Domes of Fire

16

The carriage came around a bend in the road and approached the spot where Sparhawk and Sephrenia waited. Ehlana was talking animatedly to Oscagne and Emban, but she broke off suddenly, her eyes wide. ‘Sephrenia?’ she gasped. ‘It is! It’s Sephrenia.’ Royal dignity went out the window as she scrambled down from the carriage.

‘Brace yourself,’ Sparhawk cautioned with a gentle smile. Ehlana ran to them, threw her arms around Sephrenia’s neck and kissed her, weeping for joy.

The queen’s tears were not the only ones shed that afternoon. Even the hard-bitten Church Knights were misty-eyed for the most part. Kalten went even further and wept openly as he knelt to receive Sephrenia’s blessing.

‘The Styric woman has a special significance, Sparhawk-Knight?’ Engessa asked curiously.

‘A very special significance, Atan Engessa,’ Sparhawk replied, watching his friends clustered around the small woman. ‘She touches our hearts in a profound way. We’d probably take the world apart if she asked us to.’

‘That’s a very great authority, Sparhawk-Knight.’ Engessa said it with some approval. Engessa respected authority.

‘It is indeed, my friend,’ Sparhawk agreed, ‘and that’s only the least of her gifts. She’s wise and beautiful, and I’m at least partially convinced that she could stop the tides if she really wanted to.’

‘She is quite small, though,’ Engessa noted.

‘Not really. In our eyes she’s at least a hundred feet tall—maybe even two hundred.’

‘The Styrics are a strange people with strange powers, but I had not heard of this ability to alter their size before.’ Engessa was a profoundly literal man, and hyperbole was beyond his grasp. ‘Two hundred, you say?’

‘At least, Atan.’

Sephrenia was completely caught up in the outpouring of affection, and so Sparhawk was able to observe her rather closely. She had changed. She seemed more open, for one thing. No Styric could ever completely lower his defences among Elenes. Thousands of years of prejudice and oppression had taught them to be wary—even of those Elenes they loved the most. Sephrenia’s defensive shell, a shell she had kept in place around her for so long that she had probably not even known it was there, was gone now. The doors were all open. There was something more, however. Her face had been luminous before, but now it was radiant. A kind of regretful longing had always seemed to hover in her eyes, and it was gone now. For the first time in all the years Sparhawk had known her, Sephrenia seemed complete and totally happy.

‘Will this go on for long, Sparhawk-Knight?’ Engessa asked politely. ‘Sarsos is close at hand, but ...’ He left the suggestion hanging.

‘I’ll talk with them, Atan. I might be able to persuade them that they can continue this later.’ Sparhawk walked toward the excited group near the carriage. ‘Atan Engessa just made an interesting suggestion,’ he said to them. ‘It’s a novel idea, of course, but he pointed out that we could probably do all of this inside the walls of Sarsos, since it’s so close anyway.’

‘I see that hasn’t changed,’ Sephrenia observed to Ehlana. ‘Does he still make these clumsy attempts at humour every chance he gets?’

‘I’ve been working on that, little mother,’ Ehlana smiled.

‘The question I was really asking was whether or not you ladies would like to ride on into the city, or would you like to have us set up camp for the night.’

‘Spoil-sport,’ Ehlana accused.

‘We really should go on down,’ Sephrenia told them. ‘Vanion’s waiting, and you know how cross he gets when people aren’t punctual.’

‘Vanion?’ Emban exclaimed. ‘I thought he’d be dead by now.’

‘Hardly. He’s quite vigorous, actually. Very vigorous at times. He’d have come with me to meet you, but he sprained his ankle yesterday. He’s being terribly brave about it, but it hurts him more than he’s willing to admit.’

Stragen stepped up and effortlessly lifted her up into the carriage. ‘What should we expect in Sarsos, dear sister?’ he asked her in his flawless Styric.

Ehlana gave him a startled look. ‘You’ve been hiding things from me, Milord Stragen. I didn’t know you spoke Styric.’

‘I always meant to mention it to you, your Majesty, but it kept slipping my mind.’

‘I think you’d better be prepared for some surprises, Stragen,’ Sephrenia told him. ‘All of you should.’

‘What sort of surprises?’ Stragen asked. ‘Remember that I’m a thief, Sephrenia, and surprises are very bad for thieves. Our veins tend to come untied when we’re startled.’

‘I think you’d all better discard your preconceptions about Styrics,’ Sephrenia advised. ‘We aren’t obliged to be simple and rustic here in Sarsos, so you’ll find an altogether different kind of Styric in those streets.’ She seated herself in the carriage and held out her arms to Danae. The little princess climbed up into her lap and kissed her. It seemed very innocuous and perfectly natural, but Sparhawk was privately surprised that they were not surrounded by a halo of blazing light. Then Sephrenia looked at Emban. ‘Oh, dear,’ she said. ‘I hadn’t really counted on your being here, your Grace. How firmly fixed are your prejudices?’

‘I like you, Sephrenia,’ the little fat man replied. ‘I resent the Styrics’ stubborn refusal to accept the true faith, but I’m not really a howling bigot.’

‘Are you open to a suggestion, my friend?’ Oscagne asked.

‘I’ll listen.’

‘I’d recommend that you look upon your visit to Sarsos as a holiday, and put your theology on a shelf someplace. Look all you want, but let the things you don’t like pass without comment. The empire would really appreciate your co-operation in this, Emban. Please don’t stir up the Styrics. They’re a very prickly people with capabilities we don’t entirely understand. Let’s not precipitate avoidable explosions.’

Emban opened his mouth as if to retort, but then his eyes grew troubled, and he apparently decided against it.

Sparhawk conferred briefly with Oscagne and Sephrenia and decided that the bulk of the Church Knights should set up camp with the Peloi outside the city. It was a precaution designed to avert incidents. Engessa sent his Atans to their garrison just north of the city wall, and the party surrounding Ehlana’s carriage entered through an unguarded gate.

‘What’s the trouble, Khalad?’ Sephrenia asked Sparhawk’s squire.

The young man was looking around, frowning. ‘It’s really none of my business, Lady Sephrenia,’ he said, ‘but are marble buildings really a good idea this far north? Aren’t they awfully cold in the winter time?’

‘He’s so much like his father,’ she smiled. ‘I think you’ve exposed one of our vanities, Khalad. Actually, the buildings are made of brick. The marble’s just a sheathing to make our city impressive.’

‘Even brick isn’t too good at keeping out the cold, Lady Sephrenia.’

‘It is when you make double walls and fill the space between those walls with a foot of plaster.’

‘That would take a lot of time and effort.’

‘You’d be amazed at the amount of time and effort people will waste for the sake of vanity, Khalad, and we can always cheat a little, if we have to. Our Gods are fond of marble buildings, and we like to make them feel at home.’

‘Wood’s still more practical,’ he said stubbornly.

‘I’m sure it is, Khalad, but it’s so commonplace. We like to be different.’

‘It’s different, all right.’

Sarsos even smelled different. A faint miasma hung over every Elene city in the world, an unpleasant blend of sooty smoke, rotting garbage and the effluvium from poorly-constructed and infrequently drained cesspools. Sarsos, on the other hand, smelled of trees and roses. It was summer, and there were small parks and rose bushes everywhere. Ehlana’s expression grew speculative. With a peculiar flash of insight, Sparhawk foresaw a vast programme of public works looming on the horizon for the capital of Elenia.

The architecture and layout of the city was subtle and highly sophisticated. The streets were broad and, except where the inhabitants had decided otherwise for aesthetic reasons, they were straight. The buildings were all sheathed in marble, and they were fronted by graceful white pillars. This was most definitely not an Elene city.

The citizens looked strangely un-Styric. Their kinsmen in the west all wore robes of lumpy white homespun. The garb was so universal as to be a kind of identifying badge. The Styrics of Sarsos, however, wore silks and linens. White still appeared to be the preferred colour, but there were other hues as well, blue and green and yellow, and not a few garments were a brilliant scarlet. Styric women in the west were very seldom seen, but they were much more in evidence here. They also wore colourful clothing and flowers in their hair.

More than anything, however, there was a marked difference in attitude. The Styrics of the west were timid, sometimes as fearful as deer. They were meek—a meekmess designed to soften Elene aggressiveness, but that very attitude quite often inflamed the Elenes all the more. The Styrics of Sarsos, on the other hand, were definitely not meek. They did not keep their eyes lowered or speak in soft, hesitant voices. They were assertive. They argued on street corners. They laughed out loud. They walked along the broad avenues of their city with their heads held high as if they were actually proud to be Styric. The one thing that bespoke the difference more than anything else, however, was the fact that the children played in the parks without any signs of fear.

Emban’s face had grown rigid, and his nostrils were pinched-in with anger. Sparhawk knew exactly why the Patriarch of Ucera was showing so much resentment. Candour compelled him to privately admit that he shared it. All Elenes believed that Styrics were an inferior race, and despite their indoctrination, the Church Knights still shared that belief at the deepest level of their minds. Sparhawk felt the thoughts rising in him unbidden.

How dare these puffed-up, loudmouthed Styrics have a more beautiful city than any the Elenes could construct? How dare they be prosperous? How dare they be happy? How dare they strut through these streets behaving for all the world as if they were every bit as good as Elenes? Then he saw Danae looking at him sadly, and he pulled his thoughts and unspoken resentments up short. He took hold of those unattractive emotions firmly and looked at them. He didn’t like what he saw very much. So long as Styrics were meek and submissive and lived in misery in rude hovels, he was more than willing to leap to their defence, but when they brazenly looked him squarely in the eye with unbowed heads and challenging expressions, he found himself wanting to teach them lessons.

‘Difficult, isn’t it, Sparhawk?’ Stragen said wryly. ‘My bastardy has always made me feel a certain kinship with the downtrodden and despised. I found the towering humility of our Styric brethren so inspiring that I even went out of my way to learn their language. I’ll admit that the people here set my teeth on edge, though. They all seem so disgustingly self-satisfied.’

‘Stragen, sometimes you’re so civilised you make me sick.’

‘My, aren’t we touchy today?’

‘Sorry. I just found something in myself that I don’t like. It’s making me grouchy.’

Stragen sighed. ‘We should probably never look into our own hearts, Sparhawk. I don’t think anybody likes everything he finds there.’

Sparhawk was not the only one having trouble with the City of Sarsos and its inhabitants. Sir Bevier’s face reflected the fact that he was feeling an even greater resentment than the others. His expression was shocked, even outraged.

‘Heard a story once,’ Sir Ulath said to him in that disarmingly reminiscent fashion that always signalled louder than words that Ulath was about to make a point. That was one of Sir Ulath’s characteristics. He almost never spoke unless he was trying to make a point. ‘It seems that there was a Deiran, an Arcian and a Thalesian. It was a long time ago, and they were all speaking in their native dialects. Anyway, they got to arguing about which of their modes of speech was God’s own. They finally agreed to go to Chyrellos and ask the Archprelate to put the question directly to God himself.’

‘And?’ Bevier asked him.

‘Well, sir, everybody knows that God always answers the Archprelate’s questions, so the word finally came back and settled their argument once and for all.’

‘Well?’

‘Well what?’

‘What is God’s native dialect?’

‘Why, Thalesian, of course. Everybody knows that Bevier.’ Ulath was the kind of man who could say that with a perfectly straight face. ‘It only stands to reason, though. God was a Genidian Knight before he decided to take the universe in hand. I’ll bet you didn’t know that, did you?’ Bevier stared at him for a moment, and then began to laugh a bit sheepishly. Ulath looked at Sparhawk, and one of his eyelids closed in a slow, deliberate wink. Once again Sparhawk felt obliged to reassess his Thalesian friend.

Sephrenia had a house here in Sarsos, and that was another surprise. There had always been a kind of possessionless transience about her. The house was quite large, and it was set apart in a kind of park where tall old trees shaded gently-sloping lawns and gardens and sparkling fountains. Like all the other buildings in Sarsos, Sephrenia’s house was constructed of marble, and it looked very familiar.

‘You cheated, little mother,’ Kalten accused her as he helped her down from the carriage.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You imitated the temple of Aphrael on the island we all saw in that dream. Even the colonnade along the front is the same.’

‘I suppose you’re right, dear one, but it’s sort of expected here. All the members of the Council of Styricum boast about their own Gods. It’s expected. Our Gods would feel slighted if we didn’t.’

‘You’re a member of the council here?’ He sounded a bit surprised.

‘Of course. I am the high priestess of Aphrael, after all. ‘

‘It seems a little odd to find somebody from Eosia on the ruling council of a city in Daresia.’

‘What makes you think I came from Eosia?’

‘You didn’t?’

‘Of course not—and the council here in Sarsos isn’t just the local government. We make the decisions for all Styrics, no matter where they are. Shall we go inside? Vanion’s waiting.’

She led them up the marble stairs to a broad, intricately engraved bronze door, and they went on into the house. The building was constructed around an interior courtyard, a lush garden with a marble fountain in the centre. Vanion half-lay on a divan-like chair near the fountain with his right leg propped up on a number of cushions. His ankle was swathed in bandages, and he had a disgusted expression in his face. His hair and beard were silvery now, and he looked very distinguished. His face was unlined, however. The cares that had weighed him down had been lifted, but that would hardly account for the startling change in him. Even the effects of the dreadful weight of the swords he had forced Sephrenia to give him had somehow been erased. His face looked younger than Sparhawk had ever seen it. He lowered the scroll he had been reading.

‘Sparhawk,’ he said irritably, ‘where have you been?’

‘I’m glad to see you too, my Lord,’ Sparhawk replied.

Vanion looked at him sharply and then laughed, his face a bit sheepish. ‘I guess that was a little ungracious, wasn’t it?’

‘Crotchety, my Lord,’ Ehlana told him. ‘Definitely crotchety.’ Then she cast dignity aside, ran to him and threw her arms about his neck. ‘We are displeased with you, my Lord Vanion,’ she said in her most imperious manner. Then she kissed him soundly. ‘You have deprived us of your counsel and your company in our hour of need.’ She kissed him again. ‘It was churlish of you in the extreme to absent yourself from our side without our permission.’ She kissed him yet again.

‘Am I being reprimanded or re-united with my Queen?’ he asked, looking a bit confused.

‘A little of each, my Lord,’ she shrugged. ‘I thought I’d save some time and take care of everything all at once. I’m really very, very glad to see you again, Vanion, but I was most unhappy when you crept away from Cimmura like a thief in the night.’

‘We don’t really do that, you know,’ Stragen noted clinically. ‘After you’ve stolen something, the idea is to look ordinary, and creeping attracts attention.’

‘Stragen,’ she said, ‘hush.’

‘I took him away from Cimmura for his health, Sephrenia told her. ‘He was dying there. I had a certain personal interest in keeping him alive, so I took him to a place where I could nurse him back to health. I badgered Aphrael unmercifully for a couple of years, and she finally gave in. I can make a serious pest of myself when I want something, and I really wanted Vanion.’ She made no attempt to conceal her feelings now. The years of unspoken love between her and the Pandion Preceptor were out in the open.

