by Hugh Cook
It was Sully Datelier Yot, his face crowded with as many warts as ever. On his head was a golden circlet of the type usually worn by princes in children's fairytales told on Stokos. This status symbol indicated pretensions to grandeur, but Drake doubted that Yot could have found real power under a regime run by sensible men like Morgan Hearst.
'What do you want?' said Mystrel to Yot. 'To enter and search, in the name of the kings!'
'Get away with you,' said Mystrel, scornfully. 'Is Lord Blackwood here?'
'No,' said Mystrel. 'I'd have words for him if he was. It's about time he got rid of you, you posing priestling.'
At that, Yot used his strength on the woman. He shoved her so she staggered backwards. Yot strode toward the door - and Drake came forward to meet him.
'Drake!'cried Yot.
'The same,' said Drake. 'With sword at side, as ever. What would you be wanting?'
'Some men in the town said blue lepers came this way. So they sent me to investigate.'
'Why you?' said Drake.
'Because he's a regular troublemaker,' said Mystrel.
'Because I've built trust in the town, for I have the ear of Lord Blackwood,' said Yot. 'For good reason, too, for I've a sharp mind, which is what the times are needing. Drake - bring out the woman.'
'What woman?' said Drake.
'Your Ebrell bitch. We're looking for a woman red in skin and red in hair. That makes her of Ebrell. Your Zanya answers the case.'
'Man,' said Drake, wishing he had killed Yot years ago, 'Zanya I've not seen since she was sold into slavery in Selzirk. That was seven seasons ago, man.'
Yot grinned.
'Away ran a woman red in hair and skin. With her ran a blond boy with a sword at his side.'
'Who do you call boy?' said Drake, drawing blade and advancing.
Yot danced away down the hill. Drake strode after him, hot for the kill. And saw, coming uphill, a dozen soldiers on horseback. They were very close.
'Prothero!' shouted Yot. 'There's the one we're looking for! Seize him!'
Drake, for all his fitness, could not outrun men on horseback. Nor did he try.
61
Sully Datelier Yot: was High Priest of the Flame on Stokos. When Swarms attacked Stokos, lost his nerve and fled the island with a band of supporters. Has been in Estar for three seasons; has small temple within the environs of Lorford, which has a total of seventy hard-core adherents of the Flame.
The soldiers, all from Lord Blackwood's personal bodyguard, were mounted on a motley bunch of horses. Armed and armoured in a bizarre range of fashions, they looked more like a band of brigands than a military unit. They arrested Drake on the spot.
'Search inside!' said Yot.
The soldiers demurred.
Yot screamed in anger. He threatened them with the wrath of Lord Blackwood. With beatings, gougings, torture, starvation and crucifixion. Reluctantly, the soldiers searched the House of Health until they found Zanya.
'Kill them both,' said Yot. 'Here! Now!' But the soldiers baulked at this. So Yot said: 'Then take them to my temple.'
'You do no such thing!' said Mystrel stoutly. 'If his temple gets hands on these innocents, they'll be dead in a blink. He talks about Lord Blackwood's wrath. Well I tell you this! Lord Blackwood will have no murder done in Lorford.'
'That's right!' cried Drake. 'Why, I knew him years ago when I was Estar's resident dragon-fighter. Man, he was
right hot on due process! That means courts, trials, procedures of law, high-paid flatulence by a dozen lawyers on each side, witnesses, evidences and such. Aye, and writs of all descriptions, each casting fifty times their own weight in gold.'
'Shut up, you!' said Yot.
He grabbed a sword, determined to kill Drake on the spot. But soldiers confiscated the sword before Yot could strike.
'You know your danger now,' said Mystrel, lying like a trooper. 'Our young friends worked for my husband for years in days gone by. They were personal friends. Lord Blackwood will kill you if you touch so much as a hair of their heads.'
'She lies!' said Yot, too hoarse to scream any more.
'Boys,' said one of the soldiers, 'however you look at it, we're in a mess. Let's do nothing hasty.'
The soldiers considered their options, then did the sensible thing, and delivered both Drake and Zanya to the safety of the western gatehouse, there to be held until Higher Authority could decide their fate.
'Why, prisoners,' said the gaoler in delight, when Drake and Zanya were brought to the western gatehouse.
'Is that so rare?' said Drake.
