Книга - The Shining Ones

The Shining Ones
David Eddings


Continuing the epic tale begun in Book One of The Tamuli, Domes of Fire…Sparhawk and Queen Ehlana must do everything they can to educate Tamuli Emperor Sarabian in the art of leadership if they are to have any chance of standing against the evil forces that threaten their kingdoms.Sarabian’s enemies are regrouping and once again plan to attempt to take the empire for themselves.But more disturbing than the political machinations of court, there have been reported sightings of Shining Ones among the hordes of monsters roaming the land. If Sparhawk and his allies are to have any hope of defeating this growing threat they must resurrect the sacred jewel of the Troll-Gods, otherwise the fate of not just their kingdoms, but the entire world, will be at stake . . .







DAVID

EDDINGS

THE SHINING ONES

The Tamuli Book Two












Copyright (#ulink_2829d5ec-14c4-55f4-86c1-7892c58e5a93)


This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblence to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

HarperVoyager

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harpercollins.co.uk (http://harpercollins.co.uk/)

First published in Great Britain by Grafton 1993

Copyright © David Eddings 1993

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015 Cover image texture © Shutterstock.com (http://www.shutterstock.com/)

David Eddings asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins ebooks

HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication

Source ISBN: 9780007217076

Ebook Edition © MAY 2010 ISBN: 9780007368068

Version: 2017-06-09




Map (#ulink_5a75eae5-3232-50ad-af1d-d975c2b90a39)










Dedication (#ulink_a8593cd4-cfb6-55e5-9b78-b44ae3959c0c)


FOR POP,

The empty place in our hearts will be

filled by the beautiful memories we all have.

You played a good round of golf and

a helluva game of pool.

We’ll miss you.




Contents


Cover (#u19c3e7de-6fe2-52c7-b946-33c1cd0429b6)

Title Page (#ud582ffb2-7e03-52aa-a06d-3fc3e6942dc8)

Copyright (#ulink_cde5629d-2a4b-5125-815d-2ea2b10d8c4f)

Map (#ulink_900a9669-cbbc-5406-b0b9-914b0e6bdf08)

Dedication (#ulink_ef80188e-f9b4-5ffe-87bc-b3489550b2a5)

Prologue (#ulink_5752e3ea-cc85-5d5e-acc2-9227358cf6b1)

Part One: Cynesga (#ulink_cc574e75-adf7-5010-b4d0-2ec15fef68ee)

Chapter 1 (#ulink_86fa0606-5e18-52c0-a361-b7bdbabf9391)

Chapter 2 (#ulink_7cb1249d-3294-56ba-b439-604a771f1007)

Chapter 3 (#ulink_477712ec-2fb5-57c5-b0bb-863e252af04c)

Chapter 4 (#ulink_9b7deaad-a0fd-5805-9783-304490832ecb)

Chapter 5 (#ulink_c96e3a3a-ff93-581d-b1f0-0a9764c4951f)

Chapter 6 (#ulink_59945ee5-7876-55f5-b2dc-eab13762fa27)

Chapter 7 (#ulink_d472765e-7003-532f-9c3d-64f155b3648e)

Chapter 8 (#ulink_b0b35023-e234-5cb7-9eab-e085e61ff7c0)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Part Two: Delphaeus (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)

Part Three: Xanetia (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 30 (#litres_trial_promo)

Keep Reading (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Also by the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




Prologue (#ulink_8330050d-b1e2-5271-8052-0f1bd8187e47)


Excerpted from Chapter Three of the ‘The Cyrga

Affair: An Examination of the Recent Crisis’.

Compiled by the Contemporary History Department of the University of Matherion.

A compilation such as this is the work of many scholars, and thus inevitably reflects differing views. While the author of this portion of the work in hand has enormous respect for his eminent colleague who so ably composed the preceding chapter, the reader must be candidly advised that this writer differs from his colleague in the interpretation of a number of recent events. I most definitely do not agree that the intervention by the agents of the Church of Chyrellos in the Cyrga Affair was entirely untainted by self-interest.

I must join with my colleague, however, in expressing my admiration and respect for Zalasta of Styricum. The inestimable services to the Empire of this wise and faithful statesman cannot be overly praised. Thus it was that when the full import of the Cyrga Affair burst upon his Majesty’s government, it was quite natural for our ministers to turn to Zalasta for counsel. Despite our admiration for this pre-eminent citizen of Styricum, however, we must admit that Zalasta’s mind is so noble that he sometimes fails to perceive less admirable qualities in others. There were grave doubts in some quarters of his Majesty’s government when Zalasta urged that we turn our attention beyond the borders of Tamuli in our quest for a solution to the problem which was quite rapidly approaching the dimensions of a crisis. His suggestion that the Pandion Knight, Sir Sparhawk, was best suited to deal with the situation troubled the more conservative members of the Imperial Council. Despite the man’s military genius, he is nonetheless a member of one of the Militant Orders of the Church of Chyrellos, and prudent men do not lower their guard when compelled by necessity to have dealings with that particular institution.

Sir Sparhawk had come to Zalasta’s attention during the Second Zemoch War between the Knights of the Church of Chyrellos and the minions of Otha of Zemoch. Not even Zalasta, whose wisdom is legendary, can tell us precisely what took place in the City of Zemoch during Sir Sparhawk’s fateful confrontation with Otha and with the Zemoch God, Azash. There have been some garbled hints that Sir Sparhawk may have utilized an ancient talisman known as ‘the Bhelliom’ in the struggle, but no reputable scholar has been able to uncover any details about the talisman or its attributes. However he managed to perform the astounding feat, it is undeniably true that Sir Sparhawk was successful in his mission, and it was clearly that remarkable success which stampeded his Imperial Majesty’s government into turning to this Pandion Knight for aid in the early stages of the Cyrga Affair – despite the grave reservations of some highly respected ministers, who quite correctly pointed out that an alliance between the Empire and the Church of Chyrellos might well be fraught with unseen dangers. Unfortunately perhaps, the faction headed by Foreign Minister Oscagne currently has the Emperor’s ear, and our Prime Minister, Pondia Subat, was unable to prevent the government from embarking on a potentially dangerous course of action.

Foreign Minister Oscagne himself headed the mission to the seat of the Elene Church at Chyrellos to petition Archprelate Dolmant for Sir Sparhawk’s aid in dealing with the crisis. While no one can question Oscagne’s skill in diplomacy, his political views have been called into question in some quarters, and it is widely known that he and the Prime Minister have disagreed violently in the past.

The politics of the Eosian Continent are murky, for there is no central authority there. Quite frequently, the Church of Chyrellos finds itself at odds with the reigning monarchs of the separate Elene kingdoms. As a Church Knight, Sir Sparhawk would normally be under the command of Archprelate Dolmant, but that simple and direct line of command was clouded by the fact that Sparhawk is also the Prince Consort of the Queen of Elenia and therefore subject to her whims. It was here that Foreign Minister Oscagne was able to demonstrate his virtuosity in the field of diplomacy. Archprelate Dolmant clearly saw the contiguity of interest with the Empire in the matter, but Queen Ehlana remained unconvinced. The Queen of Elenia is young, and her emotions sometimes cloud her judgement. She clearly viewed the notion of a prolonged separation from her husband with a profound lack of enthusiasm. In a brilliant stroke, however, Foreign Minister Oscagne proposed that Sir Sparhawk’s journey to the Daresian Continent might best be masked by a state visit of Queen Ehlana to the imperial court in Matherion. As Prince Consort, Sir Sparhawk would quite naturally accompany his wife, and his presence would thus be fully explained. This proposal sufficiently mollified Sparhawk’s queen, and she finally agreed.

Traveling with a suitable escort of one hundred Church Knights and various functionaries, Queen Ehlana took ship and sailed to the port of Salesha in eastern Zemoch. From there the royal party traveled north to Basne where an additional escort of horsemen from eastern Pelosia awaited them. Thus reinforced, the Elenes crossed the border into Astel in western Daresia.

The accounts we have received of the queen’s journey have shown some glaring inconsistencies. Objections have been raised that, should we accept the word of these Elenes, we would clearly be faced with an absurdity. After some consideration, however, this writer has become convinced that these apparent discrepancies can be easily reconciled if those who so violently object will but take the trouble to examine the differences between the Elene and the Tamul calendars. The Queen of Elenia did not, in fact, pretend to have flown across the continent, as some have scornfully suggested. Her progress was quite normal, and it will be recognized as such if the learned gentlemen will but take note of the fact that the Elene week is longer than ours!

At any rate, the queen’s party reached the capital of Astel at Darsas, where Queen Ehlana so charmed King Alberen that Ambassador Fontan humorously reported that the poor man was on the verge of giving her his crown. Prince Sparhawk, meanwhile, began to actively pursue the real purpose behind his journey to Tamuli, the gathering of information about what the Elenes had melodramatically come to call ‘the conspiracy’.

The queen’s party was joined at Darsas by two legions of Atan warriors under the leadership of Engessa, the commander of the garrison at Cenae, and they journeyed to Pela on the steppes of central Astel to meet with the nomadic Peloi. From thence they set out for the Styric city of Sarsos in northeastern Astel.

A disturbing note emerges from the accounts of this journey, however. The Foreign Minister, either duped or willingly conspiring with the Elenes, reported that, somewhat to the west of Sarsos, the royal party encountered Cyrgai! This clear evidence of an intent to deceive his Majesty’s government has raised grave questions, not only about Oscagne’s loyalty, but about the sincerity of the Elenes as well. As Prime Minister Subat pointed out, Foreign Minister Oscagne is, though brilliant, sometimes erratic, a common characteristic of the overly gifted. Moreover, the Prime Minister added, Prince Sparhawk and his companions are Church Knights, after all, and the Church of Chyrellos is widely known to be a political as well as a spiritual force on the Eosian Continent. Dark suspicions began to arise in the halls of his Majesty’s government, and many have expressed grave doubts about the wisdom of our course. Some have even gone so far as to raise the possibility that the disruptions here in Tamuli might be of Elene origin, providing as they did a perfect excuse for an incursion onto the continent by the Church Knights, the acknowledged agents of Archprelate Dolmant. Could it be, they ask, that this entire affair has been contrived by Dolmant to provide his Church with the opportunity to forcibly convert all of Tamuli to the worship of the Elene God and thus to deliver political control of the Empire into his own hands? It should be noted here that Prime Minister Subat has personally advised this writer that he is seriously concerned about this possibility.

At Sarsos, Queen Ehlana’s party was joined by Sephrenia, who was formerly the tutor of the Pandions in the Secrets of Styricum, but who is now a member of the Thousand, the ruling council in that city. They were also joined there by Zalasta himself, a fact which has quieted some of our anxieties in regard to the motives of the Elenes. It was obviously through Zalasta’s efforts that the Thousand were persuaded to pledge their aid, despite the long-standing and, many feel, fully justified suspicions all Styrics have of Elene motives.

The Elenes then moved on to Atan, where Queen Ehlana once again charmed the king and queen. It is clearly evident that the personality of this winsome girl is a force to be reckoned with.

Although Foreign Minister Oscagne’s report of the encounter with the supposed Cyrgai is open to serious question, there can be no doubt about the veracity of the report of what happened after our visitors left Atana. That report came from Zalasta himself, and no sane man in the government could ever question the veracity of the first citizen of Styricum. It was in the mountains lying to the west of the border of Tamul proper that the party was set upon again, and Zalasta has confirmed the fact that the attackers were non-human.

There have been sightings of fearsome monsters in the Atan mountains in the past year, although many skeptics have dismissed these reports as being yet more of the illusory manifestations of the power of those bent on bringing down his Imperial Majesty’s government. These clever illusions of Ogres, vampires, werewolves and Shining Ones have been terrorizing the simple folk of Tamuli for several years, and the mountain monsters had been assumed to be no more than another of these illusions. Zalasta assures us, however, that these huge, shaggy beasts are Trolls, who until recently were indigenous to the Thalesian peninsula in Eosia, and who had migrated to the north coast of Atan across the polar ice, presumably at the behest of the enemies of the Empire. Sir Sparhawk, once again reinforcing Zalasta’s opinion of him, quickly devised tactics which routed the brutes.

Queen Ehlana’s party then crossed the border into Tamul proper, and shortly thereafter reached the imperial capital at fire-domed Matherion, where they were graciously welcomed by Emperor Sarabian. Despite the protests of Prime Minister Subat, the Elene visitors were given almost unimpeded access to his Majesty. The Queen of Elenia soon charmed the Emperor even as she had the lesser monarchs to the west, and they quickly became fast friends. Candor compels us to admit that Emperor Sarabian’s character is afflicted with a regrettably meddlesome and independent streak. He has shown of late a lamentable tendency to interfere with the government, and to override the counsel of those far better equipped than he to deal with the day-to-day details of governing his vast realm.

The Prime Minister, acting on the advice of Interior Minister Kolata, had decided to place Prince Sparhawk under the command of the Ministry of the Interior. As Kolata correctly pointed out, Sir Sparhawk, an Eosian Elene, could not be expected to understand the myriad cultures of Tamuli, and therefore would need guidance and direction in his efforts to counter the schemes of our enemies. Emperor Sarabian, however, rejected this highly sensible approach and granted this foreigner almost total discretion in approaching such problems as arose.

Despite our reservations about Prince Sparhawk, his queen and his companions, however, we must reluctantly concede that their presence in Matherion averted a disaster of the first order. Among the other structures in the imperial compound there is a perfect replica of an Elene castle, which was specifically designed to make Elene dignitaries feel at home. Queen Ehlana and her entourage were housed in that castle, and the relevance of that fact will soon become clear.

In some as yet to be determined fashion, Sir Sparhawk and his cohorts unearthed a plot here in Matherion to overthrow the government. Rather than report their findings to the Ministry of the Interior, however, the Elenes chose to keep their discovery to themselves and to permit the conspirators to pursue their plot to its final conclusion. When an armed mob approached the imperial compound on that fateful night, Prince Sparhawk and his companions simply withdrew into their Elene castle, taking the Emperor and the government inside with them.

We Tamuls had not fully understood the fact that architecture can be a weapon. Unbeknownst to his Majesty’s government, Sparhawk’s Elenes had modified the castle to some degree and had quietly brought in stores, all the while secretly constructing the brutal implements with which Elenes do war.

The mob, bent on the overthrow of the government, swept unimpeded into the imperial compound, and after a brief orgy of looting, it found itself confronted by an impregnable castle filled with ruthless Elene warriors who routinely utilize boiling pitch and fire to defend their strongholds. The horrors of that night will remain forever etched on the memories of civilized men. As has long been the practice in Tamuli, many of the younger sons of the great houses of Tamul proper had joined with the rebels, more as a lark than out of any serious criminal intent. Always in the past these youthful offenders have been separated from the true criminals, severely reprimanded and then returned to their parents. Protected by rank and family, they have had little to fear from the authorities. Boiling pitch, however, is no respecter of rank, and a high-spirited young aristocrat soaked in naphtha will burn as quickly as the foulest knave from the gutter. Moreover, once the mob had entered the compound, the Elenes closed the main gates, effectively sealing all inside, the innocent as well as the guilty, and further horrors were inflicted on the unfortunates by rampaging Peloi horsemen. The brutal suppression of the uprising was completed when the compound gates were opened once again to admit fully twenty legions of Atans, savages from the mountains who had received no instruction whatsoever in the customary civilities. The Atans systematically butchered all in their paths. Many young nobles, dearly loved students at this very university, were cut down even as they displayed their badges of rank, which should have guaranteed them total immunity.

Although decent men the world around must view this unbridled savagery with horror, we must reluctantly congratulate Sir Sparhawk and his companions. The uprising was crushed, nay, annihilated, by these Elene savages and the unrestrained Atans.

His Imperial Majesty’s government, however, made few friends on that dreadful night. Although the atrocities were clearly of Elene origin, the fact that Sir Sparhawk was here in Matherion at the Emperor’s express invitation has not been lost on the great houses of Tamul proper.

To further exacerbate the situation, the Elenes have seized upon the uprising as an excuse to send Patriarch Emban, a high-ranking member of the Elene clergy and ostensibly the spiritual advisor of Queen Ehlana, back to Chyrellos to urge the Archprelate to dispatch his Church Knights to Tamuli in force to aid in ‘restoring order’.

Pondia Subat, the Prime Minister, has privately confessed that he is growing more and more powerless, able only to watch helplessly as events move at an increasingly quickening pace. He has personally told this writer of his concerns. Foreign Minister Oscagne is clearly using his influence over the Emperor to manipulate the situation. The invitation to Sir Sparhawk to come to Tamuli was obviously but the first step in some wider and more deadly scheme. Utilizing the present turmoil in Tamuli, the Foreign Minister has manipulated the Emperor into providing the very opening Dolmant needed to justify an incursion in force on to the Daresian Continent.

This writer is fully convinced that the Empire faces the gravest threat in her long and glorious history. The willing cooperation of the Atans in the massacre within the imperial compound is clear evidence that not even their loyalty can be depended upon.

To whom can we turn for aid? Where in all this world can we find a force sufficient to repel the savage minions of Dolmant of Chyrellos? Must the Empire in all her glory fall before the onslaught of the Elene zealots? I weep, my brothers, for the glory that must die. Fire-domed Matherion, the city of light, the home of truth and beauty, the center of the world, is doomed. The darkness descends, and there is little hope that morning will ever come again.




PART ONE (#ulink_fcb1c167-709d-5e95-9650-59fdf54fb9b3)

Cynesga (#ulink_fcb1c167-709d-5e95-9650-59fdf54fb9b3)















Chapter 1 (#ulink_953847e4-fb63-5e21-82dd-98d74c2bfe4f)


The seasons were turning, and the long summer was winding down toward autumn. A tenuous mist hung in the streets of fire-domed Matherion. The moon had risen late, and its pale light starkly etched the opalescent towers and domes and imparted a soft glow to the fog lying in the streets. Matherion, all aglow, stood with her feet bathed in shining mist and her pale face lifted to the night sky.

Sparhawk was tired. The tensions of the past week and the climactic events which had resolved them had drained him, but he could not sleep. Wrapped in his black Pandion cloak, he stood on the parapet looking pensively out over the glowing city. He was tired, but his need to evaluate, to assess, to understand, was far too great to permit him to seek his bed and let his mind sink into the soft well of sleep until everything had been put into its proper place.

‘What are you doing up here, Sparhawk?’ Khalad spoke quietly, his voice so much like his father’s that Sparhawk turned his head sharply to be sure that Kurik himself had not returned from the House of the Dead to chide him. Khalad was a plain-faced young man with thick shoulders and an abrupt manner. His family had served Sparhawk’s for three generations now, and Khalad, like his father, customarily addressed his lord with a plain-spoken bluntness.

‘I couldn’t sleep,’ Sparhawk replied with a brief shrug.

‘Your wife’s got half the garrison out looking for you, you know.’

Sparhawk grimaced. ‘Why does she always have to do that?’

‘It’s your own fault. You know she’s going to send people out after you anytime you go off without telling her where you’ll be. You could save yourself – and us – a lot of time and trouble if you’d just tell her in the first place. It seems to me that I’ve suggested that several times already.’

‘Don’t bully me, Khalad. You’re as bad as your father was.’

‘Sometimes good traits breed true. Would you like to go down and tell your wife that you’re all right? – before she calls in the workmen to start tearing down the walls?’

Sparhawk sighed. ‘All right.’ He turned away from the parapet. ‘Oh, by the way, you probably ought to know that we’ll be making a trip before long.’

‘Oh? Where are we going?’

‘We have to go pick something up. Have a word with the farriers. Faran needs to be re-shod. He’s scuffed his right front shoe down until it’s as thin as paper.’

‘That’s your fault, Sparhawk. He wouldn’t do that if you’d sit up straight in your saddle.’

‘We start to get crooked as we grow older. That’s one of the things you have to look forward to.’

‘Thanks. When are we leaving on this trip?’

‘Just as soon as I can come up with a convincing enough lie to persuade my wife to let me go off without her.’

‘We’ve got plenty of time, then.’ Khalad looked out across moon-washed Matherion standing in pale fog with the moonlight awakening the rainbows of fire in her naked shoulders. ‘Pretty,’ he noted.

‘Is that the best you can do? You look at the most fabulous city in the world and shrug it off as “pretty”.’

‘I’m not an aristocrat, Sparhawk. I don’t have to invent flowery phrases to impress others – or myself. Let’s get you inside before the damp settles into your lungs. You crooked old people have delicate health sometimes.’

Queen Ehlana, pale and blonde and altogether lovely, was irritated more than angry; Sparhawk saw that immediately. He also saw that she had gone to some trouble to make herself as pretty as possible. Her dressing gown was dark blue satin, her cheeks had been carefully pinched to make them glow, and her hair was artfully arranged to give the impression of winsomely distracted dishevelment. She berated him about his lack of consideration in tones that might easily have made the trees cry and the very rocks shrink from her. Her cadences were measured, and her voice rose, then sank, as she told him exactly how she felt. Sparhawk concealed a smile. Ehlana was speaking to him on two levels at the same time as she stood in the center of the blue-draped royal apartment scolding him. Her words expressed extreme displeasure; her careful preparations, however, said something quite different.

He apologized.

She refused to accept his apology and stormed off to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

‘Spirited,’ Sephrenia murmured. The small woman sat out of harm’s way on the far side of the room, her white Styric robe glowing in the candlelight.

‘You noticed,’ Sparhawk smiled.

‘Does she do that often?’

‘Oh, yes. She enjoys it. What are you doing up so late, little mother?’

‘Aphrael wanted me to speak with you.’

‘Why didn’t she just come and talk with me herself? It’s not as if she were way over on the other side of town.’

‘It’s a formal sort of occasion, Sparhawk. I’m supposed to speak for her at times like this.’

‘Was that intended to make sense?’

‘It would if you were Styric. We’re going to have to make some substitutions when we go to retrieve Bhelliom. Khalad can fill in for his father without any particular problem, but Tynian’s decision to go back to Chyrellos with Emban really has Aphrael upset. Can you persuade him to change his mind?’

Sparhawk shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t even try, Sephrenia. I’m not going to cripple him for life just because Aphrael might miss him.’

‘Is his arm really that bad?’

‘It’s bad enough. That crossbow bolt went right through his shoulder joint. If he starts moving it around, it won’t set right, and that’s his sword arm.’

‘Aphrael could fix it, you know.’

‘Not without exposing her identity she couldn’t, and I won’t let her do that.’

‘Won’t let?’

‘Ask her if she wants to endanger her mother’s sanity just for the sake of symmetry. Substitute someone else. If Aphrael’s willing to accept Khalad in place of Kurik, she should be able to pick someone else to fill in for Tynian. Why is it so important to her in the first place?’

‘You wouldn’t understand.’

‘Why don’t you try to explain it anyway? I might surprise you.’

‘You’re in an odd humor tonight.’

‘I’ve just been scolded. That always makes me odd. Why does Aphrael think it’s so important to always have the same group of people around her?’

‘It has to do with the feeling of it, Sparhawk. The presence of any given person is more than just the way he looks or the sound of his voice. It also involves the way he thinks – and probably more important, the way he feels about Aphrael. She surrounds herself with that. When you bring in different people, you change the way it feels, and that throws her off balance.’ She looked at him. ‘You didn’t understand a word of that, did you?’

‘Yes, as a matter of fact I did. How about Vanion? He loves her as much as Tynian does, and she loves him too. He’s been more or less with us in spirit since all this started anyway, and he is a knight, after all.’

‘Vanion? Don’t be absurd, Sparhawk.’

‘He’s not an invalid, you know. He was running footraces back in Sarsos, and he was still as good as ever with his lance when we fought the Trolls.’

‘It’s out of the question. I won’t even discuss it.’

He crossed the room, took her wrists in his hands and kissed her palms. ‘I love you dearly, little mother,’ he told her, ‘but I’m going to override you this time. You can’t wrap Vanion in lamb’s-wool for the rest of his life just because you’re afraid he might scratch his finger. If you don’t suggest him to Aphrael, I will.’

She swore at him in Styric. ‘Don’t you understand, Sparhawk? I almost lost him.’ Her heart was in her luminous blue eyes. I’ll die if anything happens to him.’

‘Nothing’s going to happen to him. Are you going to ask Aphrael about it, or would you rather have me do it?’

She swore at him again.

‘Where did you ever learn that kind of language?’ he asked mildly. ‘if that takes care of our problem, I’m a little overdue at the bedroom door.’

‘I didn’t quite follow that.’

‘It’s time for the kissing and making up. There’s supposed to be a certain rhythm to these things, and if I wait too long to soften Ehlana’s displeasure, she’ll begin to think I don’t love her any more.’

‘Do you mean her performance here tonight was nothing more than an invitation to the bedroom?’

‘That might be putting it a little bluntly, but there was some of that involved, yes. Sometimes I get busy and forget to pay as much attention to her as I should. She’ll only let that go on for just so long before she makes a speech. The speech reminds me that I’ve been neglecting her. We kiss and make up, and everything’s all right again.’

‘Wouldn’t it be simpler if she just came right out and told you in the first place without these elaborate games?’

‘Probably, but it wouldn’t be nearly as much fun for her. You’ll excuse me?’

‘Why do you always avoid me, Berit-Knight?’ Empress Elysoun asked with a disconsolate little pout.

‘Your Highness misunderstands me,’ Berit replied, flushing slightly and keeping his eyes averted.

‘Am I ugly, Berit-Knight?’

‘Of course not, your Highness.’

‘Then why don’t you ever look at me?’

‘It’s not considered polite among Elenes for a man to look at an undressed woman, your Highness.’

‘I’m not an Elene, Sir Knight. I’m a Valesian, and I’m not naked. I have plenty of clothes on. If you’ll come to my chambers, I’ll show you the difference.’

