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.