She also made no effort to conceal what was quite obviously in both the Styric and the Elene cultures a scandalous arrangement. She and Vanion were openly living in sin, and neither of them showed the slightest bit of remorse about it. ‘How’s the ankle, dear one?’ she asked him.

‘It’s swelling up again.’

‘Didn’t I tell you to soak it in ice when it did that?’

‘I didn’t have any ice.’

‘Make some, Vanion. You know the spell.’

‘The ice I make doesn’t seem as cold as yours, Sephrenia.’ His voice was plaintive.

‘Men!’ she cried in seeming exasperation. ‘They’re all such babies!’ She bustled away in search of a basin.

‘You followed that, didn’t you, Sparhawk?’ Vanion said.

‘Of course, my Lord. It was very smooth, if I may say so.’

‘Thank you.’

‘What was that all about?’ Kalten asked.

‘You’d never understand, Kalten,’ Sparhawk replied.

‘Not in a million years,’ Vanion added.

‘How did you sprain your ankle, Lord Vanion?’ Berit asked.

‘I was proving a point. I advised the Council of Styricum that the young men of Sarsos were in extremely poor physical condition. I had to demonstrate by outrunning the whole bloody town. I was doing fairly well until I stepped in that rabbit-hole.’

‘That’s a real shame, Lord Vanion,’ Kalten said. ‘As far as I know, that’s the first contest you ever lost.’

‘Who said I lost? I was far enough ahead and close enough to the finish line that I was able to hobble on and win. The Council’s going to at least think about some military training for the young men.’

He glanced at Sparhawk’s squire. ‘Hello, Khalad,’ he said. ‘How are your mothers?’

‘Quite well, my Lord. We stopped by to see them when we were taking the queen to Chyrellos so that she could turn the Archprelate over her knee and spank him.’

‘Khalad,’ Ehlana protested.

‘Wasn’t I supposed to say that, your Majesty? We all thought that’s what you had in mind when we left Cimmura.’

‘Well—sort of, I guess—but you’re not supposed to come right out and say it like that.’

‘Oh, I didn’t know that. I thought it was sort of a good idea, myself. Our Holy Mother needs to have something to worry about now and then. It keeps her out of mischief.’

‘Astonishing, Khalad,’ Patriarch Emban murmured dryly. ‘You’ve managed to insult both Church and State in under a minute.’

‘What’s been going on in Eosia since I left?’ Vanion demanded.

‘It was just a small misunderstanding between Sarathi and me, my Lord Vanion,’ Ehlana replied. ‘Khalad was exaggerating. He does that quite often—when he’s not busy insulting the Church and State at the same time.’

‘We may just have another Sparhawk coming up here,’ Vanion grinned.

‘God defend the Church,’ Emban said.

‘And the crown,’ Ehlana added.

Princess Danae pushed her way through to Vanion. She was carrying Mmrr, her hand wrapped around the kitten’s middle. Mmrr had a resigned expression on her hairy face, and her legs dangled ungracefully. ‘Hello, Vanion,’ Danae said, climbing up into his lap and giving him an offhand sort of kiss.

‘You’ve grown, Princess,’ he smiled.

‘Did you expect me to shrink?’

‘Danae.’ Ehlana scolded.

‘Oh, mother, Vanion and I are old friends. He used to hold me when I was a baby.’

Sparhawk looked carefully at his friend, trying to decide whether or not Vanion knew about the little princess. Vanion’s face, however, revealed nothing. ‘I’ve missed you, Princess,’ he said to her.

‘I know. Everybody misses me when I’m not around. Have you met Mmrr yet? She’s my cat. Talen gave her to me. Wasn’t that nice of him?’

‘Very nice, Danae.’

‘I thought so myself. Father’s going to put him in training when we get home. It’s probably just as well to get that all done while I’m still a little girl.’

‘Oh? Why’s that, Princess?’

‘Because I’m going to marry him when I grow up, and I’d like to have all that training nonsense out of the way. Would you like to hold my cat?’

Talen blushed and laughed a bit nervously, trying to pass off Danae’s announcement as some sort of little-girl whim. His eyes looked a bit wild, however.

‘You should never warn them like that, Princess,’ Baroness Melidere advised. ‘You’re supposed to wait and tell them at the last possible minute.’

‘Oh. Is that the way it’s done?’ Danae looked at Talen. ‘Why don’t you forget what I just said then?’ she suggested. ‘I’m not going to do anything about it for the next ten or twelve years anyway.’ She paused. ‘Or eight, maybe. There’s no real point in wasting time, is there?’

Talen was staring at her with the first faint hints of terror in his eyes. ‘She’s only teasing you, Talen,’ Kalten assured the boy. ‘And even if she isn’t, I’m sure she’ll change her mind before she gets to the dangerous age.’

‘Never happen, Kalten,’ Danae told him in a voice like steel.

That evening, after arrangements had been made and the crowd had been mostly dispersed to nearby houses, Sparhawk sat in the cool garden at the centre of the house with Sephrenia and Vanion. Princess Danae sat on the ledge surrounding the fountain watching her kitten. Mmrr had discovered that there were goldfish swimming in the pool, and she sat with her tail twitching and her eyes wide with dreadful intent.

‘I need to know something before I start,’ Sparhawk said, looking directly at Sephrenia. ‘How much does he know?’ He pointed at Vanion.

‘Just about everything, I’d say. I have no secrets from him.’

‘That’s not too specific, Sephrenia.’ Sparhawk groped for a way to ask the question without revealing too much.

‘Oh, do get to the point, Sparhawk,’ Danae told him. ‘Vanion knows who I am. He had a little trouble with it at first, but he’s more or less reconciled to the idea now.’

‘That’s not entirely true,’ Vanion disagreed. ‘You’re the one with the really serious problems though, Sparhawk. How are you managing the situation?’

‘Badly,’ Danae sniffed. ‘He keeps asking questions, even though he knows he won’t understand the answers.’

‘Does Ehlana suspect?’ Vanion asked seriously.

‘Of course she doesn’t,’ the Child Goddess replied. ‘Sparhawk and I decided that right at the beginning. Tell them what’s been happening, Sparhawk—and don’t be all night about it. Mirtai’s bound to come looking for me soon.’

‘It must be pure hell,’ Vanion said sympathetically to his friend.

‘Not entirely. I have to watch her, though. Once she had a swarm of fairies pollinating all the flowers in the palace garden.’

‘The bees are too slow,’ she shrugged.

‘Maybe so, but people expect the bees to do it. If you turn the job over to the fairies, there’s bound to be talk.’ Sparhawk leaned back and looked at Vanion. ‘Sephrenia’s told you about the Lamorks and Drychtnath, hasn’t she?’

Yes. It’s not just wild stories, is it?’

Sparhawk shook his head. ‘No. We encountered some bronze-age Lamorks outside of Demos. After Ulath brained their leader, they all vanished—except for the dead. Oscagne’s convinced that it’s a diversion of some kind—rather like the games Martel was playing to keep us out of Chyrellos during the election of the Archprelate. We’ve been catching glimpses of Krager, and that lends some weight to Oscagne’s theory, but you always taught us that it’s a mistake to try to fight the last war over again, so I’m not locking myself into the idea that what’s happening in Lamorkand is purely diversionary. I can’t really accept the notion that somebody would go to all that trouble to keep the Church Knights out of Tamuli—not with the Atans already here.’

Vanion nodded. ‘You’re going to need someone to help you when you get to Matherion, Sparhawk. Tamul culture’s very subtle, and you could make some colossal blunders without even knowing it.’

‘Thanks, Vanion.’

‘You’re not the only one, though. Your companions aren’t the most diplomatic men in the world, and Ehlana tends to jump fences when she gets excited. Did she really go head to head with Dolmant?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Danae said. ‘I had to kiss them both into submission before I could make peace between them.’

‘Who’d be the best to send, Sephrenia?’ Vanion asked.

‘Me.’

‘That’s out of the question. I won’t be separated from you again.’

‘That’s very sweet, dear one. Why don’t you come along then?’

He seemed to hesitate. ‘I—’

‘Don’t be such a goose, Vanion,’ Danae told him. ‘You won’t die the minute you leave Sarsos—any more than you did when you left my island. You’re completely cured now.’

‘I wasn’t worried about that,’ he told her, ‘but Sephrenia can’t leave Sarsos anyway. She’s a member of the Council of Styricum.’

‘I’ve been a member of the Council of Styricum for several centuries, Vanion,’ Sephrenia told him. ‘I’ve left here before—for long periods of time on occasion. The other members of the Council understand. They’ve all had to do the same thing themselves now and then.’

‘I’m a little vague on this ruling council,’ Sparhawk admitted. ‘I knew that Styrics kept in touch with each other, but I hadn’t realised it was quite so well-knit.’

‘We don’t make an issue of it,’ Sephrenia shrugged. ‘if the Elenes knew about it, they’d try to make some huge conspiracy out of it.’

‘Your membership on the council keeps coming up,’ Sparhawk noted. ‘Is this council really relevant, or is it just some sort of ceremonial body?’

‘Oh, no, Sparhawk,’ Vanion told him. ‘The council’s very important. Styricum’s a theocracy, and the council’s composed of the high priests and priestesses of the Younger Gods.’

‘Being Aphrael’s priestess isn’t really a very taxing position,’ Sephrenia smiled, looking fondly at the Child Goddess. ‘She’s not particularly interested in asserting herself, since she usually gets what she wants in other ways. I get certain advantages—like this house—but I have to sit in on the meetings of the Thousand, and that can be tedious sometimes.’

‘The Thousand?’

‘It’s another name for the Council.’

‘There are a thousand Younger Gods?’ Sparhawk was a bit surprised at that.

‘Well, of course there are, Sparhawk,’ Aphrael told him. ‘Everybody knows that.’

‘Why a thousand?’

‘It’s a nice number with a nice sound to it. In Styric it’s Age’rBluon.’

‘I’m not familiar with the word.’

‘It means ten times ten times ten—sort of. We had quite an argument with one of my cousins about it. He had a pet crocodile, and it had bitten off one of his fingers. He always had trouble counting after that. He wanted us to be AgerBlican—nine times nine times nine, but we explained to him that there were already more of us than that, and that if we wanted to be AgerBlican, some of us would have to be obliterated. We asked him if he’d care to volunteer to be one of them, and he dropped the idea.’

‘Why would anyone want to have a pet crocodile?’

‘It’s one of the things we do. We like to make pets of animals you humans can’t control. Crocodiles aren’t so bad. At least you don’t have to feed them.’

‘No, but you have to count the children every morning. Now I understand why the question of whales keeps coming up.’

‘You’re really very stubborn about that, Sparhawk. I could really impress my family if I had a whale.’

‘I think we’re getting a little far afield,’ Vanion said. ‘Sephrenia tells me you’ve got some fairly exotic suspicions.’

‘I’ve been trying to explain something I can’t completely see yet, Vanion. It’s like trying to describe a horse when all you’ve to work with is his tail. I’ve got a lot of bits and pieces and not too much more. I’m positive that everything that we’ve seen so far—and probably a lot of things we haven’t—are all hooked together, and that there’s one intelligence guiding it all. I think it’s a God, Vanion—or Gods.’

‘Are you sure your encounter with Azash didn’t make you start seeing hostile divinities under beds and in dark closets?’

‘I have it on the very best authority that only a God could raise an entire army out of the past. The authority who told me was quite smug about it.’

‘Be nice, father,’ Danae said primly. ‘It’s too complex, Vanion,’ she explained. ‘When you raise an army, you have to raise each individual soldier, and you have to know everything about him when you do that. It’s the details that defeat human magicians when they try it.’

‘Any ideas?’ Vanion asked his friend.

‘Several,’ Sparhawk grunted, ‘and none of them very pleasant. Do you remember that shadow I told you about? The one that was following me all over Eosia after I killed Ghwerig?’

Vanion nodded. ‘We’ve been seeing it again, and this time everybody can see it.’

‘That doesn’t sound too good.’

‘No, it doesn’t. Last time, that shadow was the Troll-Gods.’

Vanion shuddered, and then the both of them looked at Sephrenia.

‘Isn’t it nice to be needed?’ Danae said to her sister.

‘I’ll talk with Zalasta,’ Sephrenia sighed. ‘He’s been keeping abreast of things here in Sarsos for the emperor. He probably knows a great deal about this, so I’ll have him stop by tomorrow.’

There was a loud splash. ‘I told you that was going to happen, Mmrr,’ Danae said smugly to the wild-eyed kitten struggling to stay afloat in the fountain. Mmrr’s problems were multiplied by the fact that the goldfish were ferociously defending their domain by bumping her paws and tummy with their noses.

‘Fish her out, Danae,’ Sparhawk told her.

‘She’ll get me all wet, father, and then mother will scold me. Mmrr got herself into that fix. Now let her get herself out.’

‘She’ll drown.’

‘Oh, of course she won’t, Sparhawk. She knows how to swim. Look at her. She’s cat-paddling for all she’s worth. ‘

‘She’s what?’

‘Cat-paddling. You couldn’t really call it dog-paddling, could you? She’s not a dog, after all. We Styrics talk about cat-paddling all the time, don’t we, Sephrenia?’

‘I never have,’ Sephrenia murmured.

17

A large part of the fun came from the fact that her parents could not anticipate the Princess Danae’s early-morning visits. They were certainly not a daily occurrence, and there were times when a whole week would go by without one. This morning’s visit was, of course, the same as all the rest. Consistency is one of the more important divine attributes. The door banged open, and the princess, her black hair flying and her eyes filled with glee, dashed into the room and joined her parents in bed with a great, whooping leap. The leap was followed, as always, by a great deal of squirming and burrowing until Danae was firmly nestled between her parents. She never paid these visits alone. Rollo had never really been a problem. Rollo was a well-mannered toy, anxious to please and almost never intrusive. Mmrr, on the other hand, could be a pest. She was quite fond of Sparhawk and she was a genius at burrowing. Having a sharp-clawed kitten climb up the side of one’s bare leg before one is fully awake is a startling experience. Sparhawk gritted his teeth and endured.

‘The birds are awake.’ Danae announced it almost accusingly.

‘I’m so happy for them,’ Sparhawk said, wincing as the kitten lurking beneath the covers began to rhythmically flex her claws in his hip.

‘You’re grumpy this morning, father.’

‘I was doing just fine until now. Please ask your cat not to use me for a pin-cushion.’

‘She does it because she loves you.’

‘That fills my heart. I’d still rather have her keep her claws to herself, though.’

‘Is he always like this in the morning, mother?’

‘Sometimes,’ Ehlana laughed, embracing the little girl. ‘I think it depends on what he had for supper.’

Mmrr began to purr. Adult cats purr with a certain decorous moderation. Kittens don’t. On this particular morning, Danae’s small cat sounded much like an approaching thunderstorm or a grist-mill with an off-centre wheel.