Sparhawk had been looking for Sir Berit to advise him of their upcoming journey, and he had just rounded a corner in the hallway leading to the chapel to find his young friend trapped once more by the Empress Elysoun. Since Emperor Sarabian’s entire family was inside the castle as a security measure, Berit’s escape routes had been seriously curtailed, and Elysoun had been taking advantage of the situation outrageously. The Emperor’s Valesian wife was a brown-skinned, sunny girl whose native costume left her unashamedly bare-breasted. No matter how many times Sarabian had explained to Berit that customary moral strictures did not apply to Valesians, the young Knight remained steadfastly respectful – and chaste. Elysoun had taken that as a challenge, and she had been pursuing the poor young man relentlessly. Sparhawk was just on the verge of speaking to his friend, but he smiled instead and stepped back round the corner to listen. He was the interim Preceptor of the Pandion Order, after all, and it was his duty to look after the souls of his men.

‘Do you always have to be an Elene?’ Elysoun was asking the knight.

‘I am an Elene, your Highness.’

‘But you Elenes are so boring,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you be a Valesian for just one afternoon? It’s much more fun, and it won’t take very long, you know – unless you want it to.’ She paused. ‘Are you really a virgin?’ she asked curiously.

Berit turned bright red.

Elysoun laughed delightedly. ‘What an absurd idea!’ she exclaimed. ‘Aren’t you even a little curious about what you’ve been missing? I’ll be happy to take that tiresome virginity off your hands, Berit-Knight – and it won’t even hurt very much.’

Sparhawk took pity on the poor fellow and intervened at that point. ‘Ah, there you are, Berit,’ he said, stepping round the corner and speaking in Tamul for the Empress’s benefit. ‘I’ve been looking all over for you. Something’s come up that needs our attention.’ He bowed to the Empress. ‘Your Imperial Highness,’ he murmured, ‘I’m afraid I’ll have to commandeer your friend here for a while. Matters of state, you know.’

The look Elysoun gave him had daggers in it.

‘I was sure your Highness would understand,’ he said, bowing again. ‘Come along, Berit. The matter’s serious, and we’re late.’ He led his friend off down the opalescent corridor as Empress Elysoun glared after them.

‘Thanks, Sparhawk,’ Berit said with relief.

‘Why don’t you just stay away from her?’

‘I can’t. She follows me everywhere. She even trapped me in the bath-house once – in the middle of the night. She said she wanted to bathe with me.’

‘Berit,’ Sparhawk smiled, ‘as your preceptor and spiritual guide, I’m supposed to applaud your devotion to the ideals of our order. As your friend, though, I have to tell you that running away from her only makes matters worse. We have to stay here in Matherion, and if we stay long enough, she will get you. She’s very single-minded about it.’

‘Yes, I’ve noticed that.’

‘She’s really quite pretty, you know,’ Sparhawk suggested tentatively. ‘What’s your difficulty with the notion of being friendly?’

‘Sparhawk!’

The big Pandion sighed. ‘I was afraid you might look at it that way. Look, Berit, Elysoun comes from a different culture with different customs. She doesn’t see this sort of thing as sin. Sarabian’s made it quite clear that he wants some of us to accommodate her, and she’s chosen you as the lucky man. It’s a political necessity, so you’re just going to have to set these delicate feelings aside. Look upon it as your knightly duty, if it makes you feel any better. I can even have Emban grant you an indulgence if you think it’s necessary.’

Berit gasped.

‘You’re starting to embarrass us,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Elysoun’s been making Sarabian’s life miserable about the whole thing. He won’t step in and order you to do as she asks, no matter how much she nags him, but he quite obviously expects me to speak with you about it.’

‘I can’t believe you’re saying this, Sparhawk.’

‘Just go ahead and do it, Berit. Everybody expects you to. You don’t have to enjoy it if you don’t want to, but do it. Do it as often as you have to, but make her stop screaming at the Emperor. It’s your duty, my friend, and after you and Elysoun have romped around the bedroom a few times, she’ll start looking for new playmates.’

‘But what if she doesn’t?’

‘I wouldn’t worry too much. Patriarch Emban’s got a whole saddle-bag full of indulgences if it should turn out that you really need them.’

The failed uprising had given Emperor Sarabian the perfect excuse to escape from his government. Feigning cowardice, he had flatly declared that he felt safe only within the walls of Ehlana’s castle, and then only if the moat remained full and the drawbridge raised. His ministers, long accustomed to arranging his every move, found that terribly inconvenient.

Sarabian had not been motivated entirely by a desire to breathe the air of relative freedom, however. Interior Minister Kolata had been revealed as a traitor during the coup-attempt, but Sarabian and his Elene friends had decided that the time was not yet right to publicly reveal his treachery. So long as the Emperor remained inside Ehlana’s castle, Kolata’s presence there as well was fully explained. He was in charge of the police, after all, and the protection of the Emperor was his paramount duty. The Interior Minister, closely supervised by Ehlana’s cohorts, directed the police forces of the Empire from inside the walls. His meetings with his underlings were always just a trifle strained, since Stragen customarily sat beside him with one hand idly resting on the hilt of a dagger.

It was early one morning when Ambassador Norkan, the Tamul emissary to the court of King Androl and Queen Betuana of Atan, was escorted into the gleaming imitation throne-room in the castle. Norkan wore his usual golden mantle and a puzzled expression. Though he tried to conceal the fact, he quite obviously disapproved of the fact that his Emperor was dressed in western-style doublet and hose of a rich plum color. ‘Have you gone and stolen my Emperor too, Queen Ehlana?’ he asked with a perfunctory bow. Norkan was a brilliant man, but he had an unfortunate tendency to speak his mind quite openly.

‘What a thing to say, your Excellency,’ Ehlana protested mildly in nearly perfect Tamul. Ehlana was technically the hostess here, so she sat on her throne wearing her formal crimson robe and a golden crown.

She turned to her imperial ‘guest’ who sprawled in a nearby chair slowly twitching a string across the opalescent floor for the entertainment of Princess Danae’s cat. ‘Have I stolen you, Sarabian?’ she asked him.

‘Oh, absolutely, Ehlana,’ he replied, speaking in Elenic. ‘I’m utterly in thrall to you.’

‘Has someone opened a school for modern languages here on the grounds while I’ve been gone, Oscagne?’ Norkan asked.

‘I suppose you might say that,’ the Foreign Minister replied. ‘His Majesty’s proficiency in Elenic predates Queen Ehlana’s visit, however. Our revered Emperor’s been keeping secrets from us.’

‘Is he allowed to do that? I thought he was supposed to be just a stuffed toy that we trotted out on ceremonial occasions.’

Even Oscagne choked a bit on that, but Sarabian burst into laughter. ‘I’ve missed you, Norkan,’ he declared. ‘Have you had the chance to get to know our excellent Norkan, Ehlana?’

‘I sampled his wit in Atana, Sarabian,’ the queen smiled. ‘His observations always seem so – ah – unexpected.’

‘That they are,’ Sarabian laughed, rising to his feet. He swore briefly as the rapier at his side briefly caught behind the leg of his chair. The Emperor had a great deal of difficulty with his rapier. ‘Norkan once made one of those unexpected observations about the size of my sister’s feet, and I had to send him off to Atan to keep her from having him murdered.’ He cocked one eyebrow at the ambassador. ‘I really should make you marry her, Norkan. Then you could insult her in private. Public insults require public responses, you know.’

‘I’m honored more than I can say, your Imperial Majesty,’ Norkan replied. ‘The prospect of becoming your brother-in-law is quite likely to stop my heart entirely.’

‘You don’t like my sister,’ Sarabian accused.

‘I didn’t say that, your Majesty, but I prefer to worship her from afar – at least out of the range of her feet. That’s what precipitated my unfortunate remark in the first place. I was gouty that day, and she stepped on my toe. She’d be a nice enough girl, I suppose, if she’d only watch where she’s putting those cattle barges she wears for shoes.’

‘It wouldn’t be one of those marriages made in heaven, Sarabian,’ Ehlana smiled. ‘I’ve met your sister, and I’m afraid his Excellency’s wit would be lost on her.’

‘You might be right, my dear,’ Sarabian agreed. ‘I’d really like to get rid of her, though. She’s irritated me since the day she was born. What are you doing back here in Matherion, Norkan?’

One of Ambassador Norkan’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Things have changed, haven’t they, Oscagne? Are we supposed to tell him to his face what’s really going on?’

‘Emperor Sarabian’s decided to take charge of his own government, my friend,’ Oscagne sighed mournfully.

‘Isn’t that against the law?’

‘Afraid not, old boy.’

‘Would you consider accepting my resignation?’

‘No, not really.’

‘Don’t you want to work for me any more, Norkan?’ Sarabian asked.

‘I have nothing against you personally, your Majesty, but if you decide to actually meddle in government, the whole Empire could collapse.’

‘Marvelous, Norkan. I love the way you start talking before you’ve saddled up your brains. You see, Ehlana? That’s what I was telling you about. The officials in my government all expect me to smile regally, approve their recommendations without question, and leave the business of running things to them.’

‘How boring.’

‘Indeed it is, my dear, but I’m going to change it. Now that I’ve seen a real ruler in action, whole new horizons have been opened to me. You still haven’t answered my question, Norkan. What brings you back to Matherion?’

‘The Atans are growing restive, your Majesty.’

‘Are the recent disturbances starting to erode their loyalty?’

‘No, your Majesty, quite the reverse. The uprising has them all excited. Androl wants to move out in force to occupy Matherion in order to guarantee your safety. I don’t think we want that. The Atans don’t pay too much attention to rank or position when they decide to kill people.’

‘We noticed that,’ Sarabian replied dryly. ‘I’ve received all sorts of petitions of protest from the noble houses of Tamul proper as a result of the measures Engessa took to put down the coup.’

‘I’ve spoken with Betuana, your Majesty,’ Norkan continued. ‘She’s promised to shorten her husband’s leash until I get some instructions from you. Something short and to the point like, “Sit! Stay!” might be appropriate, considering Androl’s mental capabilities.’

‘How did you ever get to be a diplomat, Norkan?’

‘I lied a lot.’

‘A suggestion, Emperor Sarabian?’ Tynian offered.

‘Go ahead, Sir Tynian.’

‘We don’t really want to ruffle King Androl’s feathers, so a suggestion to him that he’s being held in place to meet a far greater threat might be preferable to just sending him to bed without any supper.’

Sarabian laughed. ‘What a novel way to put it, Sir Tynian. All right, Norkan, send Engessa.’

Norkan blinked.

‘Pay attention, man,’ Sarabian snapped.

‘That’s something you’ll have to get used to, Norkan,’ Oscagne advised. ‘The Emperor sometimes takes verbal shortcuts.’

‘Oh. I see.’ Norkan thought about it. ‘Might I ask why Atan Engessa would be better qualified to carry out your instructions than I would, your Majesty?’

‘Because Engessa can run faster than you can, and he’ll be able to put our commands to Androl in language far more acceptable to him. There’s also the fact that using Engessa hints at a military reason for the decision, and that should smooth Androl’s feathers all the more. You can explain our real reasons to Betuana when you get back.’

‘You know something, Oscagne?’ Norkan said. ‘He might just work out all right after all – if we can keep him from making too many blunders right at the outset.’

Oscagne winced.

Sparhawk touched Vanion’s shoulder and motioned with his head. The two of them drifted back to the rear of the throne-room. ‘I’ve got a problem, Vanion,’ Sparhawk muttered.

‘Oh?’

‘I’ve racked my brains to come up with an excuse for us to get out of Matherion for long enough to retrieve the Bhelliom, but I haven’t had a single idea that a child wouldn’t be able to see through. Ehlana’s not stupid, you know.’

‘No, that she isn’t.’

‘Aphrael won’t say anything definite, but I get the strong feeling that she wants us to sail on the same ship with Emban and Tynian, and I’m starting to run out of excuses to keep delaying their departure. Any ideas?’

‘Ask Oscagne to help you,’ Vanion shrugged. ‘He’s a diplomat, so lying comes second nature to him.’

‘Nice idea, but I can’t really tell him where we’re going and what we’re going to do when we get there, can I?’

‘Don’t tell him, then. Just tell him that you need a reason to be out of town for a while. Put on a gravely mysterious face and let it go at that. Oscagne’s been around for long enough to recognize the symptoms of official reticence when he sees them.’

‘Why didn’t I think of that?’

‘Probably because your oath keeps getting in your way. I know that you’ve sworn to tell the truth, but that doesn’t mean that you have to tell the whole truth. You can leave things out, you know. Leaving things out is one of the perquisites of the office of Preceptor.’

Sparhawk sighed. ‘Back to school, I see. I think I’m doomed to spend my whole life getting instructions from you – and being made to feel inadequate in the process.’

‘That’s what friends are for, Sparhawk.’

‘You’re not going to tell me, are you?’ Sparhawk tried very hard to keep it from sounding like an accusation.

‘Not yet, no,’ Princess Danae replied, carefully tying a doll’s bonnet on her cat’s head. Mmrr did not appear to care for the idea, but she endured her mistress’s little game with a look of resignation.

‘Why not?’ Sparhawk asked his daughter, flopping down into one of the blue armchairs in the royal apartment.

‘Because something might still come up to make it unnecessary. You’re not going to find Bhelliom until I decide to let you find it, father.’

‘You want us to sail with Tynian and Emban, though?’

‘Yes.’

‘How far?’

‘It doesn’t really matter. I just need Tynian with us when we first set out, that’s all.’

‘Then you don’t really have any set destination in mind – with that ship, I mean?’

‘Of course not. I just need Tynian to be along for a couple of days. We can go out to sea for a couple of leagues and then sail around in circles for two days if you want. It’s all the same to me.’

‘Thanks,’ he said acidly.

‘No charge. There.’ She held up the cat. ‘Isn’t she darling in her new bonnet?’

‘Adorable.’

Mmrr gave Sparhawk a flat look of pure hatred.

‘I can’t tell you why at the moment, your Excellency,’ Sparhawk said to Oscagne later that same day when they were alone in one of the hallways. ‘All I can say is that I need a reason to be away from Matherion with a group of nine or ten of my friends for an indeterminate period of time – several weeks or so. It has to be significant enough to convince my wife that it’s necessary, but not so serious as to worry her, and I have to sail on the same ship with Emban and Tynian.’

‘All right,’ Oscagne agreed. ‘How good an actor are you, Prince Sparhawk?’

‘I don’t think anybody’d pay money to watch me perform.’

Oscagne let that pass. ‘I gather that this ploy is primarily intended for your wife’s benefit?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then it might be best if the idea of sending you off someplace came from her. I’ll maneuver her into ordering you off on some inconsequential errand, and you can take it from there.’

‘I’d really like to see you try to maneuver Ehlana.’

‘Trust me, old boy. Trust me.’

‘Tega?’ Sarabian asked his foreign minister incredulously. ‘The only superstition they have on the Isle of Tega is the one that says that it’s bad luck not to raise the price of sea-shells every year.’

‘They’ve never mentioned it to us in the past because they were probably afraid we’d think they were being silly, your Majesty,’ Oscagne replied urbanely. Oscagne looked decidedly uncomfortable in the blue doublet and hose Sarabian had ordered him to wear. He couldn’t seem to think of anything to do with his hands, and he appeared to be very self-conscious about his bony legs. ‘The word “silly” seems to strike at the very core of the Tegan soul. They’re the stuffiest people in the world.’

‘I know. Gahenas, my Tegan wife, can put me to sleep almost immediately – even when we’re …’ The Emperor threw a quick look at Ehlana and left it hanging.

‘Tegans have raised being boring to an art form, your Majesty,’ Oscagne agreed. ‘Anyway, there’s an old Tegan myth to the effect that the oyster-beds are haunted by a mermaid. Supposedly she eats oysters, shells and all, and that really upsets the Tegans. She also seduces Tegan divers, who tend to drown during the exchange of pleasantries.’

‘Isn’t a mermaid supposed to be half-girl and half-fish?’ Ulath asked.

‘So the legend goes,’ Oscagne replied.

‘And isn’t she supposed to be a fish from the waist down?’

‘I’ve been told so, yes.’

‘Then how … ?’ Ulath also looked quickly at Ehlana and then abruptly broke off.

‘How what, Sir Ulath?’ Ehlana asked him innocently.

‘It’s – ah – not really important, your Majesty,’ he replied with an embarrassed cough.

‘I wouldn’t even raise this absurd myth, your Majesties,’ Oscagne said to Sarabian and Ehlana, ‘except in the light of recent developments. The parallels between the vampires in Arjuna, the Shining Ones in southern Atan, and the werewolves, ghouls and Ogres in other parts of the Empire are really rather striking, wouldn’t you say? I’d imagine that if someone were to go to Tega and ask around, he might hear stories about some prehistoric pearl-diver who’s been resurrected and also find that some rabble-rouser’s telling the Tegans that this hero and his half-fish, half-human mistress are going to lead the oysters in a mass assault on Matherion.’

‘How droll,’ Sarabian murmured.

‘Sorry, your Majesty,’ Oscagne apologized. ‘What I’m getting at here is that we’ve probably got some relatively inexperienced conspirator on Tega. He’s just getting started, so he’s bound to make mistakes – but experienced or not, he knows a great deal about the whole conspiracy. Since our friends here won’t let us question Kolata too closely, we have to look elsewhere for information.’

‘We’re not being delicate about the Minister of the Interior, your Excellency,’ Kalten told him. ‘It’s just that we’ve seen what happens to prisoners who are on the verge of talking too much. Kolata’s still useful to us, but only as long as he stays in one piece. He won’t be much good if little chunks and globs of him get scattered all over the building.’

Oscagne shuddered. ‘I’ll take your word for it, Sir Kalten. At any rate, your Majesty, if some of our Elene friends here could go to Tega and put their hands on this fellow and talk with him before our enemy can dismantle him, they could probably persuade him to tell us everything he knows. Sir Sparhawk has some ambitions along those lines, I understand. He wants to find out if he can wring somebody out hard enough to make his hair bleed.’

‘You have a very graphic imagination, Sparhawk,’ Sarabian noted. ‘What do you think, Ehlana? Can you spare your husband for a while? If he and some of his knights went to Tega and held the entire island under water for a couple of hours, God only knows what kind of information might come bubbling to the surface.’

‘That’s a very good idea, Sarabian. Sparhawk, why don’t you take some of our friends, run on down to the Isle of Tega, and see what you can find out?’

‘I’d really rather not be separated from you, dear,’ he replied with feigned reluctance.

‘That’s very sweet, Sparhawk, but we do have responsibilities, you know.’

‘Are you ordering me to go, Ehlana?’

‘You don’t have to put it that way, Sparhawk. It’s only a suggestion, after all.’

‘As my Queen commands,’ he sighed, putting on a melancholy expression.




Chapter 2 (#ulink_7ec9666f-e24e-5628-b389-c97cba71c062)


Empress Gahenas was a Tegan lady of middle years with a severe expression and tightly pursed lips. She wore a plain gray gown, buttoned to the chin, and long-sleeved gloves of scratchy wool. Her hair was drawn so tightly back into a bun that it made her eyes bulge, and her ears protruded from the sides of her head like open barn doors. Empress Gahenas disapproved of everything, that much was clear from the outset. She had come to Sparhawk’s study to provide background information on the Isle of Tega, but she did not come alone. The Empress Gahenas never went anywhere without her four chaperones, a cluster of ancient Tegan hags who perched on a varnished bench like a row of gargoyles.

It was a warm day in early autumn, but the sunlight streaming in through the window of Sparhawk’s study seemed to grow wan and sickly when Empress Gahenas entered with the stern guardians of her virtue.

She spent an hour lecturing Sparhawk on the gross national product of her homeland in a tone that strongly suggested that she was going to give a test at the conclusion of the lecture. Sparhawk fought to keep from yawning. He was not really interested in production figures or labor costs. What he really wanted from the jug-eared Empress were little details of ordinary life on the Isle to flesh out the series of letters he was writing to his wife – letters which were to be doled out to Ehlana to help sustain the fiction that he and his friends were tracking down ring-leaders and other conspirators who were concealed among the general population.

‘Ah …’ he interrupted Gahenas’s droning monologue, ‘this is absolutely fascinating, your Highness, but could we go back for a moment to the island’s form of government? That really has me baffled.’

‘Tega is a republic, Prince Sparhawk. Our rulers are elected to their positions every five years. It’s been that way for twenty-five centuries.’

‘Your officials aren’t elected for life?’

‘Of course not. Who would want a job like that for life?’

‘No one ever develops a hunger for power?’

‘The government has no power, Prince Sparhawk. It exists only to carry out the will of the electorate.’

‘Why five years?’

‘Because nobody wants to be away from his own affairs for longer than that.’

‘What happens if a man’s re-elected?’

‘That’s contrary to the law. No one serves more than one term in office.’

‘Let’s suppose somebody turned out to be an absolute genius in a particular position? Wouldn’t you want to keep him there?’

‘We’ve never found anyone that indispensable.’

‘It seems to me that the system would encourage corruption. If a man knows he’s going to be thrown out of office after five years, what’s to keep him from manipulating his official decisions to further his own interests – later on, I mean?’

‘Quite impossible, Prince Sparhawk. Our elected officials have no outside interests. As soon as they’re elected, everything they own is sold, and the money’s put into the national treasury. If the economy prospers during their term in office, their wealth earns them a profit. If the economy collapses, they lose everything.’

‘That’s absurd. No government ever makes a profit.’

‘Ours does,’ she said smugly, ‘and it has to be a real profit. The tax rates are set and cannot be changed, so our officials can’t generate a false profit by simply raising taxes.’

‘Why would anyone want to be an official in a government like that?’

‘Nobody wants to be, Prince Sparhawk. Most Tegans do everything they possibly can to avoid election. The fact that a man’s own personal fortune’s in the treasury forces him to work just as hard as he possibly can to make sure that the government prospers. Many have worked themselves to death looking after the interests of the Republic.’

‘I think I’d run away from an honor like that one.’

‘That’s really quite impossible, your Highness. Just as soon as a man’s name’s placed in nomination for a public office, he’s put under guard, and if he’s elected, he remains under close guard for his entire term. The Republic makes absolutely sure that nobody evades his responsibilities to her.’

‘The Republic’s a stern mistress.’

‘She is indeed, Prince Sparhawk, and that’s exactly the way it should be.’

Though his companions chafed at the delay, Sparhawk put off their departure for two more days while he feverishly composed the letters to Ehlana. The progress of the fictitious investigation had to be convincing, certainly, and at least moderately interesting. Sparhawk wove false leads, plots and unsolved mysteries into his account. He became increasingly absorbed in the developing story, sometimes becoming so caught up in it that he lost sight of the fact that the events he was reporting were not actually taking place. He became rather proud of his efforts, and he began to revise extensively, adding a touch here and modifying a poorly phrased passage there, until he unwittingly crossed the line between careful artistry and sheer fussiness.

‘They’re good enough, Sparhawk,’ Vanion said to him after reading through the letters on the evening of the second day. Vanion was rather pointedly wearing the plain tunic and heavy riding boots Pandions customarily put on before making an extended journey.

‘You don’t think it’s too obvious?’

‘It’s fine just the way it is.’

‘Maybe I should rework that third letter. It seems awfully weak to me for some reason.’

‘You’ve written it four times already. It’s good enough.’

‘I’m really not happy with it, Vanion.’ Sparhawk took the offending letter from his friend and ran through it once more, automatically reaching for his pen as he read.

Vanion firmly took the letter away from him.

‘Let me just fix that last paragraph,’ Sparhawk pleaded.

‘No.’

‘But …’

‘NO!’ Vanion put the letter back in its proper place, folded the packet, and tucked it inside his doublet. ‘Oscagne’s sending Norkan along with us,’ he said. ‘We’ll give the letters to him, and he can sort of dribble them back here to Ehlana. Norkan’s shrewd enough to space them out just enough to keep her from getting suspicious. The ship’s been ready for a week now, and Emban’s getting impatient. We’ll sail with the morning tide.’

‘I think I know what I did wrong,’ Sparhawk said. ‘I can fix that third letter in no more than an hour or two.’

‘No, Sparhawk. Absolutely not.’

‘Are you sure she’s asleep?’ Sparhawk whispered.

‘Of course I am, father,’ Princess Danae replied.

‘The slightest sound will wake her up, you know. She can hear a fly walking across the ceiling.’

‘Not tonight she can’t. I’ve seen to that.’

‘I hope you know what you’re doing, Danae. She knows every tiny little mark on that ring. If there’s the slightest difference between it and this new one, she’ll notice it immediately.’

‘Oh, father, you worry too much. I’ve done this before, after all. Ghwerig made the rings, and I still fooled him. I’ve been stealing those rings for thousands of years. Believe me, mother will never know the difference.’

‘Is this really necessary?’

‘Yes. Bhelliom’s useless to you without both rings, and you may need it almost as soon as we lift it from the sea-floor.’

‘Why?’

She rolled her eyes upward and sighed. ‘Because the whole world will shift just as soon as Bhelliom moves. When you were carrying it to Zemoch, the world quivered around like a plate of jelly the whole time. My family and I really don’t like it when Bhelliom moves. It makes some of us queasy.’

‘Will our enemies out there be able to pinpoint our location from that?’

She shook her head. ‘It’s too generalized. Every God in the world’s going to know when Bhelliom starts to move, though, and we can be absolutely sure that at least some of them will come looking for it. Can we talk about this some other time?’

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Just stand watch at the bedroom door. I don’t like having an audience when I’m stealing things.’

‘You sound just like Talen.’

‘Naturally. He and I were made for each other. It was the Gods who invented theft in the first place.’

‘You’re not serious.’