'Yes, for my masters believe in death, exile, floggings, fines or apologies, depending on the offence. Not caging people.'
'So under what authority are we held here now?' said Drake.
'Why, under Master Yot's authority,' said the gaoler.
'I suspect he's over-reached himself,' said Drake.
'Why, if he has, I'll gladly help you hang him,' said the gaoler, unlocking a prison cell. 'Meantimes, in you go!'
'First, I'd like a lawyer,' said Drake.
'Well, you're shit out of luck, young friend,' said the gaoler. 'For Lord Hearst hung every lawyer in Lorford on Midwinter's Day, by way of celebration. Come on, in you go! Don't look so jaw-fallen, it's pleasant enough within.'
Drake and Zanya went into the cell, which smelt of sandalwood. No mice, rats or roaches were in occupance: only shadows. The broad sleeping bench was draped with sheepskins which, on close examination, proved free from lice and fleas. All in all, it was, Drake had to admit, the cleanest, airiest, most comfortable prison cell he'd seen in his life. He still hated it.
Once they were locked in, Drake made Zanya comfortable and started Investigating his surroundings. A beam of light between two logs alerted him to the presence of a gap. Looking out, he saw a bit of a street.
People were gathering outside. Drake thought he saw a familiar face: the innkeeper he had so lately lodged with. The crowd was getting quite noisy. What were they saying? It was hard to tell, with so many voices shouting at once. He wished his field of vision was not so restricted.
'What do you see?' said Zanya.
'A gryphon mating with a manticore,' said Drake. 'Two dragons fighting over a piece of the sun. A bald dwarf circumcising a naked giant with a very sharp hatchet. A cloud giving birth to a kitten. A man in the street selling tiny stars tied to strings, aye, and flying frogs with yellow wings.'
'What's all the noise about then?' said Zanya. 'Why, the flying frogs are chasing the stars on strings, and the stars don't take kindly to being eaten.' 'Seriously,' said Zanya.
'Seriously, I think there's some kind of market going on,' said Drake, 'with a lot of screaming from people at auction, barkers shouting, haggling over prices, bickering over weights and measures, and three dozen truncheon men trying to keep order. Certainly nothing for us to worry about.'
In truth, Drake thought that things outside were building steadily toward a riot. Doubtless, the cause of the uproar was the presence of a blue leper in Lorford. He went to sit beside Zanya. Hid his face in her hair. Nuzzled at her neck.
'Darling treasure snake,' said Zanya, as he put his arms around her. 'They're getting rather noisy outside. What is going on? Really?'
The uproar without was unpleasantly reminiscent of the riot which had ended Drake's rule of Runcorn. Stones began to thump into the side of the western gatehouse.
'What is it?' said Zanya, now seriously alarmed.
'Nothing, my darling,' said Drake. 'Nothing.'
'It's us they want, isn't it?'
'Hush,' he said, holding her close. 'Hush . . .'
He did his best to soothe her to sleep. Finally, she closed her eyes and slept, or appeared to. But she sat up with a start when the door was opened to admit a slender, cleanshaven man older than Drake. He wore a broad-brimmed feathered hat, and had eyes of a startling green. He looked not a day older than when Drake had first seen him on Stokos.
'Arabin lol Arabin!' said the wizard Mip
hon.
'The same,' said Drake, with a bow, 'though I am known also as Drake Douay, as Dreldragon Drakedon Douay, as Lord Dreldragon and as Shen Shen Drax. And I have gone by other names still in my time. Indeed—'
'Enough history!' said Miphon. 'This . . . Zanya, is it not? I remember you well from Burntos.'
'As I remember you, sir,' said Zanya. 'How came you here?'
'Mystrel summoned me,' said the wizard Miphon. 'She sent a girl from her House of Health to ride forth to find me.'
'Have you come with a cure for this sickness?' said Drake.
'Mystrel knows as much of cures as I do,' said Miphon.
'But she is but a woman, and you a wizard!' said Drake. 'A great wizard, if half of legend is true! Surely you with your wizardly wisdom have a cure for this pox!'
'The legends are less than one tenth true,' said Miphon. 'As I've said already—'
'Man,' said Drake, with a threat in his voice. 'A wizard knows more than a woman, surely. What's the cure?'