‘I give up,’ Sparhawk said. He threw back the covers, climbed out of bed and pulled on a robe. ‘There’s no sleeping with the three of you around,’ he accused them. ‘Coming, Rollo?’

His wife and daughter gave him a quick, startled glance then exchanged a worried look. Sparhawk scooped up Danae’s stuffed toy and ambled out of the room, holding it by one hind leg. He could hear Ehlana and Danae whispering as he left. He plumped the toy into a chair. ‘It’s absolutely impossible, Rollo, old boy,’ he said, making sure that his women-folk could hear him. ‘I don’t know how you can stand it.’ There was a profound silence from the bedroom. ‘I think you and I should go away for a while, my friend,’ Sparhawk went on. ‘They’re starting to treat us like pieces of furniture.’

Rollo didn’t say anything, but then Rollo seldom did. Sephrenia, who was standing in the doorway, however, seemed a bit startled. ‘Aren’t you feeling well, Sparhawk?’

‘I’m fine, little mother. Why do you ask?’ He hadn’t really expected anyone to witness a performance intended primarily for his wife and daughter.

‘You do realise that you’re talking to a stuffed toy, don’t you?’

Sparhawk stared at Rollo in mock surprise. ‘Why, believe you’re right, Sephrenia. How strange that didn’t notice that. Maybe it has something to do with being rousted out of bed at the crack of dawn.’ No matten how hard he tried to put a good face on this, it wasn’t going to go very well.

‘What on earth are you talking about, Sparhawk?’

‘You see, Rollo?’ Sparhawk said, trying to rescue something. ‘They just don’t understand—any of them.’

‘Ah—Prince Sparhawk?’ It was Ehlana’s maid Alcan. She had come into the room unnoticed, and her huge eyes were concerned. ‘Are you all right?’

Things were deteriorating all around Sparhawk. ‘It’s a long, long story, Alcan,’ he sighed.

‘Have you seen the princess, my Lord?’ Alcan was looking at him strangely.

‘She’s in bed with her mother.’ There was really not much left for him to salvage from the situation. ‘I’m going to the bath-house—if anybody cares.’ And he stalked from the room with the tatters of his dignity trailing along behind him.

Zalasta the Styric was an ascetic-looking man with white hair and a long, silver beard. He had the angular, uncompleted-looking face of all Styric men, shaggy black eyebrows and a deep rich voice. He was Sephrenia’s oldest friend, and was generally conceded to be the wisest and most powerful magician in Styricum. He wore a white, cowled robe and carried a staff, which may have been an affectation, since he was quite vigorous and did not need any aid when he walked. He spoke the Elenic language very well, although with a heavy Styric accent. They gathered that morning in Sephrenia’s interior garden to hear the details of what was really going on in Tamuli. ‘We can’t be entirely positive if they’re real or not, Zalasta was saying. ‘The sightings have been random and very fleeting.’

‘They’re definitely Trolls, though?’ Tynian asked him.

Zalasta nodded. ‘No other creature looks quite like a Troll.’

‘That’s God’s own truth,’ Ulath murmured. ‘The sightings could very well have been of real Trolls. Some time back they all just packed up and left Thalesia. Nobody ever thought to stop one to ask him why.’

‘There have also been sightings of Dawn-men,’ Zalasta reported.

‘What are they, learned one?’ Patriarch Emban asked him.

‘Man-like creatures from the beginning of time, your Grace. They’re a bit bigger than Trolls, but not as intelligent. They roam in packs, and they’re very savage.’

‘We’ve met them, friend Zalasta,’ Kring said shortly. ‘I lost many comrades that day.’

‘There may not be a connection,’ Zalasta continued. The Trolls are contemporary creatures, but the Dawnmen definitely come from the past. Their species has been extinct for some fifty aeons. There have also been some unconfirmed reports of sightings of Cyrgai.’

‘You can mark that down as confirmed, Zalasta,’ Kalten told him. ‘They provided us with some entertainment one night last week.’

‘They were fearsome warriors,’ Zalasta said.

‘They might have impressed their contemporaries,’ Kalten disagreed, ‘but modern tactics and weapons and equipment are a bit beyond their capabilities. Catapults and the charge of armoured knights seemed to baffle them.’

‘Just exactly who are the Cyrgai, learned one?’ Vanion asked.

‘I gave you the scrolls, Vanion,’ Sephrenia said, ‘didn’t you read them?’

‘I haven’t got that far yet. Styric’s a difficult language to read. Somebody should give some thought to simplifying your alphabet.’

‘Hold it,’ Sparhawk interupted. He looked at Sephrenia. ‘I’ve never seen you read anything,’ he accused her. ‘You wouldn’t let Flute even touch a book.

‘Not an Elene book, no.’

‘Then you can read?’

‘In Styric, yes.’

‘Why didn’t you tell us?’

‘Because it wasn’t really any of your business, dear one.’

‘You lied!’ That shocked him for some reason.

‘No, as a matter of fact I didn’t. I can’t read Elene largely because I don’t want to. It’s a graceless language, and your writings are ugly—like spiders’ webs.’

‘You deliberately led us to believe that you were too simple to learn how to read.’

‘That was sort of necessary, dear one. Pandion novices aren’t really very sophisticated, and you had to have something to feel superior about.’

‘Be nice,’ Vanion murmured.

‘I had to try to train a dozen generations of those great, clumsy louts, Vanion,’ she said with a certain asperity, ‘and I had to put up with their insufferable condescension in the process. Yes, Sparhawk, I can read, and I can count, and I can argue philosophy and even theology if I have to, and I am fully trained in logic.’

‘I don’t know why you’re yelling at me,’ he protested mildly, kissing her palms. ‘I’ve always believed you were a fairly nice lady—’ he kissed her palms again, ‘for a Styric, that is.’

She jerked her hands out of his grasp and then saw the grin on his face. ‘You’re impossible,’ she said, also suddenly smiling.

‘We were talking about the Cyrgai, I believe,’ Stragen said smoothly. ‘Just exactly who are they?’

‘They’re extinct, fortunately,’ Zalasta replied. ‘They were of a race that appears to have been unrelated to the other races of Daresia—neither Tamul nor Elene, and certainly not Styric. Some have suggested that they might be distantly related to the Valesians.’

‘I couldn’t accept that, learned one,’ Oscagne disagreed. ‘The Valesians don’t even have a government, and they have no concept of war. They’re the happiest people in the world. They could not in any way be related to the Cyrgai.’

‘Temperament is sometimes based on climate, your Excellency,’ Zalasta pointed out. ‘Valesia’s a paradise, and central Cynesga’s not nearly so nice. Anyway, the Cyrgai worshipped a hideous God named Cyrgon—and, like most primitive people do, they took their name from him. All peoples are egotistical, I suppose. We’re all convinced that our God is better than all the rest and that our race is superior. The Cyrgai took that to extremes. We can’t really probe the beliefs of an extinct people, but it appears that they even went so far as to believe that they were somehow of a different species from other humans. They also believed that all truth had been revealed to them by Cyrgon, so they strongly resisted new ideas. They carried the idea of a warrior society to absurd lengths, and they were obsessed with the concept of racial purity and strove for physical perfection. Deformed babies were taken out into the desert and left to die. Soldiers who received crippling injuries in battle were killed by their friends. Women who had too many female children were strangled. They built a city-state beside the Oasis of Cyrga in Central Cynesga and rigidly isolated themselves from other peoples and their ideas. The Cyrgai were terribly afraid of ideas. Theirs was perhaps the only culture in human history that idealised stupidity. They looked upon superior intelligence as a defect, and overly bright children were killed.’

‘Nice group,’ Talen murmured.

‘They conquered and enslaved their neighbours, of course—mostly desert nomads of indeterminate race and there was a certain amount of interbreeding, soldiers being what they are.’

‘But that was perfectly all right, wasn’t it?’ Baroness Melidere added tartly. ‘Rape is always permitted, isn’t it?’

‘In this case it wasn’t, Baroness,’ Zalasta replied. ‘Any Cyrgai caught “fraternising” was killed on the spot.’

‘What a refreshing idea,’ she murmured.

‘So was the woman, of course. Despite all their best efforts, however, the Cyrgai did produce a number of offspring of mixed race. In their eyes, that was an abomination, and the half-breeds were killed whenever possible. In time, however, Cyrgon apparently had a change of heart. He saw a use for these half-breeds. They were given some training and became a part of the army. They were called ‘Cynesgans’, and in time they came to comprise that part of the army that did all of the dirty work and most of the dying. Cyrgon had a goal, you see—the usual goal of the militaristically inclined.’

‘World domination?’ Vanion suggested.

‘Precisely. The Cynesgans were encouraged to breed, and the Cyrgai used them to expand their frontiers. They soon controlled all of the desert and began pushing at the frontiers of their neighbours. That’s where we encountered them. The Cyrgai weren’t really prepared to come up against Styrics.’

‘I can imagine,’ Tynian laughed.

Zalasta smiled briefly. It was an indulgent sort of smile, faintly tinged with a certain condescension. ‘The priests of Cyrgon had certain limited gifts,’ the Styric went on, ‘but they were certainly no match for what they encountered.’ He sat tapping his fingertips together. ‘Perhaps when we examine it more closely, that’s our real secret,’ he mused. ‘Other peoples have only one God—or at the most, a small group of Gods. We have a thousand, who more or less get along with each other and agree in a general sort of way about what ought to be done. Anyway, the incursion of the Cyrgai into the lands of the Styrics proved to be disastrous for them. They lost virtually all of their Cynesgans and a major portion of their full-blooded Cyrgai. They retreated in absolute disorder, and the Younger Gods decided that they ought to be encouraged to stay at home after that. No one knows to this day which of the Younger Gods developed the idea, but it was positively brilliant in both its simplicity and its efficacy. A large eagle flew completely around Cynesga in a single day, and his shadow left an unseen mark on the ground. The mark means absolutely nothing to the Cynesgans or the Atans or Tamuls or Styrics or Elenes or even the Arjuni. It was terribly important to the Cyrgai, however, because after that day any Cyrgai who stepped over that line died instantly.’

‘Wait a minute,’ Kalten objected. ‘We encountered Cyrgai just to the west of here. How did they get across the line?’

‘They were from the past, Sir Kalten,’ Zalasta explained, spreading his hands. ‘The line didn’t exist for them, because the eagle had not yet made his flight when they marched north.’

Kalten scratched his head and sat frowning. ‘I’m not really all that good at logic,’ he confessed, ‘but isn’t there a hole in that somewhere?’

Bevier was also struggling with it. ‘I think I see how it works,’ he said a little dubiously, ‘but I’ll have to go over it a few times to be sure.’

‘Logic can’t answer all the questions, Sir Bevier,’ Emban advised. He hesitated. ‘You don’t have to tell Dolmant I said that, of course,’ he added.

‘It may be that the enchantment’s no longer in force,’ Sephrenia suggested to Zalasta. ‘There’s no real need for it, since the Cyrgai are extinct.’

‘And no way to prove it either,’ Ulath added, ‘one way or the other.’

Stragen suddenly laughed. ‘He’s right, you know,’ he said. ‘There might very well be this dreadful curse out there that nobody even knows about because the people it’s directed at all died out thousands of years ago.’

What finally happened to them, learned one?’ he asked Zalasta. ‘You said that they were extinct.’

‘Actually, Milord Stragen, they bred themselves out of existence.’

‘Isn’t that a contradiction?’ Tynian asked him.

‘Not really. The Cynesgans had been very nearly wiped out, but now they were of vital importance, since they were the only troops at Cyrgon’s disposal who could cross the frontiers. He directed the Cyrgai to concentrate on breeding up new armies of these formerly despised underlings. The Cyrgai were perfect soldiers who always obeyed orders to the letter. They devoted their attention to the Cynesgan women even to the exclusion of their own. By the time they realised their mistake, all the Cyrgai women were past child-bearing age. Legend had it that the last of the Cyrgai died about ten thousand years ago.’

‘That raises idiocy to an art-form, doesn’t it?’ Stragen observed.

Zalasta smiled a thin sort of smile. ‘At any rate, what used to be Cyrga is now Cynesga. It’s occupied by a defective, mongrel race that manages to survive only because it sits astride the major trade routes between the Tamuls of the east and the Elenes of the west. The rest of the world looks upon these heirs of the invincible Cyrgai with the deepest contempt. They’re sneaky, cowardly, thieving and disgustingly servile—a fitting fate for the offspring of a race that once thought it was divinely destined to rule the world.’

‘History’s such a gloomy subject,’ Kalten sighed.

‘Cynesga’s not the only place where the past is returning to haunt us,’ Zalasta added.

‘We’ve noticed,’ Tynian replied. ‘The Elenes in western Astel are all convinced that Ayachin’s returned.’

‘Then you’ve heard of the one they call Sabre?’ Zalasta asked.

‘We ran across him a couple of times,’ Stragen laughed. ‘I don’t think he poses much of a threat. He’s an adolescent poseur.’

‘He satisfies the needs of the western Astels, though,’ Tynian added. ‘They’re not exactly what you’d call deep.’

‘I’ve encountered them,’ Zalasta said wryly. ‘Kimear of Daconia and Baron Parok, his spokesman, are a bit more serious, though. Kimear was one of those men on horseback who emerge from time to time in Elene societies. He subdued the other two Elene Kingdoms in western Astel and founded one of those empires of a thousand years that spring up from time to time and promptly fall apart when the founder dies. The hero in Edam is Incetes—a bronze-age fellow who actually managed to hand to Cyrgai their first defeat. The one who does his talking for him calls himself Rebel. That’s not his real name, of course. Political agitators usually go by assumed names. Ayachin, Kimear and Incetes appeal to the very simplest of Elene emotional responses—muscularity, primarily. I wouldn’t offend you for the world, my friends, but you Elenes seem to like to break things and burn down other people’s houses.’

‘It’s a racial flaw,’ Ulath conceded.

‘The Arjuni present us with slightly different problems,’ Zalasta continued. ‘They’re members of the Tamul race, and their deep-seated urges are a bit more sophisticated. Tamuls don’t want to rule the world, they just want to own it.’ He smiled briefly at Oscagne. ‘The Arjuni aren’t very attractive as representatives of the race, though. Their hero is the fellow who invented the slave-trade.’

Mirtai’s breath hissed sharply, and her hand went to her dagger.

‘Is there some problem, Atana?’ Oscagne asked her mildly.

‘I’ve had experience with the slave-traders of Arjuna, Oscagne,’ she replied shortly. ‘Someday I hope to have more, and I won’t be a child this time.’ Sparhawk realised that Mirtai had never told them the story of how she had become a slave.

‘This Arjuni hero’s of a somewhat more recent vintage than the others,’ Zalasta continued. ‘He was of the twelfth century. His name was Shesian.’