‘Of course. We steal things from each other all the time. It’s a game. Did you think we just sat around on clouds basking in adoration? We have to do something to pass the time. You should try it sometime, father. It’s lots of fun.’ She looked around furtively, crouched low and reached for the bedroom door-handle. ‘Keep a lookout, Sparhawk. Whistle if you hear anybody coming.’

They all gathered in the sitting room of the royal apartment the following morning to receive their final instructions from Emperor Sarabian and Queen Ehlana. It was a formality, really. Everybody knew what they were supposed to do already, so they sat in the sunlit room making generalized small-talk and cautioning each other to be careful. People who are parting from each other do that a lot.

Alean, Queen Ehlana’s doe-eyed maid, was in the next room, and she was singing. Her voice was clear and sweet and true, and all conversation in the sitting room broke off as she sang. ‘It’s like listening to an angel,’ Patriarch Emban murmured.

‘The girl has a truly magnificent voice,’ Sarabian agreed. ‘She already has the court musicians in near-despair.’

‘She seems a bit sad this morning,’ Kalten said, two great tears glistening in his eyes.

Sparhawk smiled faintly. Kalten had preyed on maids since he had been a young man, and few had been able to resist his blandishments. This time, however, the shoe was on the other foot. Alean was not singing for her own entertainment. The brown-eyed girl was singing for an audience of one, and her song, dealing as it did with the sorrows of parting, filled Kalten’s eyes. She sang of broken hearts and other extravagances in a very old Elenian ballad entitled ‘My Bonnie Blue-Eyed Boy’. Then Sparhawk noticed that Baroness Melidere, Queen Ehlana’s lady-in-waiting, was also watching Kalten very closely. Melidere’s eyes met Sparhawk’s and she slowly winked. Sparhawk almost laughed aloud. He was clearly not the only one who was aware of Alean’s subtle campaign.

‘You will write, won’t you, Sparhawk?’ Ehlana said.

‘Of course I will,’ he replied.

‘I can virtually guarantee that, your Majesty,’ Vanion said. ‘If you give him just a little time, Sparhawk’s a great letter-writer. He devotes enormous amounts of time and effort to his correspondence.’

‘Tell me everything, Sparhawk,’ the queen urged.

‘Oh he will, your Majesty, he will,’ Vanion assured her. ‘He’ll probably tell you more than you ever really wanted to know about the Isle of Tega.’

‘Critic,’ Sparhawk muttered under his breath.

‘Please don’t be too vivid in your description of our situation here, your Grace,’ Sarabian was saying to Emban. ‘Don’t make Dolmant think that my empire’s falling down around my ears.’

‘Isn’t it, your Majesty?’ Emban replied with some surprise. ‘I thought that was why I was dashing back to Chyrellos to fetch the Church Knights.’

‘Well, maybe it is, but don’t destroy my dignity entirely.’

‘Dolmant’s very wise, your Majesty,’ Emban assured him. ‘He understands the language of diplomacy.’

‘Oh, really?’ Ehlana said with heavy sarcasm.

‘Should I convey your Majesty’s greetings to the Archprelate as well?’ Emban asked her.

‘Of course. Tell him that I’m desolate at being separated from him – particularly in view of the fact that I can’t keep an eye on him. You might also advise him that a little-known Elenian statute clearly says that I have to ratify any agreements he makes with the Earl of Lenda during my absence. Tell him not to get too comfortable in those pieces of my kingdom he’s been snipping off since I left, because I’ll just take them back again as soon as I get home.’

‘Does she do this all the time, Sparhawk?’ Sarabian asked.

‘Oh yes, all the time, your Majesty. The Archprelate bites off all his fingernails every time a letter from her reaches the Basilica.’

‘It keeps him young,’ Ehlana shrugged. She rose to her feet. ‘Now, friends,’ she said, ‘I hope you’ll excuse my husband and me for a few moments so that we can say our goodbyes privately. Come along, Sparhawk,’ she commanded.

‘Yes, my Queen.’

The morning fog had lifted, and the sun was very bright as their ship sailed out of the harbor and heeled over to take a southeasterly course which would round the southern tip of the Micaen peninsula to the Isle of Tega. The ship was well appointed, although she was of a slightly alien configuration. Khalad did not entirely approve of her, finding fault with her rigging and the slant of her masts.

It was about noon when Vanion came up on deck to speak with Sparhawk, who was leaning on the rail watching the coastline slide by. They were both wearing casual clothing, since there is no real need for formal garb on board ship.

‘Sephrenia wants us all in the main cabin,’ the Preceptor told his friend. ‘It’s time for one of those startling revelations we’ve all come to love and adore. Why don’t you round up the others and bring them on down?’

‘You’re in a peculiar humor,’ Sparhawk noted. ‘What’s the problem?’

‘Sephrenia’s being excessively Styric today,’ Vanion shrugged.

‘That one escaped me.’

‘You know the signs, Sparhawk – the mysterious expression, the cryptic remarks, the melodramatic pauses, the superior manner.’

‘Have you two been fighting?’

Vanion laughed. ‘Never that, my friend. It’s just that we all have little quirks and idiosyncrasies that irritate our loved ones sometimes. Sephrenia’s having one of her quirky days.’

‘I won’t tell her you said that, of course.’

Vanion shrugged. ‘She already knows how I feel. We’ve discussed it in the past – at length. Sometimes she does it just to tease me. Go get the others, Sparhawk. Let’s not give her too much time to perfect this performance.’

They all gathered in the main salon below decks, a cabin which was part dining room and part lounge. Sephrenia had not put in her appearance as yet and, after a few moments, Sparhawk understood what Vanion had been talking about. A familiar sound began to emerge from the lady’s cabin.

‘Flute?’ Talen exclaimed in astonishment, his voice cracking in that peculiar adolescent yodel which afflicts human males at the onset of puberty.

Sparhawk had wondered how Aphrael intended to get round the rather sticky problem of explaining her identity. To have appeared to the others as Princess Danae would quite obviously have been out of the question. Flute was quite another matter. His friends all recognized Flute as Aphrael, and that would eliminate the need for extended explanations. Sparhawk sighed as a rather melancholy thought occurred to him. He realized sadly that he didn’t know what his daughter really looked like. That dear little face which was engraved on his mind almost as deeply as Ehlana’s was only one in a long line of incarnations – one of thousands, more than likely.

Then the door to Sephrenia’s cabin opened, and the small Styric woman emerged with a smile that made her face look like the sun coming up, and with her little sister in her arms.

Flute, of course, was unchanged – and unchangeable. She appeared to be no more than six years old – precisely the same age as Danae. Sparhawk immediately rejected the possibility of coincidence. Where Aphrael was concerned, there were no coincidences. She wore the same short linen smock belted at the waist and the same plaited grass headband that she had been wearing when they had first met her. Her long hair was as black as night, and her large eyes nearly as dark. Her little bare feet were grass-stained. She held a simple many-chambered set of goatherd’s pipes to her bow-like lips, and her song was Styric, set in a complex minor key.

‘What a pretty child,’ Ambassador Norkan observed, ‘but is it really a good idea to take her along on this mysterious mission of yours, Prince Sparhawk? I gather there might be some danger involved.’

‘Not now there won’t be, your Excellency,’ Ulath grinned.

Sephrenia gravely set the Child Goddess on the cabin floor, and Flute began to dance to the clear, sweet music of her pipes.

Sephrenia looked at Emban and Norkan. ‘Watch the child closely, Emban, and you too, your Excellency. That should save us hours of explanation and argument.’

Flute pirouetted through the cabin, her grass-stained little feet flickering, her black hair flying and her pipes sounding joyously. This time Sparhawk actually saw the first step she placed quite firmly on insubstantial air. As one mounting an invisible stair, the Child Goddess danced upward, whirling as she climbed, bending and swaying, her tiny feet fluttering like birds’ wings as she danced on nothing at all. Then her song and her dance ended, and, smiling impishly and still standing in mid-air, she curtsied.

Emban’s eyes were bulging, and he had half fallen from his chair. Ambassador Norkan tried to maintain his urbane expression, but it was slipping badly, and his hands were shaking.

Talen grinned and began to applaud. The others laughed, and they all joined in.

‘Oh, thank you, my dear ones,’ Flute said sweetly, curtsying again.

‘For God’s sake, Sparhawk!’ Emban choked. ‘Make her come down from there! She’s destroying my sanity!’

Flute laughed and quite literally hurled herself into the fat little churchman’s arms, smothering his pale, cringing face with kisses. ‘I love to do that to people!’ she giggled delightedly.

Emban shrank back even further.

‘Oh, don’t be silly, Emban,’ she chided. ‘I’m not going to hurt you. I sort of love you, actually.’ A look of sly mischief came into her eyes. ‘How would you like to come to work for me, your Grace?’ she suggested. ‘I’m not nearly as stuffy as your Elene God, and we could have a lot of fun together.’

‘Aphrael!’ Sephrenia said sharply. ‘Stop that! You know you’re not supposed to do that!’

‘I was only teasing him, Sephrenia. I wouldn’t really steal Emban. The Elene God needs him too much.’

‘Has your theology been sufficiently shaken, your Grace?’ Vanion asked the Patriarch of Ucera. ‘The little girl in your lap who’s blithely trying to lead you off down the flowery path to heresy is the Child Goddess Aphrael, one of the thousand Younger Gods of Styricum.’

‘How do I greet her?’ Emban asked in a squeaky, frightened kind of voice.

‘A few kisses might be nice,’ Flute suggested.

‘Stop that,’ Sephrenia chided her again.

‘And what are your feelings, your Excellency?’ the little girl asked Norkan.

‘Dubious, your – uh …’

‘Just Aphrael, Norkan,’ she told him.

‘That’s really not suitable,’ he replied. ‘I’m a diplomat, and the very soul of diplomatic speech is formal modes of address. I haven’t called anyone but colleagues by their first names since I was about ten years old.’

‘Her first name is a formal mode of address, your Excellency,’ Sephrenia said gently.

‘All right, then,’ Aphrael said, slipping down from Emban’s lap. ‘Tynian and Emban are going to Chyrellos to fetch the Church Knights. Norkan’s going to the Isle of Tega to help Sparhawk lie to my – uh – his wife, that is. The rest of us are going to go get the Bhelliom again. Sparhawk seems to think he might need it. I think he’s underestimating his own abilities, but I’ll go along with him on the issue – if only to keep him from nagging and complaining.’

‘I’ve really missed her,’ Kalten laughed. ‘What are you going to do, Flute? Saddle up a herd of whales for us to ride to that coastline where we threw Bhelliom into the sea?’

Her eyes brightened.

‘Never mind,’ Sparhawk told her quite firmly.

‘Spoilsport.’

‘I’m really disappointed in you, Sparhawk,’ Kalten said. ‘I’ve never ridden a whale before.’

‘Will you shut up about whales?’ Sparhawk snapped at him.

‘You don’t have to get so touchy about it. What have you got against whales?’

‘It’s a personal thing between Aphrael and me,’ Sparhawk replied in a grating tone. ‘I won’t win many arguments with her, but I am going to win the one about whales.’

The layover of their ship at Tega was necessarily brief. The tide had already turned, and the captain was quite concerned about the inexorably lowering water-level in the harbor.

Sparhawk and his friends conferred briefly in the ship’s main salon while Khalad directed the sailors in the unloading of their horses and supplies. ‘Do your very best to make Sarathi understand just how serious the situation here really is, Emban,’ Vanion said. ‘Sometimes he gets a little pig-headed.’

‘I’m sure he’ll enjoy knowing how you really feel about him, Vanion,’ the fat churchman grinned.

‘Say anything you want, your Grace. I’ll never be going back to Chyrellos anyway, so it doesn’t really matter. Make a special point of letting him know that the name of Cyrgon’s been popping up. You might want to gloss over the fact that we’ve only got Krager’s word for Cyrgon’s involvement, though. We are sure about the Troll-Gods, however, and the notion that we’re facing heathen Gods again might help Sarathi tear his attention away from Rendor.’

‘Was there anything else I already know that you’d like to tell me, Vanion?’

Vanion laughed. ‘Nicely put. I was being a bit of a meddler, wasn’t I?’

‘The term is “busy-body”, Vanion. I’ll do everything I can, but you know Dolmant. He’ll make his own assessment and his own decision. He’ll weigh Daresia against Rendor and decide which of them he wants to save.’

Tell him that I’m here with Sparhawk, Emban,’ Flute instructed. ‘He knows who I am.’

‘He does?’

‘You don’t really have to step around Dolmant so carefully. He’s not the fanatic Ortzel is, so he can accept the fact that his theology doesn’t answer all the questions in the universe. The fact that I’m involved might help him to make the right decision. Give him my love. He’s an old stick sometimes, but I’m really fond of him.’

Emban’s eyes were a little wild. ‘I think I’ll retire when this is all over,’ he said.

‘Don’t be silly,’ she smiled. ‘You could no more retire than I could. You’re having too much fun. Besides, we need you.’ She turned to Tynian. ‘Don’t overwork that shoulder,’ she instructed. ‘Give it time to completely heal before you start exercising it.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he replied, grinning at her authoritarian manner.

‘Don’t make fun of me, Tynian,’ she threatened. ‘If you do that, you might just wake up some morning with your feet on backward. Now give me a kiss.’

‘Yes, Aphrael.’

She laughed and swarmed into his arms to collect her kisses.

They disembarked and stood on the pier as the Tamul vessel made her way slowly out of the harbor.

‘They’re sailing at the right time of year anyway,’ Ulath said. ‘It’s a little early for the hurricanes.’

‘That’s encouraging,’ Kalten said. ‘Where to now, Flute?’

‘There’s a ship waiting for us on the far side of the island,’ she replied. ‘I’ll tell you about it after we get out of town.’

Vanion handed Norkan the packet of letters Sparhawk had so laboriously written. ‘We can’t be sure how long we’ll be gone, your Excellency,’ he said, ‘so you might want to space these out.’

Norkan nodded. ‘I can supplement them with reports of my own,’ he said, ‘and if the worst comes to the worst, I can always use the talents of the professional forger at the embassy here. He should be able to duplicate Prince Sparhawk’s handwriting after a day or so of practise – well enough to add personal postscripts to my reports, anyway.’

For some reason Sparhawk found that very shocking.

‘May I ask a question?’ Norkan said to Flute.

‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘I won’t guarantee that I’ll answer, but you can ask.’

‘Are our Tamul Gods real?’

‘Yes.’

Norkan sighed. ‘I was afraid of that. I haven’t led what you’d call an exemplary life.’

‘Don’t worry, Norkan. Your Gods don’t take themselves very seriously. They’re considered frivolous by the rest of us.’ She paused. ‘They’re fun at parties, though,’ she added. She suddenly giggled. ‘They really irritate the Elene God. He has absolutely no sense of humor, and your Tamul Gods are very fond of practical jokes.’

Norkan shuddered. ‘I don’t think I really want to know any more about this sort of thing,’ he said. He looked around. ‘I’d strongly advise you to leave town rather quickly, my friends,’ he told them. ‘A republican form of government generates vast quantities of paper. There are questionnaires and forms and permits and licenses for almost everything, and there have to be ten copies of every single one. Nobody in the government wants to really make a decision about anything, so documents are just passed around from hand to hand until they either fall apart or get lost someplace.’

‘Who finally does make the decisions?’ Vanion asked.

‘Nobody,’ Norkan shrugged. ‘Tegans have learned to get along without a government. Everybody knows what has to be done anyway, so they scribble on enough official forms to keep the bureaucrats busy and then just ignore them. I hate to admit it, but the system seems to work quite well.’ He laughed. There was a notorious murderer who was apprehended during the last century,’ he said. ‘They put him on trial, and he died of old age before the courts could decide whether he was guilty or not.’

‘How old was he when they caught him?’ Talen asked.

‘About thirty, I understand. You’d really better get started, my friends. That fellow at the head of this wharf has a sort of official expression on his face. You should probably be out of sight before he leafs through that pouch he’s carrying and finds the right set of forms for you to fill out.’

The Isle of Tega was tidy. It was not particularly scenic, nor did it have that picturesque desolation that sets the hearts of romantics all aflutter. The island produced no economically significant crops, and the small plots of ground under cultivation were devoted to what might be called expanded kitchen gardens. The stone walls that marked off the fields were straight and were all of a uniform height. The roads did not curve or bend, and the roadside barrows were all precisely of the same width and depth. Since the island’s major industry, the collecting of sea-shells, was conducted underwater, there was none of the clutter one customarily sees around workshops.

The tedious tidiness, however, was offset by a dreadful smell which seemed to hover over everything.

‘What is that awful stink?’ Talen said, trying to cover his nostrils with his sleeve.

‘Rotting shellfish,’ Khalad shrugged. ‘They must use it for fertilizer.’

‘How can they stand to live here with that smell?’

‘They’re probably so used to it that they don’t even notice it any more. They want the sea-shells because they can sell them to the Tamuls in Matherion, but people can’t live on a steady diet of oysters and clams, so they have to get rid of the excess somehow. It seems to make very good fertilizer. I’ve never seen cabbages that big before.’

Talen looked speculatively at his brother. ‘Pearls come from oysters, don’t they?’ he asked.

‘That’s what I’ve been told.’

‘I wonder if the Tegans do anything with them when they run across them?’

‘They’re not really very valuable, Talen,’ Flute told him. ‘There’s something in the water around the island that makes the pearls black. Who would pay anything for black pearls?’ She looked around at them. ‘Now then,’ she said to them, ‘we’ll have to sail about fifteen hundred leagues to reach the place where Bhelliom is.’

‘That far?’ Vanion said. ‘We won’t get back to Matherion until the dead of winter, then. At thirty leagues a day, it’s going to take us fifty days to get there and fifty days back.’

‘No,’ she disagreed, ‘actually it’s going to take us five days to get there and five days to get back.’

‘Impossible!’ Ulath said flatly. ‘No ship can move that fast.’

‘How much would you be willing to wager on that, Sir Ulath?’

He thought about that for a moment. ‘Not very much,’ he decided. ‘I wouldn’t insult you by suggesting that you’d cheat, but …’ He spread his hands suggestively.

‘You’re going to tamper with time again, I take it?’ Sparhawk said to her.

She shook her head. ‘There are some limitations to that, Sparhawk. We need something more dependable. The ship that’s waiting for us is just a bit unusual. I don’t think any of you should get too curious about what she’s made of and what makes her move. You won’t be able to talk with the crew, because they don’t speak your language. You probably wouldn’t want to talk with them anyway, because they aren’t really human.’

‘Witchcraft?’ Bevier asked suspiciously.

She patted his cheek. ‘I’ll answer that question just as soon as you come up with a definition of witchcraft that’s not personally insulting, dear Bevier.’

‘What are you going to do, Aphrael?’ Sephrenia asked suspiciously. There are rules, you know.’

‘The other side’s been breaking rules right and left, dear sister,’ Aphrael replied airily. ‘Reaching into the past has been forbidden almost from the very start.’

‘Are you going to reach into the future?’ Khalad asked her. ‘People are coming up with new ideas in ship design all the time. Are you going to reach ahead and bring us back a ship that hasn’t been invented yet?’

‘That’s an interesting idea, Khalad, but I wouldn’t know where to look. The future hasn’t happened yet, so how would I know where – or when – to find that kind of a ship? I’ve gone someplace else, that’s all.’

‘What do you mean “someplace else”?’

‘There’s more than one world, Khalad,’ she said mysteriously. Then she made a little face. ‘You wouldn’t believe how complicated the negotiations were,’ she added.




Chapter 3 (#ulink_1ee58fa8-0b4a-510d-baef-0eb4b3939607)


Ehlana and Sarabian had gone to the top of the central tower of the glowing castle, ostensibly to admire the sunset. Despite the fact that the castle was firmly in Elene hands, there were still enough Tamuls inside the walls to require a certain amount of care when the two wanted to speak privately.

‘It all comes down to the question of power, Sarabian,’ Ehlana told the Emperor in a pensive voice. ‘The fact that it’s there has to be the central fact of our lives. We can either take it into our own hands, or leave it lying around unused, but if we choose not to use it, we can be sure that someone else will.’ Her tone was subdued and her pale young face almost somber.

‘You’re in a melancholy humor today, Ehlana,’ Sarabian noted.

‘I don’t like being separated from Sparhawk. There were too many years of that after Aldreas exiled him. The point I was getting at is that you’re going to have to be very firm so that the people in your government will understand that things have changed. What you’ll really be doing here is seizing power. That’s an act of revolution, you know.’ She smiled faintly. ‘You’re almost too civilized to be a revolutionary, Sarabian. Are you really sure you want to overthrow the government?’

‘Good God, Ehlana, it’s my government, and the power was mine in the first place.’

‘But you didn’t use it. You were lazy and self-indulgent, and you let it slip away. Your ministers have filched your authority bit by bit. Now you’re going to have to wrest it back from them. People don’t willingly give up power, so you’ll probably have to kill some of your ministers in order to prove to the rest that you’re serious.’

‘Kill!’

‘That’s the ultimate expression of power, Sarabian, and your situation here requires a certain ruthlessness. You’re going to have to spill some blood in order to get your government’s attention.’

‘I don’t think I can do that,’ Sarabian said in a troubled tone. ‘Oh, I know I’ve blustered and made threats a few times, but I couldn’t actually order someone killed.’

‘That’s up to you, but you’ll lose if you don’t, and that means that they’ll kill you.’ She considered it. They’ll probably kill you anyway,’ she added, ‘but at least you’ll die for something important. Knowing that they’re going to kill you in the end might help you make some unpleasant decisions at the outset. Once you get past your first couple of killings, it grows easier. I speak from a certain amount of experience on the subject, since almost exactly the same thing happened to me. Primate Annias completely controlled my government when I came to the throne, and I had to try to take my power back from him.’

‘You’re the one who’s been talking so freely about killing, Ehlana. Why didn’t you kill Annias?’

She laughed a brittle, chilling little laugh. ‘It wasn’t because I didn’t want to, believe me, but I was too weak. Annias had very carefully stripped the crown of all its authority. I had some help from Lord Vanion and his Pandion Knights, but Annias had control of the army and the church soldiers. I killed a few of his underlings, but I couldn’t get to him. He knew I was trying, though, and that’s why he poisoned me. Annias was really a very good politician. He knew exactly when the time for killing had arrived.’

‘You sound almost as if you admired him.’

‘I hated him, but he was very good.’

‘Well, I haven’t killed anybody yet, so I can still step back from this.’

‘You’re wrong there. You’ve already drawn your dagger, so you’re going to have to use it. You crushed that uprising, and you’ve imprisoned the Minister of the Interior. That’s the same thing as a declaration of war, you know.’

‘You did those things,’ he accused her.

‘Yes, but I was acting on your behalf, so it’s the same thing – at least in the eyes of your enemies. You’re in a great deal of danger now, you know. You’ve let your government know that you’re going to seize back the power you let slip away. If you don’t start killing people – and very, very soon – you probably won’t live out the month. You’d be dead already if it weren’t for the fact that you’ve taken refuge in this castle.’

‘You’re starting to frighten me, Ehlana.’

‘God knows I’ve been trying. Like it or not, Sarabian, you’re committed now.’ She looked around. The sun was sinking into the cloud-bank building up over the mountains lying to the west, and its ruddy glow was reflecting from the mother-of-pearl domes of Matherion. ‘Look at your city, Sarabian,’ she told him, ‘and contemplate the reality of politics. Before you’re done, that red splashed all over the domes won’t just be the reflection of the sunset.’

‘That’s blunt enough,’ he said, his jaw taking on an unfamiliar set. ‘All right, how many people do I have to kill in order to ensure my own safety?’

‘You don’t have that many knives, my friend. Even if you butcher everybody in Matherion, you’ll still be in danger. You might as well accept the fact that you’re going to be in danger for the rest of your life.’ She smiled at him. ‘Actually, it’s kind of exciting – once you get used to it.’

‘Well, sir, yer Queenship,’ Caalador drawled, ‘it’s all purty much th’ way we wuz a-thankin’ it wuz. That thar Krager feller, he wuz a-tellin’ ol’ Sporhawk th’ ak-chool truth. Me’n Stragen, we bin a-twistin’ the arms an’ a-settin’ fahr t’ the feet o’ them fellers ez wuz picked up durin’ the koop …’ He stopped. ‘Would your Majesty be too disappointed if I spoke like a human being for a while? That dialect’s starting to dislocate my jaw.’

‘Not to mention the violence it’s doing to the mother tongue,’ Stragen murmured.

The three of them had gathered together in a small, blue-draped room adjoining the royal apartment later that same evening. Ehlana and Stragen were still dressed for dinner, she in crimson velvet and he in white satin. Caalador wore the sober brown of a businessman. The room had been carefully checked several times to be sure that no hidden listening posts lurked behind the walls, and Mirtai grimly stood watch outside the door.

‘With the exception of Interior Minister Kolata, we didn’t scoop up anybody of any significance,’ Caalador continued, ‘and none of our other prisoners really knows very much. I’m afraid we don’t have much choice, your Majesty. We’re going to have to go to work on Kolata if we want anything useful.’

Ehlana shook her head. ‘You won’t get anything out of him either, Caalador. He’ll be killed as soon as he opens his mouth.’

‘We don’t know that for certain, my Queen,’ Stragen disagreed. ‘It’s entirely possible that our subterfuge has worked, you know. I really don’t believe that the other side knows that he’s a prisoner here. His policemen are still getting their orders from him.’

‘He’s too valuable to risk,’ she said. ‘Once he’s been torn to pieces, he’ll be very hard to put back together again.’

‘If that’s the way you want it, your Majesty,’ Caalador shrugged. ‘Anyway, it’s growing increasingly obvious that this uprising was a pure hoax. Its only purpose was to compel us to reveal our strength. What concerns me the most is the fact that Krager and his friends obviously knew that we were using the criminals of Matherion as our eyes and ears. I’m sorry, Stragen, but it’s the truth.’

‘It was such a good idea,’ Stragen sighed.