'The blood of a dragon,' said Miphon, slowly. 'That, mixed with the blood of a man is certain cure for all ills - though the cure has a cruel price. But we have no dragons in Estar. And your lady would not last the journey inland.'
So! There was a cure! The blood of a dragon mixed with the blood of a man.
'Must the blood be fresh?' said Drake.
T believe,' said Miphon, 'both the dragon's blood and the human blood must be fresh.'
'And I believe we've precious little time for medical lectures,' said Zanya. 'The noise without grows by the moment.'
'It's market day,' said Miphon, hitting on the same lie that Drake had used. 'Think nothing of it.'
'It's a riot, isn't it?' said Zanya, sure of her facts even though the stone-throwing had stopped for the moment.
'Not. . . not yet.'
'But it will be,' said Zanya, 'won't it? They're stirring themselves up to kill us!' When Miphon made no reply, she said: 'Who is it? Who's out there?'
'Some few dozens who cry for leper-blood,' said Miphon reluctantly. 'Also, from Sully Yot's temple, about fifty lunatics who say we hold the son of the demon Hagon within.'
'While others join in for the fun of it,' said Zanya. 'Well - do you give us to the mob? Or do you let us escape from here?'
'She speaks sense,' said Drake. 'Man, you've two choices. Kill us, then throw the crowd their corpses. Or break us out of here, lest they storm this gatehouse. If they do that, they'll not stop there. They'll burn your town by nightfall.'
'It's easy to say,' said Miphon. 'But we lack the men to break you out past a mob like that.'
'What do you want?' said Drake. 'An army? Twenty soldiers, man. That's all it takes. Twenty good men on twenty good horses, aye, swords and spears. Man, that orderless rabble would run like rats.'
'We have not twenty men within,' said Miphon. 'Only half a dozen.'
'Then those men who arrested me—'
T sent them chasing after Lord Blackwood and Lord Hearst.'
'Man, that was foolish!' said Drake, shaking his head. 'Mobs grow by moments. Smash them to start with, aye, that's the story.'
At that moment, the gaoler intruded on their conversation. He was hot, panting, excited.
'Masters, Lord Blackwood's outside! He's in trouble!'
Miphon exited the cell, with Drake and Zanya close behind. Crowding to arrowslits, they saw Lord Hearst outside, along with a dark-haired, heavy-jowled man whom Drake recognized as Blackwood. Both were on horseback, as were the four soldiers helping force a way through the crowd. Suddenly, one of the soldiers was hauled from his horse. Blackwood raised something in his fist. He shouted. The mob fell back in a confusion close to panic.
'What's happened?' said Zanya.
'He's threatened them with the death-stone,' said Miphon.
'The door!' shouted Drake. 'To the door!'
All raced to the door of the western gatehouse, which they hauled open. Blackwood, Hearst and the surviving soldiers spurred their horses for the door. The mob surged after them - but the sight of cold steel made the mob hesitate just long enough for the door to be closed.
Hearst swung down from his horse.
'How many men here?' he said.
'Nine all told,' said the gaoler, 'counting me, and counting Master Yot's prisoner.'
'Yot!' said Hearst. 'I'll kill him when I get hold of him.' Then, to Blackwood: T told you he should have swung with those lawyers.'
'I gave him my support for I saw good things in his doctrine,' said Blackwood. 'The flesh, after all, must be disciplined to live within its limits.'
'Yes yes yes!' said Hearst. 'You meant well. You always mean well. Me, I'm content to govern! Is the death-stone safe?'
'Here,' said Blackwood, thumping a stone egg onto a convenient table.
'Good,' said Hearst.
'Man,' said Drake, 'is that it?'
'The weapon of recent legend,' confirmed Hearst.
'Well then,' said Drake, 'let's use it, for the mob without is close to murder.'
'We cannot do any such thing,' said Hearst. 'We'd turn the whole town to stone.'
'It's us or them, man!' cried Drake.
He snatched up the death-stone. It was cool. It was heavier than he had expected. There was a sizzle of steel as soldiers drew weapons against him. Drake menaced them with the death-stone. They fell back. Now what? He waved the death-stone about in the air.
'Work, you ganch!' screamed Drake. 'Kill people!'
Hearst laughed, harshly.
'Read the Words on the side of the stone,' said Hearst. 'Read them, now! Or drop the stone - or it will kill you.'