‘We’ve heard of him,’ Engessa said bleakly. ‘His slavers used to raid the training camps of Atan children. We’ve more or less persuaded the Arjuni not to do that any more.’

‘That sounds ominous,’ Baroness Melidere said.

‘It was an absolute disaster, Baroness,’ Oscagne told her. ‘Some Arjuni slavers made a raid into Atan in the seventeenth century, and an imperial administrator got carried away by an excess of righteous indignation. He authorised the Atans to mount a punitive expedition into Arjuna.’

‘Our people still sing songs about it,’ Engessa said in an almost dreamy fashion.

‘Bad?’ Emban asked Oscagne.

‘Unbelievable,’ Oscagne replied. ‘The silly ass who authorised the expedition didn’t realise that when you command the Atans to do something, you have to specifically prohibit certain measures. The fool simply turned them loose. They actually hanged the King of Arjuna himself and then chased all his subjects into the southern jungles. It took us nearly two hundred years to coax the Arjuni down out of the trees. The economic upheaval was a disaster for the entire continent.’

‘These events are somewhat more recent,’ Zalasta noted. ‘The Arjuni have always been slavers, and Skeguan was only one of several operating in northern Arjuna. He was an organiser more than anything. He established the markets in Cynesga and codified the bribes that protect the slave-routes. The peculiar thing we face in Arjuna is that the spokesman’s more important than the hero. His name is Scarpa, and he’s a brilliant and dangerous man.’

‘What about Tamul itself?’ Emban asked, ‘and Atan?’

‘We both seem to be immune to the disease, your Grace,’ Oscagne replied. ‘It’s probably because Tamuls are too egotistical for hero worship and because the Atans of antiquity were all so much shorter than their descendants that modern Atans overlook them.’ He smiled rather slyly at Engessa. ‘The rest of the world’s breathlessly awaiting the day when the first Atan tops ten feet. I think that’s the ultimate goal of their selective breeding campaign.’ He looked at Zalasta. ‘Your information’s far more explicit than ours, learned one,’ he complimented the Styric. ‘The best efforts of the empire have unearthed only the sketchiest of details about these people.’

‘I have different resources at my disposal, Excellency,’ Zalasta replied. ‘These figures from antiquity, however, would hardly be of any real concern. The Atans could quite easily deal with any purely military insurrection, but this isn’t a totally military situation. Someone’s been winnowing through the darker aspects of human imagination and spinning the horrors of folk-lore out of thin air. There are vampires and werewolves, ghouls, Ogres and once even a thirty-foot giant. The officials shrug these sightings off as superstitious nonsense, but the common people of Tamuli are in a state of abject terror. We can’t be certain of the reality of any of these things, but when you mingle monsters with Trolls, Dawn-men and Cyrgai, you have total demoralisation. Then, to push the whole thing over the edge, the forces of nature have been harnessed as well. There have been titanic thunderstorms, tornadoes, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions and even isolated eclipses. The common people of Tamuli have become so fearful that they flee from rabbits and flocks of sparrows. There’s no real focus to these incidents. They simply occur at random, and since there’s no real plan behind them, there’s no way to predict when and where they’ll occur. That’s what we’re up against my friends—a continent-wide campaign of terror—part reality, part illusion, part genuine magic. If it isn’t countered—and very, very soon—the people will go mad with fear. The empire will collapse, and the terror will reign supreme.’

‘And what was the bad news you had for us, Zalasta?’ Vanion asked him.

Zalasta smiled briefly. ‘You are droll, Lord Vanion,’ he said. ‘You may be able to gather more information this afternoon, my friends,’ he told them all. ‘You’ve been invited to attend the session of the Thousand. Your visit here is quite significant from a political point of view, and—although the council seldom agrees about anything—there’s a strong undercurrent of opinion that we may have a common cause with you in this matter.’ He paused, then sighed. ‘I think you should be prepared for a certain amount of antagonism,’ he cautioned. ‘There’s a reactionary faction in the council that begins to foam at the mouth whenever someone even mentions the word “Elene”. I’m sure they’ll try to provoke you.’

‘Something’s happening that I don’t understand, Sparhawk,’ Danae murmured quietly a bit later. Sparhawk had retired to one corner of Sephrenia’s little garden with one of Vanion’s Styric scrolls and had been trying to puzzle out the Styric alphabet. Danae had found him there and had climbed up into his lap.

‘I thought you were all-wise,’ he said. ‘Isn’t that supposed to be one of your characteristics?’

‘Stop that. Something’s terribly wrong here.’

‘Why don’t you talk with Zalasta about it? He’s one of your worshipers, isn’t he?’

‘Whatever gave you that idea?’

‘I thought you and he and Sephrenia grew up together in the same village.’

‘What’s that got to do with it?’

‘I just assumed that the villagers all worshipped you. Its sort of logical that you’d choose to be born in a village of your own adherents.’

‘You don’t understand Styrics at all, do you? That’s the most tedious idea I’ve ever heard of—a whole village of people who all worship the same God? How boring.’

‘Elenes do it.’

‘Elenes eat pigs too.’

‘What have you got against pigs?’ She shuddered. ‘Who does Zalasta worship if he’s not one of your adherents?’

‘He hasn’t chosen to tell us, and it’s terribly impolite to ask.’

‘How did he get to be a member of the Thousand then? I thought you had to be a high priest to qualify for membership.’

‘He isn’t a member. He doesn’t want to be. He advises them.’ She pursed her lips. ‘I really shouldn’t say this, Sparhawk, but don’t expect exalted wisdom from the council. High priests are devout, but that doesn’t require wisdom. Some of the Thousand are frighteningly stupid.’

‘Can you get any kind of clue about which God might be at the bottom of all these disturbances?’

‘No. Whoever it is doesn’t want any of the rest of us to know his identity, and there are ways we can conceal ourselves. About all I can say is that he’s not Styric. Pay very close attention at the meeting this afternoon, Sparhawk. My temperament’s Styric, and there may be things I’d overlook just because I’m so used to them.’

‘What do you want me to look for?’

‘I don’t know. Use your rudimentary intuition. Look for false notes, lapses, any kind of clue hinting at the fact that someone’s not entirely what he seems to be.’

‘Do you suspect that there might be some member of the Thousand working for the other side?’

‘I didn’t say that. I just said that there’s something wrong. I’m getting another of those premonitions like the one I had at Kotyk’s house. Something’s not what it’s supposed to be here, and I can’t for the life of me tell what it is. Try to find out what it is, Sparhawk. We really need to know.’

The council of the Thousand met in a stately marble building at the very centre of Sarsos. It was an imposing, even intimidating building that shouldered its way upward arrogantly. Like all public buildings, it was totally devoid of any warmth or humanity. It had wide, echoing marble corridors and huge bronze doors designed to make people feel tiny and insignificant. The actual meetings took place in a large, semicircular hall with tier upon tier of marble benches stairstepping up the sides. There were ten of those tiers naturally, and the seats on each tier were evenly spaced. It was all very logical. Architects are usually logical, since their buildings tend to collapse if they are not.

At Sephrenia’s suggestion, Sparhawk and the other Elenes wore simple white robes to avoid those unpleasant associations in the minds of Styrics when they are confronted by armoured Elenes. The knights, however, wore chain-mail and swords under their robes. The chamber was about half-full, since at any given time a part of the council was off doing other things. The members of the Thousand sat or strolled about talking quietly with each other. Some moved purposefully among their colleagues, talking earnestly. Others laughed and joked. Not a few were sleeping. Zalasta led them to the front of the chamber where chairs had been placed for them in a kind of semicircle.

‘I have to take my seat,’ Sephrenia told them quietly. ‘Please don’t take immediate action if someone insults you. There’s several thousand years of resentment built up in this chamber, and some of it’s bound to spill over.’

She crossed the chamber to sit on one of the marble benches. Zalasta stepped to the centre of the room and stood silently, making no attempt to call the assemblage to order. The traditional courtesies were obscure here. Gradually, the talking tapered off, and the Council members took their seats.

‘If it please the Council,’ Zalasta said in Styric, ‘we are honoured today by the presence of important guests.’

‘It certainly doesn’t please me,’ one member retorted. These ‘guests’ appear to be Elenes for the most part, and I’m not all that interested in hob-nobbing with pig-eaters.’

‘This promises to be moderately unpleasant,’ Stragen murmured. ‘Our Styric cousins seem to be as capable of boorishness as we are.’

Zalasta ignored the ill-mannered speaker and continued. ‘Sarsos is subject to the Tamul Empire,’ he reminded them, ‘and we benefit enormously from that relationship.’

‘And the Tamuls make sure we pay for those benefits,’ another member called.

Zalasta ignored that as well. ‘I’m sure you’ll all join with me in welcoming First Secretary Oscagne, the Chief of the Imperial Foreign Service.’

‘I don’t know what makes you so sure about that, Zalasta,’ someone shouted with a raucous laugh.

Oscagne rose to his feet. ‘I’m overwhelmed by this demonstration of affection,’ he said dryly in perfect Styric. There were cat-calls from the tiers of seats. The catcalls died quite suddenly when Engessa rose to his feet and stood with his arms folded across his chest. He did not even bother to scowl at the unruly councillors.

‘That’s better,’ Oscagne said. ‘I’m glad that the legendary courtesy of the Styric people has finally asserted itself. If I may, I’ll briefly introduce the members of our party, and then we’ll place an urgent matter before you for your consideration.’ He briefly introduced Patriarch Emban. An angry mutter swept through the chamber.

‘That’s directed at the Church, your Grace,’ Stragen told him, ‘not at you personally.’

When Oscagne introduced Ehlana, one council member on the top tier whispered a remark to those seated near him which elicited a decidedly vulgar laugh. Mirtai came to her feet like an uncoiling spring, her hands darting to her sheathed daggers. Engessa said something sharply to her in the Tamul tongue. she shook her head. Her eyes were blazing and her jaw was set. She drew a dagger. Mirtai may not have understood Styric, but she did understand the implications of that laugh.

Sparhawk rose to his feet. ‘It’s my place to respond, Mirtai,’ he reminded her.

‘You will not defer to me?’

‘Not this time, no. I’m sorry, but it’s a sort of formal occasion, so we should observe the niceties.’ He turned to look up at the insolent Styric in the top row. ‘Would you care to repeat what you just said a little louder, neighbour?’ he asked in Styric. ‘If it’s so funny, maybe you should share it with us.’

‘Well, what do you know,’ the fellow sneered, ‘a talking dog.’

Sephrenia rose to her feet. ‘I call upon the Thousand to observe the traditional moment of silence,’ she declared in Styric.

‘Who died?’ the loud-mouth demanded.

‘You did, Camriel,’ she told him sweetly, ‘so our grief will not be excessive. This is Prince Sparhawk, the man who destroyed the Elder God Azash, and you’ve just insulted his wife. Did you want the customary burial—assuming that we can find enough of you to commit to the earth when he’s done with you?’

Camriel’s jaw had dropped, and his face had gone dead white. The rest of the Council also visibly shrank back.

‘His name still seems to carry some weight,’ Ulath noted to Tynian.

‘Evidently. Our insolent friend up there seems to be having long, gloomy thoughts about mortality.’

‘Councilor Camriel,’ Sparhawk said quite formally, let us not interrupt the deliberations of the Thousand with a purely personal matter. I’ll look you up after the meeting, and we can make the necessary arrangements.’

‘What did he say?’ Ehlana whispered to Stragen.

‘The usual, your Majesty. I expect that Councillor Camriel’s going to remember a pressing engagement on the other side of the world at any moment now.’

‘Will the Council permit this barbarian to threaten me?’ Camriel quavered.

A silvery-haired Styric on the far side of the room laughed derisively. ‘You personally insulted a state visitor, Camriel,’ he declared. ‘The Thousand has no obligation to defend you under those circumstances. Your God has been very lax in your instruction. You’re a boorish, loud-mouthed imbecile. We’ll be well rid of you.’

‘How dare you speak to me so, Michan?’

‘You seem dazzled by the fact that one of the Gods is slightly fond of you, Camriel,’ Michan drawled, ‘and you overlook the fact that we all share that peculiar eminence here. My God loves me at least as much as your God loves you.’ Michan paused. ‘Probably more, actually. I’d guess that your God’s having second thoughts about you at the moment. You must be a terrible embarrassment to him. But you’re wasting valuable time. As soon as this meeting adjourns, I expect that Prince Sparhawk will come looking for you—with a knife. You do have a knife some place nearby, don’t you, your Highness?’ Sparhawk grinned and opened his robe slightly to reveal his sword-hilt.

‘Splendid, old fellow,’ Michan said. ‘I’d have been glad to lend you mine, but a man always works better with his own equipment. Haven’t you left yet, Camriel? If you plan to live long enough to see the sun go down, you’d best get cracking.’ Councillor Camriel fled.

‘What happened?’ Ehlana demanded impatiently.

‘If we choose to look at it in a certain light, we could consider the Councillor’s flight to be a form of apology,’ Stragen told her.

‘We do not accept apologies,’ Mirtai said implacably. ‘May I chase him down and kill him, Ehlana?’

‘Why don’t we just let him run for a while, Mirtai?’ the queen decided.

‘How long?’

‘How long would you say he’s likely to run, Milord?’ Ehlana asked Stragen.

‘The rest of his life probably, my queen.’

‘That sounds about right to me.’

The response of the Thousand to Zalasta’s description of the current situation was fairly predictable, and the fact that all of the speeches showed evidence of much polishing hinted strongly that there had been few surprises in his presentation. The Thousand seemed to be divided into three factions. Predictably, there were a fair number of councillors who took the position that the Styrics could defend themselves and that they had no real reason to become involved. Styrics had strong suspicions where Elene promises were concerned, since Elene rulers tended to forget promises made to Styrics after a crisis had passed.

A second faction was more moderate. They pointed out the fact that the crisis here concerned the Tamuls rather than the Elenes, and that the presence of a small band of Church Knights from Eosia was really irrelevant. As the silvery-haired Michan pointed out, ‘The Tamuls may not be our friends in every sense of the word, but at least they’re not our enemies. Let’s not overlook the fact that their Atans keep the Astels, the Edomish and the Dacites from our doorstep.’ Michan was highly respected, and his opinion carried great weight in the council.

There was a third faction as well, a vocal minority so rabidly anti-Elene that they even went so far as to suggest that the interests of Styricum might be better served by an alliance with the perpetrators of the outrages. Their speeches were not really intended to be taken seriously. The speakers had merely seized this opportunity to list long catalogues of grievances and to unleash diatubes of hatred and vituperation.

‘This is starting to get tiresome,’ Stragen finally said to Sparhawk, rising to his feet.

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Do? Why, I’m going to respond, old boy.’ He stepped to the centre of the floor and stood resolutely in the face of their shouts and curses. The noise gradually subsided, more because those causing it had run out of things to say than because anyone was really curious about what this elegant blond Elene had to say.

