield to their lower nature if sufficiently tempted - and make savage enemies if crossed.
During the voyage to Carawell, the largest of the Lesser Teeth, Drake refused all invitations to enter the red bottle.
'Come inside and get some proper rest,' said Miphon. 'You're our one true sailor. In an emergency, we'll want you fresh and rested.'
'I'll manage,' said Drake, who was steering at the time, one arm resting negligently on the tiller.
'It's very comfortable inside,' said Miphon.
'I've seen inside once,' said Drake. 'That once is enough.'
'What did you see?' asked Miphon.
While he thought about it, Drake gazed at the set of the sails, then looked to east. The coast of Argan was dangerously close. To east lay Lorp - which, since the tales Jon Arabin had told of the place, was Drake's least-favoured holiday destination.
'Did you get a chance to see anything?' said Miphon.
'Oh yes,' said Drake. 'Someone's backside, an elbow and the arse of a horse. Man, it was cramped! No wonder, with so many people in such a small bottle.'
The boat lurched. And Drake thought:
Seaserpentl
But it had just been a swell a little larger than the others.
'We were but in the neck of the bottle,' said Miphon. 'Stairs lead down from the neck to places where the bottle widens within to dimensions amazing. Come - why hesitate? This is one of the wonders of the world.'
'A bloody dangerous wonder, I'll warrant,' said Drake. 'Man, I know a bit about these magic bottles. It's a ring which commands them, isn't it? And we've but one ring between us. So those in the bottle are at the mercy of the ringbearer.'
'You're short on trust,' said Miphon.
Drake ducked as something came screaming out of the sky. It was a blue-feathered mocking gull.
'Scouse!' said Drake, naming one of the soldiers. 'Shoot that gull!'
Scouse loaded his crossbow. As the mocking gull came in for a second run, Scouse fired. Hit, the gull tumbled to the slick green seas. It floated, lifeless.
'The gull meant no harm,' said Miphon, quietly.
'Maybe not,' said Drake. 'But it irritated the hell out of me.'
He watched the gull. One moment it was there - and the next, gone, swallowed by lunging turbulence. Drake glimpsed a fin. Sleek slice of evil.
'There's a shark in the water,' he said.
'Don't worry,' said Miphon. 'I'm planning no swims today. We were talking of the bottle. And about the ring-bearer. You don't seem to be very trusting.'
'Man,' said Drake, 'it's not a matter of trust, but of practicality. What if the ring-bearer should fall overboard? What help then for those trapped in the bottle? Why, none.'
'Life is risk,' said Miphon.
'So it is,' said Drake, 'yet I'll not increase risk without, reason. I'll chance this bottle only if I can wear your magic on my own finger.'
But Miphon and Blackwood, who shared the ring between them, were too wise to subject Drake to such temptation. So, unable to get his hands on the ring (though, naturally enough, he made schemes to do so) he stayed outside, on the boat.
And, soon enough, brought them safe to harbour at Brennan. Before anyone went to shore, Drake had all gathered together on the boat, where he addressed them:
'Boys, girls and turtle-folk,' said Drake, 'it's best for you to be warned about these here Lessers. The people are nice enough, but they're like anyone - given too much temptation they'll grab at it.
'So let's be humble, like. We've a cargo of Lorp-liquor aboard, hence our story. We were smuggling to Estar when we were caught, aye. So the evil wizard Miphon put a hex on us, and if we step back on Argan within the year, we'll all turn to toads and scorpions. Everyone understand?'
'Who am I then?' said Miphon. 'Since the evil wizard Miphon is still back in Estar?'
'You?' said Drake, scratching his head. 'Man, you can be Plovey of the Regency of Selzirk, reduced to liquor-smuggling because the Swarms are eating the Harvest Plains. As for you soldier-folk, why, you're all deserters for the duration. Understand? Now, Lord Blackwood, you—'
'No,' said Blackwood. 'I don't like this idea of living a lie.'
'Man,' said Drake, 'you've got a near-lethal case of morality, then. Well, you say nothing, and we'll tell all the lies on your account. You can be a deaf-mute, aye, that'll keep you out of mischief.'
'And me?' said Zanya.
'You will be Zanya, my lawful wedded wife,' said Drake. 'And I will be Lord Dreldragon, son of Baron Farouk of Hexagon.'
'That's a flimsy story on which to be risking our lives,' said Miphon.
'Man,' said Drake, 'wait till we get ashore. Then you'll find out how flimsy it is.'
Sure enough, plenty of islanders remembered Drake from his last visit. They apologized for kidnapping the bold Baron Farouk; they asked after the fate of Hexagon, and commiserated with Drake when he explained it had been taken over by runaway gladiators from Chi'ash-lan;
they admired the beauty of his wife.
Zanya's beauty was marred, now, by half a dozen frank blue spots on her face. But the islanders knew nothing of blue lepers, so thought these spots - if they thought of them at all - to be no more than boils.
Things had changed in Brennan since Drake was there last, for the Lesser Teeth had endured an occupation by pirates in the interim. Haunted metal no longer worked in the harbourside forge, for it had been destroyed in battle. Gezeldux, who had once fed Drake a magical liquor which had let him walk on air, still lived in Brennan, but had sold his bar to a man named Brimi Hagi.
All gathered at Hagi's bar that evening, to hear Drake tell wild and wonderful stories of his conquest of the Gates of Chenameg. Then Gezeldux reminisced about Drake's last visit, when he had shown off by drinking immense quantities of all kinds of spirit. Drake, rising to the occasion, repeated some of his earlier feats effortlessly.
Miphon, alarmed at Drake's liquor consumption, warned him he would do himself an injury.
'Nay, man,' said Drake. 'I'm old enough to know my limits.'
Later, Miphon cautioned him again.
'You've drunk more than I'd have thought possible,' said Miphon. 'Enough is enough! Leave off, before you kill yourself!'
'You haven't seen anything yet,' said Drake.
He challenged the bar. Whatever poison they could produce, he'd prove it useless against the Favoured Blood of Hexagon. The only poison to be had was a little vial of something which purported to be cytisine, a poison got from laburnum. Drake mixed it with ale then quaffed it, grinning - raising a small cheer in his favour.
'How can you get away with drinking poison?' said Miphon.
'Because I'm of royal birth, man,' said Drake. 'All us noble folk of the Favoured blood, we don't fall sick like the commons, nay, not from fever or from poison.'
Miphon, seeing he would get no sense from Drake that night, did not press him further. After all, for all Miphon knew, the 'poison' might have been vanilla essence, or vinegar, or cod-liver oil, or sugarwater.
But the next morning, Drake ate an enormous breakfast of eggs, devilled kidneys and greasy Ravlish bacon. While eating, he laughed, joked, talked with his mouth full, and was, all in all, as cocky as ever.Then Miphon knew something unusual was going on. For, whatever the nature of the 'poison' Drake had taken the night before, the liquor had been real enough, and Drake had put away enough of it to sicken the most hardened drinker for days.