‘It was all right at first, but the trouble with it was that Krager’s seen it before. Talen told me that your friend Platime used to have whole crowds of beggars, whores and pick-pockets following Krager around. The best idea in the world wears a little thin if you over-use it.’

Stragen rose to his feet muttering curses, and began to pace up and down in the small room with his white satin doublet gleaming in the candlelight. ‘It looks as if I’ve failed you, my Queen,’ he admitted. ‘I let a good idea run away with me. You couldn’t really trust my judgement after a blunder like that, so I’ll make arrangements to go back to Emsat.’

‘Oh, don’t be an ass, Stragen,’ she told him. ‘And do sit down. I can’t think while you’re clumping around the room like that.’

‘She shore knows how t’ put a feller in his place, don’t she, Stragen?’ Caalador laughed.

Ehlana sat tapping one finger thoughtfully against her chin. ‘First of all, let’s keep this in the family. Sarabian’s already getting a bit wild-eyed. Politically, he’s an infant. I’m trying to raise him as quickly as I can, but I can only move him just so fast.’ She made a sour face. ‘I have to stop every so often to burp him.’

‘Now that’s a picture for you,’ Caalador grinned. ‘What’s he choking on, your Majesty?’

‘Murder, primarily,’ she shrugged. ‘He doesn’t seem to have the stomach for it.’

Caalador blinked. ‘Not many do.’

‘Politicians can’t afford that kind of delicacy. All right, if Krager and his friends know about our spy network, it won’t be long until they try something in the way of penetration, will it?’

‘You’re quick,’ he said admiringly.

‘Quick people live longer. Start thinking, gentlemen. We’ve got an exploitable situation here, and it won’t last for very long. How can we use it to our greatest advantage?’

‘We might be able to identify real conspirators instead of dupes, your Majesty,’ Stragen mused. ‘If they do try penetration, they’re going to have to subvert some of our people. Let’s say that we start passing out assorted fairy-tales – this story to some pick-pocket, another to some beggar or whore. Then we sit back to see which of those fraudulent schemes the other side attempts to counter. That will identify the turncoats in our own ranks, and we can squeeze useful names out of them.’

‘Surely we can get something a little better than that,’ she fretted.

‘We’ll work on it, your Majesty,’ Caalador promised. ‘If it’s all right with you, I’d like to follow up on something else as well. We know that Krager’s been busy here in Matherion, but we don’t know how much information about our methods he’s passed on to his friends in other kingdoms. We might as well get what use we can out of our makeshift intelligence service before it becomes totally useless. I’ll pass the word to the criminals down in Arjuna. I’d like to find out one way or the other if that silly scholar at the university has blundered across the real truth or if he’s just weaving a theory out of moonbeams. I think we might all find a complete biography of the fellow known as Scarpa really fascinating reading. If nothing else, whether or not our spies in Arjuna succeed will tell us how much Krager really knows about the scope of our operations. If he thinks it’s only localized, our apparatus hasn’t been too severely compromised.’

‘Go after the others as well,’ Ehlana told him. ‘See what you can find out about Baron Parok, Rebal and Sabre. Let’s try to attach names to Rebal and Sabre at the very least.’

‘We’ll do ’er jist th’ way yer Majesty commands.’

‘I’d be happier’n a pig in mud iffn y’would, Caalador,’ she replied.

Caalador collapsed in helpless laughter.

‘It’s probably the change in the weather, your Majesty,’ Alean said. ‘It’s definitely getting chillier at night, and the days aren’t nearly as warm as they were just a few weeks ago.’

‘She grew up in Cimmura, Alean,’ Ehlana disagreed, ‘and the weather changes there much more markedly than it does here in Matherion.’

‘It’s a different part of the world though, my Queen,’ Baroness Melidere pointed out. ‘We’re right on the sea-coast for one thing. That could be what’s causing the problem. Sometimes children react more strongly to things like that than adults.’

‘You’re both making too much out of it,’ Mirtai told them. ‘All she needs is a tonic. She’s not really sick, she’s just moping around.’

‘But she sleeps all the time,’ Ehlana fretted. ‘She even falls asleep when she’s playing.’

‘She’s probably growing,’ the giantess shrugged. ‘I used to do the same sort of thing when I was a little girl. Growing is very hard work, I guess.’

The object of their discussions lay drowsing on a divan near the window with Rollo loosely clasped in her arms. Rollo had survived two generations of intense affection. He had been dragged about by one hind leg. He had been laid upon, crammed into tight places and ignored at times for weeks on end. A shift in his stuffings had given him a slightly worried expression. Queen Ehlana viewed that as a bad sign. Rollo had never looked worried when he had been her toy. Mmrr, on the other hand, seemed quite content. An owner who didn’t move around very much suited Mmrr right down to the ground. When Princess Danae was dozing, she was not dreaming up ridiculous things to do to her cat. Mmrr secretly felt that any day that did not involve being dressed up in dolls’ clothing was a good day. She lay on her little mistress’s hip with her front paws sedately folded under her chest, her eyes closed and a soft, contented purr coming from her throat. So long as nothing disturbed her naps, Mmrr was perfectly at peace with the world.

The Royal Princess Danae dozed, her mind far more involved with the conversation Flute was holding with Sparhawk and his friends on the Isle of Tega than with her mother’s concern over her health here in Matherion. Danae yawned and nestled down with toy and with cat and drifted off to sleep.

‘Dearest,’ the letter began. ‘We’ve reached Tega, and we’ll be going out into the countryside for a while to see what’s afoot. I’ll be out of touch for a bit, so I thought it might be a good idea to let you know that we’ve arrived safely. Don’t be too concerned if you don’t hear from me for quite some time. I’m not entirely sure how long we’ll be submerged in the population here.

‘The others are growing impatient to get started. There’s no real point to this letter – except to tell you that I love you – but that’s probably the most important point of all, isn’t it? Kiss Danae for me.

‘All my love, Sparhawk.’

‘Oh, that’s nice,’ Ehlana murmured, lowering the note from her husband. They were all sitting in the blue-draped sitting room in the queen’s apartments, and the arrival of Caalador with Sparhawk’s letter had interrupted a serious discussion about what they were going to do about the Interior Ministry.

Caalador, dressed again in sober brown and carrying a grotesque porcelain figurine from twelfth-century Arjuna, was frowning. ‘I think you might want to remind the people at the gates of the compound that they’re supposed to let me in, your Majesty. I had a bit of an argument again.’

‘What’s this?’ Emperor Sarabian asked.

‘Master Caalador’s serving as my “procurer of antiquities”,’ Ehlana explained. ‘It gives him an excuse to come and go without interference. I’ve gathered a whole roomful of assorted bric-a-brac since I’ve arrived here.’

‘That brings us right back to the issue we were discussing before you got here, Caalador,’ Stragen said. Stragen wore black today, and Ehlana privately felt that the color didn’t really suit him. He rose and began to pace up and down, a habit the Queen of Elenia found irritating. ‘The Interior Ministry’s beginning to flex its muscles for some reason. We’re sitting on the Minister himself, so this onset of burliness is probably coming from some underling.’

‘Interior has always liked to throw its weight around,’ Oscagne told them. The Foreign Minister was wearing western-style clothes again, and he looked distinctly uncomfortable in them.

‘I think that reinforces the point I was trying to make earlier, Ehlana,’ Sarabian said. ‘Are you sure we shouldn’t dissolve the Interior Ministry right now?’

‘Absolutely,’ Ehlana replied. ‘We’ve got Kolata buttoned up inside the castle here, and we’ve given the world a perfectly legitimate reason for his presence. He’s still functioning – under our control – and that’s of enormous value to us. We’re playing for time, Sarabian. We’re terribly vulnerable until Tynian and Emban come back from Chyrellos with the Church Knights – or at the very least until all the Atan commanders have been advised that they aren’t supposed to obey the orders of the Interior Ministry any more. We definitely don’t want the Atans fighting on both sides if trouble breaks out.’

‘I guess I hadn’t thought of that,’ he admitted.

‘Not only that, your Majesty,’ Oscagne added gently. ‘It’s entirely possible that Interior would simply ignore a proclamation disbanding them. They have almost total power, you know. Queen Ehlana’s right. We can’t move against them until we’re sure of the Atans.’

Stragen had continued his pacing. ‘Nobody can subvert an entire branch of government,’ he declared. ‘There are just too many people involved, and all it would take would be one honest policeman to expose the entire scheme.’

‘There’s no such thing as an honest policeman, Stragen,’ Caalador said with a cynical laugh. ‘It’s a contradiction in terms.’

‘You know what I mean.’ Stragen shrugged that off. ‘We know that Kolata has dirty hands, but we can’t be sure just how far that disloyalty goes. It could be very widespread, or it could be confined to just a few in the higher councils of the ministry.’

Caalador shook his head. “Tain’t hordly likely, Stragen,’ he disagreed. ‘Y’ gotta have them ez y’ kin trust out thar when y’ start givin’ orders ez runs contrary t’ reg’lar policy. They’s gotta be some in th’ hinterlands ez knows whut’s whut.’

Stragen made a face. ‘I wish you wouldn’t do that,’ he complained. ‘Please don’t use that vile dialect when you’re right. It makes me feel inadequate. All right, then. We can be fairly certain that most of the higher-ranking officials in the ministry are involved, but we can’t even guess at how widespread the contamination is. I’d say that finding out gets to be a kind of priority.’

‘Shouldn’t take y’ more’n a couple hunnerd years t’ do thet, Stragen,’ Caalador noted.

‘Not necessarily,’ Baroness Melidere disagreed. She looked at Oscagne. ‘You once said that the Ministry of the Interior’s very fond of paper, your Excellency.’

‘Of course, Baroness. All government agencies adore paper. Paperwork provides full employment for our relatives. Interior goes a little farther, though. Policemen can’t function without files and dossiers. They write everything down.’

‘I rather thought that might be the case. The people over at Interior are all trained as policemen, aren’t they?’

Oscagne nodded.

‘Then they’d all be compulsive about writing reports and filing them, wouldn’t they?’

‘I suppose so,’ he said. ‘I don’t see where you’re going with this exactly, Baroness.’

‘Wake up, Oscagne,’ Sarabian said excitedly. ‘I think this wonderful girl’s just solved our problem for us. Someplace over in that rabbit warren at Interior there’s a set of files that contains the names of all the disloyal policemen and secret agents in the Empire. All we have to do is get our hands on that set of files, and we’ll know exactly which people to pick up when the time comes to move.’

‘Except for the fact that they’ll defend those files to the death,’ Ehlana observed. ‘And there’s also the fact that a move against their filing system would be the same as a frontal assault on the ministry itself.’

‘You really know how to burst bubbles, Ehlana,’ the Emperor complained.

‘There might be a way around the queen’s objections, your Majesty,’ Melidere said with a slight frown. ‘Is there a standardized filing system here in Matherion, Minister Oscagne?’

‘Good God, no, Baroness,’ he exclaimed. ‘If we all had the same filing system, anybody at all could walk into our offices and find anything he wanted. We’d never be able to keep any secrets from each other.’

‘I thought that might be the case. Now then, suppose that Queen Ehlana happened to mention to the Emperor – just in passing – that her government had standardized the filing system, and that everybody filed things the same way. Then let’s suppose that the Emperor grew very excited about the idea – the enormous savings in the cost of government and all that. Then, still supposing, he appoints an imperial commission with extraordinary powers to examine everybody’s files with an eye toward that standardization. Wouldn’t that sort of justify a thorough search of the offices at Interior?’

‘It’s got possibilities, my Queen,’ Stragen approved. ‘Something like that would hide what we’re really up to – particularly if we had people tearing up everybody else’s files at the same time.’

Oscagne’s face went absolutely white.

‘I’d sooner take pizen than insult y’, little lady,’ Caalador drawled to the baroness, ‘but yer still a-talkin’ ’bout a chore which it is that’d taken us a good twenty year ’er more t’ finish. We got us a hull buildin’ over thar t’ take aport iffn th’ Furrin Minister yere is kee-rect ’bout how miny tons o’ paper they got over t’ Interior.’

‘We can shorten that a bit, Master Caalador,’ Melidere replied. ‘All we have to do is question Interior Minister Kolata.’

‘Absolutely not,’ Ehlana said sharply. ‘I don’t want him all torn to pieces – at least not until I don’t need him any more.’

‘We wouldn’t be asking him any sensitive questions, your Majesty,’ Melidere said patiently. ‘All we want to know is how his filing system works. That wouldn’t compromise the conspiracy he’s involved in, would it?’

‘I think she’s right, Ehlana,’ Mirtai said. ‘There would almost have to be some sort of trigger – questions about certain subjects – that would make our enemies decide to kill Kolata. They wouldn’t kill him if all we did was ask him about something as ordinary as a filing system, would they?’

‘No,’ the queen agreed. They probably wouldn’t at that.’ Her expression was still doubtful, however.

‘It’s all very clever, Baroness,’ Stragen said, ‘but we’ll be sending Tamul officials into the various ministries to investigate files. How will we know that at least some of them aren’t on the other side?’

‘We wouldn’t, Milord Stragen. That’s why we’ll have to send our own people – the Church Knights – in to review those files.’

‘How would we justify that?’

‘The new filing system would be an Elene invention, Milord. We’re obviously going to have to send Elenes into the various ministries to evaluate the current methods and to instruct the officials on how to convert to the new system.’

‘Now I’ve got you, Baroness,’ he said triumphantly. This is all a fiction. We don’t have a new filing system.’

‘Then invent one, Milord Stragen,’ she suggested sweetly.

Prime Minister Subat was deeply troubled by the suggestion the Chancellor of the Exchequer had just placed before him. The two were alone together in the Prime Minister’s ornate office, a room only slightly less magnificent than one of the imperial audience chambers. ‘You’re out of your mind, Gashon,’ he declared flatly.

Chancellor of the Exchequer Gashon was a bloodless, corpse-like man with sunken cheeks and no more than a few wispy strands of hair protruding from his lumpy scalp. ‘Look at it more closely, Pondia Subat,’ he said in his hollow, rusty-sounding voice. ‘It’s only a theory, but it does explain many things that are otherwise incomprehensible.’

‘They wouldn’t have dared,’ Subat scoffed.

‘Try to lift your mind out of the fourteenth century, Subat,’ Gashon snapped. ‘You’re the Prime Minister, not the keeper of antiquities. The world is changing all around you. You can’t just sit still with your eyes firmly fixed on the past and hope to survive.’

‘I don’t like you very much, Gashon.’

‘I’m not terribly fond of you either, Subat. Let me go through it for you again. Try to stay awake this time.’

‘How dare you?’

‘I dare because I’d sort of like to keep my head where it is. First off: the Elenes of Eosia are absolute barbarians. Can we agree on that at least?’

‘All right.’

‘They haven’t caused us much trouble in the past because they were too busy fighting among themselves about religion, and because they had Otha of Zemoch to worry about. Would it surprise you too much if I told you that Otha’s dead and that the Rendorish insurgency’s been almost completely crushed?’

‘I have my own sources of information, Gashon.’

‘Have you ever considered listening to what they tell you? Now then, there was open warfare in the streets of Chyrellos preceding the elevation of this Dolmant to the Archprelacy. I’d say that’s a fair indication of the fact that he’s not universally loved. The best way I know of for a shaky ruler to consolidate his position is to contrive a foreign adventure, and the only real foreign ground for the Elenes of the Eosian Continent is Daresia – the Tamul Empire. That’s us, in case you hadn’t noticed, Pondia Subat.’

‘I know that, Gashon.’

‘I just wanted to be sure, that’s all. Are you with me so far?’

‘Get to the point, Gashon. I don’t have all day.’

‘Did you have an appointment with the headsman? All right, then. The Elenes are religious fanatics who feel that they’re called of the Lord to convert everybody in the world to their absurd faith. For all I know, they also want to convert snakes, spiders and fish. Dolmant’s their religious leader, and they’d probably try to subdue glaciers and tides if he told them to. So, we’ve got a religious leader who has an uncertain grasp on power in his own Church, and he has hordes of fanatic followers at his disposal. He can either use those followers to crush his opponents at home, or he can hurl them against a foreign power on some trumped-up excuse that will inflame the commons and stifle objections to his rule. Isn’t it a coincidence that at precisely that time we have this “state visit” by a silly female – a female Foreign Minister Oscagne assures us is the Queen of Elenia. I hope the fact that we only have Oscagne’s word for that hasn’t escaped you. This so-called queen is obviously more accustomed to doing business in bed than she is on a throne. She clearly wrestled not only that silly ass Alberen of Astel into submission but probably Androl of the Atans as well. We can only speculate about her adventures among the Peloi and the Styrics at Sarsos. Then, once she reached Matherion, she lured Emperor Sarabian to her bedchamber before the first day was out – you did know that Sarabian and Oscagne crept across the compound to that imitation Elene castle on the first night she was here, didn’t you?’

Subat started to object.

‘Yes, I know,’ Gashon cut him off, ‘that brings us to Oscagne. I’d say that the evidence strongly suggests that Oscagne has gone over to the Elenes – either for personal gain or because he’s fallen under the spell of that blonde Elene strumpet. She had plenty of time to work on him while he was in Chyrellos, you know.’

‘It’s all speculation, Gashon,’ Subat said, although his voice lacked conviction.

‘Of course it is, Subat,’ Gashon replied with heavy sarcasm. ‘What would be the fastest way to get to Matherion from Chyrellos?’

‘By ship, naturally.’

‘Then why did the strumpet of Cimmura choose to come overland? Was it to look at scenery, or to grapple her way across the continent? The girl’s got stamina, I’ll give her that.’

‘What about this recent coup-attempt, Gashon? The government would have fallen if the Elenes hadn’t been here.’

‘Ah yes, the famous coup. Isn’t it astounding that a group of Elenes, who didn’t even speak the Tamul language when they arrived, were able to unearth this dire plot in about six weeks? – when the agents of the Ministry of the Interior, who’ve only been in Matherion for all of their lives, hadn’t come across a single clue about it? The Elenes crushed an imaginary coup, Subat, and now they’ve used it as an excuse to imprison the Emperor in that cursed fortress of theirs – not only the Emperor, but Interior Minister Kolata as well, and Kolata’s the one man in government who has the resources to free our ruler. I’ve talked with Teovin, Director of the Secret Police, and he assures me that no one from the ministry has been permitted to speak with Kolata privately since his incarceration. Our colleague is obviously a prisoner, and the orders he’s issuing to the Interior Ministry are just as obviously coming from the Elenes. Then, if that weren’t bad enough, they’ve sent the so-called churchman, Emban, back to Chyrellos to lead the Church Knights back here to “deal with the crisis”. We have all the resources of Interior and whole armies of Atans at our disposal, Subat. Why do we need the Church Knights? What possible reason is there to bring the most ruthless force in the entire world to Tamuli? Would the word “invasion” startle you? That’s all that the famous coup really was, you realize – an excuse for the Elene Church to invade Tamuli, and quite obviously it’s been with the Emperor’s full cooperation.’

‘Why would the Emperor conspire with the Elenes to topple his own government?’

‘I can think of any number of reasons. Maybe this so-called queen threatened to deny him her favors. Most probably, though, she’s been spinning fairy-tales for him, telling him about the joys of absolute power. That’s a common fiction in Eosia. Elene rulers like to pretend that they’re the ones who make all the decisions in their kingdoms rather than permitting the government to do it for them. We both know how ridiculous that idea is. A king – or in our case, the Emperor – only has one function. He’s a symbol of government, nothing more. He serves as a focus for the love and loyalty of the people. The imperial government’s been engaged in a selective-breeding program for the past thousand years. The Emperor’s Tamul wife – the one who produces the heir to the throne – is always selected for her stupidity. We don’t need intelligent emperors, only docile ones. Somehow Sarabian slipped past us. If you’d ever really taken the trouble to pay attention to him, you’d have discovered that he’s frighteningly intelligent. Kolata blundered there. Sarabian should have been killed long before he ascended the throne. Our revered Emperor’s beginning to hunger for real power, I’m afraid. Normally, we could deal with that, but we can’t get at him to kill him as long as he’s inside that blasted fortress.’

‘You weave a convincing story, Gashon,’ the Prime Minister conceded with a troubled frown. ‘I knew it was a blunder to invite that Sparhawk savage to come to Matherion.’

‘We all did, Subat, and you’ll recall who it was who overrode all our objections.’

‘Oscagne,’ Subat spat.

‘Precisely. Is it beginning to fit together for you now?’

‘Did you devise all of this by yourself, Gashon? It’s a little elaborate for a man who spends all his time counting pennies.’

‘Actually, it was Teovin, the Director of the Secret Police, who brought it to my attention. He provided me with a great deal of very concrete evidence. I’ve summarized it for you here. Interior has spies everywhere, you know. Nothing happens in the Empire that doesn’t generate a report for those famous files of theirs. Now, Pondia Subat, what does our esteemed Prime Minister propose to do about the fact that our Emperor’s being held prisoner – willingly or unwillingly – not a hundred paces from where we sit? You’re the titular head of government, Subat. You’re the one who has to make these decisions. Oh, and while you’re at it, you might want to give some thought to how we’re going to prevent the Church Knights from sweeping across the continent, marching into Matherion and forcing everyone to bow down to their ridiculous God – and butchering the entire government in the process.’

‘They’re trying to stall, your Majesties,’ Stragen reported. ‘When supper-time comes, they escort us to the door, push us outside, and lock the door behind us. The building stays locked for the rest of the night – although there are always plenty of lights moving around in there after dark. When we go back the next morning, everything’s been rearranged. The files migrate from room to room like ducks in the autumn. I wouldn’t actually swear to it, but I think they move walls as well. We found a room just this morning that I don’t really think was there last night.’

‘I’ll send in Engessa’s Atans,’ Sarabian said darkly. ‘We’ll chase everybody out and then tear the building apart brick by brick.’

‘No,’ Ehlana said, shaking her head. ‘If we make an overt move against the Ministry of the Interior, every policeman in the Empire will scurry down a rabbit-hole.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Let’s start to do inconvenient things to the other ministries as well. Don’t make it obvious that we’re concentrating all of our attention on the Ministry of the Interior.’

‘How can you possibly make things any worse than they already are, your Majesty?’ Oscagne asked in a broken voice. ‘You’ve disrupted centuries of work as it is.’

‘Can anyone think of anything?’ Sarabian asked, looking around.

‘May I speak, your Majesty?’ Alean asked in a small, timid-sounding voice.

‘Of course, dear,’ Ehlana smiled.

‘I hope you’ll all forgive my presumption,’ Alean apologized. ‘I can’t even read, so I don’t really know what files are, but aren’t we sort of letting on that we’re rearranging them?’

‘That’s what we’re telling everybody,’ Mirtai replied.

‘As I said, I can’t read, but I do know a bit about rearranging cupboards and such things. This is a little like that, isn’t it?’

‘Close enough,’ Stragen replied.

‘Well, then, when you’re rearranging a cupboard, you take everything out and spread it on the floor. Then you put all the things you want in the top drawer in one pile, the things you want in the second drawer in another, and so on. Couldn’t we do that with these files?’

‘It’s a nice i-dee, little dorlin’,’ Caalador drawled, ‘but they ain’t e-nuff floors in the hull buildin’ fer spreadin’ out all them there files.’

‘There are lots of lawns around the outside, though, aren’t there?’ Alean kept her eyes downcast as she spoke. ‘Couldn’t we just take all the files from every government building outside and spread them around on the lawns. We could tell the people who work in the buildings that we want to sort through them and put them in the proper order. They couldn’t really object, and you can’t lock the door to a lawn at night, or move things around when there are seven-foot-tall Atans standing guard over them. I know I’m just a silly servant girl, but that’s the way I’d do it.’

Oscagne was staring at her in absolute horror.




Chapter 4 (#ulink_b069a667-202b-5bdd-b565-008636a9bf36)


The soil on the western side of the Isle of Tega was thin and rocky, and since there was plenty of fertile ground farther inland, the citizens of the Republic had made no effort to cultivate here. Tough, scrubby bushes rustled stiffly in the onshore breeze as Sparhawk and his friends rode along a rocky trail leading to the coast.

‘The breeze helps,’ Talen observed gratefully. ‘At least it blows away that stink.’

‘You complain too much,’ Flute told him. The little girl rode with Sephrenia as she had since they had first encountered her. She nestled in her older sister’s arms with her dark eyes brooding. She straightened suddenly as the sound of surf pounding on the western shore of the Isle reached them. ‘This is far enough for right now, gentlemen,’ she told them. ‘Let’s have some supper and wait for it to get dark.’

‘Is that a good idea?’ Bevier asked her. ‘The ground’s been getting rougher the farther west we come, and the sound of that surf seems to have rocks mixed up in it. This might not be a good place to be blundering around in the dark.’

‘I can lead you safely to the beach, Bevier,’ she told him. ‘I don’t want you gentlemen to get too good a look at our ship. There are certain ideas involved in her construction that you don’t need to know. That’s one of the promises I had to make during those negotiations I was telling you about.’ She pointed to the lee-side of a rocky hillock. ‘Let’s go over there out of this wind and build a fire. I have some instructions for you.’

They rode away from the ill-defined trail and dismounted in the shelter of the hill. ‘Whose turn is it to do the cooking?’ Berit asked Sir Ulath.

‘Yours,’ Ulath told him with no hint of a smile.

‘You knew he was going to do that, Berit,’ Talen said. ‘What you just did was almost the same thing as volunteering.’

Berit shrugged. ‘My turn will come up eventually anyway,’ he said. ‘I thought I’d get it out of the way for a while.’

‘All right, gentlemen,’ Vanion said, ‘let’s look around and see what we can find in the way of firewood.’

Sparhawk concealed a smile. Vanion could maintain that he was no longer the Preceptor as much as he wished, but the habit of command was deeply ingrained in him.

