Heenmor snapped his head around at the noise, saw Durnwold falling, and threw himself to one side. Durnwold crashed to the ground. The copper-strike snake lunged at him. One beat of the heart, two, three, five – and the poison had done its work.
Heenmor wheeled, raised his staff, and shouted a Word. Hearst threw himself flat. A blast of heat roared through the trees. He smelt the stench of burning leather as it singed the heels of his boots. The trees around him crackled into flame.
As Heenmor shouted, again, again, blasting the ground to right and to left, Hearst lept to his feet. Flames were roaring up around him from the burning trees. He forced his way back the way he had come, chopping away burning boughs which tried to hold him.
At last, Hearst reached bare rock, and collapsed to the ground, coughing, gasping. His eyes were streaming with smoke-tears. His knuckles, cheeks and neck stung from minor burns; his leathers were scarred by fire in a dozen places. Alish? Where was Alish? Hearst almost called out: but that would warn Heenmor.
Slowly Hearst began to advance on Heenmor's position, skirting round the burning thicket, crouching low to make himself hard to see.
Meanwhile, Elkor Alish, who had sheltered behind a rock when Heenmor scoured the surrounds with flame, now stepped out to challenge the wizard. As Alish strode forward, Heenmor raised his staff and shouted a Word.
Nothing happened.
Heenmor's power was exhausted.
The copper-strike snake slithered forward, dominating the space between Heenmor and Elkor Alish. It moved this way and that, swaying, bead-black eyes unblinking. Now was Alish's chance to kill Heenmor. If he stepped forward, the snake would bite him. Then he would die. But, before dying, he would still have time to shorten Heenmor by a head.
Heenmor took something from his khaki robes.
'With this, I can conquer the world,' said Heenmor.
Then he smiled, raising the death-stone above his head. He spoke a Word.
Elkor Alish turned and ran, crashing through the burning vegetation, bounding from stone to stone, gasping air and acrid smoke.
'Alish!'
That was Hearst.
'Run!' screamed Alish. 'The death-stone!'
They ran, and it was downhill all the way as they lept from stone to stone, taking desperate chances in their efforts to get away.
From behind came a harsh, aggressive grinding sound. Underfoot the rocks trembled, shifted. The two men slipped, fell, picked themselves up and ran on. Bursting into the camp site, they found men already on their feet, startled, alarmed.
'To the rafts!' shouted Hearst. 'Rafts, or you're dead! The death-stone!'
The grinding noise was getting louder. The sky above was turning grey. Men dashed for the rafts, many screaming in hysteria. Once afloat, some tried to go downstream, where the Melski were now diving into the water. Others shouted that they must try to oar upstream against the current. Blackwood, riverwise in the Melski way, and also cool enough to see the obvious – that they could never row upstream fast enough -roared out the first orders of his life: 'Downstream! Downstream! All speed away!'
Men took up the shout: 'Downstream! Downstream!'
The rocks of Ep Pass were beginning to move. One broke free from the earth and charged for the rafts, roaring huge unintelligible words. Five men were crushed in its path, pulped like newborn chickens hit with a hammer.
Phyphor, running for dear life, collided with Garash, who shoved him toward the charging rock. It struck him a glancing blow then crashed into the rafts still left on the beach. Splintered logs flew through the air. Then the rock fell into the river and was silenced by the water.
Phyphor's left leg had been snapped: the big bone in the thigh showed white through the flesh. Miphon dragged him onto a raft. He screamed all the while, for with his injury the slightest movement is agony.
'Durnwold!' yelled Valarkin. 'Durnwold, where's Durnwold?'
He grabbed hold of Hearst.
'Where is he, where is he, where's my brother?'
Hearst knocked Valarkin senseless with a single short jab to the chin, threw him onto one of the rafts, jumped on himself and pushed off. The current caught his raft, spun it round, then bore it away downstream. There were twenty rafts now on the water.
Behind, men struggled to get the remaining rafts into the water. One became river-borne, and then: the light went dim, and in that dim grey light Hearst saw the men freeze in their positions. Then the raft sank: turned to stone.
The wave of grey death swept forward, but the current of the river ran faster, and carried the survivors away from the lethal magic of the death-stone. Behind them, a skin of stone formed on the river's surface then broke under its own weight and sank; the river ran on.
Downstream they went, the rafts scattered far apart until Blackwood, on one of the leading rafts, ordered sweep-oars to be used to slow the drift and allow the others to catch up. Hearst and Alish found each other, and considered the situation.
'We'll have to stop as soon as we can,' said Alish, 'Then try to land and climb the cliffs.' it'll be a murderous climb,' said Hearst. 'You might be able to make it, but nobody else could.'
'We have the green bottle,' said Alish. 'Get Valarkin.'
'What do you have in mind?'
'Valarkin can use the ring he commands to take people into the bottle. When everyone's in, Valarkin can join them and I'll make the climb with the bottle at my belt.'
'What if you fall?'
'What choice do you have?' iil get Valarkin.'
Hearst went and found Valarkin, who had now regained consciousness. He watched sullenly as Hearst approached.
'Durnwold?'
'Dead.' it's your fault.'
'We can talk about fault later. Right now, we need you.'
'Why should I help you?'
'Because your life is in the balance along with the lives of everyone else. Do you know where this river ends? The Fleuve River buries itself underground, and nobody knows if it ever comes up again. If you want to stay alive, hear me out.'
Valarkin heard what Hearst had to say, then he snarled, spat, and reached for the ring on his finger. Hearst was too slow to stop him turning the ring. Valarkin was gone; sucked into the green bottle Blackwood was carrying, gone to join Prince Comedo.
Hearst should have killed him straight away, yes, but Durnwold had been Hearst's friend, and Valarkin was Durnwold's brother. Another time… by the singing knives, he hoped they lived to see another time.
Everyone by now realised there was no going back. The rafts buffeted down the river between high cliffs. Facing up to the prospect of an underground journey into the unknown, Hearst and Alish lept from raft to raft, and ordered the men to tie down packs and sweep-oars. Patches of turbulence which sent waves sweeping across the rafts gave point to those orders.
Just after they shot some white-water rapids, a shout went up from the leading raft. Looking ahead, they saw they were being swept toward the mouth of a huge cave.
Hearst, still hoping for a way out, scanned the approaching rock face – but cliffs which had previously been sheer had now developed a pronounced overhang. There was no escape.
The rafts shot into the cave, into the darkness, and they were lost from the sight of the sun.
CHAPTER THIRTY