‘i’m delighted to discover that all men are equally contemptible,’ Stragen told them, his rich voice carrying to every corner of the hall. ‘I had despaired of ever finding a flaw in the Styric character, but I find that you’re like all other men when you’re gathered together into a mob. The outspoken and unconcealed bigotry you have revealed here this afternoon has lifted my despair and filled my heart with joy. I swoon with delight to find this cesspool of festering nastiness lurking in the Styric soul, since it proves once and for all that men are all the same, regardless of race.’ There were renewed shouts of protest.

The protests were laced with curses this time. Once again Stragen waited.

‘I’m disappointed in you, my dear brothers,’ he told them finally. ‘An Elene child of seven could curse more inventively. Is this really the best the combined wisdom of Styricum can come up with? Is ‘Elene bastard’ really all you know how to say? It doesn’t even particularly insult me, because in my case it happens to be true.’ He looked around, his expression urbane and just slightly superior. ‘I’m also a thief and a murderer, and I have a large number of unsavoury habits. I’ve committed crimes for which there aren’t even names, and you think your pallid, petty denunciations could distress me in any way? Does anyone have a meaningful accusation before I examine your failings?’

‘You’ve enslaved us!’ someone bellowed.

‘Not me, old boy,’ Stragen drawled. ‘You couldn’t give me a slave. You have to feed them, you know, even when they’re not working. Now then, let’s step right along here. We’ve established the fact that I’m a thief and a murderer and a bastard, but what are you? Would the word ‘snivellers’ startle you? You Styrics whine a great deal. You’ve carefully stored up an inventory of the abuses you’ve suffered in the past several thousand years and you take a perverted pleasure in sitting in dark, smelly corners regurgitating them all, chewing them over and over like mouthfuls of stale vomit. You try to blame Elenes for all your troubles. Does it surprise you to discover that I feel no guilt about the plight of the Styrics? I have more than enough guilt for things I have done without beating my breast about things that happened a thousand years before I was born. Frankly, my friends, all these martyred expressions bore me. Don’t you ever get tired of feeling sorry for yourselves? I’m now going to offend you even more by getting right to the point. If you want to snivel, do it in your own time. We’re offering you the opportunity to join with us in facing a common enemy. It’s just a courtesy, you understand, because we don’t really need you. Keep that firmly in view. We don’t need you. Actually, you’ll encumber us. I’ve heard a few intellectual cripples here suggest an alliance with our enemy. What makes you think he’d want you as allies? The Elene peasantry would probably be overjoyed if you tried, though, because that would give them an excuse to slaughter Styrics from here to the straits of Thalesia. Joining with us won’t ensure a lessening of Elene prejudice, but joining with our enemies will almost guarantee that ten years from now there won’t be a live Styric in any Elene kingdom in the world.’

He scratched thoughtfully at his chin and looked around. ‘I guess that more or less covers everything,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you talk it over amongst yourselves? My friends and I will be leaving for Matherion tomorrow. You might want to let us know what you’ve decided before we go. That’s entirely up to you, of course. Words couldn’t begin to express our indifference to the decisions of such an insignificant people.’ He turned and offered his arm to Ehlana. ‘Shall we leave, your Majesty?’ he suggested.

‘What did you say to them, Stragen?’

‘I insulted them,’ he shrugged, ‘on as many levels as I possibly could. Then I threatened them with racial extinction and then invited them to sign on as allies.’

‘All in one speech?’

‘He was brilliant, your Majesty,’ Oscagne said enthusiastically. ‘He said some things to the Styrics that have needed saying for a long, long time.’

‘I have certain advantages, your Excellency,’ Stragen smiled. ‘My character’s so questionable that nobody expects me to be polite. ‘

‘Actually, you’re exquisitely courteous,’ Bevier disagreed.

‘I know, Sir Bevier, but people don’t expect it of me, so they can’t bring themselves to believe it.’

Both Sephrenia and Zalasta had icy, offended expressions on their faces that evening. ‘I wasn’t trying to be personally insulting,’ Stragen assured them. ‘I’ve heard any number of enlightened people say exactly the same thing. We sympathise with Styrics, but we find these interminable seizures of self-pity tedious.’

‘You said many things that simply aren’t true, you know,’ Sephrenia accused him.

‘Of course I did. It was a political speech, little mother. Nobody expects a politician to tell the truth.’

‘You were really gambling, Milord Stragen,’ Zalasta said critically. ‘I nearly swallowed my tongue when you told them that the Elenes and the Tamuls were offering an alliance simply out of courtesy. When you told them that you didn’t really need them, they might very well have decided to sit the whole affair out.’

‘Not when he was holding all the rest of Styricum hostage, learned one,’ Oscagne disagreed. ‘It was a brilliant political speech. That not-so-subtle hint of the possibility of a new wave of Elene atrocities didn’t really leave the Thousand any choice in the matter. What was the general reaction?’

‘About what you’d expect, your Excellency,’ Zalasta replied. ‘Milord Stragen cut the ground out from under the Styric tradition of self-pity. It’s very hard to play the martyr when you’ve just been told that it makes you look like a silly ass. There’s a fit of towering resentment brewing among the Thousand. We Styrics are terribly fond of feeling sorry for ourselves, and that’s been ruined now. No one ever really considered joining with the enemy—even if we knew who he was—but Stragen effectively bludgeoned us into going even further. Neutrality’s out of the question now, since the Elene peasants would come to view neutrality as very nearly the same thing as actually joining with our unknown opponent. The Thousand will assist you, your Excellency. They’ll do all they can do if only to protect our brothers and sisters in Eosia.’

‘You’ve put in a full day’s work, Stragen,’ Kalten said admiringly. ‘We could have been here for a month trying to persuade the Styrics that it was in their best interests to join us.’

‘My day isn’t finished yet,’ Stragen told him, ‘and the next group I have to try to persuade is much more hard-headed.’

‘Might I be of some assistance?’ Zalasta offered.

‘I really rather doubt it, learned one. As soon as it gets dark, Talen and I have to pay a visit to the thieves of Sarsos.’

‘There are no thieves in Sarsos, Stragen!’

Stragen and Talen looked at each other, and then they burst out with howls of cynical laughter.

‘I just don’t trust him, Sparhawk,’ Ehlana said later that night when they were in bed. ‘There’s something about him that just doesn’t ring true.’

‘I think it’s his accent, love. I felt the same way until I realised that while his Elene is perfect, his accent puts emphasis on the wrong words. Styric and Elene flow differently. Don’t worry, though, Sephrenia would know if Zalasta weren’t to be trusted. She’s known him for a long, long time.’

‘I still don’t like him,’ she insisted. ‘He’s so oily he gleams when the light hits him just right.’ She raised one hand. ‘And don’t try to shrug it off as prejudice. I’m looking at Zalasta as a human being, not as a Styric. I just don’t trust him.’

‘That should pass after we get to know him better.’

There was a knock at the door. ‘Are you busy?’ Mirtai called.

‘What would we be doing at this hour?’ Ehlana called back impishly.

‘Do you really want me to tell you, Ehlana? Talen’s here. He has something you might want to know.’

‘Send him in,’ Sparhawk told her. The door opened, and Talen came into the circle of light of their single candle. ‘It’s just like old times, Sparhawk.’

‘How so?’

‘Stragen and I were coming back from our meeting with the thieves, and we saw Krager in the street. Can you believe that? It was good to see him again. I was actually starting to miss him.’

18

‘We simply don’t have the time, Sparhawk,’ Sephrenia said calmly.

‘I’ll take time, little mother,’ he replied bleakly. ‘It shouldn’t take me too long. I’ll stay here with Stragen, and we’ll chase him down. Krager’s not a Styric, so he shouldn’t be hard to find. We can catch up with you after we’ve caught him and wrung every drop of information out of him. I’ll squeeze him so hard that his hair will bleed.’

‘And who’s going to see to mother’s safety while you’re amusing yourself here, father?’ Danae asked him.

‘She’s surrounded by an army, Danae.’

‘You’re her champion, father. Is that just some hollow title you can lay aside when something more amusing than protecting her life comes up?’

Sparhawk stared helplessly at his daughter. Then he slammed his fist against the wall in frustration.

‘You’ll break your hand,’ Sephrenia murmured.

They were in the kitchen. Sparhawk had risen early and gone looking for his tutor to advise her of Talen’s discovery and of his own plans to make Krager answer for a long, long list of transgressions. Danae’s presence was really not all that surprising.

‘Why didn’t you rack him to death when you had your hands on him in Chyrellos, dear one?’ Sephrenia asked calmly.

‘Sephrenia!’ Sparhawk was more startled by the coldblooded way she said it than by the suggestion itself.

‘Well, you should have, Sparhawk. Then he wouldn’t keep coming back to haunt us like this. You know what Ulath always says. Never leave a live enemy behind you.’

‘You’re starting to sound like an Elene, little mother.’

‘Are you trying to be insulting?’

‘Did banging your hand like that bring you to your senses, father?’ Danae asked.

He sighed regretfully. ‘You’re right, of course,’ he admitted. ‘I guess I got carried away. Krager’s continued existence offends me for some reason. He’s a loose end with bits and pieces of Martel still hanging from him. I’d sort of like to tidy that part of my life up.’

‘Can you really make somebody’s hair bleed?’ his daughter asked him.

‘I’m not really sure. After I finally catch up with Krager, I’ll let you know.’ He nursed his sore knuckles. ‘I guess we really should get on to Matherion. Sephrenia, just how healthy is Vanion, really?’

‘Would you like a personal testimonial?’ she asked him archly.

‘That’s none of my business, little mother. All I’m really asking is whether or not he’s fit to travel.’

‘Oh, yes,’ she smiled. ‘More than fit.’

‘Good. I’ll be delighted to hand the rewards and satisfactions of leadership back to him.’

‘No. Absolutely not.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Vanion carried that burden for too many years. That’s what made him sick in the first place. You might as well accept the fact that you’re the Pandion Preceptor now, Sparhawk. He’ll advise you, certainly, but you get to make all the decisions. I’m not going to let you kill him.’

Then you’ll both be able to come with us to Matherion?’

‘Of course they will, Sparhawk,’ Danae told him. ‘We decided that a long time ago.’

‘It would have been nice if somebody’d thought to tell me about it.’

‘Why? you don’t have to know everything, father. Just do as we tell you to do.’

‘What on earth ever possessed you to take up with this one, Sephrenia?’ Sparhawk asked. ‘Wasn’t there any other God available—one of the Troll-Gods maybe?’

‘Sparhawk.’ Danae gasped. He grinned at her.

‘Zalasta will be coming with us as well,’ Sephrenia said. ‘He’s been summoned back to Matherion anyway, and we really need his help.’

Sparhawk frowned. ‘That might cause some problems, little mother. Ehlana doesn’t trust him.’

‘That’s absolutely absurd, Sparhawk. I’ve known Zalasta all my life. I honestly think he’d die if I asked him to.’

‘Has mother given you any reason for these suspicions?’ Danae asked intently.

‘Hate at first sight, maybe,’ Sparhawk shrugged. ‘His reputation as the wisest man in the world probably didn’t help matters. She was probably predisposed to dislike him even before she met him.’

‘And of course he’s Styric.’ There was a brittle edge to Sephrenia’s voice.

‘You know Ehlana better than that, Sephrenia. I think it’s time we got you out of Sarsos. Some of the local opinions are starting to cloud your thinking.’

‘Really?’ Her tone was dangerous.

‘It’s very easy to dismiss any sort of animosity as simple prejudice, and that’s the worst form of sloppy thinking. There are other reasons for disliking people too, you know. Do you remember Sir Antae?’ She nodded. ‘I absolutely hated that man.’

‘Antae? I thought he was your friend.’

‘I couldn’t stand him. My hands started to shake every time he came near me. Would you believe I was actually happy when Martel killed him?’

‘Sparhawk.’

‘You don’t need to share that with Vanion, little mother. I’m not very proud of it. What I’m trying to say is that people sometimes hate us for personal reasons that have nothing at all to do with our race or class or anything else. Ehlana probably dislikes Zalasta just because she dislikes him. Maybe she doesn’t like the way his eyebrows jut out. You should always consider the simplest explanation before you go looking for something exotic.’

‘Is there anything else about me you’d like to change, Sir Knight?’

He looked her up and down gravely. ‘You’re really very small, you know. Have you ever considered growing just a bit?’

She almost retorted, but then she suddenly laughed. ‘You can be the most disarming man in the world, Sparhawk.’

‘I know. That’s why people love me so much.’

‘Now do you see why I’m so fond of these great Elene oafs?’ Sephrenia said lightly to her sister.

‘Of course,’ Aphrael replied. ‘It’s because they’re like big, clumsy puppies.’ Her dark eyes grew serious. ‘Not too many people know who I really am,’ she mused. ‘You two and Vanion are about the only ones who recognise me in this incarnation. I think it might be a good idea if we kept it that way. Our enemy—whoever he is—might make a slip or two if he doesn’t know I’m around.’

‘You’ll want to tell Zalasta though, won’t you?’ Sephrenia asked her.

‘Not yet, I don’t think. He doesn’t really need to know, so let’s just keep it to ourselves. When you trust someone, you’re putting yourself in the position of also trusting everybody he trusts, and sometimes that includes people you don’t even know. I’d rather not do that just yet.’

‘She’s growing very skilled at logic,’ Sparhawk observed.

‘I know,’ Sephrenia sighed. ‘She’s fallen in with evil companions, I’m afraid.’

They left Sarsos later that morning, riding out through the east gate to be joined by the Church Knights, the Peloi and Engessa’s two legions of Atans. The day was fair and warm, and the sky intensely blue. The newly-risen sun stood above the range of jagged, snow-capped peaks lying to the east. The peaks reared upward, and their soaring flanks were wrapped in the deep blue shadows of morning. The country lying ahead looked wild and rugged. Engessa was striding along beside Sparhawk, and his bronze face had a somewhat softer expression than it normally wore. He gestured toward the peaks.

‘Atan, Sparhawk-Knight,’ he said, ‘my homeland.’

‘A significant-looking country, Atan Engessa,’ Sparhawk approved. ‘How long have you been away?’

‘Fifteen years.’

‘That’s a long exile.’

‘It is indeed, Sparhawk-Knight.’ Engessa glanced back at the carriage rolling along behind them. Zalasta had supplanted Stragen, and Mirtai, her face serene, sat holding Danae on her lap. ‘We know each other, do we not, Sparhawk-Knight?’ the Atan said.

‘I’d say so,’ Sparhawk agreed. ‘Our people have many different customs, but we seem to have stepped around most of those.’

Engessa smiled slightly. ‘You conducted yourself wel during our discussions concerning Atana Mirtai and Domi Kring.’

‘Reasonable men can usually find reasons to get along with each other.’

‘Elenes set great store in reason, do they not?’

‘It’s one of our quirks, I suppose.’

‘I’ll explain something about one of our customs to you, Sparhawk-Knight. I may not say it too clearly, because I am clumsy in your language. I’ll rely on you to explain it to the others.’