They built a fire, and Berit stirred up an acceptable stew. After supper, they sat by the fire watching as evening slowly settled in.

‘Now then,’ Flute said to them, ‘we’re going to ride down to a cove. I want you all to stay close behind me, because it’s going to be very foggy.’

‘It’s a perfectly clear evening, Flute,’ Kalten objected.

‘It won’t be when we reach the cove,’ she told him. ‘I’m going to make sure that you don’t get too much chance to examine that ship. I’m not really supposed to do this, so don’t get me into trouble.’ She looked sternly at Khalad. ‘And I want you in particular to keep a very tight rein on your curiosity.’

‘Me?’

‘Yes, you. You’re too practical and too clever by half for my comfort. Your noble friends here aren’t imaginative enough to make any educated guesses about the ship. You’re a different matter. Don’t be digging at the decks with your knife, and don’t try to sneak off to examine things. I don’t want to drop by Cimmura someday and find a duplicate of the ship anchored in the river. We’ll go down to the cove, board the ship, and go directly below. You will not go up on deck until we get to where we’re going. A certain part of the ship has been set aside for us, and we’ll all stay there for the duration of the voyage. I want your word on that, gentlemen.’

Sparhawk could see some differences between Flute and Danae. Flute was more authoritarian, for one thing, and she didn’t seem to have Danae’s whimsical sense of humor. Although the Child Goddess had a definite personality, each of her incarnations seemed to have its own idiosyncrasies.

Flute looked up at the slowly darkening sky. ‘We’ll wait another hour,’ she decided. ‘The crew of the ship has been told to stay away from us. Our meals will be put just outside the door, and we won’t see the one who puts them there. It won’t do you any good to try to catch her, so don’t even try.’

‘Her?’ Ulath exclaimed. ‘Are you trying to say that there are women in the crew?’

‘They’re all females. There aren’t very many males where they come from.’

‘Women aren’t strong enough to raise and lower the sails,’ he objected.

‘These females are ten times stronger than you are, Ulath, and it wouldn’t matter anyway, because the ship doesn’t have sails. Please stop asking questions, gentlemen. Oh, one other thing. There’ll be a sort of humming sound when we get under way. It’s normal, so don’t let it alarm you.’

‘How …’ Ulath began.

She held up her hand. ‘No more questions, Ulath,’ she told him quite firmly. ‘You don’t need to know the answers. The ship’s here to take us from one place to another in a hurry. That’s all you need to know.’

‘That brings us to something we really should know,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Where are we going?’

‘To Jorsan on the west coast of Edom,’ she replied. ‘Well, almost, anyway. There’s a long gulf leading inland to Jorsan. We’ll put ashore at the mouth of the gulf and go inland on horseback. Now, why don’t we talk about something else?’

The fog seemed almost thick enough to walk on, and the knights were obliged to blindly follow the misty light of the torch Sephrenia held aloft as they rode down a steep bank toward the sound of unseen surf.

They reached a sandy beach and groped their way down toward the water. Then they saw other lights out in the fog – filmy, mist-shrouded lights which stretched out for what seemed an impossible distance. The lights did not flicker, and they were the wrong color for torchlight.

‘Good God!’ Ulath choked. ‘No ship could be that big!’

‘Ulath!’ Flute said sharply from out of the fog ahead.

‘Sorry,’ he mumbled.

When they reached the water’s edge, all they could see was a dark, looming shape lying low in the water several yards out, a shape outlined by those unwinking white lights. A ramp reached from the ship to the beach, and Ch’iel, Sephrenia’s white palfrey, stepped confidently onto that ramp and clattered across to the ship.

There were dim, shrouded shapes on the deck, cloaked and hooded figures that were all no more than shoulder high, but strangely squat and blocky.

‘What do we do with the horses?’ Vanion asked as they all dismounted.

‘Just leave them here,’ Flute replied. ‘They’ll be taken care of. Let’s go below. We can’t start until everybody’s off the deck.’

‘The crew stays up here, don’t they?’ Ulath asked her.

‘No. It’s too dangerous.’

They went to a rectangular hatchway in the deck and followed an inclined ramp leading down.

‘Stairs would take up less space,’ Khalad said critically.

‘The crew couldn’t use stairs, Khalad,’ Flute told him. ‘They don’t have legs.’

He stared at her in horror.

‘I told you that they’re not human,’ she shrugged.

The companionway they reached at the bottom of the ramp was low, and the knights had to half stoop as they followed the Child Goddess aft. The area below decks was illuminated by pale glowing spots of light recessed into the ceiling and covered over by what appeared to be glass. The light was steady, unwinking, and it definitely did not come from any kind of fire.

The quarters to which their little guide led them were more conventionally illuminated by candles, however, and the ceilings were high enough for the tall knights to stand erect. No sooner had Ulath closed the heavy door to what was in effect to be their prison for the next five days than a low-pitched humming sound began to vibrate in the deck beneath their feet, and they could feel the bow of the strange vessel start to swing ponderously about to point at the open sea. Then the ship surged forward.

‘What’s making it move?’ Kalten asked. ‘There’s no wind.’

‘Kalten!’ Aphrael said sharply.

‘Sorry,’ he mumbled.

‘There are four compartments here,’ she told them. ‘We’ll eat in this one, and we can spread out and sleep in the other three. Put away your belongings, gentlemen. Then you might as well go to bed. Nothing’s going to happen for five days.’

Sparhawk and Kalten went into one of the cabins, taking Talen with them. Talen was carrying Khalad’s saddle-bags as well as his own.

‘What’s your brother up to?’ Sparhawk asked the boy suspiciously.

‘He wants to look around a bit,’ Talen replied.

‘Aphrael told him not to do that.’

‘So?’

They all staggered a bit as the ship gave another forward surge. The humming sound climbed to a whine, and the ship seemed to rise up in the water almost like a sitting man rising to his feet.

Kalten threw his saddle-bags onto one of the bunks and sat down beside them. ‘I don’t understand any of this,’ he grumbled.

‘You aren’t supposed to,’ Sparhawk replied.

‘I wonder if they’ve got anything to drink aboard. I could definitely use a drink about now.’

‘I wouldn’t get my hopes up too high, and I’m not sure you’d care to drink something brewed by non-humans. It might do some strange things to you.’

Khalad came into the tiny compartment, his eyes baffled. ‘I don’t want to alarm you, gentlemen,’ he said, ‘but we’re moving faster than a horse can run.’

‘How do you know that?’ Talen asked him.

‘Those curtains in that central cabin are hanging over openings that are sort of like portholes – they’ve got glass over them, anyway. I looked out. There’s still fog all around us, but I could see the water. We passed a floating log, and it went by like a crossbow bolt. There’s something else, too. The hull curves back under us, and it isn’t touching the water at all.’

‘We’re flying?’ Kalten asked incredulously.

Khalad shook his head. ‘I think the keel’s touching the water, but that’s about all.’

‘I really don’t want to know about this,’ Kalten said plaintively.

‘He’s right, Khalad,’ Sparhawk said. ‘I think this is one of the things Aphrael told us was none of our business. Leave those curtains closed from now on.’

‘Aren’t you the least bit curious, my Lord?’

‘I can live with it.’

‘You don’t mind if I speculate just a bit, do you, Sparhawk?’

‘Go right ahead, but keep your speculations to yourself.’ He sat down on his bunk and began to pull off his boots. ‘I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m going to follow orders and go to bed. This is a good chance to catch up on our sleep, and we’ve all been running a little short on that for quite some time now. We’ll want to be alert when we get to Jorsan.’

‘Which only happens to be about a quarter of the way around the world,’ Khalad added moodily, ‘and which we’re going to reach in just five days. I don’t think I’m put together right for this kind of thing. Do I have to be a Pandion Knight, Sparhawk?’

‘Yes,’ Sparhawk told him, dropping his boots on the deck. ‘Was there anything else you wanted to know before I go to sleep?’

They all slept a great deal during the next five days. Sparhawk strongly suspected that Aphrael might have had a hand in that, since sleeping people don’t wander around making discoveries.

Their meals were served on strange oblong trays which were made of some substance none of them could identify. The food consisted entirely of uncooked vegetables, and they were given only water to drink. Kalten complained about the food at every meal, but, since there was nothing else available, he ate it anyway.

On the afternoon before they were scheduled to arrive, they gathered together in the cramped central compartment. ‘Are you sure?’ Kalten dubiously asked Flute when she told them that they were no more than ten hours from their destination.

She sighed. ‘Yes, Kalten, I’m sure.’

‘How do you know? You haven’t been up on deck, and you haven’t talked to any of the sailors. We could have been …’ His words sort of faded off. She was looking at him with a long-suffering expression as he floundered on. ‘Oh,’ he said then. ‘I wasn’t thinking, I guess. Sorry.’

‘I do love you, Kalten – in spite of everything.’

Khalad cleared his throat. ‘Didn’t Dolmant tell you that the Edomish have some strong feelings about the Church?’ he asked Sparhawk.

Sparhawk nodded. ‘As I understand it, they look at our Holy Mother in almost the same way that the Rendors do.’

‘Church Knights wouldn’t really be welcome then, I gather.’

‘Hardly.’

‘We’ll need to disguise ourselves as ordinary travelers, then.’

‘More than likely,’ Sparhawk agreed.

Vanion had been looking at his map. ‘Exactly where are we going from Jorsan, Aphrael?’ he asked Flute.

‘Up the coast a ways,’ she replied vaguely.

‘That’s not very specific.’

‘Yes, I know.’

He sighed. ‘Is there any real need for us to go on up the Gulf of Jorsan to the city itself? If we were to land on the north shore of the gulf, we could avoid the city entirely. Since the Edomish have these prejudices, shouldn’t we stay away from them as much as possible?’

‘We have to go to Jorsan,’ she told him. ‘Well,’ she amended, ‘Jorsan itself isn’t that important, but we’re going to see something along the way that will be.’

‘Oh? What’s that?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘You get used to that,’ Sparhawk told his friend. ‘Our little Goddess here gets hunches from time to time – no details at all, just hunches.’

‘What time will we make our landfall?’ Ulath asked.

‘About midnight,’ she replied.

‘Landing on a strange shore at night can be a little tricky,’ he said doubtfully.

‘There won’t be any problems.’ She said it with absolute confidence.

‘I’m not supposed to worry about it. Is that it?’

‘You can worry if you want to, Ulath,’ she smiled. ‘It’s not necessary, but you can worry all you like, if it makes you feel better.’

It was foggy when they came up on deck again – a dense, obscuring fog – and this time the strange ship showed no lights. Their horses, already saddled, were waiting, and they led them down the ramp to a pebbly beach.

When they looked back out toward the water, their ship was gone.

‘Where did she go?’ Ulath exclaimed.

‘She’s still there,’ Aphrael smiled.

‘Why can’t I see her, then?’

‘Because I don’t want people to see her. We passed a number of ordinary ships on our way here. If anybody’d seen her, there’d be wild talk in every sailors’ tavern in every port in the world.’

‘It’s all in the shape of the keel, isn’t it?’ Khalad mused.

‘Khalad!’ she said sharply. ‘You stop that immediately!’

‘I’m not going to do anything about it, Flute. I couldn’t if I wanted to, but it’s that keel that accounts for her speed. I’m only mentioning it so that you won’t make the mistake of thinking I’m so stupid that I can’t put it together.’

She glared at him.

He bent slightly and kissed her cheek. ‘That’s all right, Flute,’ he smiled. ‘I love you anyway – even if you do underestimate me at times.’

‘He’s going to work out just fine,’ Kalten said to Vanion.

The hillside rising from the gravel strand was covered with thick, rank grass, and by the time they had reached the top of the hill, the fog had entirely dissipated. A broad highway of reflected moonlight stretched out across the calm waters of the gulf.

‘My map shows a kind of track a mile or so inland,’ Vanion told them. ‘It seems to run up the gulf in the general direction of Jorsan.’ He looked at Flute, who was still glaring darkly at Khalad. ‘Pending instructions to the contrary from higher authority, I suppose we can follow that track.’ He looked inquiringly at the Child Goddess again.

She sank a little lower in Sephrenia’s arms and began to suck her thumb.

‘You’ll make your teeth crooked.’

She pulled her thumb out of her mouth and stuck her tongue out at him.

‘Shall we press on, then?’ Vanion suggested.

They rode on across a broad, rolling meadow covered with the rank salt-grass. The moon washed out all color, making the grass whipping at the horses’ legs seem gray and the forest beyond the meadow a formless black blot. They rode slowly, their eyes and ears alert and their hands never far from their sword-hilts. Nothing untoward had happened yet, but these were trained knights, and for them the world was always filled with danger.

After they rode in under the trees, Vanion called a halt.

‘Why are we stopping?’ Flute demanded a little crossly.

‘The moon’s very bright tonight,’ Vanion explained, ‘and our eyes need a little time to adjust to the shadows here under the trees. We don’t want to blunder into anything.’

‘Oh.’

‘Her night isn’t going too well, is it?’ Berit murmured to Sparhawk. ‘She seemed to be very upset with Khalad.’

‘It’s good for her. She gets over-confident sometimes, and a little too much impressed with her own cleverness.’

‘I heard that, Sparhawk,’ Flute snapped.

‘I rather thought you might have,’ he replied blandly.

‘Why is everyone mistreating me tonight?’ she complained.

’They’re only teasing you, Aphrael,’ Sephrenia assured the little girl, ‘clumsily, of course, but they’re Elenes, after all, so you can’t really expect too much from them.’

‘Shall we move on before things start to turn ugly?’ Vanion said.

They rode at a walk through the shadows, and after about half an hour they reached a narrow, rutted track. They turned eastward and moved on, riding a little faster now.

‘How far is it to Jorsan, my Lord?’ Bevier asked Vanion after they had gone a ways.

‘About fifty leagues,’ Vanion replied.

‘A goodly ways, then.’ Bevier looked inquiringly at Flute.

‘What?’ she said crossly.

‘Nothing, really.’

‘Say it, Bevier.’

‘I wouldn’t offend you for the world, Divine Aphrael, but could you speed the journey the way you did when we were traveling across Deira with King Wargun’s army?’

‘No, I can’t. You’ve forgotten that we’re waiting for something important to happen, Bevier, and I’m not going to fly past it just because you’re in a hurry to get to the taverns of Jorsan.’

‘That will do,’ Sephrenia told her.

Since it was still early autumn, they had not brought tents with them, and after about another hour’s travel they rode back into the forest and spread their blankets on beds of fallen leaves to get a few hours’ sleep.

The sun was well up when they set out again, and they travelled through the forest until late afternoon without encountering any local people.

Once again they moved back into the forest about a quarter of a mile, and set up for the night in a narrow ravine where an overhanging bank and the thick foliage would conceal the light from their small cooking fire. Rather surprisingly, Ulath did the cooking without any of his usual subterfuge. ‘It’s not as much fun when Tynian isn’t along,’ he explained.

‘I miss him too,’ Sparhawk agreed. ‘It seems strange to be travelling without all those suggestions of his.’

‘This cooking business has come up before,’ Vanion observed. ‘Am I missing something?’

‘Sir Ulath normally keeps track of it, my Lord,’ Talen replied. ‘It’s a very complicated system, so none of the rest of us really understands how it works.’

‘Wouldn’t a simple roster do just as well?’ Vanion asked.

‘I’m sure it would, but Sir Ulath prefers his own method. It has a few drawbacks, though. Once Kalten cooked every single meal for an entire week.’

Vanion shuddered.

They had smoked mutton-chops that evening, and Ulath received some hard looks from his companions about that. Flute and Sephrenia, however, complimented him on his choice. After they had eaten, they sought their makeshift beds.

It must have been well past midnight when Talen shook Sparhawk awake, laying a cautious hand across his mouth to prevent his crying out. ‘There are some people back near the road,’ the boy whispered. They’ve built a big fire.’

‘What are they doing?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘Just standing around waiting for somebody, it seems – unless you want to count the drinking.’

‘You’d better rouse the others,’ Sparhawk told him, throwing off his blankets and reaching for his sword.

They crept through the forest in the darkness and stopped at the edge of a stump-dotted clearing. There was a large bonfire in the center of the clearing and nearly a hundred men – peasants, for the most part, judging from their clothing – sitting on the ground near the blaze. Their faces were ruddy from the reflected light and from the contents of the earthenware jars they were passing around.

‘Strange place to be holding a drinking-party,’ Ulath murmured. I wouldn’t come out this far into the woods for something as ordinary as that.’

‘Is this it?’ Vanion asked Flute, who was nestled in Sephrenia’s arms, concealed by her sister’s dark cloak.

‘Is this what?’

‘You know what I mean. Is this what we’re supposed to see?’

‘I think so,’ she replied. ‘I’ll know better when they all get here.’

‘Are there more coming?’

She nodded. ‘One, at least. The ones who are already here don’t matter.’

They waited as the peasants in the clearing grew progressively more and more rowdy.

Then a lone horseman appeared at the far edge of the clearing, near the road. The newcomer wore a dark cloak and a slouch hat pulled low over his face.

‘Not again,’ Talen groaned. ‘Doesn’t anybody on this continent have any imagination?’

‘What’s this?’ Vanion asked.

‘The one they call Sabre up in Astel wore the same kind of clothes, my Lord.’

‘Maybe this one’s different.’

‘I wouldn’t get my hopes up too high.’

The man on horseback rode into the firelight, dismounted, and pushed back his hat. He was a tall, gangly man with a long, pock-marked face and narrow eyes. He stepped up onto a tree-stump and stood waiting for the peasants to gather around him. ‘Hear me, my friends,’ he said in a loud, harsh voice. ‘I bring news.’

The half-drunk babble of the peasants faded.

‘Much has happened since last we met,’ the speaker continued. ‘You will recall that we had determined to make one last try to resolve our differences with the Tamuls by peaceful means.’

‘What choice did we have, Rebal?’ one of the peasants shouted. ‘Only madmen would attack the Atan garrison – no matter how just their cause.’

‘So that’s Rebal,’ Kalten whispered. ‘Not very impressive, is he?’

‘Our cause was made just by Incetes himself,’ Rebal was responding, ‘and Incetes is more than a match for the Atans.’

The mob murmured its agreement.

‘There is good news, my friends,’ Rebal declared. ‘Our emissaries have been successful. The Emperor himself has seen the justice of our cause!’

A ragged cheer went up.

‘I rejoice even as you,’ Rebal continued, ‘but a new peril, far more grave than the simple injustice of the corrupt Tamul administrators, has arisen. The Emperor, who is now our friend, has been taken prisoner by the accursed Church Knights! The evil Archprelate of the Church of Chyrellos has reached half-way around the world to seize our friend!’

‘Outrageous!’ a burly peasant in the crowd roared. ‘Monstrous!’

The rest of the peasants looked a bit confused, however.

‘He’s going too fast,’ Talen whispered critically.

‘What?’ Berit asked.

‘He’s changing course on them,’ Talen explained. ‘I’d guess that he’s been cursing the Tamuls for the last year or so – the same way Sabre was up in Astel. Now he wants to curse somebody else, but he’s got to uncurse the Tamuls first. Even a drunken peasant’s going to have some suspicions about the miraculous conversion of the Emperor. He made it all too fast – and too easy.’

‘Tell us, Rebal,’ the burly peasant shouted, ‘how was our friend, the Emperor, taken prisoner?’

‘Yes, tell us!’ another man on the far side of the crowd howled.

‘Planted henchmen,’ Talen sneered. ‘This Rebal’s about as subtle as a club in the face.’

‘It was clever, my friends,’ Rebal declared to the crowd, ‘very clever. The Church of Chyrellos is guided by the demons of Hell, and they are the masters of deceit. The Tamuls, who are now our friends, are heathens, and they do not understand the guile of the heretics of Chyrellos. All unsuspecting, they welcomed a delegation of Church officials, and among those foul heretics who journeyed to Matherion were Knights of the Church – the armored minions of Hell itself. Once in Matherion, they seized our dear friend and protector, Emperor Sarabian, and they now hold him prisoner in his own palace!’

‘Death to the Tamuls!’ a wheezy-voiced old man, far gone in drink, bawled.

One of the other peasants rapped him sharply across the back of the head with a cudgel, and the slightly out-of-date demonstrator sagged limply to the ground.

‘Crowd control,’ Talen sniffed. ‘Rebal doesn’t want people making any mistakes here.’

Other peasants, obviously more of Rebal’s planted henchmen, began to shout the correct slogan, ‘Death to the Church Knights!’ They brandished crude weapons and assorted agricultural implements as they bellowed, emphasizing their slogan and intimidating the still-confused.

‘The purpose of these monsters is all too clear,’ Rebal shouted over the tumult. ‘It is their plan to hold the Emperor as hostage to prevent the Atans from storming the palace. They will sit safe where they are until reinforcements arrive. And make no mistake, my friends, those reinforcements are even now gathering on the plains of Eosia. The armies of the heretics are on the march, and in the van there come the Church Knights!’

Horrified gasps ran through the ranks of the peasants.

‘On to Matherion!’ the fellow with the cudgel bellowed. ‘Free the Emperor!’

The crowd took up the shout.

Rebal held up one hand, ‘My blood burns as hotly as yours, my friends!’ he shouted. ‘But will we leave our homes and families to the mercies of the Knights of the Church? All of Eosia marches toward Matherion! And what stands between accursed Eosia and fire-domed Matherion? Edom, my friends! Our beloved homeland stands in the path of the heretic horde! What mercy can we expect from these savages? Who will defend our women from foul rape if we rush to the Emperor’s aid?’

Cries of chagrin ran through the crowd.

Rebal moved quickly at that point. ‘And yet, my friends,’ he rushed on, ‘our defense of our beloved homes may yet aid our friend, the Emperor. The beasts of Eosia come to destroy our faith and to slaughter the true believers. I know not what course you may take, but I pledge to you all that I will lay down my life for our beloved homeland and our holy faith! But in my dying, I will delay the Church Knights! That Spawn of Hell must pause to spill my blood, and their delay will give the Atans the time to rally! Thus may we defend our homes and aid our friend in one stroke!’

Sparhawk began to swear, half strangling to keep his voice down.

‘What’s your problem?’ Kalten asked.

‘We’ve just been blocked. If those idiots out there accept what Rebal’s telling them, the Church Knights are going to have to fight their way to Matherion foot by foot.’

They’re very quick to exploit a changing situation,’ Vanion agreed. ‘Too quick, perhaps. It’s almost a thousand leagues from here to Matherion. Either someone has a very good horse, or our mysterious friend out there’s breaking the rules again in order to get word out to the hinterlands of what happened after the coup was put down.’

Rebal was holding up his hands to quiet the shouting of the crowd. ‘Are you with me, my brothers?’ he called. ‘Will we defend our homes and our faith and help our friends, the Tamuls, at the same time?’

The mob howled its assent.

‘Let’s ask Incetes to help us!’ the man with the cudgel shouted.

‘Incetes!’ another bellowed. ‘Incetes! Call forth Incetes!’

‘Are you sure, my friends?’ Rebal asked, drawing himself up and pulling his dark cloak tightly around him.

‘Call him forth, Rebal! Raise Incetes! Let him tell us what to do!’

Rebal struck an exaggerated pose and raised both arms over his head. He began to speak, intoning guttural words in a hollow, booming voice.

‘Is that Styric?’ Kalten whispered to Sephrenia. ‘It doesn’t sound like Styric to me.’

‘It’s gibberish,’ she replied scornfully.

Kalten frowned. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard of them,’ he whispered. ‘What part of the world do the Gibbers come from?’

She stared at him, her face baffled.

‘Did I say it wrong?’ he asked. ‘Are they called the Gibberese, or maybe the Gibberenians? – the people who speak Gibberish, I mean.’

‘Oh, Kalten,’ she laughed softly. ‘I love you.’

‘What did I say?’

Rebal’s voice had risen to a near-shriek, and he brought both arms down sharply.

There was a sudden explosion in the middle of the bonfire, and a great cloud of smoke boiled out into the clearing.

‘Herken, Maisteres alle!’ a huge voice came out of the smoke. ‘Now hath the tyme for Werre ycom. Now, be me troth, shal alle trew Edomishmen on lyve to armes! Tak ye uppe the iren swerd; gird ye your limbes alle inne the iren haubergeon and the iren helm! Smyte ye the feendes foule, which beestes derk do sette hom and fey in deedly peril. Goe ye to bataile ferse to fend the feendes of the acurset Chirche of Chyrellos! Follwe! Follwe! Follwe me, as Godes hondys yeve ye force!’

‘Old High Elenic!’ Bevier exclaimed. ‘Nobody’s spoken that tongue in thousands of years!’

‘I’d follow him, whatever tongue it is,’ Ulath rumbled. ‘He makes a good speech.’

The smoke began to thin, and a huge, ox-shouldered man wearing ancient armor and holding a mighty two-handed sword above his head appeared at Rebal’s side. ‘Havok!’ he bellowed. ‘Havok and Werre!’




Chapter 5 (#ulink_0b0898d9-1c2b-5a49-8231-490195d9fe16)


‘They’ve all gone now,’ Berit reported when he and Talen returned to the camp concealed in the narrow ravine. ‘They spent a lot of time marching around in circles shouting slogans first, though.’

‘Then the beer ran out,’ Talen added dryly, ‘and the party broke up.’ He looked at Flute. ‘Are you sure this was supposed to be important?’ he asked her. ‘It was the most contrived hoax I’ve ever seen.’

She nodded stubbornly. ‘It was important,’ she insisted. ‘I don’t know why, but it was.’

‘How did they make that big flash and all the smoke?’ Kalten asked.

‘One of the fellows near the fire threw a handful of some kind of powder onto the coals,’ Khalad said, shrugging. ‘Everybody else was watching Rebal, so they didn’t see him when he did it.’