Drake saw strange writing on the side of the death-stone. The stone egg kicked in his hand like a living heart. He put it back on the table.
'I would have saved us if I could,' he said sadly, 'but I know not the letter Ac0was from any other.'
'You'd have saved none,' said Hearst, 'but would have killed many. When the death-stone works its magic, all die unless huddled close, within an arm-span of the stone itself. Let's use the bottle.'
'What bottle?'said Drake.
'That one,' said Hearst, pointing to a red bottle which was tied to Blackwood's belt. Blackwood pulled a ring off his finger and handed it to
Hearst. The soldiers, who had done this before, grabbed hold of Hearst. Who slipped the ring onto his finger then turned it. As Drake goggled, Hearst and the soldiers holding him were turned to smoke. And sucked into the bottle.
Drake had learnt bits and pieces about the lore of such magic bottles. He had heard tales from Andranovory in Selzirk. While ruling the Gates of Chenameg, he had heard more from other people. But stories were one thing - it was quite another to see such magic in action.
Moments later, Hearst materialized again.
'Hold me,' said Hearst. 'Yes, you, woman. And you.'
'No!' said Zanya.
'No!' said Drake. 'We'll not be devilled to smoke like those others.'
He was fearfully afraid of going inside that bottle. For the only way in or out of that bottle was through the magic of the ring which commanded it. If that ring was to be lost or destroyed - why, then anyone inside that bottle would be trapped there for life.
Miphon tried to explain.
'It's only—'
'Don't waste breath or time,' said Hearst. 'Help me get the horses inside.' Miphon and Hearst took the horses into the bottle. They rematerialized shortly. 'We're going to the roof,' said Hearst. 'Gaoler - come with us. As for you two - follow if you wish.'
Hearst led the way upstairs, with Drake and Zanya hot on his heels. All were panting heavily by the time they reached the top of the western gatehouse. Zanya was gasping like a fish out of water. Her face streamed with sweat.
From this height, they could see for league upon league. Sinuous line of river. Far to the west - perhaps thirty leagues away - a hint amidst haze of something which might have been the sea. From the eastern wall of the roof, a view directly down into the street whe
re the mob was using a battering ram against the door of the gatehouse.
Hearst strode to the western wall. Directly below was a dry ditch, with ragged wasteland beyond.
'Gaoler!' said Hearst. 'Come here!' The gaoler did so. 'We are going to use the ring,' said Hearst. 'We will venture inside the red bottle. Then you must throw that bottle so it lands in yonder wasteland.'
'My lord,' said the gaoler, bowing his head.
Swiftly, Blackwood unfastened the bottle from his belt. He handed it to Hearst who put it down on the roof. The gaoler went to pick it up.
'No!' said Hearst, fearing the bottle would be thrown too soon. 'Don't pick it up until we're inside!' He looked at Drake. 'Friend,' said Hearst, 'will you join us in the bottle? Or stay to meet your doom?'
'We'll come,' said Drake.
Zanya grabbed Drake who grabbed Miphon who grabbed Blackwood who grabbed Hearst who turned the ring on his finger. All five dissolved into smoke and were sucked into the bottle. The gaoler, left alone on the roof, picked up the red bottle and threw it. High it spun. Down, down, down it fell. And landed amidst thistles on the wasteland west of the gatehouse.
Down at street level, the door to the gatehouse shattered. With a deep-throated growl, the mob surged inside. They were unlikely to handle the gaoler kindly if they laid hands on him.
'Well,' said the gaoler, 'time to try the transformation pill, I guess.'
He took from his neck an amulet inherited from his great-great-grandfather who had bought it from a peddler who claimed to have purchased it from a judge who had confiscated it from a thief who had stolen it from a sorcerer's apprentice who had in turn thieved it from a master wizard.
The gaoler fumbled with a tiny catch. The amulet opened. Inside was a little white pill.
T hope this works,' said the gaoler.
And swallowed it down. His hands tingled. His feet Changed. Nine heartbeats later, he had turned into a hippogryph. Wings beating strongly, he took to the air.
According to family tradition, the transformation pill would work for a day and a night.
'Scrark grark!' said the gaoler. By which he meant. 'I wonder what the beer tastes like in D'Waith?'
He started flying north-west. He fully intended to find out.