‘I’ll do my very best, Atan Engessa.’

‘Atana Mirtai will go through the Rite of Passage while she is in Atan.’

‘I was fairly sure she would.’

‘It is the custom of our people for the child to relive the memories of childhood before the rite, and it is important for her family to be present while that is done. I have spoken with Atana Mirtai, and her childhood was not happy. Many of her memories will be painful, and she will need those who love her near while she sets them aside. Will you tell Ehlana-Queen and the others what is happening?’

‘I will, Engessa-Atan.’

‘The Atana will come to you when she is ready. It is her right to choose those who will support her. Some of her choices may surprise you, but among my people, it is considered an honour to be chosen.’

‘We will look upon it so, Engessa-Atan.’

Sparhawk briefly advised the others that Mirtai would be calling a meeting at a time of her own choosing, but he did not go into too much detail, since he himself did not know exactly what to expect. That evening the Atan giantess moved quietly through the camp, her manner uncharacteristically diffident. She did not, as they might have expected, peremptorily command them to attend, but rather she asked, one might almost say pleaded, and her eyes were very vulnerable.

Most of her choices were the ones Sparhawk would have expected. They were the people who had been closest to Mirtai during her most recent enslavement. There were some surprises, however. She invited a couple of Pandions Sparhawk had not even known she was acquainted with as well as a couple of Kring’s Peloi and two Atan girls from Engessa’s legions. She also asked Emban and Oscagne to hear her story. They gathered around a large fire that evening, and Engessa spoke briefly to them before Mirtai began.

‘It is customary among our people for one to put childhood away before entering adulthood,’ he told them gravely. ‘Atana Mirtai will participate in the Rite of Passage soon, and she has asked us to be with her as she sets the past aside.’ He paused, and his tone became reflective. ‘This child is not like other Atan children,’ he told them. ‘For most, the childhood that is put away is simple and much like that of all others of our race. Atana Mirtai, however, returns from slavery. She has survived that and has returned to us. Her childhood has been longer than most and has contained things not usual—painful things. We will listen with love even though we do not always understand.’

He turned to Mirtai. ‘It might be well to begin with the place where you were born, my daughter,’ he suggested.

‘Yes, Father-Atan,’ she replied politely.

Since Engessa had assumed the role of parent when they had first met, Mirtai’s response was traditionally respectful. She spoke in a subdued voice that reflected none of her customary assertiveness. Sparhawk had the distinct impression that they were suddenly seeing a different Mirtai—a gentle, rather sensitive girl who had been hiding behind a brusque exterior.

‘I was born in a village lying to the west of Dirgis,’ she began, ‘near the headwaters of the River Sama.’ She spoke in Elenic, since, with the exception of Oscagne, Engessa and the two Atan girls, none of her loved ones spoke Tamul. ‘We lived deep in the mountains. My mother and father made much of that.’ She smiled faintly.

‘All Atans believe that they’re special, but we mountain Atans believe that we’re especially special. We’re obliged to be the very best at everything we do, since we’re so obviously superior to everybody else.’ She gave them all a rather sly glance. Mirtai was very observant, and her offhand remark tweaked the collective noses of Styric and Elene alike. ‘I spent my earliest years in the forests and mountains. I walked earlier than most and ran almost as soon as I could walk. My father was very proud of me, and he often said that I was born running. As is proper, I tested myself often. By the time I was five, I could run for half a day, and at six, from dawn until sunset.

‘The children of our village customarily entered training very late—usually when we were nearly eight because the training-camp in our district was very far away, and our parents did not want to be completely separated from us while we were still babies. Mountain Atans are very emotional. It’s our one failing.’

‘Were you happy, Atana?’ Engessa asked her gently.

‘Very happy, Father-Atan,’ she replied. ‘My parents loved me, and they were very proud of me. Ours was a small village with only a few children. I was the best, and my parents’ friends all made much of me.’ She paused, and her eyes filled with tears.

‘And then the Arjuni slavers came. They were armed with bows. They were only interested in the children, so they killed all of the adults. My mother was killed with the first arrow.’

Her voice broke at that point, and she lowered her head for a moment. When she raised her face, the tears were streaming down her cheeks. Gravely, the Princess Danae went to her and held out her arms. Without apparently even thinking about it, Mirtai lifted the little girl up into her lap. Danae touched her tear-wet cheek and then softly kissed her.

‘I didn’t see my father die,’ Mirtai continued. Her voice was choked, but then it rang out, and her tear-filled eyes hardened. ‘I killed the first Arjuni who tried to capture me. They’re ignorant people who can’t seem to realise that children can be armed too. The Arjuni was holding a sword in his right hand, and he took my arm with his left. My dagger was very sharp, and it went in smoothly when I stabbed him under the arm with it. The blood came out of his mouth like a fountain. He fell back, and I stabbed him again, up under his breast-bone this time. I could feel his heart quivering on the point of my knife. I twisted the blade, and he died.’

‘Yes.’ Kring half-shouted. The Domi had been weeping openly, and his voice was hoarse and savage.

‘I tried to run,’ Mirtai went on, ‘but another Arjuni kicked my feet out from under me and tried to grab my dagger. I cut the fingers off his right hand and stabbed him low in the belly. It took him two days to die, and he screamed the whole time. His screams comforted me.’

‘Yes.’ It was Kalten this time, and his eyes were also tear-filled. The Atan girl gave him a brief, sad smile. ‘The Arjuni saw that I was dangerous, so they knocked me senseless. When I woke up, I was in chains.’

‘This all happened when you were only eight?’ Ehlana asked the giantess in a half-whisper.

‘Seven, Ehlana,’ Mirtai corrected gently. ‘I wasn’t yet eight.’

‘You actually killed a man at that age?’ Emban asked her incredulously.

‘Two, Emban. The one who screamed for two days also died.’ The Atana looked at Engessa, her glistening eyes a bit doubtful. ‘May I claim that one as well, Father-Atan?’ she asked. ‘He might have died anyway of something else.’

‘You may claim him, my daughter,’ he judged. ‘It was your knife-thrust that killed him.’

She sighed. ‘I’ve always wondered about that one,’ she confessed. ‘It clouded my count, and I didn’t like that.’

‘It was a legitimate kill, Atana. Your count is unclouded.’

‘Thank you, Father-Atan,’ she said. ‘It’s a bad thing to be uncertain about so important a matter.’ She paused, collecting her memories. ‘I didn’t kill again for almost half a year. The Arjuni took me south to Tiara. I did not cry at all during the journey. It is not proper to let your enemies see you grieve. At Tiara, my captors took me to the slave-market and sold me to a Dacite merchant named Pelaser. He was fat and greasy, he smelled bad, and he was fond of children.’

‘He was a kindly master then?’ Baroness Melidere asked her.

‘I didn’t say that, Melidere. Pelaser liked little boys and girls in a rather peculiar way. The Arjuni had warned him about me, so he wouldn’t let me near any knives. I had to eat, however, so he gave me a spoon. He took me to his home at Verel in Daconia, and I spent the entire journey sharpening the handle of my spoon on my chains. It was a good metal spoon, and it took a very fine edge. When we got to Verel he chained me to the wall in a little room at the back of his house. The room had a stone floor, and I spent all my time working on my spoon. I grew very fond of it.’

She bent slightly and slid her hand down into her boot. ‘Isn’t it pretty?’ The implement she held up was a very ordinary-looking spoon with a wooden handle. She took it in both hands, twisted the handle slightly and then pulled it off the shank of the spoon. The shank was thin and narrow, and it came to a needle-like point. It had been polished until it gleamed like silver. She looked at it critically. ‘It’s not quite long enough to reach a man’s heart,’ she apologised for her spoon. ‘You can’t kill cleanly with it, but it’s good for emergencies. It looks so much like an ordinary spoon that nobody ever thinks to take it away from me.’

‘Brilliant,’ Stragen murmured, his eyes glowing with admiration. ‘Steal us a couple of spoons, Talen, and we’ll get to work on them immediately.’

‘Pelaser came to my room one night and put his hands on me,’ Mirtai continued. ‘I sat very still, and so he thought I wouldn’t resist. He started to smile. I noticed that he drooled when he smiled like that. He was still smiling—and drooling—when I stabbed both of his eyes out. Did you know that a man’s eyes pop when you poke them with something sharp?’

Melidere made a slight gagging sound and stared at the calm-faced Atana in open horror. ‘He tried to scream,’ Mirtai went on in a chillingly clinical way, ‘but I looped my chain around his neck to keep him quiet. I really wanted to cut him into little pieces, but I had to hold the chain in both hands to keep him from screaming. He began to struggle, but I just pulled the chain tighter about his neck.’

‘Yes.’ Rather astonishingly, it was Ehlana’s doe-eyed maid Alcan who cried her hoarse approval, and the quick embrace she gave the startled Atana was uncharacteristically fierce.

Mirtai touched the gentle girl’s face fondly and then continued. ‘Pelaser struggled quite a bit at first, but after a while, he stopped. He had knocked over the candle, and the room was dark, so I couldn’t be sure he was dead. I kept the chain pulled tight around his neck until morning. His face was very black when the sun came up.’

‘A fair kill, my daughter,’ Engessa said to her proudly.

She smiled and bowed her head to him. ‘I thought they would kill me when they discovered what I had done, but the Dacites of the southern towns are peculiar people. Pelaser wasn’t well-liked in Verel, and I think many of them were secretly amused by the fact that one of the children he usually molested had finally killed him. His heir was a nephew named Gelan. He was very grateful that I’d made him rich by killing his uncle, and he spoke to the authorities on my behalf.’

She paused and looked at the princess, who was still nestled in her lap holding the gleaming little dagger. ‘Could you get me some water, Danae?’ she asked. ‘I’m not used to talking so much.’ Danae obediently slipped down and went over toward one of the cooking-fires.

‘She might be a little young to hear about certain things,’ Mirtai murmured. ‘Gelan was a rather nice young man, but he had peculiar tastes. He gave his love to other young men instead of women.’

Sir Bevier gasped. ‘Oh, dear,’ Mirtai said. ‘Are you truly that unworldly, Bevier? It’s not uncommon, you know. Anyway, I got on quite well with Gelan. At least he didn’t try to take advantage of me. He loved to talk, so he taught me to speak Elenic and even to read a bit. People in his circumstances lead rather tentative lives, and he needed a permanent friend. I had been taught that it was polite to listen when my elders spoke, and after a time he would pour out his heart to me. When I grew a little older, he bought me pretty gowns to wear, and sometimes he’d even wear them himself, although I think he was only joking. Some of his friends wore women’s clothes, but nobody was really very serious about it. It’s something they laughed about. It was about then that I started to go through that difficult time in a girl’s life when she starts to become a woman. He was very gentle and understanding, and he explained what was happening so that I wasn’t afraid. He used to have me wear my prettiest gowns, and he’d take me with him when he was doing business with people who didn’t know his preferences. Daconia is an Elene Kingdom, and Elenes have some peculiar ideas about that sort of thing. They try to mix religion into it for some reason. Anyway, the fact that Gelan always had a young slave-girl with him quieted suspicions.’

Bevier’s eyes had a stunned look in them. ‘Maybe you should go help the princess look for that water, Bevier,’ Mirtai suggested to him almost gently. ‘This was a part of my childhood, so I have to talk about it at this time. You don’t have to listen if it bothers you, though. I’ll understand.’

His face grew troubled. ‘I’m your friend, Mirtai,’ he declared. ‘I’ll stay.’

She smiled. ‘He’s such a nice boy.’ She said it in almost the same tone of voice Sephrenia had always used when saying exactly the same thing. Sparhawk was a bit startled at how shrewdly perceptive the Atan girl really was. Mirtai sighed. ‘Gelan and I loved each other, but not in the way that people usually think of when they’re talking about a man and a woman. There are as many different kinds of love as there are people, I think. He had enemies, though—many enemies. He was a very sharp trader, and he almost always got the best of every bargain. There are small people in the world who take that sort of thing personally. Once an Edomish merchant became so enraged that he tried to kill Gelan, and I had to use my spoon to protect him. As I said before, the blade’s not quite long enough to kill cleanly, so the incident was very messy. I ruined a very nice silk gown that evening. I told Gelan that he really ought to buy me some proper knives so that I could kill people without spoiling my clothes. The idea of having a twelve-year-old girl for a body-guard startled him at first, but then he saw the advantages of it. He bought me these.’ She touched one of the silver-hilted daggers at her waist. ‘I’ve always treasured them. I devised a way to conceal them under my clothes when we went out into the city. After I’d used them on a few people, the word got around, and his enemies quit trying to kill him.

‘There were other young men like Gelan in Verel, and they used to visit each other in their homes where they didn’t have to hide their feelings. They were all very kind to me. They used to give me advice and buy me pretty gifts. I was quite fond of them. They were all polite and intelligent, and they always smelled clean. I can’t abide smelly men.’ She gave Kring a meaningful look.

‘I bathe,’ he protested.

‘Now and then,’ she added a bit critically. ‘You ride horses a great deal, Kring, and horses have a peculiar odour. We’ll talk about regular bathing after I’ve put my brand on you.’ She laughed. ‘I wouldn’t want to frighten you until I’m sure of you.’ Her smile was genuinely affectionate.

Sparhawk realised that what she was telling them was a part of the Rite of Passage, and that she would very likely never be this open again. Her typically Atan defences had all been lowered for this one night. He felt profoundly honoured to have been invited to be present.

She sighed then, and her face grew sad. ‘Gelan had one very special friend whom he loved very much—a pretty young fellow named Majen. I didn’t like Majen. He used to take advantage of Gelan, and he’d deliberately say and do things to hurt him. He was frivolous and selfish and very, very vain about his appearance. He was also unfaithful, and that’s contemptible. In time he grew tired of Gelan and fell in love with another meaningless pretty-boy. I probably should have killed them both as soon as I found out about it. I’ve always regretted the fact that I didn’t. Gelan had foolishly given Majen the use of a rather splendid house on the outskirts of Verel and had told him that he’d made provisions in his will so that Majen would own the house if anything ever happened to him. Majen and his new friend wanted that house, and they plotted against Gelan. They lured him to the house one night and insisted that he come to them alone. When he got there, they killed him and dropped his body in the river. I cried for days after it happened, because I was really very fond of Gelan. One of his other friends told me what had really happened, but I didn’t say anything or do anything right away. I wanted the two of them to feel safe and to think that they’d got away with the murder. Gelan’s sister inherited me along with all his other property. She was a nice enough lady, but awfully religious. She didn’t really know how to deal with the fact that she owned me. She said she wanted to be my friend, but I advised her to sell me instead. I told her that I’d found out who had murdered Gelan and that I was going to kill them. I said that I thought it would probably be better if I belonged to somebody who was leaving Verel in order to avoid all the tedious business about unexplained bodies and the like. I thought she’d be tiresome about it, but she took it rather well. She was really quite fond of her brother, and she approved of what I was planning. She sold me to an Elenian merchant who was going to sail to Vardenais and told him that she’d deliver me to him on the morning of his departure. She’d made him a very good price, so he didn’t argue with her.