‘Where did the one in the armor come from?’ Ulath asked.

‘He was hiding in the crowd,’ Talen explained. ‘The whole thing was at about the same level as you’d find at a country fair – one that’s held a long way from the nearest town.’

‘The one who was pretending to be Incetes gave a fairly stirring speech, though,’ Ulath noted.

‘It certainly should have been,’ Bevier smiled. ‘It was written by Phalactes in the seventh century.’

‘Who was he?’ Talen asked.

‘Phalactes was the greatest playwright of antiquity. That stirring speech came directly from one of his tragedies, Etonicus. That fellow in the antique armor substituted a few words is all. The play’s a classic. It’s still performed at universities once in a while.’

‘You’re a whole library all by yourself, Bevier,’ Kalten told him. ‘Do you remember every single thing you’ve ever read – word for word?’

Bevier laughed. ‘I wish I could, my friend. Some of my classmates and I put on a performance of Etonicus when I was a student. I played the lead, so I had to memorize that speech. The poetry of Phalactes is really very stirring. He was a great artist – Arcian, naturally.’

‘I never liked him very much,’ Flute sniffed. ‘He was as ugly as sin; he smelled like an open cesspool; and he was a howling bigot.’

Bevier swallowed hard. ‘Please don’t do that, Aphrael,’ he said. ‘It’s very unsettling.’

‘What was the story about?’ Talen asked, his eyes suddenly eager.

‘Etonicus was supposed to be the ruler of a mythic kingdom somewhere in what’s now eastern Cammoria,’ Bevier replied. ‘The legend has it that he went to war with the Styrics over religion.’

‘What happened?’ Talen’s tone was almost hungry.

‘He came to a bad end,’ Bevier shrugged. ‘It’s a tragedy, after all.’

‘But …’

‘You can read it for yourself sometime, Talen,’ Vanion said firmly. ‘This isn’t the story hour.’

Talen’s face grew sulky.

‘I’d be willing to wager that you could paralyze our young friend here in mid-theft,’ Ulath chuckled. ‘All you’d have to do is say, “Once upon a time”, and he’d stop dead in his tracks.’

‘This throws a whole new light on what’s been happening here in Tamuli,’ Vanion mused. ‘Could this all be some vast hoax?’ He looked inquiringly at Flute.

She shook her head. ‘No, Vanion. There has been magic of varying levels in some of the things we’ve encountered.’

‘Some, perhaps, but not all, certainly. Was there any magic at all involved in what we saw tonight?’

‘Not a drop.’

‘Is that how you measure magic?’ Kalten asked curiously. ‘Does it come by the gallon?’

‘Like cheap wine, you mean?’ she suggested tartly.

‘Well, not exactly, but …’

‘This was very important,’ Sparhawk said. Thank you, Aphrael.’

‘I live but to serve.’ She smiled mockingly at him.

‘Stop that.’

‘You’ve missed me entirely, Sparhawk,’ Kalten said.

‘We’ve just found out that not everything that’s being reported back to Matherion is the result of real magic. There’s a fair amount of fraud mixed in as well. What does that suggest?’

‘The other side’s lazy.’ Kalten shrugged.

‘I’m not so sure,’ Ulath disagreed. ‘They’re not afraid to exert themselves when it’s important.’

‘Two,’ Sephrenia said. ‘Three at the most.’

‘I beg your pardon,’ Ulath said with a puzzled look.

‘Now do you see how exasperating that is, Ulath?’ she said to him. ‘This charade we watched here tonight rather strongly hints at the fact that there aren’t very many people who can really work spells on the other side. They’re spread out a bit thin, I’d say. What’s going on here in Edom – and probably in Astel and Daconia as well – is rather commonplace, so they don’t feel that they have to waste magic on it.’

‘Commonplace or not, it’s going to seriously hinder Tynian when he tries to lead the Church Knights across Daresia to Matherion,’ Sparhawk said. ‘If Rebal can stir up the whole kingdom the way he did this group tonight, Tynian’s going to have to wade his way through hordes of howling fanatics. The Edomish peasantry’s going to be convinced that our brothers are coming here to impose heresies on them by force, and they’ll be lurking behind every bush with sickles and pitchforks.’

‘We still have a certain advantage, though,’ Bevier said thoughtfully. ‘There’s no way that our enemies can possibly know that we’re here in Edom and that we saw this business tonight. Even if they were to know that we’re going to raise Bhelliom – which isn’t very likely – they wouldn’t know where it is, so they’d have no idea where we were going. Even we don’t know where we’re going.’

‘And even if they did, they wouldn’t know that we could get here as quickly as we did,’ Khalad added. ‘I think we’ve got the jump on them, my Lords. If they’re relying on hoaxes here, that probably means that they don’t have any magicians around to sniff us out. If we can pass ourselves off as ordinary travelers, we should be able to move around without much hindrance – and pick up all sorts of information in the process.’

‘We’re here to retrieve the Bhelliom, Khalad,’ Flute reminded him.

‘Of course, but there’s no point in passing up little treasures as we go along, is there?’

‘Aphrael,’ Vanion said, ‘have we seen and heard everything we were supposed to?’

She nodded.

‘I think we might want to move on to Jorsan rather quickly, then. If Khalad’s right and we’re one jump ahead, let’s stay that way. What would it take in the way of bribes to persuade you to speed up the journey?’

‘We could negotiate that, I suppose, Lord Vanion,’ she smiled. ‘I’m sure you could all offer me something that might induce me to lend a hand.’

They kissed the Child Goddess into submission and arrived in Jorsan late the following day. Jorsan turned out to be a typical Elene port-city squatting at the head of the gulf. The question of suitable disguises had arisen during the journey. Bevier had leaned strongly in the direction of posing as religious pilgrims. Kalten had liked the notion of masquerading as a group of rowdies in search of constructive debauchery, while Talen, perhaps influenced by Rebal’s recent performance, had thought it might be fun to pose as traveling players. They were still arguing about it when Jorsan came into view.

‘Isn’t all this a waste of time?’ Ulath asked them. ‘Why should we play dress-up? It’s not really anybody’s business who we are, is it? As long as we’re not wearing armor, the people in Jorsan won’t know – or care – about us. Why go to all the trouble of lying about it?’

‘We’ll need to wear our mail-shirts, Sir Ulath,’ Berit reminded him. ‘How do we explain that?’

‘We don’t. Lots of people wear chain-mail and carry weapons, so it’s not really that unusual. If somebody in town gets too curious about who we are and where we’re going, I can make him get un-curious in fairly short order.’ He held up his hand and closed his fist suggestively.

‘You mean just bully our way through?’ Kalten asked.

‘Why not? Isn’t that what we’re trained for?’

The inn was not particularly elegant, but it was clean and not so near the waterfront that the streets around it were filled with bawling sailors lurching from ale-house to ale-house. The sleeping-rooms were upstairs over the common-room on the main floor, and the stables were in the back.

‘Let me handle this,’ Ulath muttered to Sparhawk as they approached the innkeeper, a tousled fellow with a long, pointed nose.

‘Feel free,’ Sparhawk replied.

‘You,’ Ulath said abruptly to the innkeeper, ‘we need five rooms for the night, fodder for ten horses, and some decent food.’

‘I can provide all those, good master,’ the innkeeper assured him.

‘Good. How much?’

‘Ah …’ The man with the pointed nose rubbed at his chin, carefully appraising the big Thalesian’s clothes and general appearance. ‘That would be a half-crown, good master,’ he said somewhat tentatively. His rates seemed to be based on a sliding scale of some sort.

Ulath turned on his heel. ‘Let’s go,’ he said shortly to Sparhawk.

‘What was I thinking of?’ the innkeeper said, slapping his forehead. ‘That was five rooms and fodder for ten horses, wasn’t it? I got the numbers turned around in my head. I thought you wanted ten rooms for some reason. A half-crown would be far too much for only five rooms. The right price would be two silver imperials, of course.’

‘I’m glad you got your mathematics straightened out,’ Ulath grunted. ‘Let’s look at the rooms.’

‘Of course, good master.’ The innkeeper scurried on up the stairs ahead of them.

‘You don’t leave very many conversational openings, do you, my friend?’ Sparhawk chuckled.

‘I’ve never found innkeepers very interesting to talk with.’

They reached an upper hallway, and Ulath looked into one of the rooms. ‘Check it for bugs,’ he told Sparhawk.

‘Good master!’ the innkeeper protested.

‘I like to sleep alone,’ Ulath told him. ‘Bugs crowd me, and they’re always restless at night.’

The innkeeper laughed a bit weakly. ‘That’s very funny, good master. I’ll have to remember it. Where is it you come from, and where are you bound?’

Ulath gave him a long, icy stare, his blue eyes as chill as a northern winter and his shoulders swelling ominously as he bunched them under his tunic.

‘Ah – no matter, I suppose,’ the innkeeper rushed on. ‘It’s not really any of my affair, is it?’

‘You’ve got that part right,’ Ulath said. He looked around. ‘Good enough,’ he said. ‘We’ll stay.’ He nudged Sparhawk with his elbow. ‘Pay him,’ he said, turned, and clumped down the stairs.

They turned their horses over to the grooms and carried their saddle-bags up to the sleeping-rooms. Then they went back downstairs for supper.

Kalten, as usual, heaped his plate with steaming beef.

‘Maybe we should send out for another cow,’ Berit joked.

‘He’s young,’ Kalten told the others jovially, ‘but I like the way he thinks.’ He grinned at Berit, but then the grin slowly faded, and the big, blond Pandion grew quite pale. He stared at the young knight’s face for quite some time. Then he abruptly pushed his plate back and rose to his feet. ‘I don’t think I’m really hungry,’ he said. ‘I’m tired. I’m going to bed.’ He turned, quickly crossed the common-room to the stairs, and went up them two at a time.

‘What’s the matter with him?’ Ulath asked in a puzzled tone. ‘I’ve never seen him walk away from supper like that before.’

‘That’s God’s own truth,’ Bevier agreed.

‘You’d better have a talk with him when you go up, Sparhawk,’ Vanion suggested. ‘Find out if he’s sick or something. Kalten never leaves anything on his plate.’

‘Or anybody else’s, for that matter,’ Talen added.

Sparhawk did not linger over supper. He ate quickly, said goodnight to the others, and went upstairs to have a talk with his friend. He found Kalten sitting on the edge of his bed with his face in his hands.

‘What’s the matter?’ Sparhawk asked him. ‘Aren’t you feeling well?’

Kalten turned his face away. ‘Leave me alone,’ he said hoarsely.

‘Not very likely. What’s wrong?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ The blond knight sniffed loudly and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. ‘Let’s go get drunk.’

‘Not until you tell me what’s bothering you, we won’t.’

Kalten sniffed again and set his jaw. ‘It’s something foolish. You’d laugh at me.’

‘You know better than that.’

‘There’s a girl, Sparhawk, and she loves somebody else. Are you satisfied now?’

‘Why didn’t you say something earlier?’

‘I just now found out about it.’

‘Kalten, you’re not making any sense at all. One girl’s always been the same as another to you. Most of the time you can’t even remember their names.’

‘This time’s different. Can we go get drunk now?’

‘How do you know she doesn’t feel the same way about you?’ Sparhawk knew who the girl was, and he was quite certain that she did in fact return his friend’s feelings for her.

Kalten sighed. ‘God knows that there are people in this world who are brighter than I am, Sparhawk. It’s taken me all this time to put it together. I’ll tell you one thing, though. If he breaks her heart, I’ll kill him, brother or no.’

‘Will you at least try to make some sense?’

‘She told me that she loves somebody else – as plain as if she’d come right out and said it in so many words.’

‘Alean wouldn’t do that.’

‘How did you know it was Alean?’ The big blond man sprang to his feet. ‘Have you all been laughing at me behind my back?’ he demanded pugnaciously.

‘Don’t be an ass. We wouldn’t do that. We’ve all been through exactly the same thing. You didn’t invent love, you know.’

‘Everybody knows, though, don’t they?’

‘No. I’m probably the only one – except for Melidere. Nothing much gets past her. Now what’s all this nonsense about Alean loving somebody else?’

‘I just put it together myself.’

‘What did you put together? Try to make a little sense, Kalten.’

‘Didn’t you hear her singing on the day we left?’

‘Of course I did. She has a beautiful voice.’

‘I’m not talking about her voice. I’m talking about the song she was singing. It was “My Bonnie Blue-Eyed Boy”.’

‘So?’

‘It’s Berit, Sparhawk. She’s in love with Berit.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘I just noticed it when we sat down to supper.’ Kalten buried his face in his hands again. ‘I never paid any attention before, but when I looked into his face while we were talking, I saw it. I’m surprised you haven’t seen it yourself.’

‘Seen what?’

‘Berit’s got blue eyes.’

Sparhawk stared at him. Then, being careful not to laugh, he said, ‘So do you – when they’re not bloodshot.’

Kalten shook his head stubbornly. ‘His are bluer than mine. I know it’s him. I just know it! God’s punishing me for some of the things I’ve done in the past. He made me fall in love with a girl who loves somebody else. Well, I hope He’s satisfied. If He wants to make me suffer, He’s doing a good job of it.’

‘Will you be serious?’

‘Berit’s younger than I am, Sparhawk, and God knows he’s better looking.’

‘Kalten.’

‘Look at the way every girl who gets to within a hundred yards of him starts to follow him around like a puppy. Even the Atan girls were all falling in love with him.’

‘Kalten.’

‘I know it’s him. I just know it. God’s twisting His knife in my heart. He’s gone and made the one girl I’ll ever feel this way about fall in love with one of my brother-knights.’

‘Kalten.’

Kalten sat up and squared his shoulders. ‘All right, then,’ he said weakly, ‘if that’s the way God wants it, that’s the way it’s going to be. If Berit and Alean really, really love each other, I won’t stand in their way. I’ll bite my tongue and keep my mouth shut.’

‘Kalten.’

‘But I swear it to you, Sparhawk,’ the blond Pandion said hotly, ‘if he hurts her, I’ll kill him!’

‘Kalten!’ Sparhawk shouted at him.

‘What?’

Sparhawk sighed. ‘Why don’t we go out and get drunk?’ he suggested, giving up entirely.

It was cloudy the following morning. It was a low, dirty-gray cloud-cover which seethed and tattered in the stiff wind aloft. It was one of those peculiar days when the murk raced overhead, streaming in off the gulf lying to the west, but the air at the surface was dead calm.

They set out early and clattered along the narrow, cobbled streets where sleepy-eyed shopkeepers were opening their shutters and setting out their wares. They passed through the city gates and took the road that followed the north coast of the gulf.

After they had gone a mile or so, Vanion leaned over in his saddle. ‘How far do we have to go?’ he asked Flute, who nestled, as always, in her sister’s arms.

‘What difference does it make?’ the Child Goddess shrugged.

‘I’d like to know how long it’s going to take.’

‘What does “how far” have to do with “how long”?’

‘They’re the same thing, Aphrael. Time and distance mean the same thing when you’re traveling.’

‘Not if you know what you’re doing, they don’t.’

Sparhawk had always admired Vanion, but never quite so much as in that moment. The silvery-bearded preceptor did not even raise his voice. ‘All I’m really getting at, Divine One, is that nobody knows we’re here. Shouldn’t we keep it that way? I don’t mind a good fight now and then, but would bashing our way through crowds of drunken Edomish peasants serve any real purpose right now?’

‘You always take so long to get to the point, Vanion,’ she said. ‘Why didn’t you just come right out and tell me to speed things up?’

‘I was trying to be polite. I think we’ll all feel much better about this when Sparhawk’s got Bhelliom in his hands again. It’s up to you, though. If you want the road from here to wherever it is you’ve got Bhelliom hidden awash with blood and littered with corpses, we’ll be happy to oblige you.’

‘He’s hateful,’ Aphrael said to her sister.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that.’

‘You wouldn’t. Sometimes you two are worse than Sparhawk and Ehlana.’

Sparhawk moved in rather quickly at that point. Aphrael was coming very close to saying things which she shouldn’t be saying in the presence of the others. ‘Shall we move right along?’ he suggested quite firmly. ‘Vanion’s right, Aphrael, and you know he is. If Rebal finds out that we’re here, we’ll have to wade through his people by the score.’

‘All right,’ she gave in quite suddenly.

‘That was quick,’ Talen said to Khalad.

‘I thought she was going to be stubborn about it.’

‘No, Talen,’ she smirked. ‘Actually, I’m sort of looking forward to hearing that vast cry of chagrin that’s going to echo from every mountain in Daresia when our enemies hear the sound of Anakha’s fist closing around Bhelliom again. Just lean back in your saddles, gentlemen, and leave the rest to me.’

Sparhawk awoke with a start. They were riding along the brink of a windswept cliff with an angry sea ripping itself to tattered froth on the rocks far below. Sephrenia rode in the lead, and she held Flute enfolded in her arms. The others trailed along behind, their cloaks drawn tightly around them and wooden expressions of endurance on their faces. The wind had risen, and it pushed at them and tugged at their cloaks.

There were some significant impossibilities involved here, but Sparhawk’s mind seemed somehow numb to them. Normally, Vanion rode protectively close to Sephrenia, but Vanion didn’t seem to be with them now.

Tynian, however, was. Sparhawk knew with absolute certainty that Tynian was a thousand leagues and more away, but there he was, his broad face as wooden as the faces of the others and his right shoulder as functional as ever.

Sparhawk did not turn round. He knew that another impossibility was riding behind him.

Their horses plodded up the winding trail that followed the edge of the long, ascending cliff toward a rocky promontory which thrust a crooked, stony finger out into the sea. At the outermost tip of the promontory stood a gnarled and twisted tree, its streaming branches flailing in the wind.

When she reached the tree, Sephrenia reined in. Kurik walked forward to lift Flute down. Sparhawk felt a sharp pang of bitter resentment. He knew about Aphrael’s need for symmetry, but this went too far.

Kurik set Aphrael down on her feet, and when he straightened, he looked Sparhawk full in the face. Sparhawk’s squire was unchanged. His features were rugged, and his black beard, touched with silver, was as coarse as ever. His bare shoulders were bulky, and his wrists were enclosed in steel cuffs. Without so much as changing expression, he winked at his lord.

‘Very well, then,’ Flute said to them in a crisp voice, ‘let’s get on with this before too many more of my cousins change their minds. I had to talk very fast and even throw a few tantrums to get them to agree, and many of them still have grave doubts about the whole notion.’

‘You don’t have to explain things to them, Flute,’ Kurik told her in that gruff voice of his, a voice so familiar that Sparhawk’s eyes filled with sudden tears. ‘Just tell them what to do. They’re Church Knights, after all, so they’re used to following orders they don’t understand.’

She laughed delightedly. ‘How very wise you are, Kurik. All right, then, gentlemen, come with me.’ She led them past the gnarled tree to the brink of the awful precipice. Even though they were very high above it, the roaring of the surf was much like heavy thunder.

‘All right,’ Aphrael told them, ‘I’m going to need your help with this.’

‘What do you want us to do?’ Tynian asked her.

‘Stand there and approve.’

‘Do what?’

‘Just approve of me, Tynian. You can cheer if you like, but it’s not really necessary. All I really need is approval – and love, of course – but there’s nothing unusual about that. I always need love.’ She smiled at them mysteriously.

Then she stepped off the edge of the cliff.

Talen gave a startled cry and plunged after her.

The Child Goddess, as unconcerned as if she were only taking a morning stroll, walked out across the empty air. Talen, however, fell like a stone.

Oh, bother!’ Aphrael exclaimed peevishly. She made a curious gesture with one hand, and Talen stopped falling. He sprawled in mid-air, his limbs straddled, his face pasty-white, and his eyes bulging with horror. ‘Would you take care of that, Sephrenia?’ the little girl said. ‘I’m busy right now.’ Then she glared down at Talen. ‘You and I are going to have a talk about this, young man,’ she said ominously. Then she turned and continued to walk out toward the open sea.

Sephrenia murmured in Styric, her fingers weaving the spell, and Talen rose with a curious fluttering movement, flaring from side to side like a kite on a taut string as Sephrenia pulled against the force of the gravity that was trying to dash him to the rocks below. When he had reached the edge of the cliff again, he scrambled across the wind-tossed grass on his hands and knees for several yards and then collapsed, shuddering violently.

Aphrael, all unconcerned, continued her stroll across the emptiness.

‘You’re getting fat, Sparhawk,’ Kurik said critically. ‘You need more exercise.’

Sparhawk swallowed very hard. ‘Do you want to talk about this?’ he asked his old friend in a choked voice.

‘No, not really. You’re supposed to be paying attention to Aphrael right now.’ He looked out at the Child Goddess with a faint smile. ‘She’s showing off, but she’s only a little girl, after all, so I guess it’s sort of natural.’ He paused, and a note of yearning came into his voice. ‘How’s Aslade been lately?’

‘She was fine the last time I saw her. She and Elys are both living on your farm, you know.’

Kurik gave him a startled look.

‘Aslade thought it would be best. Your sons are all in training now, and she didn’t think it made much sense for her and Elys both to be alone. They adore each other.’

‘That’s fine, Sparhawk,’ Kurik said, almost in wonder. ‘That’s really fine. I always sort of worried about what was going to happen to them after I left.’ He looked out at the Child Goddess. ‘Pay close attention to her now, my Lord. She’s coming to the hard part.’

Aphrael was far out over the surging waves, and she had begun to glow with a brilliant incandescence. She stopped, hardly more than a glowing spark in the distance.

‘Help her, gentlemen,’ Sephrenia commanded. ‘Send all of your love to her. She needs you now.’

The fiery spark rose in a graceful little arc and then shot smoothly down through the murky air toward the long, lead-gray waves rolling ponderously toward the rocky shore. Down and down she plunged, and then she cut into the sea with no hint of a splash.

Sparhawk held his breath. It seemed that the Child Goddess stayed down for an eternity. Black spots began to appear before the big Pandion’s eyes.

‘Breathe, Sparhawk!’ Kurik barked, bashing his lord’s shoulder with his fist. ‘You won’t do her much good if you faint.’

Sparhawk blew out his breath explosively and stood gasping on the brink of the precipice.

‘Idiot,’ Kurik muttered.

‘Sorry,’ Sparhawk apologized. He concentrated on the little girl, and his thoughts became strongly jumbled. Aphrael was out there beneath those endlessly rolling waves certainly, but Flute was there as well – and Danae. That thought caught at his heart, and he felt suddenly icy-cold.

Then that glowing spark burst up out of the sullen water. The Child Goddess had been an incandescent white when she had made her plunge, but when she emerged from the sea she glowed a brilliant blue. She was not alone as she rose once more into the air. Bhelliom rose with her, and the very earth seemed to shudder with its re-emergence.

All glowing blue, Aphrael returned to them, bearing that same golden box Sparhawk had cast into the sea a half-dozen years ago. The little girl continued her stroll and reached solid ground once more. She went directly to Sparhawk and held up the gleaming golden box. ‘Into thy hands, for good or for ill, I deliver up the Bhelliom once more, Anakha,’ she intoned quite formally, placing the box in his hands. Then she smiled an impish little smile. ‘Try not to lose it again this time,’ she added.




Chapter 6 (#ulink_cfad265f-8e8f-592c-ba77-7eccd4e2326e)


‘He looked well,’ Khalad said in a tight, controlled voice.

‘Aren’t you being just a little blasé about all this?’ Talen asked his brother.

‘Did you want me to go into hysterics?’

‘You saw him, then?’

‘Obviously.’

‘Where were you? I couldn’t see you around any place.’

‘Lord Vanion and I were right over there,’ Khalad replied, pointing toward the far side of the trail. ‘We were told to just keep quiet and watch. We saw you all come riding up the hill. Why did you jump off the cliff like that?’

‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

Sparhawk was not really paying very much attention to the others. He stood holding the golden box in his hands. He could feel the Bhelliom inside and, as always, it was neither friendly nor hostile.

Flute was watching him closely. ‘Aren’t you going to open the box, Anakha?’

‘Why? I don’t need Bhelliom just now, do I?’

‘Don’t you want to see it again?’

‘I know what it looks like.’

‘Isn’t it calling to you?’

‘Yes, but I’m not listening. It always seems to complicate things when I let it out, so let’s not do that until I really need it.’ He turned the box over in his hands, closely examining it. Kurik’s work had been meticulous, though the box was unadorned. It was just that – a box. The fact that it was made of gold was largely irrelevant. ‘How do I open this? – when I need to, I mean? There isn’t any keyhole.’

‘Just touch the lid with one of the rings.’ She was watching him very closely.

‘Which one?’

‘Use your own. It knows you better than Ehlana’s does. Are you sure you don’t feel some sort of … ?’

‘Some sort of what?’

‘Aren’t your hands aching to touch it?’

‘It’s not unbearable.’

‘Now I see why all the others in my family are so afraid of you. You aren’t anything at all like other humans.’

‘Everybody’s different in some ways, I suppose. What do we do now?’

‘We can go back to the ship.’

‘Can you get in touch with the sailors?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why don’t you ask them to sail across the gulf and pick us up somewhere on this side? That way we won’t have to ride all the way back to Jorsan again, and we’ll be able to avoid any chance meetings with Rebal’s enthusiasts. Some of them might be sober enough by now to recognize the fact that we’re not Edomishmen.’

‘You’re in a strange humor, Sparhawk.’

‘I’m a little discontented with you at the moment, to be honest about it.’

‘What did I do?’

‘Why don’t we just drop it?’

‘Don’t you love me any more?’ Her lower lip began to tremble.

‘Of course I do, but that doesn’t alter the fact that I’m put out with you just now. People we love do irritate us from time to time, you know.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said in a contrite little voice.

‘I’ll get over it. Are we finished here? Can we mount up and start back?’

‘In just a moment,’ she said, seeming suddenly to remember something. Her eyes narrowed and began to glint dangerously. ‘You!’ she said, leveling a finger at Talen. ‘Come here!’

