The time was now twilight. The crew gathered by the side-tunnel where the diggers were now striking up at the soft top-soil.
Aillas wheeled a barrow of dirt to the end chamber. "There will be no more dirt for a time," he told the winch-tender, in a voice loud enough for the guards to hear. "We have hit a lode of rock." The guards looked over their shoulders, then returned to their dice. The winch-tender followed Aillas back into the tunnel.
The escape tunnel was open. The Skalings climbed out into late twilight, including the winch-tender who knew nothing of the plot but was happy to escape. All lay flat in the sedge and saw-grass. Aillas and Yane, the last men to depart the tunnel, pulled the supporting posts back in place, leaving no clue as to their function. Once on the surface they wedged the escape hole right with bracken, pounded dirt into the choked hole and transplanted grass. "Let them think magic," said Aillas. "All the better if they do!"
The erstwhile Skalings ran crouching across the Plain of Shadows, through the gathering dark, eastward and ever deeper into the kingdom of Dahaut. Poelitetz, the great Ska fortress, loomed black on the sky behind them. The group paused to look back. "Ska," said Aillas, "you strange dark-souled folk from the past! Next time we meet I will carry a sword. You owe me dear for the pain you put on me and the labor you took from me!"
An hour of running, trotting, and walking brought the band to the Gloden River, whose headwaters included the Tamsour. The moon, almost full, rose above the river, laying a trail of moonlight on the water. Beside the moon-silvered veils of an enormous weeping willow, the band paused to rest and discuss their situation. Aillas told them: "We are fifteen: a strong band. Some of you want to go home; others may have no homes to go to. I can offer prospects if you will join me in what I must do. I have a quest. First it takes me south to Tac Tor, then I can't say where: perhaps Dahaut, to find my son. Then we will go to Troicinet, where I control both wealth, honor and estate. Those of you who follow me as my comrades, to join my quest and, so I hope, to return with me to Troicinet, will profit well; I swear it! I will grant them good lands, and they shall bear the title Knight-Companion. Be warned! The way is dangerous! First to Tac Tor beside Tintzin Fyral, then who knows where? So choose. Go your own way or come with me, for here is where we part company. I will cross the river and travel south with my companions. The rest would do well to travel east across the plain and into the settled parts of Dahaut. Who will come with me?"
"I am with you," said Cargus. "I have nowhere else to go."
"And I," said Yane.
"We joined ourselves during dark days," said one called Quails. "Why separate now? Especially since I crave land and knighthood."
In the end five others went with Aillas. They crossed the Gloden by a bridge and followed a road which struck off to the south. The others, mostly Daut, chose to go their own ways and continued east beside the Gloden.
The seven who had joined Aillas were first Yane and Cargus, then Garstang, Quails, Bode, Scharis and Faurfisk: a disparate group. Yane and Cargus were short; Quails and Bode were tall. Garstang, who spoke little of himself, displayed the manners of a gentleman, while Faurfisk, massive, fair and blue-eyed, declared himself the bastard of a Gothic pirate upon a Celtic fisherwoman. Scharis, who was not so old as Aillas, was distinguished by a handsome face and a pleasant disposition. Faurfisk, on the other hand, was as ugly as pox, burns and scars could make him. He had been racked by a petty baron of South Ulfland; his hair had whitened and rage was never far from his face. Quails, a runaway Irish monk, was irresponsibly jovial and declared himself as good a wencher as any bully-bishop of Ireland.
Though the band now stood well inside Dahaut, the proximity of Poelitetz cast an oppression across the night, and the entire company set off together down the road.
As they walked Garstang spoke to Aillas. "It is necessary that we have an understanding. I am a knight of Lyonesse, from Twanbow Hall, in the Duchy of Ellesmere. Since you are Troice, we are nominally at war. That of course is nonsense, and I earnestly cast my lot with yours, until we enter Lyonesse, when we must go our separate ways."
"So it shall be. But see us now: in slave clothes and iron collars, slinking through the night like scavenger dogs. Two gentlemen indeed! And lacking money, we must steal to eat, like any other band of vagabonds."
"Other hungry gentlemen have made similar compromises. We shall steal side by side, so that neither may scorn the other. And I suggest, that if at all possible we steal from the rich, though the poor are somewhat easier prey."
"Circumstances must guide us.. .Dogs are barking. There is a village ahead, and almost certainly a smithy."
"At this hour of the night he will be soundly asleep."
"A kindhearted smith might rouse himself to help a desperate group such as ours."
"Or we might rouse him ourselves."
Ahead the houses of a village showed gray in the moonlight. The streets were empty; no light showed save from the tavern, from which came the sounds of boisterous revelry.
"Tomorrow must be a holiday," said Garstang. "Notice in the square, where the cauldron is ready to boil an ox."
"A prodigious cauldron indeed, but where is the smithy?"
"It must be yonder, along the road, if it exists."
The group passed through town and near the outskirts discovered the smithy, at the front of a stone dwelling, in which showed a light.
Aillas went to the door and rapped politely. After a long pause, the door was slowly opened by a youth of seventeen or eighteen. He seemed depressed, even haggard, and when he spoke his voice cracked with strain. "Sir, who are you? What do you want here?"
"Friend, we need the help of a smith. This very day we escaped the Ska and we cannot abide these detestable collars another instant."
The young man stood irresolutely. "My father is smith to Vervold, this village. I am Elric, his son. But since he will never again work his trade, I am now smith. Come along to the shop." He brought a lamp and led the way to the smithy.
"I fear that your work must be an act of charity," said Aillas. "We can pay only the iron of the collars, since we have nothing else."
"No matter." The young smith's voice was listless. One by one the eight fugitives knelt beside the anvil. The smith plied hammer and chisel to cut the rivets; one by one the men arose to their feet free of the collars.
Aillas asked: "What happened to your father? Did he die?"
"Not yet. Tomorrow morning is his time. He will be boiled in a cauldron and fed to the dogs."
"That is bad news. What was his crime?"
"He committed an outrage." Elric's voice was somber. "When Lord Halies stepped from his carriage, my father struck him in the face, and kicked his body and caused Lord Halies pain."
"Insolence, at the very least. What provoked him so?"
"The work of nature. My sister is fifteen years old. She is very beautiful. It was natural that Lord Halies should want to bring her to Fair Aprillion to warm his bed, and who would deny him had she assented to his proposal? But she would not go, and Lord Halies sent his servants to bring her. My father, though a smith, is impractical and thought to set things right by beating and kicking Lord Halies. He now, for his mistake, must boil in a cauldron."
"Lord Halies—is he rich?"
"He lives at Fair Aprillion, in a mansion of sixty chambers. He keeps a stable of fine horses. He eats larks, oysters, and meats roasted with cloves and saffron, with white bread and honey. He drinks of both white and red wines. There are rugs on his floors and silks on his back. He dresses twenty cutthroats in gaudy uniforms and calls them ‘paladins.' They enforce all his edicts and many of their own."