‘Anyway, on the night before my new owner was planning to sail, I dressed myself as a boy and went to the house where Majen and the other one were living. I waited until Majen left the house and went to the door and knocked. Majen’s new friend came to the door, and I told him that I loved him. I’d lived with Gelan for six years, so I knew exactly how to behave to make the pretty fool believe me. He grew excited when I told him that, and he kissed me several times.’ She sneered with the profoundest contempt. ‘Some people simply cannot be faithful. Anyway, after he began to get very, very excited with the kissing, he started exploring. He discovered some things that surprised him very much. He was even more surprised when I sliced him across the belly just above his hips.’

‘I like this part,’ Talen said, his eyes very bright.

‘You would,’ Mirtai told him. ‘You never like a story unless there’s a lot of blood in it. Anyway, after I sliced the pretty boy open, all sorts of things fell out. He stumbled back into a chair and tried to stuff them back in again.. People’s insides are very slippery, though, and he was having a great deal of trouble.’ Ehlana made a choking sound. ‘Didn’t you know’ about insides?’ Mirtai asked her. ‘Get Sparhawk to tell you about it sometime. He’s probably seen lots of insides. I left the young man sitting there and hid behind a door. Majen came home a while later, and he was dreadfully upset about his friend’s condition.’

‘I can imagine,’ Talen laughed.

‘He was even more upset, though, when I reached around from behind him and opened him up in exactly the same way.’

‘Those are not fatal injuries, Atana,’ Engessa said critically.

‘I didn’t intend for them to be, Father-Atan,’ she replied. ‘I wasn’t done with the two of them yet. I told them who I was and that what I’d just done to them was a farewell gift from Gelan. That was about the best part of the whole evening. I put Majen in a chair facing the chair of his friend so that they could watch each other die. Then I stuck my hands into them and jerked out several yards of those slippery things I told you about.’

‘And then you just left them there?’ Talen asked eagerly.

She nodded. ‘Yes, but I set fire to the house first. Neither Majen or his friend managed to get enough of themselves put back inside to be able to escape. They screamed a great deal, though.’

‘Good God!’ Emban choked.

‘A fitting revenge, Atana,’ Engessa said to her. ‘We will describe it to the children in the training-camps to provide them with an example of suitable behaviour.’

Mirtai bowed her head to him, then looked up. ‘Well, Bevier?’ she said.

He struggled with it. ‘Your owner’s sins were his own. That’s a matter between him and God. What you did was the proper act of a friend. I find no sin in what you did.’

‘I’m so glad,’ she murmured.

Bevier laughed a bit sheepishly. ‘That was a bit pompous, wasn’t it?’

‘That’s all right, Bevier,’ she assured him. ‘I love you anyway—although you should keep in mind the fact that I have a history of loving some very strange people.’

‘Well said,’ Ulath approved.

Danae returned with a cup of water and offered it to Mirtai. ‘Did you finish telling them the things you didn’t want me to hear about?’ she asked.

‘I think I covered most of it. Thank you for being so understanding—and for the water.’ Nothing rattled Mirtai. Ehlana, however, blushed furiously.

‘It’s getting late,’ Mirtai told them, ‘so I’ll keep this short. The Elenian merchant who owned me took me to Vardenais and sold me to Platime. I pretended not to speak Elenic, and Platime misjudged my age because I was very tall. Platime’s quite shrewd in some ways and ignorant in others. He simply couldn’t understand the fact that an Atan woman can’t be forced, and he tried to put me to work in one of his brothels. He took my daggers away from me, but I still had my spoon. I didn’t kill too many of the men who approached me, but I did hurt them all quite seriously. Word got around, and the business in that brothel fell off. Platime took me out of there, but he didn’t really know what to do with me. I wouldn’t beg and I wouldn’t steal, and he was really very disappointed when he found out that I’d only kill people for personal reasons. I won’t be a paid assassin. Then the situation came up in the palace, and he gave me to Ehlana—probably with a great sigh of relief.’

She frowned and looked at Engessa. ‘That was the first time I’d ever been given away instead of sold, Father-Atan. Did Platime insult me? Should I go back to Cimmura and kill him?’

Engessa considered it. ‘I don’t think so, my daughter. It was a special case. You might even look upon it as a compliment. ‘

Mirtai smiled. ‘I’m glad of that, Father-Atan. I sort of like Platime. He’s very funny sometimes.’

‘And how do you feel about Ehlana-Queen?’

‘I love her. She’s ignorant, and she can’t speak a proper language, but most of the time she does what I tell her to do. She’s pretty, and she smells nice and she’s very kind to me. She’s the best owner I’ve ever had. Yes. I love her.’

Ehlana gave a low cry and threw her arms around the golden woman’s neck. ‘I love you too, Mirtai,’ she said in an emotion-filled voice. ‘You’re my dearest friend.’ She kissed her.

‘This is a special occasion, Ehlana,’ the Atana said, ‘so it’s all right just this once.’ She gently detached the queen’s arms from around her neck. ‘But it’s not seemly to display so much emotion in public—and girls shouldn’t kiss other girls. It might give people the wrong sort of ideas.’

19

‘Hang it all, Atan Engessa,’ Kalten was saying, ‘you heard the story the same as the rest of us. She said she hadn’t even entered training when the Arjuni captured her. Where did she learn to fight the way she does? I’ve been training more or less constantly since Sparhawk and I were fifteen, and she throws me around like a rag doll anytime she feels like it.’

Engessa smiled slightly. It was still very early and a filmy morning mist drifted ghost-like among the trees, softening the dark outlines of their trunks. They had set out at dawn, and Engessa strode along among the mounted Pandions. ‘I’ve seen you in a fight, KaltenKnight,’ the tall Atan said. He reached out and rapped one knuckle on Kalten’s armour. ‘Your tactics depend heavily on your equipment.’

‘That’s true, I suppose.’

‘And your training has concentrated on the use of that equipment, has it not?’

‘Well, to some degree, I suppose. We practise with our weapons and learn to take advantage of our armour.’

‘And the sheer bulk of our horses,’ Vanion added. Vanion was wearing his black armour for the journey. His choice of wardrobe had occasioned a spirited discussion between him and the woman he loved. Once she had removed herself from the restraining presence of all those Elenes, Sephrenia had become more vocal, and she had shown an astonishing apttitude for histrionics during the course of the conversation. Although she and Vanion had been talking privately, Sparhawk had been able to hear her comments quite clearly. Everyone in the house had heard her. Probably everyone in Sarsos had.

‘At least half of your training has been in horsemanship, Kalten,’ Vanion continued. ‘An armoured knight without his horse is very much like a turtle on his back.’

‘I’ve said much the same thing to my fellow-novices, Lord Vanion,’ Khalad said politely. ‘Most of them take offence when I say it to them though, so I usually have to demonstrate. That seems to offend them even more for some reason.’

Engessa chuckled. ‘You train with your equipment, Kalten-Knight,’ he repeated. ‘So do we. The difference is that our bodies are our equipment. Our way of fighting is based on speed, agility and strength, and we can practise those without training grounds or large fields where horses can run. We practise all the time, and in the village where she was born, Atana Mirtai saw her parents and their friends improving their skills almost every hour. Children learn by imitating their parents. We see three- and four-year-olds wrestling and testing each other all the time.’

‘There has to be more to it than that,’ Kalten objected.

‘Natural talent perhaps, Sir Kalten?’ Berit suggested.

‘I’m not that clumsy, Berit.’

‘Was your mother a warrior, Kalten-Knight?’ Engessa asked him.

‘Of course not.’

‘Or your grandmother, or your grandmother’s grandmother? Back for fifty generations?’ Kalten looked confused. ‘Atana Mirtai is descended from warriors on both sides of her family. Fighting is in her blood. She is gifted, and she can learn much just by watching. She can probably fight in a half dozen different styles.’

‘That’s an interesting notion, Atan-Engessa,’ Vanion said. ‘If we could find a horse big enough for her, she might make a very good knight.’

‘Vanion.’ Kalten exclaimed. ‘That’s the most unnatural suggestion I’ve ever heard!’

‘Merely speculation, Kalten.’ Vanion looked gravely at Sparhawk. ‘We might want to give some thought to including a bit more hand-to-hand fighting in our training programme, Preceptor Sparhawk.’

‘Please don’t do that, Vanion,’ Sparhawk replied in a pained tone. ‘You’re still the preceptor until the Hierocracy says otherwise. I’m just the interim preceptor.’

‘All right, Interim Preceptor Sparhawk, when we get to Atan, let’s pay some attention to their fighting style. We don’t always fight on horseback, you know.’

‘I’ll put Khalad to work on it,’ Sparhawk said.

‘Khalad?’

‘Kurik trained him, and Kurik was better at close fighting than any man I’ve ever known.’

‘He was indeed. Good idea, Interim Preceptor Sparhawk.’

‘Must you?’ Sparhawk asked him.

They reached the city of Atana twelve days later—at least it seemed like twelve days. Sparhawk had decided to stop brooding about the difference between real and perceived time. Aphrael was going to tamper no matter what he did or said anyway, so why should he waste time worrying about it? He wondered if Zalasta could detect the manipulation. Probably not, he decided. No matter how skilled the Styric magician might be, he was still only a man, and Aphrael was divine. An odd thought came to Sparhawk one night, however. He wondered if his daughter could also make real time seem faster than it actually was instead of slower. After he thought about it for a while, though, he decided not to ask her. The whole concept gave him a headache.

Atana was a utilitarian sort of town in a deep green valley. It was walled, but the walls were not particularly high nor imposing. It was the Atans themselves who made their capital impregnable.

‘Everything in the kingdom’s named Atan, isn’t it?’ Kalten observed as they rode down into the valley. ‘The kingdom, its capital, the people—even the titles.’

‘I think Atan’s more in the nature of a concept than a name,’ Ulath shrugged.

‘What makes them all so tall?’ Talen asked. ‘They belong to the Tamul race, but other Tamuls don’t loom over everybody else like trees.’

‘Oscagne explained it to me,’ Stragen told him. ‘It seems that the Atans are the result of an experiment.’

‘Magic?’

‘I don’t know all that much about it,’ Stragen admitted, ‘but I’d guess that what they did went beyond what magic’s capable of. Back before there was even such a thing as history, the Atans observed that big people win more fights than little people. That was in a time when parents chose the mates of their children. Size became the most important consideration.’

‘What happened to short children?’ Talen objected.

‘Probably the same thing that happens to ugly children in our society,’ Stragen shrugged. ‘They didn’t get married.’

‘That’s not fair.’

Stragen smiled. ‘When you get right down to it, Talen, it’s not really very fair when we steal something somebody else has worked for, is it?’

‘That’s different.’

Stragen leaned back in his saddle and laughed. Then he went on. ‘The Atans prized other characteristics as well—ability, strength, aggressiveness and homicidal vindictiveness. It’s strange how the combination worked out. If you stop and think about it, you’ll realise that Mirtai’s really a rather sweet girl. She’s warm and affectionate, she really cares about her friends, and she’s strikingly beautiful. She’s got certain triggers built into her, though, and when somebody trips one of those triggers, she starts killing people. The Atan breeding programme finally went too far, I guess. The Atans became so aggressive that they started killing each other, and since such aggressiveness can’t be restricted to one sex, the women were as bad as the men. It got to the point that there was no such thing in Atan as a mild disagreement. They’d kill each other over weather predictions.’ He smiled. ‘Oscagne told me that the world discovered just how savage Atan women were in the twelfth century. A large band of Arjuni slavers attacked a training camp for adolescent Atan females—the sexes are separated during training in order to avoid certain complications. Anyway, those half-grown Atan girls—most of them barely over six feet tall—slaughtered most of the Arjuni and then sold the rest to the Tamuls as eunuchs.’

‘The slavers were eunuchs?’ Kalten asked with some surprise.

‘No, Kalten,’ Stragen explained patiently. ‘They weren’t eunuchs until after the girls captured them.’

‘Little girls did that?’ Kalten’s expression was one of horror.

‘They weren’t exactly babies, Kalten. They were old enough to know what they were doing. Anyway, the Atans had a very wise king in the fifteenth century. He saw that his people were on the verge of self-destruction. He made contact with the Tamul government and surrendered his people into perpetual slavery—to save their lives.’

‘A little extreme,’ Ulath noted.

‘There are several kinds of slavery, Ulath. Here in Atan, it’s institutionalised. The Tamuls tell the Atans where to go and whom to kill, and they can usually find a reason to deny petitions by individual Atans to slaughter each other. That’s about as far as it really goes. It’s a good working arrangement. The Atan race survives, and the Tamuls get the finest infantry in the world.’

Talen was frowning. ‘The Atans are terribly impressed with size, you said.’

‘Well, it’s one of the things that impresses them,’ Stragen amended.

‘Then why did Mirtai agree to marry Kring? Kring’s a good warrior, but he’s not much taller than I am, and I’m still growing.’

‘It must be something else about him that impressed her so much,’ Stragen shrugged.

‘What do you think it is?’

‘I haven’t got the faintest idea, Talen.’

‘He’s a poet,’ Sparhawk told them. ‘Maybe that’s it.’

‘That wouldn’t make that much difference to someone like Mirtai, would it? She did slice two men open and then burn them alive, remember? She doesn’t sound to me like the kind of girl who’d get all gushy about poetry.’

‘Don’t ask me, Talen,’ Stragen laughed. ‘I know a great deal about the world, but I wouldn’t even try to make a guess about why any woman chooses any given man.

‘Good thinking,’ Ulath murmured.

The city had been alerted to their approach by Engessa’s messengers, and the royal party was met at the gate by a deputation of towering Atans in formal attire, which in their culture meant the donning of unadorned, ankle-length cloaks of dark wool. In the midst of those giants stood a short, golden-robed Tamul. The Tamul had silver-streaked hair and an urbane expression.

‘What are we supposed to do?’ Kalten whispered to Oscagne.

‘Act formal,’ Oscagne advised. ‘Atans adore formality. Ah, Norkan,’ he said to the Tamul in the golden robe, ‘so good to see you again. Fontan sends his best.’

‘How is the old rascal?’ Oscagne’s colleague replied.

‘Wrinkled, but he still hasn’t lost his edge.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. Why are we speaking in Elenic?’

‘So that you can brief us all on local circumstances. How are things here?’

‘Tense. Our children are a bit discontent. There’s turmoil afoot. We send them to stamp it out, but it refuses to stay stamped. They resent that. You know how they are.’

‘Oh my, yes. Has the emperor’s sister forgiven you yet?’

Norkan sighed. ‘Afraid not, old boy. I’m quite resigned to spending the rest of my career here.’