Talen sighed and did as he was told.

‘What did you think you were doing?’ she demanded.

‘Well – I was afraid you’d fall.’

‘I wasn’t the one who was going to fall, you clot! Don’t you ever do anything like that again!’

Talen could have agreed with her. That would have been the simplest way, and it would have avoided an extended scolding. He did not, however. ‘No, Flute. I’m afraid it’s not going to be that way. I’ll jump in every time I think you’re in danger.’ He grimaced. ‘It’s not really my idea. I want to be sure you understand that I haven’t completely lost my mind. It’s just that I can’t help myself. When I see you do something like that, I’m moving before I even think. If you’re really serious about trying to keep me alive, don’t do things like that when I’m around, because I’ll try to stop you every single time – regardless of how stupid it is.’

‘Why?’ she asked him intently.

‘I guess it’s because I love you.’ He shrugged.

She squealed with delight and swarmed up into his arms. ‘He’s such a nice boy!’ she exclaimed, covering his face with kisses.

They had gone no more than a mile when Kalten reined in sharply, filling the air with sulphurous curses.

‘Kalten!’ Vanion snapped. There are ladies present!’

‘Take a look behind us, my Lord,’ the blond Pandion said.

It was the cloud, inky black, ominous, and creeping along the ground like viscous slime.

Vanion swore and reached for his sword.

‘That won’t do any good, my Lord,’ Sparhawk told him. He reached inside his tunic and took out the gleaming box. ‘This might, though.’ He rapped the band of his ring against the box-lid.

Nothing happened.

‘You have to tell it to open, Sparhawk,’ Flute instructed.

‘Open!’ Sparhawk commanded, touching the ring to the box again.

The lid popped up, and Sparhawk saw the Bhelliom nestled inside. The Sapphire Rose was perfect, eternal, and it glowed a deep blue. It seemed strangely resentful as Sparhawk reached in and lifted it out, however. ‘We all know who we are,’ he told the stone and its unwilling inhabitants. ‘I’m not going to speak to you in Trollish because I know you can understand me, no matter what language I use. I want you to stop this nonsense with that cloud, and I want you to do it right now! When I turn round to look, your little patch of private darkness had better be gone. I don’t care how you do it, but get rid of that cloud!’

The Sapphire Rose grew suddenly hot in his hand, and it seemed almost to writhe against his fingers. Flickers of red, green, orange and purple, all interspersed with streaks of white, stained the azure petals of Bhelliom as the Troll-Gods trapped within the gem fought to resist. Bhelliom, however, appeared to exert some kind of over-control, and those ugly flickers were smothered as the jewel began to burn more brightly.

Then there was a sudden, violent jolt which numbed Sparhawk’s arm to the shoulder.

‘That’s the way!’ Kalten shouted with a sudden laugh.

Sparhawk turned in his saddle and saw that the cloud was gone. ‘What happened?’

‘It sort of flopped around like a fresh-caught eel,’ Kalten laughed again, ‘and then it flew all to pieces. What did you do, Sparhawk? I couldn’t hear what you said.’

‘I let our blue friend and its tenants know that the cloud was starting to irritate me. Then I sort of hinted at the fact that I get ugly when I’m irritated.’

‘They must have believed you.’

Flute was staring at Sparhawk in open astonishment. ‘You broke all the rules!’ she accused him.

‘I do that sometimes. It’s quicker to cut across the formalities once in a while.’

‘You’re not supposed to do it that way.’

‘It worked, didn’t it?’

‘It’s a question of style, Sparhawk. I’m technically in charge here, and I don’t know what Bhelliom and the Troll-Gods are going to think of me after that.’

He laughed, and then gently put Bhelliom back into its box. ‘Nice job,’ he told it. They were going to have to work together, after all, and a little encouragement now and then never hurt. Then he firmly closed the lid. ‘It’s time for some speculation, gentlemen,’ he said to the others. ‘What can we make of this?’

‘They know where we are, for one thing,’ Talen offered.

‘It could be the rings again,’ Sephrenia noted. That’s what happened last time. The cloud – and the shadow – were concentrating on Sparhawk and Ehlana right at first because they had the rings.’

‘Bhelliom’s closed up inside the box,’ Sparhawk said, ‘and so are the Troll-Gods.’

‘Are they still inside the jewel?’ Ulath asked him.

‘Oh, yes,’ Sparhawk said. ‘I could definitely feel them when I took Bhelliom out.’ He looked at Aphrael, phrasing his next question carefully. There were still some things that needed to be concealed. ‘I’ve heard that a God can be in more than one place at the same time.’ He left it a little tentative.

‘Yes,’ she replied.

‘Does that apply to the Troll-Gods as well?’

She struggled with it. ‘I’m not sure,’ she admitted. ‘It’s a fairly complicated business, and the Troll-Gods are quite limited.’

‘Does this box confine them in the same way that chain-mail pouch did back in Zemoch?’

She shook her head. ‘It’s different. When they’re encased in gold that way, they don’t know where they are.’

‘Does that make a difference?’

‘You have to know where you are before you can go someplace else.’

‘I’ll take your word for it.’ He made a face. ‘I think we may have blundered again,’ he said sourly.

‘How so?’ Bevier asked him.

‘We don’t really have any absolute proof that the Troll-Gods are in league with our enemy. If they’re trapped inside this box with Bhelliom and can’t get out, they couldn’t be, could they?’

‘That was Ghworg in the mountains of Atan,’ Ulath insisted. ‘That means that he’s out and about at least.’

‘Are you sure, Ulath? Those peasants around the bonfire were convinced that the big fellow in the ancient armor was Incetes too, you know.’

‘All the evidence points to it, Sparhawk. Everything we’ve seen this time is just like it was last time, and it was the Troll-Gods then, wasn’t it?’

‘I’m not even positive about that any more.’

‘Well, something had to have enough authority over the Trolls to make them migrate from Thalesia to the north coast of Atan.’

‘Just how smart do you have to be in order to be a Troll? I’m not saying that it was something as crude as the hoax Rebal foisted off on those peasants, but …’ Sparhawk left it hanging.

‘That would be a fairly complex hoax, dear one,’ Sephrenia murmured.

‘But not quite impossible, little mother. I’ll drop the whole line of thought if you’ll just tell me that what I’m suggesting is impossible.’

‘Don’t throw it away just yet,’ she said, her face troubled.

‘Aphrael,’ Sparhawk said, ‘will this gold box keep our friend out there from being able to locate Bhelliom?’

She nodded. ‘The gold shields it. He can’t hear it or feel it, so he can’t just move toward the sound or the sense of it.’

‘And if I put Ehlana’s ring in there as well? Would the box shield that too?’

‘Yes, but your own ring’s still out in the open where he can feel its location.’

‘One thing at a time.’ He touched his ring to the lid of the box. ‘Open,’ he said.

The latch clicked, and the lid raised slightly.

Sparhawk removed Ehlana’s ring from his finger and put it inside the box. ‘You look after it for a while,’ he told the Bhelliom.

‘Please don’t do that, Sparhawk,’ Vanion told him with a pained look.

‘Do what?’

‘Talk to it like that. You make it sound like a real being.’

‘Sorry, Vanion. It helps a little if I think of it that way. Bhelliom definitely has its own personality.’ He closed the lid and felt the latch click.

‘Ah – Flute?’ Khalad said a bit tentatively.

‘Yes?’

‘Is it the box that keeps Bhelliom hidden? Or is it the fact that the box is made out of gold?’

‘It’s the gold, Khalad. There’s something about gold that muffles Bhelliom and hides it.’

‘And it works on Queen Ehlana’s ring as well?’

She nodded. ‘I can’t hear or feel a thing.’ She stretched her open palm out toward the box Sparhawk was holding. ‘Nothing at all,’ she confirmed. ‘I can feel his ring, though.’

‘Put a golden glove on him,’ Kalten shrugged.

‘How much money did you bring along, Sir Kalten?’ Khalad asked. ‘Gold’s expensive, you know.’ He squinted at Sparhawk’s ring. ‘I don’t have to cover his whole hand,’ he said, ‘just the ring itself.’

‘I’ll have to be able to get at it in a hurry, Khalad,’ Sparhawk cautioned.

‘Let me work on it. Does anyone have a gold florin? That would be about the right size.’

They all opened their purses.

Kalten looked around hopefully, then sighed. He reached into his purse. ‘You owe me a gold florin, Sparhawk,’ he said, handing the coin to Khalad.

‘I’m in your debt, Kalten,’ Sparhawk smiled.

‘You certainly are – one gold florin’s worth. Shall we move on? It’s starting to get chilly out here.’

The wind had come up, gusty at first, but blowing steadily stronger. They followed the trail on down the slope until they were riding along the upper edge of a long, sandy beach with the wind screaming and tearing at them and the salt spray stinging their faces.

‘This is more than just a gale!’ Ulath shouted over the screaming wind. ‘I think we’ve got a hurricane brewing!’

‘Isn’t it too early for hurricanes?’ Kalten shouted.

‘It is in Eosia,’ Ulath shouted back.

The shrieking of the wind grew louder, and they rode with their cloaks pulled tightly about them.

‘We’d better get in out of this,’ Vanion yelled. ‘There’s a ruined farmstead just ahead.’ He squinted through the driving spray. ‘It’s got stone walls, so it should give us some kind of shelter from the wind.’

They pushed their horses into a gallop and reached the ruin in a few minutes. The moldering buildings were half buried in weeds, and the windows of the unroofed structures seemed to stare down from the walls like blind eyes. The house had completely tumbled in, so Sparhawk and the others dismounted in the yard and led their nervous horses into what had evidently been the barn. The floor was littered with the rotting remains of the roof, and there were bird-droppings in the corners.

‘How long does a hurricane usually last?’ Vanion asked.

‘A day or two,’ Ulath shrugged. Three at the most.’

‘I wouldn’t make any wagers on this one,’ Bevier said. ‘It came up just a little too quickly to suit me, and it’s forced us to take shelter. We’re pinned down in these ruins, you know.’

‘He’s right,’ Berit agreed. ‘Don’t we almost have to assume that somebody’s raised this storm to delay us?’

Kalten gave him a flat, unfriendly stare, a fair indication that he had not yet shaken off his suspicions about the young man and Queen Ehlana’s maid.

‘I don’t think it’s going to be much of a problem,’ Ulath said. ‘As soon as we get back on board that ship, we’ll be able to outrun the hurricane.’

Aphrael was shaking her head.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked her.

‘That ship wasn’t built to ride out a hurricane. As a matter of fact, I’ve already sent it back to where it came from.’

‘Without even telling us?’ Vanion objected.

‘My decision, Vanion. The ship’s no good to us in this kind of weather, so there was no point in putting the crew in danger.’

‘It seemed well made to me,’ Ulath objected. ‘The builders must have taken high winds into account when they designed her.’

She shook her head. ‘The wind doesn’t blow where that ship came from.’

‘There are winds everywhere, Flute,’ he pointed out. ‘There’s no place on this entire world where the wind doesn’t blow now and …’ He broke off and stared at her. ‘Where does that ship come from?’

‘That’s really none of your business, Sir Knight. I can bring it back after the storm passes.’

‘If it passes,’ Kalten added. ‘And I wouldn’t be at all surprised that when it does, this broken-down barn’s going to be surrounded by several thousand armed fanatics.’

They all looked at each other.

‘I think maybe we’d better move on, storm or no storm,’ Vanion said. He looked at Flute. ‘Can you still … ? I mean, will this wind interfere?’

‘It won’t make it any easier,’ she admitted glumly.

‘I don’t want you to hurt yourself,’ Sephrenia told her.

Flute waved her hand as if brushing it aside. ‘Don’t worry about me, Sephrenia.’

‘Don’t try to hide things from me, young lady.’ Sephrenia’s tone was stern. ‘I know exactly what all this wind’s going to do to you.’

‘And I know exactly what trying to carry it around will do to our mysterious friend out there. Trying to chase us with a hurricane on his back will exhaust him far more than carrying ten people on horseback will exhaust me – and I’m faster than he is. They don’t call me the nimble Goddess for nothing, you know. I can run even faster than Talen, if I have to. Where would you like to go, Lord Vanion?’

The Preceptor looked around at them. ‘Back to Jorsan?’

‘It’s probably as good as any place in a hurricane,’ Kalten said. ‘At least the beds are dry.’

‘And the beer is wet?’ Ulath smiled.

‘That did sort of enter into my thinking,’ Kalten admitted.

The wind shrieked around the corners of the building, but the inn was a sturdy stone structure, and the windows had stout shutters. Sparhawk chafed at the delay, but there was no help for it.

Sephrenia had put Flute to bed immediately upon their return to the inn, and she hovered over the little girl protectively. ‘She’s really concerned,’ Vanion reported. ‘I guess there are limits after all. Flute’s trying to make light of it, but I know exhaustion when I see it.’

‘She won’t die, will she?’ Talen asked in a shocked voice.

‘She can’t die, Talen,’ Vanion replied. ‘She can be destroyed, but she can’t die.’

‘What’s the difference?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Vanion admitted. ‘I am sure that she’s very, very tired. We shouldn’t have let her do that.’ He looked around the hallway outside the room where Sephrenia was tending the weary little Goddess. ‘Where’s Kalten?’ he asked.

‘He and Ulath are down in the tap-room, my Lord,’ Bevier replied.

‘I should have known, I guess. One of you might remind them that I won’t go easy on them if they’re unwell when we set out, though.’

They went on downstairs again and periodically checked the weather outside. If anything, the wind actually began to blow harder.

Sparhawk finally went back up and knocked lightly on the door to Sephrenia’s room. ‘Could I have a word with Flute?’ he asked when his tutor came to the door.

‘No. Absolutely not,’ she whispered. ‘I just got her to sleep.’ She came out into the hallway, closed the door, and set her back protectively against it.

‘I’m not going to hurt her, Sephrenia.’

‘You can make safe wagers on that all over Daresia,’ she told him with a steely glint in her eyes. ‘What did you want to ask her?’

‘Could I use Bhelliom to break up this storm?’

‘Probably.’

‘Why don’t I do that, then?’

‘Did you want to destroy Jorsan? – and kill everybody in town?’ He stared at her.

‘You have no real idea of the kind of forces involved in weather, have you, Sparhawk?’

‘Well, sort of,’ he said.

‘No, I don’t think you do, dear one. Whoever raised this hurricane is very powerful, and he knows exactly what he’s doing, but his hurricane is still a natural force. You could use Bhelliom to break it up, certainly, but if you do, you’ll release all that pent-up force at one time and in one place. You wouldn’t even be able to find pieces of Jorsan after the dust settled.’

‘Maybe I’d better drop the idea.’

‘I would. Now run along. I have to keep watch over Aphrael.’

Sparhawk went back down the hallway feeling a little like a small boy who had just been sent to his room.

Ulath was coming up the stairs. ‘Have you got a minute, Sparhawk?’ he asked.

‘Of course.’

‘I think you’d better keep a close eye on Kalten.’

‘Oh?’

‘He’s beginning to have some murderous thoughts about Berit.’

‘Is it getting out of hand?’

‘You knew about it, then? – about the feelings he has for your wife’s maid?’

Sparhawk nodded.

‘The more he drinks, the worse it’s going to get, you know – and there’s nothing else to do during this storm except drink. Is there any real substance to those suspicions of his?’

‘No. He just pulled them out of the air. The girl’s very, very fond of him, actually.’

‘I sort of thought that might be the case. Berit was already having enough trouble with the Emperor’s wife without going in search of more. Does Kalten do this very often? Fall desperately in love, I mean?’

‘So far as I know, it’s the first time. He’s always sort of taken affection where he could find it.’

‘That’s the safest way,’ Ulath agreed. ‘But since he’s waited so long, this is hitting him very hard. We’d better do what we can to keep him and Berit apart until we get back to Matherion and Alean has the chance to straighten it out.’

Khalad came down the hallway to join them. Sparhawk’s squire had a slightly disgusted look on his face. He held up Kalten’s florin. This isn’t going to work, Sparhawk,’ he said. ‘I could cover the stone with it easily enough, but it’d probably take you a half-hour to pry it open again so that you could use the ring. I’m going to have to come up with something else. You’d better give me the ring. I’m going to have to go talk with a goldsmith, and I’ll need precise measurements.’

Sparhawk felt a great reluctance to part with the ring. ‘Can’t you just … ?’

Khalad shook his head. ‘Whatever the goldsmith and I decide on will have to be fitted anyway. I guess it gets down to how much you trust me at this point, Sparhawk.’

Sparhawk sighed. ‘You had to put it on that basis, didn’t you, Khalad?’

‘I thought it would be the quickest way, my Lord.’ Khalad held out his hand, and Sparhawk removed the ring and gave it to him. ‘Thank you,’ Khalad smiled. ‘Your faith in me is very touching.’

‘Well said,’ Ulath murmured.

Later, after Sparhawk and Ulath had carried Kalten upstairs and put him to bed, they all gathered in the common-room for supper. Sparhawk spoke briefly with the innkeeper and had Sephrenia’s meal taken upstairs to her.

‘Where’s Talen?’ Bevier asked, looking around.

‘He said he was going out for a breath of fresh air,’ Berit replied.

‘In a hurricane?’

‘I think he’s just restless.’

‘Or he wants to go steal something,’ Ulath added.

The door to the inn banged open, and the wind blew Talen inside. He was wearing doublet and hose under his cloak, and a rapier at his side. The weapon did not seem to encumber him very much. He set his back against the door and strained to push it shut. He was soaked through, and his face was streaming water. He was grinning broadly, however. ‘I just solved a mystery,’ he laughed, coming across to where they sat.

‘Oh?’ Ulath asked.

‘What would it be worth to you gentlemen to know Rebal’s real identity?’

‘How did you manage that?’ Berit demanded.

‘Sheer luck, actually. I was outside looking around. The wind blew me down a narrow lane and pinned me up against the door of the shop at the end. I thought I’d step inside to get my breath, and the first thing I saw in there was a familiar face. Our mysterious Rebal’s a respected shopkeeper here in Jorsan. He told me so himself. He doesn’t look nearly as impressive when he’s wearing an apron.’

‘A shopkeeper?’ Bevier asked incredulously.

‘Yes indeed, Sir Knight – one of the pillars of the community, to hear him tell it. He’s even a member of the town council.’

‘Did you manage to get his name?’ Vanion asked.

‘Of course, my Lord. He introduced himself just as soon as the wind blew me through the door. His name’s Amador. I even bought something from him just to keep him talking.’

‘What does he deal in?’ Berit asked.

Talen reached inside his tunic and drew out a bright pink strip of cloth, wet and somewhat bedraggled. ‘Isn’t it pretty?’ he said. ‘I think I’ll dry it out and give it to Flute.’

‘You’re not serious,’ Vanion laughed. ‘Is that really what he sells?’

‘May muh tongue turn green iffn it ain’t, yer Preceptorship,’ the boy replied, imitating Caalador’s dialect. ‘The man here in Edom who has all the Tamuls trembling in their boots is a ribbon clerk. Can you imagine that?’ And he collapsed in a chair, laughing uproariously.

‘How does it work?’ Sparhawk asked the next day, turning the ring over and looking at the underside.

‘It’s the mounting of one of those rings people use when they want to poison other people’s food or drink,’ Khalad replied. ‘I had the goldsmith take it off the original ring and mount it on ours so that the cover fits over the ruby. There’s a little hinge on this side of the mounting and a latch on the other. All you have to do is touch the latch – right here.’ He pointed at a tiny lever half concealed under the massive-looking setting. The hinge has a little spring, so this gold cap pops open.’ He touched the lever, and the half-globe covering the ruby snapped up to reveal the stone. ‘Are you sure that the ring will work if you’re only touching Bhelliom with the band? With that cap in the way, touching the stone to anything might be a little tricky.’

‘The band does the job,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘This is very clever, Khalad.’

‘Thank you. I made the goldsmith wash out all the poison before we installed it on your ring.’

‘The old ring had been used?’

‘Oh, yes. One of the heirs of the Edomish noblewoman who’d previously owned it sold it to the goldsmith after she died. I guess she had a lot of enemies. She did at first, anyway.’ Khalad chuckled. The goldsmith was very disappointed with me. He really wanted to be alone with your ring for a while. That ruby’s worth quite a lot. I didn’t think Bhelliom would respond to a piece of red glass, though, so I kept a close eye on him. You’d probably better find out if the ring will still open the box anyway, just to be on the safe side. If it doesn’t, I’ll go back to the goldsmith’s shop and start cutting off his fingers. I’d imagine that after he loses two or three, he’ll remember where he hid the real ruby. It’s very hard to do finely detailed work when you don’t have all ten fingers. I told him I’d do that right at the outset, so we can probably trust his integrity.’

‘You’re a ruthless sort of fellow.’

‘I just wanted to avoid misunderstandings. After we make sure that the ring still opens the box, you’d better take it to Flute and find out if the gold’s thick enough to shield the ruby. If it isn’t, I’ll take it back to the goldsmith and have him pile more gold on that cap. We can keep doing that until it does what we want it to do.’

‘You’re very practical, Khalad.’

‘Somebody in this group has to be.’

‘What did you do with Kalten’s florin?’

‘I used it to pay the goldsmith. It covered part of the cost. You still owe me for the rest, though.’

‘I’m going to be in debt to everybody before we get home.’

‘That’s all right, Sparhawk,’ Khalad grinned. ‘We all know that you’re good for it.’

‘That does it!’ Sparhawk said angrily, after he had taken a quick look out the door of the common-room. It was two days later, and they had all just come downstairs for breakfast. ‘Let’s get ready to leave.’

‘I can’t bring the ship back in this storm, Sparhawk,’ Flute told him. The little girl still looked wan, but she was obviously recovering.

‘We’ll have to go overland, then. We’re sitting here like ducks in a row just waiting for our friend out there to gather his forces. We have to move.’

‘It’s going to take months to reach Matherion if we go overland, Sparhawk,’ Khalad objected. ‘Flute’s not well enough to speed up the trip.’

‘I’m not that sick, Khalad,’ Flute objected. ‘I’m just a little tired, that’s all.’

‘Do you have to do it all by yourself?’ Sparhawk asked her.

‘I didn’t quite follow that.’

‘If one of your cousins happened along, could he help you?’ She frowned.

‘Let’s say that you were making the decisions, and he was just lending you the muscle.’

‘It’s a nice idea, Sparhawk,’ Sephrenia said, ‘but we don’t have one of Aphrael’s cousins along.’

‘No, but we’ve got Bhelliom.’

‘I knew it would happen,’ Bevier groaned. ‘The accursed stone’s unhinged Sparhawk’s mind. He thinks he’s a God.’

‘No, Bevier,’ Sparhawk smiled. ‘I’m not a God, but I have access to something very close to one. When I put those rings on, Bhelliom has to do what I tell it to do. That’s not exactly like being a God, but it’s close enough. Let’s have breakfast, and then the rest of you can gather our belongings and get them packed on the horses. Aphrael and I will hammer out the details of how we’re going to work this.’




Chapter 7 (#ulink_94792e96-8d7e-564f-a285-b7ba55286a63)


The wind was screaming through the streets of Jorsan, driving torrents of rain before it. Sparhawk and his friends wrapped themselves tightly in their cloaks, bowed their heads into the wind, and plodded grimly into the teeth of the hurricane.

The city gates were unguarded, and the party rode on out into open country where the wind, unimpeded, savaged them all the more. Speech was impossible, so Sparhawk merely pointed toward the muddy road that led off toward Korvan, fifty leagues to the north.

The road curved round behind a low hill a mile or so outside of town, and Sparhawk reined in. ‘Nobody can see us now,’ he shouted over the howling wind. ‘Let’s try this and see what happens.’ He reached inside his tunic for the golden box.

Berit came galloping up from the rear. ‘We’ve got riders coming up from behind!’ he shouted, wiping the rain out of his face.

‘Following us?’ Kalten demanded.

Berit spread his hands uncertainly.

‘How many?’ Ulath asked.

‘Twenty-five or thirty, Sir Ulath. I couldn’t see them very clearly in all this rain, but it looked to me as if they were wearing armor of some sort.’

‘Good,’ Kalten grated harshly. ‘There’s not much fun in killing amateurs.’

‘What do you think?’ Sparhawk asked Vanion.

‘Let’s have a look. They might not be interested in us at all.’

The two turned and rode back along the muddy road a couple of hundred yards.

The riders coming up from behind had slowed to a walk. They were rough-looking men wrapped in furs and armed for the most part with bronze-tipped spears. The one in the lead wore a vast, bristling beard and an archaic-looking helmet surmounted with a set of deer-antlers.

‘That’s it,’ Sparhawk said shortly. ‘They’re definitely following us. Let’s get the others and deal with this.’

They rode on back to where their friends had taken some small shelter on the lee-side of a pine grove. ‘We stayed in Jorsan too long,’ Sparhawk told them. ‘It gave Rebal time to call in help. The men behind us are bronzeage warriors.’

‘Like the Lamorks who attacked us outside Demos?’ Ulath asked.

‘Right,’ Sparhawk said. ‘These are most likely followers of Incetes rather than Drychtnath, but it all amounts to the same thing.’

‘Could you pick out the leader?’ Ulath asked.

‘He’s right up front,’ Vanion replied.

‘That makes it easier, then.’

Vanion gave him a questioning look.

‘This has happened before,’ Sparhawk explained. ‘We don’t know exactly why, but when the leader falls, the rest of them vanish.’

‘Couldn’t we just hide back among these trees?’ Sephrenia asked.

‘I wouldn’t want to chance that,’ Vanion told her. ‘We know where they are now. If we let them get out of sight, they could circle back and ambush us. Let’s deal with this here and now.’

