When Glambrax lit the green candle, the result was almost instantaneous. Smoke exploded from the candle in nauseous gouts, a stench worse than skunk and corpse mingled. And Lord Regan cried aloud in wrath and grabbed for the dwarf, but was met with a knife. Glambrax stabbed once, twice- Jaluba screamed- And again and again- And screamed And Lord Regan was falling, toppling, going down, the dwarf hacking, blood spurting and spraying Jaluba no longer screaming but retching, and Sarazin writhing on the floor, choked by nausea, the smoke having just about done for him, the stench unendurable- And the door flew open stormed into Smoke boiling, a breath was enough, the men were flailing, gagging, chucking up, wrecked or retreating And Glambrax drove steel home once more, once more, but that was thrice more than was necessary, for Lord Regan was dead for real.
The candle still alight, smoke leaping from the wick in a series of coughing explosions. Glambrax had it still in his left hand.
Glambrax stuck the bloody knife in his belt, grabbed Sarazin by the scruff of the neck and hauled him from the cabin. Shortly they were out on deck, the candle still coughing, smoke still exploding, Glambrax himself very green at the gills.
But still upright, for the dwarf was possessed of a toughness not given to men. After all, he was his mother's son – and his mother had been the truly formidable witch Zelafona.
'Put it out!' gasped Sarazin, clawing for the candle. 'Out, or I die!'
Glambrax thumped him, hard. And, as he fell to the deck, put in the boot. Some of the ship's soldiers and sailors were fleeing for the rigging, some trying to hide themselves below, and others launching the ship's boats. All this by the last glimmering light of sunset.
A few tried to attack the source of the smoke – but fell back reeling. 'Gods!' groaned Sarazin.
Then vomited helplessly, stomach knotting up in helpless agony. He upchucked again as Glambrax grabbed him by the collar and hauled him to the side of the ship. 'When I say jump,' said Glambrax, 'then jump.'
Sarazin was incapable of making a reply. Peering down at the night-darkening sea, he made out a boat below, its crew about to cast off. Further spasms seized him.
By the time he had recovered, Glambrax had scrambled down into the boat with the candle still coughing in his hand. The crew had fled, diving to the sea, careless of shark-risk or drowning. The boat was his. Could he but make it. 'Jump!' shouted Glambrax.
Sarazin mustered his strength and jumped. He hit the sea by the side of the boat with a tremendous splash. And, by the time he surfaced, Glambrax had extinguished the candle and was ready to haul him aboard.
There was little left of the candle – just a small stub scarcely the length of a thumbnail. It had got them out of one predicament, but they could not count on it for much in the future.
Sarazin was nearly incapacitated by the after-effects of the candle. If escape had relied upon his strength, then escape would have been impossible. But Glambrax rowed them free of the Green Swan, rowed out into the deepening night, then raised their boat's minuscule sail.
They could have been captured, had the crew been fit to work the ship. But most of the Green Swan's crew were in a state almost as bad as Sarazin's. A few could have manned a small boat and pursued the escaping prisoner and his dwarf – but they lacked anything to inspire them to such a feat.
Thus Sarazin and Glambrax made good their escape, and, in due course, landed on the shores of the Willow Vale.