‘We’re wasting time,’ Kalten said abruptly. ‘Let’s get on with it.’

‘Khalad,’ Sparhawk said to his squire, ‘take Sephrenia and the children back into the trees a ways. Try to stay out of sight.’

‘Children?’ Talen objected.

‘Just do as you’re told,’ Khalad told him, ‘and don’t get any ideas about trying out that rapier just yet.’

The knights turned and rode back along the muddy track to face their pursuers.

‘Are they alone?’ Bevier asked. ‘I mean, can anybody make out the one who might have raised them?’

‘We can sort that out after we kill the fellow with the antlers,’ Kalten growled. ‘Once all the rest vanish, whoever’s responsible for this is going to be left standing out in the rain all by himself.’

‘There’s no point in waiting,’ Vanion told them, his voice bleak. ‘Let’s get at it. I’m starting to get wet.’

They all pushed their cloaks out of the way to clear their sword arms, pulled on the plain steel helmets that had been hanging from their saddle-bows, and buckled on their shields.

‘I’ll do it,’ Kalten told Sparhawk, forcing his mount against Faran’s shoulder. There was a kind of suppressed fury in Kalten’s voice and a reckless set to his shoulders. ‘Let’s go!’ he bellowed, drawing his sword.

They charged.

The warriors from the ninth century recoiled momentarily as the mail-shirted Church Knights thundered toward them with the hooves of their war-horses hurling great clots of mud out behind them.

Bronze-age weaponry and ancient tactics were no match for steel mail-shirts and contemporary swords and axes, and the small, scrubby horses of the dark ages were scarcely more than ponies. Kalten crashed into the forefront of the pursuers with his companions fanned out behind him in a kind of wedge formation. The blond Pandion stood up in his stirrups, swinging his sword in vast, powerful strokes. Kalten was normally a highly skilled and cool-headed warrior, but he seemed enraged today, taking chances he should not have taken, over-extending his strokes and swinging his sword much harder than was prudent. The round bronze shields of the men who faced him barely slowed his strokes as he chopped his way through the press toward the bearded man in the antlered helmet. Sparhawk and the others, startled by his reckless charge, followed him, cutting down any who tried to attack him from the rear.

The bearded man bellowed an archaic war cry and spurred his horse forward, swinging a huge, bronze-headed war axe.

Almost disdainfully, Kalten brushed the axe-stroke aside with his shield and delivered a vast overhand stroke with his sword, swinging the weapon with all his strength. His sword sheared down through the hastily raised bronze shield, and half of the gleaming oval spun away, carrying the bearded man’s forearm with it. Kalten swung again, and his sword struck the top of the antler-adorned helmet, gashing down into the enemy’s head in a sudden spray of blood and brains. The dead man was hurled from his saddle by the force of the blow, and his followers wavered like mirages and vanished.

One mounted man, however, remained. The black-cloaked figure of Rebal was suddenly quite alone as the ancient warriors who had been drawn up protectively around him were abruptly no longer there.

Kalten advanced on him, his bloody sword half raised and death in his ice-blue eyes.

Rebal shrieked, wheeled his horse, and fled back into the storm, desperately flogging at his mount.

‘Kalten!’ Vanion roared as the knight spurred his horse to pursue the fleeing man. ‘Stop!’

‘But …’

‘Stay where you are!’

Still caught in the grip of that reckless fury, Kalten started to object.

‘That’s an order, Sir Knight! Put up your sword!’

‘Yes, my Lord,’ Kalten replied sullenly, sliding his blood-smeared blade back into its sheath.

‘Take that weapon back out!’ Vanion bellowed at him. ‘Wipe it off before you sheathe it!’

‘Sorry, Lord Vanion. I forgot.’

‘Forgot? What do you mean, “forgot”? Are you some half-grown puppy? Clean that sword, Sir Knight! I want to see it shining before you put it away!’

‘Yes, my Lord,’ Kalten mumbled.

‘What did you say?’

‘Yes, my Lord!’ Kalten shouted it this time.

‘That’s a little better.’

‘Thanks, Vanion,’ Sparhawk murmured.

‘I’ll deal with you later, Sparhawk!’ Vanion barked. ‘Making him see to his equipment was your responsibility. You’re supposed to be a leader of men, not a goatherd.’ The Preceptor looked around. ‘All right,’ he said crisply, ‘let’s form up and go back. Smartly, gentlemen, smartly. We’re soldiers of God. Let’s try to at least look as if we knew what we’re doing!’

There was some slight shelter from the wind back in among the trees. Vanion led the knights through the grove to rejoin Sephrenia, Khalad and the ‘children’.

‘Is everyone all right?’ Sephrenia asked quickly.

‘We don’t have any visible wounds, little mother,’ Sparhawk replied.

She gave him a questioning look.

‘Lord Vanion was in fine voice,’ Ulath grinned. ‘He was a little dissatisfied with a couple of us, and he spoke to us about it – firmly.’

‘That will do, Sir Knight,’ Vanion said.

‘Yes, my Lord.’

‘Were you able to identify whoever it was who raised that party?’ Khalad asked Sparhawk.

‘No. Rebal was there, but we didn’t see anybody else.’

‘How was the fight?’

‘You should have seen it, Khalad,’ Berit said enthusiastically. ‘Sir Kalten was absolutely stupendous!’

Kalten glared at him.

Sephrenia gave the two of them a shrewd look. ‘We can talk about all this after we get clear of the storm,’ she told them. ‘Are you ready, Sparhawk?’

‘In a moment,’ he replied. He reached inside his tunic, took out the box, and commanded it to open. He put on Ehlana’s ring and lifted the Bhelliom out.

‘Here,’ Sephrenia said. She lifted Flute, and Sparhawk took the little girl into his arms.

‘How do we go about this?’ he asked her.

‘Once we get started, I’ll be speaking through your lips,’ she replied. ‘You won’t understand what I’m saying because the language will be strange to you.’

‘Some obscure Styric dialect?’

‘No, Sparhawk, not Styric. It’s quite a bit older than that. Just relax. I’ll guide you through this. Give me the box. When Bhelliom moves from one place to another, everything sort of shivers. I don’t think our friend out there will be able to locate Bhelliom again immediately, so if you put it – and your wife’s ring – back in the box immediately and snap the cover down on your own ring, he won’t have any idea of where we’ve gone. Now, hold Bhelliom in both hands and let it know who you are.’

‘It should know already.’

‘Remind it, Sparhawk, and speak to it in Trollish. Let’s observe the formalities.’ She nestled back into the protective circle of his mailed arms.

Sparhawk lifted Bhelliom, making sure that the bands of both rings were firmly in contact with it. ‘Blue Rose,’ he said to it in Trollish. ‘I am Sparhawk-from-Elenia. Do you know me?’

The azure glow which had bathed his hands hardened, became like fresh-forged steel. Sparhawk’s relationship with the Bhelliom was ambiguous, and the flower-gem had no real reason to be fond of him.

‘Tell it who you really are, Sparhawk,’ Flute suggested. ‘Make certain that it knows you.’

‘Blue Rose,’ Sparhawk said again, once more in the hideous language of the Trolls, ‘I am Anakha, and I wear the rings. Do you know me?’

The Bhelliom gave a little lurch as he spoke the fatal name, and some of the steel went out of its petals.

‘It’s a start,’ he muttered. ‘What now?’

‘Now it’s my turn,’ she replied. ‘Relax, Sparhawk. Let me into your mind.’

It was a strange sort of process. Sparhawk felt almost as if his own will had been suspended as the Child Goddess gently, even lovingly, took his mind into her two small hands. The voice that came from his lips was strangely soft, and the language it spoke was hauntingly familiar, skirting the very outer edges of his understanding.

Then the world seemed to blur around him and faded momentarily into a kind of luminous twilight. Then the blur was gone, and the sun was shining. It was no longer raining, and the wind had dropped to a gentle breeze.

‘What an astonishing idea!’ Aphrael exclaimed. ‘I never even thought of that! Put the Bhelliom away, Sparhawk. Quickly.’

Sparhawk put the jewel and Ehlana’s ring back into the box and snapped down the cover on his own ring. Then he turned and looked toward the south. There was an intensely dark line of cloud low on the horizon. Then he looked north again and saw a fair-sized town at the bottom of the hill, a pleasant-looking town with red-tile roofs glowing in the autumn sunshine. ‘Is that Korvan?’ he asked tentatively.

‘Well, of course it is,’ Flute replied with an airy little toss of her head. ‘Isn’t that where you said you wanted to go?’

‘We made good time,’ Ulath observed blandly.

Sephrenia suddenly laughed. ‘We wanted to test our friend’s stamina,’ she said. ‘Now we’ll find out just how much endurance he has. If he wants to keep chasing us, he’s going to have to pick up his hurricane and run along behind us just as fast as he possibly can.’

‘Oh, this is going to be fun! Flute exclaimed, clapping her hands together delightedly. ‘I’d never have believed we could jump so far.’

Kalten squinted up toward the bright autumn sun. ‘I make it just a little before noon. Why don’t we ride on down into Korvan and have an early lunch? I worked up quite an appetite back there.’

‘It might not be a bad idea, Sparhawk,’ Vanion agreed. The situation’s changed now, so we might want to think our plans through and see if we want to modify them.’

Sparhawk nodded. He bumped Faran’s flanks with his heels, and they started down the hill toward Korvan. ‘You seemed surprised,’ he murmured into Flute’s ear.

‘Surprised? I was stunned.’

‘What did it do?’

‘You wouldn’t really understand, father. Do you remember how the Troll-God Ghnomb moved you across northern Pelosia?’

‘He sort of froze time, didn’t he?’

She nodded. ‘I’ve always done it a different way, but I’m more sophisticated than Ghnomb is. Bhelliom does it in still another way – much simpler, actually. Ghnomb and I are different, but we’re both part of this world, so the terrain’s very important to us. It gives us a sense of permanence and location. Bhelliom doesn’t appear to need reference points. It seems to just think of another place, and it’s there.’

‘Could you do it like that?’

She pursed her lips. ‘I don’t think so.’ She sighed. ‘It’s a little humiliating to admit it, but Bhelliom’s far wiser than I am.’

‘But not nearly as lovable.’

‘Thank you, kind sir.’

Sparhawk suddenly thought of something. ‘Is Danae at Matherion?’

‘Of course.’

‘How’s your mother?’

‘She’s well. She and the thieves are very busy trying to get their hands on some documents that are hidden somewhere in the Ministry of the Interior.’

‘Are things still under control there?’

‘For the moment, yes. I know I’ve teased you about it a few times, but it’s very hard to be in two places at the same time. Danae’s sleeping a great deal, so I’m missing a lot of what’s going on there. Mother’s a little worried. She thinks Danae might be sick.’

‘Don’t worry her too much.’

‘I won’t, father.’

They rode into Korvan and found a respectable-looking inn. Ulath had a word or two with the innkeeper, and they were all escorted into a private dining room in the back where the golden sunlight streamed in through the windows to set the oaken tables and benches to glowing. ‘Can you keep anyone who might be curious from eavesdropping on us, little mother?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘How many times do you have to ask that question before you know the answer?’ she asked with a weary sigh.

‘Just making sure, that’s all.’

They removed their cloaks, stacked their weapons in a corner, and sat down at the table.

A squinty-eyed, slatternly serving-girl came in and told them what the kitchen had prepared for the day.

Sephrenia shook her head. Tell her, Vanion.’

‘The lady and I – and the little girl – will have lamb,’ he said firmly. ‘We don’t much care for pork.’

‘The cook ain’t fixed no lamb,’ the girl whined.

‘You’d better tell him to get started, then.’

‘He ain’t gonna like it.’

‘He doesn’t have to like it. Tell him that if we don’t get lamb, we’ll take our money to another inn. The owner of the place wouldn’t like that very much, would he?’

The girl’s face became set, and she stormed out.

‘That’s the Vanion we came to know and love when we were boys,’ Kalten laughed. The fight that morning seemed to have improved his temper.

Vanion unfolded his map. ‘We’ve got a fairly substantial road going east,’ he said, running his finger along the line stretching across the map. ‘It crosses Edom and then goes on through Cynesga. We’ll cross the border into Tamul proper at Sarna.’ He looked at Flute. ‘How long a jump can Bhelliom make at one time?’

‘Would you like to pay a visit to the moon, Lord Vanion?’ She frowned. There’s a drawback, though. Bhelliom makes a very distinctive sound when it does something. It probably doesn’t even know that it’s doing it, but it does sort of announce its location. We might be able to teach it how to conceal itself, but it’s going to take time.’

‘And that raises another point as well,’ Sephrenia added. ‘Sparhawk’s holding Bhelliom’s power, but he doesn’t know how to use it yet.’

‘Thanks,’ Sparhawk said dryly.

‘I’m sorry, dear one, but you don’t. Every time you’ve ever picked it up, either Aphrael or I have had to walk you through it step by step. We’re definitely going to need some time. We have to teach Bhelliom how to be quiet, and we have to teach you how to use it without having someone hold your hand.’

‘I love you too, Sephrenia.’

She smiled fondly. ‘You’re holding tremendous power in your hands, Sparhawk, but it’s not of much use if all you know how to do is wave it around like a battle-flag. I don’t think we should rush back to Matherion immediately. That story you cooked up for Ehlana will explain our absence for at least two or three more weeks. We’ll want to avoid the traps and ambushes our enemies are going to lay for us along the way, of course.’ She paused. ‘They might even be useful. They’ll give you something to practice on.’

‘Jump around,’ Ulath grunted.

‘Will you stop that, Ulath?’ she snapped at him.

‘Sorry, Sephrenia. It’s a habit of mine. After I think my way through something, I just blurt out the conclusion. The intermediate steps aren’t usually very interesting. Our friends out there have been raising random disturbances to keep the Atans running back and forth across the continent – werewolves here, vampires there, Shining Ones off in that direction, and antique armies in this. There’s no real purpose to all that except to confuse the imperial authorities. We could steal a page right out of their book, you know. They can hear and feel Bhelliom – particularly when it’s doing something noisy. I gather that there’s no real limit to how far it can jump at one time, so let’s just say that Sparhawk wants to see what the weather’s like in Darsas. He has Bhelliom pick him up by the scruff of the neck and drop him down in the square outside King Alberen’s palace. He stays there for about a half-hour – long enough for the other side to smell him out – then he hops across the continent to Beresa in southern Arjuna and stays long enough to make his presence known there. Then he goes to Sarsos, then to Jura in southern Daconia, then back to Cimmura to say hello to Platime – all in the space of one afternoon. He’d get all sorts of practice using Bhelliom, and by the time the sun went down, they wouldn’t know where he was or where he was going to go next. To make it even more fun, our mysterious friend out there wouldn’t know which of these little jumps was the significant one, so he’d almost have to follow along.’

‘Carrying that hurricane on his back every step of the way,’ Kalten added. ‘Ulath, you’re brilliant.’

‘Yes,’ the blond-braided Thalesian agreed with becoming modesty, ‘I know.’

‘I like it,’ Vanion approved. ‘What do you think, Sephrenia?’

‘It would give Sparhawk and Bhelliom the chance to get to know each other,’ she agreed, ‘and that’s basically what we need here. The better they know each other, the better they’ll be able to work together. I’m sorry, Sir Ulath. Blurt out conclusions anytime you feel like it.’

‘All right then,’ Vanion said in his most business-like fashion, ‘when Sparhawk’s off on one of his little excursions, the rest of us will be sort of invisible – well, not really invisible, but if Bhelliom’s not with us, our friend won’t be able to hear us or feel us, will he?’

‘Probably not,’ Flute agreed. ‘Even if he could, Sparhawk will be making so much noise that he won’t really pay much attention to you.’

‘Good. Let’s say that we set out from here. Sparhawk hops up to Darsas and rattles all the windows there. Then he hops back, picks us up and puts down in …’ He frowned at his map. ‘In Cyron on the Cynesgan border.’ He stabbed his finger down on the chart. ‘Then he hops around to several other places, leaving Bhelliom and the rings out in the open so that our friend knows where he is each time. Then he rejoins us at Cyron and boxes up Bhelliom again. By that time our friend will be so confused he won’t know where we are.’

‘Pay close attention, Sparhawk,’ Kalten grinned. ‘That’s the way a preceptor’s supposed to think.’

Sparhawk grunted. Then he thought of something. ‘I want to talk with you for a moment when we leave,’ he told his blond friend quietly.

‘Am I in trouble?’

‘Not yet, but you’re working on it.’

The slatternly serving-girl brought in their meal, glowering at Vanion as she did, and Sparhawk and his friends began to eat.

They did not linger after lunch, but rose immediately and trooped out.

‘What’s your problem?’ Kalten asked as he and Sparhawk trailed along behind the others.

‘Quit trying to get yourself killed.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Don’t be coy, Kalten. I saw what you were doing this morning. Don’t you realize how transparent you are to people who know you?’

‘You’re unwholesomely clever, Sparhawk,’ the blond Pandion accused.

‘It’s a character defect of mine. I’ve got enough to worry about already. Don’t add this to it.’

‘It’s such a perfect solution.’

‘For a non-existent problem, you jackass. Alean’s had her eyes on you ever since we left Chyrellos. She’s not going to throw all that effort away. It’s you she’s after, Kalten, not Berit. If you don’t stop this nonsense, I’ll take you back to Demos and have you confined in the mother-house.’

‘How do you propose to do that?’

‘I’ve got this blue friend here, remember?’ Sparhawk patted the bulge in the front of his tunic. ‘I can pick you up by the hair, deposit you in Demos and be back before Vanion even gets into his saddle.’

‘That’s not fair.’

‘Now you’re starting to sound like Talen. I’m not trying to be fair. I’m trying to keep you from killing yourself. I want your oath.’

‘No.’

‘Demos is nice this time of year. You’ll enjoy it. You can spend your days in prayer.’

Kalten swore at him.

‘You’ve got some of the words right, Kalten. Now just put them together into a proper oath. Believe me, my friend, you’re not going to go one step farther with us until you give me your oath to stop all this nonsense.’

‘I swear,’ Kalten muttered.

‘Not good enough. Let’s make it nice and formal. I want it to make an impression on you. You’ve got this tendency to overlook things if they aren’t all spelled out.’

‘Do you want me to sign something in my own blood?’ Kalten demanded acidly.

‘It’s a thought, but I don’t have any parchment handy. I’ll accept your verbal oath – for the time being. I may change my mind later, though, so keep your veins nice and loose and your dagger sharp.’

‘Sparhawk?’ Ambassador Fontan exclaimed. ‘What are you doing in Darsas?’ The ancient Tamul diplomat stared at the big Pandion in astonishment.

‘Just passing through, your Excellency,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘May I come in?’

‘By all means, my boy.’ Fontan opened his door wide and Sparhawk and Flute entered the crimson-carpeted study of the Tamul Embassy.

‘You’re looking well, your Royal Highness,’ Fontan smiled at the little girl. Then he looked at her more closely. ‘I’m sorry,’ he apologized to her. ‘I mistook you for Prince Sparhawk’s daughter. You resemble her very much.’

‘We’re distantly related, your Excellency,’ Flute told him without turning a hair.

‘Has word reached you about what happened in Matherion a few weeks ago, your Excellency?’ Sparhawk asked, tucking the Bhelliom back into his inside tunic pocket.

‘Just yesterday,’ Fontan replied. ‘Is the Emperor safe?’

Sparhawk nodded. ‘My wife’s looking after him. Our time’s limited, your Excellency, so I’m not going to be able to explain everything. Are you cosmopolitan enough to accept the notion that the Styrics have some very unusual capabilities?’

Fontan smiled faintly. ‘Prince Sparhawk, a man my age is willing to accept almost anything. After the initial shock of astonishment that comes each morning when I wake up and discover that I’m still alive, I can face the day with an open mind.’

‘Good. My friends and I left Korvan down in Edom about an hour ago. They’re riding on toward Cyron on the border, but I came here to have a word with you.’

‘An hour ago?’

‘Just take it on faith, your Excellency,’ Flute told him. ‘It’s one of those Styric things Sparhawk was talking about.’

‘I’m not certain how much your messenger told you,’ Sparhawk continued, ‘but it’s urgent that all of the Atan garrison commanders in the empire know that the Ministry of the Interior’s not to be trusted. Minister Kolata’s working for the other side.’

‘I never liked that man,’ Fontan said. He gave Sparhawk a speculative look. ‘This message is hardly so earth-shaking that it would move you to violate a whole cluster of natural laws, Sparhawk. What are you really doing in Darsas?’

‘Casting false trails, your Excellency. Our enemies have ways of detecting my presence, so I’m going to give them a presence to detect in various towns in assorted corners of the Empire in order to confuse them a bit. My friends and I are returning overland from Korvan to Matherion, and we’d prefer not to be ambushed along the way. This isn’t a confidential visit, Ambassador Fontan. Feel free to let people know that I stopped by. They’ll probably know already, but let’s confirm it for them.’

‘I like your style, Sparhawk. You’ll be crossing Cynesga?’

Sparhawk nodded.

‘It’s an unpleasant country.’

‘These are unpleasant times. Oh, it won’t really hurt if you’re sort of smug when you tell people that you’ve seen me. Our side was definitely behind up until now. That changed a few days ago. Our enemy, whoever he is, is at a distinct disadvantage right now, and I’d sort of like to grind his face in that fact for a while.’

‘I’ll get word to the town crier immediately.’ The ancient man squinted up at the ceiling. ‘How long can you stay?’

‘An hour at the very most.’

‘Plenty of time, then. Why don’t we step over to the palace? I’ll take you into the throne-room, and you can pay your respects to the king – in front of his entire court. That’s the best way I know of to let people know you’ve been here.’

‘I like your style, your Excellency,’ Sparhawk grinned.

It grew easier each time. At first, Bhelliom seemed impossibly dense, and Flute frequently had to step in, speaking in that language which Sparhawk strongly suspected was the original tongue of the Gods themselves. Gradually, the stone seemed to grasp what was wanted of it. Its compliance was never fully willing, however. It had to be compelled. Sparhawk found that visualizing Vanion’s map helped quite a bit. Once Bhelliom grasped the fact that the map was no more than a picture of the world, it grew easier for Sparhawk to tell the jewel where he wanted to go.

This is not to say that there weren’t a few false starts. Once, when he had been concentrating on the town of Delo on the east coast, the thought crossed his mind that there was a certain remote similarity between that name and the name of the town of Demos in east-central Elenia, and after the momentary gray blur where the world around him shifted and changed, he found himself and Flute riding Faran in bright moonlight up the lane that led to Kurik’s farm.

‘What are you doing?’ Flute demanded.

‘My attention wandered. Sorry.’

‘Keep your mind on your work. Bhelliom’s responding to what you’re thinking, not what you’re saying. It probably doesn’t even understand Elenic – but then, who really does?’

‘Be nice.’

‘Take us back immediately!’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

There was that now-familiar lurch, and the moonlight faded into gray. Then they were back in bright autumn sunshine on the road a few miles outside Korvan, and their friends were staring at them in astonishment.

‘What went wrong?’ Sephrenia asked Flute.

‘Our glorious leader here was wool-gathering,’ Flute replied with heavy sarcasm. ‘We just took a little side-trip to Demos.’

‘Demos!’ Vanion exclaimed. ‘That’s on the other side of the world!’

‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘It’s the middle of the night there right now. We were on the road to Kurik’s farm. Maybe our stalwart commander here felt lonesome for Aslade’s cooking.’

‘I can live without these “stalwart commanders” and “glorious leaders”,’ Sparhawk told her tartly.

‘Then do it right.’

There was a certain desperation in the flicker of darkness at the edge of Sparhawk’s vision this time, and a faint flicker of harried confusion. Sparhawk did not even stop to think. ‘Blue Rose!’ he barked to the Bhelliom, bringing up his other hand so that both rings touched the deep blue petals, ‘destroy that thing!’

He felt a brief jolt in his hands and heard a sizzling kind of crackle behind him.

The shadow that had dogged their steps for so long, which they had thought at first to be Azash and then the Troll-Gods, gave a shrill shriek and began to babble in agony. Sparhawk saw Sephrenia’s eyes widen.

The shadow was crying out, not in Zemoch or Trollish, but in Styric.




Chapter 8 (#ulink_588aee00-bff3-5e06-8b53-0bf8d519e368)


‘Well now, yer Queenship,’ Caalador was saying, ‘I don’t know ez I’d stort a-dancin’ in the streets jist yet. Them fellers over t’ Interior’s bin a-doin’ ever’thang but a-nailin’ th’ doors shet t’ keep us from a-puttin’ our hands on this yere pertic’ler set o’ files, an’ now they turns up sorta unexpected-like amongst a hull buncha others – which I’d swear a oath to that I already looked over ’bout four er five times my own self. Don’t that smell jist a bit like a dead fish t’ you?’

‘What did he say?’ Emperor Sarabian asked.

‘He’s suspicious,’ Ehlana translated. ‘He thinks that our discovery of these files was too easy. He may just have a point.’

They had gathered again in the royal apartment in what was by now generally called ‘Ehlana’s Castle’ to discuss the surprising discovery of a hitherto missing set of personnel files. The files themselves were stacked in heaps upon the tables and the floor of the main sitting room.

‘Do you always have to complicate things, Master Caalador?’ The Emperor’s expression was slightly pained. As he habitually did now, Sarabian was wearing western-style clothes. Ehlana felt that this morning’s choice of a black velvet doublet and pearl-grey hose was not a happy one. Black velvet made Sarabian’s bronze-tinted skin look sallow and unhealthy.

‘I’m a professional swindler, your Majesty,’ Caalador replied, dropping the dialect. ‘I’ve learned that when something seems too good to be true, it probably is.’

Stragen was looking into one of the files. ‘What an amazing thing,’ he said. ‘Someone in the Ministry of the Interior seems to have discovered the secret of eternal youth.’





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