‘You know how the people at court like to carry tales. Whatever possessed you to make that remark? I’ll grant you that her Highness’ feet are a bit oversized, but ‘big-footed cow’ was sort of indiscreet, wouldn’t you say?’

‘I was drunk and a little out of sorts. Better to be here in Atan than in Matherion trying to evade her attentions. I have no desire to become a member of the imperial family if it means that I’d have to trudge along behind her as she clumps about the palace.’

‘Ah, well. What’s on the agenda here?’

‘Formality. Official greetings. Speeches. Ceremonies The usual nonsense.’

‘Good. Our friends from the west are a bit unbridled at times. They’re good at formality, though. It’s when things become informal that they get into trouble. May I present the Queen of Elenia?’

‘I thought you’d never ask.’

‘Your Majesty,’ Oscagne said, ‘this is my old friend, Norkan. He’s the imperial representative here in Atan, an able man who’s fallen on hard times.’

Norkan bowed. ‘Your Majesty,’ he greeted Ehlana.

‘Your Excellency,’ she responded. Then she smiled. ‘Are her Highness’ feet really that big?’ she asked him slyly.

‘She skis with only the equipment God gave her, your Majesty. I could bear that, I suppose, but she’s given to temper tantrums when she doesn’t get her own way, and that sort of grates on my nerves.’

He glanced at the huge, dark-cloaked Atans surrounding the carriage. ‘Might I suggest that we proceed to what my children here refer to as the palace? The king and queen await us there. Is your Majesty comfortable speaking in public? A few remarks might be in order.’

‘I’m afraid I don’t speak Tamul, your Excellency.’

‘Perfectly all right, your Majesty. I’ll translate for you. You can say anything that pops into your head. I’ll tidy it up for you as we go along.’

‘How very kind of you.’ There was only the faintest edge to her voice.

‘I live but to serve, your Majesty.’

‘Remarkable, Norkan,’ Oscagne murmured. ‘How do you manage to put both feet in your mouth at the same time?’

‘It’s a gift,’ Norkan shrugged.

King Androl of Atan was seven feet tall, and his wife, Queen Betuana was only slightly shorter. They were very imposing. They wore golden helmets instead of crowns, and their deep blue silk robes were open at the front, revealing the fact that they were both heavily armed. They met the Queen of Elenia and her entourage in the square outside the royal palace of Atan, which was in actuality nothing more than their private dwelling. Atan ceremonies, it appeared, were conducted out of doors.

With the queen’s carriage in the lead and her armed escort formed up behind, the visitors rode at a slow and stately pace into the square. There were no cheers, no fanfares, none of the artificial enthusiasm normally contrived for state visitors. Atans showed respect by silence and immobility. Stragen skillfully wheeled the carriage to a spot in front of the slightly raised stone platform before the royal dwelling, and Sparhawk dismounted to offer his queen a steel-encased forearm. Ehlana’s face was radiantly regal, and her pleasure was clearly unfeigned. Though she occasionally spoke slightingly of ceremonial functions, pretending to view them as tedious, she truly loved ceremony. She took a deep satisfaction in formality.

Ambassador Oscagne approached the royal family of Atan, bowed and spoke at some length in the flowing, musical language of all Tamuls. Mirtai stood behind Ehlana, murmuring a running translation of his Excellency’s words.

Ehlana’s eyes were very bright, and there were two spots of heightened colour on her alabaster cheeks, signs that said louder than words that she was composing a speech. King Androl then spoke a rather brief greeting, and Queen Betuana added her somewhat lengthier agreement. Sparhawk could not hear Mirtai’s translation, so for all he knew the Atan king and queen were discussing weather-conditions on the moon.

Then Ehlana stepped forward, paused for dramatic effect, and began to speak in a clear voice that could be heard throughout the square. Ambassador Norkan stood at the side of the stone platform and translated her words.

‘My dear brother and sister of Atan,’ she began, ‘words cannot express my heartfelt joy at this meeting.’

Sparhawk knew his wife, and he knew that disclaimer to be fraudulent. Words could express her feelings, and she would tell everybody in the square all about them.

‘I come to this happy meeting from the world’s far end,’ she went on, ‘and my heart was filled with anxiety as I sailed across the wine-dark sea toward a foreign land peopled with strangers, but your gracious words of friendly—even affectionate—greeting have erased my childish fears, and I have learned here a lesson which I will carry all the days of my life. There are no strangers in this world, my dear brother and sister. There are only friends we have not yet met.’

‘She’s plagiarizing,’ Stragen murmured to Sparhawk.

‘She does that now and then. When she finds a phrase she really likes, she sees no reason not to expropriate it.’

‘My journey to Atan has been, of course, for state reasons. We of the royal houses of the world are not free to do things for personal reasons as others are.’ She gave the Atan king and queen a rueful little smile. ‘We cannot even yawn without its being subjected to extensive diplomatic analysis. No one ever considers the possibility that we might just be sleepy.’ After Norkan translated that, King Androl actually smiled.

‘My visit to Atan, however, does have a personal reason as well as an official one,’ Ehlana continued. ‘I chanced some time ago upon a precious thing which belongs to the Atan people, and I have come half-round the world to return this treasure to you, though it is more dear to me than I can ever say. Many, many years ago, an Atan child was lost. That child is the treasure of which I spoke.’ She reached out and took Mirtai’s hand. ‘She is my dear, dear friend, and I love her. The journey I have made here is as nothing. Gladly would I have travelled twice as far—ten times as far for the joy I now feel in re-uniting this precious Atan child with her people.’

Stragen wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. ‘She does it to me every time, Sparhawk,’ he laughed, ‘every single time. I think she could make rocks cry if she wanted to, and it always seems so simple.’

‘That’s part of her secret, Stragen.’

Ehlana was moving right along. ‘As many of you may know, the Elene people have some faults—many faults, though I blush to confess it. We have not treated your dear child well. An Elene bought her from the soulless Arjuni who had stolen her from you. The Elene bought her in order to satisfy his unwholesome desires. This child of ours—for she is now as much my child as she is yours—taught him that an Atana may not be used so. It was a hard lesson for him. He died in the learning of it.’ A rumble of approval greeted the translation of that. ‘Our child has passed through the hands of several Elenes—most with the worst of motives—and came at last to me. At first she frightened me.’ Ehlana smiled her most winsome smile. ‘You may have noticed that I am not a very tall person.’ A small chuckle ran through the crowd. ‘I thought you might have noticed that,’ she said, joining in their laughter. ‘It’s one of the failings of our culture that our menfolk are stubborn and short-sighted. I am not permitted to be trained in the use of weapons.

‘I know it sounds ridiculous, but I’ve not even been allowed to kill my enemies personally. I was not accustomed to women who could see to their own defence, and so I was foolishly afraid of my Atan child. That has passed, however. I have found her to be steadfast and true, gentle and affectionate and very, very wise. We have come to Atan so that this dear child of ours may lay aside the silver of childhood and assume the gold that is her just due in the Rite of Passage. Let us join our hands and our hearts, Elene and Atan, Styric and Tamul, in the ceremony which will raise our child to adulthood, and in that ceremony, may our hearts be united, for in this child, we are all made as one.’

As Norkan translated, an approving murmur went through the crowd of Atans, a murmur that swelled to a roar, and Queen Betuana, her eyes filled with tears, stepped down from the dais and embraced the pale blonde queen of Elenia. Then she spoke very briefly to the crowd.

‘What did she say?’ Stragen asked Oscagne.

‘She advised her people that anyone who offered your queen any impertinence would answer to her personally. It’s no idle threat, either. Queen Betuana’s one of the finest warriors in all of Atan. I hope you appreciate your wife, Sparhawk. She’s just scored a diplomatic coup of the highest order. How the deuce did she learn that the Atans are sentimentalists? If she’d talked for another three minutes, the whole square would have been awash with tears.’

‘Our queen’s a perceptive young woman,’ Stragen said rather proudly. ‘A good speech is always drawn on a community of interest. Our Ehlana’s a genius when it comes to finding things she has in common with her audience.’

‘So it would seem. She’s ensured one thing, let me tell you.’

‘Oh?’

‘The Atans will give Atana Mirtai a Rite of Passage such as comes along only once or twice in a generation. She’ll be a national heroine after an introduction like that. The singing will be tumultuous.’

‘That’s probably more or less what my wife had in mind,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘She loves to do nice things for her friends.’

‘And not so nice things to her enemies,’ Stragen added. ‘I remember some of the plans she had for primate Annias.’

‘That’s as it should be, Milord Stragen,’ Oscagne smiled. ‘The only real reason for accepting the inconveniences of power is to reward our friends and punish our enemies.’

‘I couldn’t agree more, your Excellency.’

Engessa conferred with King Androl, and Ehlana with Queen Betuana. No one was particularly surprised when Sephrenia served as translator for the queens. The small Styric woman, it appeared, spoke most of the languages in the known world. Norkan explained to Sparhawk and the others that the child’s parents were much involved in the Rite of Passage. Engessa would serve as Mirtai’s father, and Mirtai had rather shyly asked Ehlana to be her mother. The request had occasioned an emotional display of affection between the two of them.

‘It’s a rather touching ceremony, actually,’ Norkan told them. ‘The parents are obliged to assert that their child is fit and ready to assume the responsibilities of adulthood. They then offer to fight anyone who disagrees. Not to worry, Sparhawk,’ he added with a chuckle. ‘It’s a formality. The challenge is almost never taken up.’

‘Almost never?’

‘I’m teasing, of course. No one’s going to fight your wife. That speech of hers totally disarmed them. They adore her. I hope she’s quick of study, however. She’ll have to speak in Tamul.’

‘Learning a foreign language takes a long time,’ Kalten said dubiously. ‘I studied Styric for ten years and never did get the hang of it.’

‘You have no aptitude for languages, Kalten,’ Vanion told him. ‘Even Elenic confuses you sometimes.’

‘You don’t have to be insulting, Lord Vanion.’

‘I imagine Sephrenia will cheat a little,’ Sparhawk added. ‘She and Aphrael taught me to speak Troll in about five seconds in Ghwerig’s cave.’ He looked at Norkan. ‘When will the ceremony take place?’ he asked.

‘At midnight. The child passes into adulthood as one day passes into the next.’

‘There’s an exquisite kind of logic there,’ Stragen noted.

‘The hand of God,’ Bevier murmured piously.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Even the heathen responds to that gentle inner voice, Milord Stragen.’

‘I’m afraid I’m still missing the point, Sir Bevier.’

‘Logic is what sets our God apart,’ Bevier explained patiently. ‘It’s His special gift to the Elene people, and He reaches out with it to all others, freely offering its blessing to the unenlightened.’

‘Is that really a part of Elene doctrine, your Grace?’ Stragen asked the Patriarch of Ucera.

‘Tentatively,’ Emban replied. ‘The view is more widely held in Arcium than elsewhere. The Arcian clergy has been trying to have it included in the articles of the faith for the last thousand years or so, but the Deirans have been resisting. The Hierocracy takes up the question when we have nothing else to do.’

‘Do you think it will ever be resolved, your Grace?’ Norkan asked him.

‘Good God no, your Excellency. If we ever settled the issue, we wouldn’t have anything to argue about.’

Oscagne approached from the far side of the square. He took Sparhawk and Vanion aside, his expression concerned. ‘How well do you gentlemen know Zalasta?’ he asked them.

‘I only met him once before we reached Sarsos,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘Lord Vanion here knows him much better than I.’

‘I’m starting to have some doubts about this legendary wisdom of his,’ Oscagne said to them. ‘The Styric enclave in eastern Astel abuts Atan, so he should know more about these people than he seems to. I just caught him suggesting a demonstration of prowess to the Peloi and some of the younger Church Knights.’

‘It’s not unusual, your Excellency,’ Vanion shrugged. ‘Young men like to show off.’

‘That’s exactly my point, Lord Vanion.’ Oscagne’s expression was worried. ‘That’s not done here in Atan. Demonstrations of that kind lead to bloodshed. The Atans look upon that sort of thing as a challenge. I got there just in time to avert a disaster. What was the man thinking of?’

‘Styrics sometimes grow a bit vague,’ Vanion explained. ‘They can be profoundly absent-minded sometimes. I’ll have Sephrenia speak with him and remind him to pay attention.’

‘Oh, there’s something else, gentlemen,’ Oscagne smiled. ‘Don’t let Sir Berit wander around alone in the city. There are whole platoons of unmarried Atan girls lusting after him.’

‘Berit?’ Vanion looked startled.

‘It’s happened before, Vanion,’ Sparhawk told him. There’s something about our young friend that drives young women wild. It has to do with his eyelashes, I think. Ehlana and Melidere tried to explain it to me in Darsas. I didn’t understand what they were saying, but I took their word for it.’

‘What an astonishing thing,’ Vanion said.

There were torches everywhere, and the faint, fragrant breeze tossed their sooty orange flames like a field of wheat. The Rite of Passage took place in a broad meadow outside the city. An ancient stone altar adorned with wild-flowers stood between two broad oaks at the of the meadow, and two bronze, basin-like lamps flared, one on each end of the altar. A lone Atan with snowy hair stood atop the city wall, intently watching the light of the moon passing through a narrow horizontal aperture in one of the battlements and down the face of a nearby wall, which was marked at regular intervals with deeply-scored lines. It was not the most precise way to determine the time, but if everyone agreed that the line of moonlight would reach a certain one of those scorings at midnight, precision was unimportant. As long as there was general agreement, it was midnight.

The night was silent except for the guttering of the torches and the sighing of the breeze in the dark forest surrounding the meadow. They waited as the silvery line of moonlight crept down the wall.

Then the ancient Atan gave a signal, and a dozen trumpeters raised brazen horns to greet the new day and to signal the beginning of the Rite which would end Mirtai’s childhood.

The Atans sang. There were no words, for this rite was too sacred for words. Their song began with a single deep rumbling male voice, swelling and rising as other voices joined it in soaring and complex harmonies. King Androl and Queen Betuana moved with slow and stately pace along a broad, torchlit avenue toward the ageless trees and the flower-decked altar. Their bronze faces were serene, and their golden helmets gleamed in the torchlight. When they reached the altar, they turned, expectant. There was a pause while the torches flared and the organ-song of the Atans rose and swelled. Then the melody subsided into a tightly controlled hum, scarcely more than a whisper.

Engessa and Ehlana, both in deep blue robes, escorted Mirtai out of the shadows near the city wall. Mirtai was all in white, and her raven hair was unadorned. Her eyes were modestly down-cast as her parents led her toward the altar. The song swelled again with a different melody and a different counterpoint.

‘The approach of the child,’ Norkan murmured to Sparhawk and the others. The sophisticated, even cynical Tamul’s voice was respectful, almost awed, and his world-weary eyes glistened. Sparhawk felt a small tug on his hand, and he lifted his daughter so that she might better see.

Mirtai and her family reached the altar and bowed to Androl and Betuana. The song sank to a whisper. Engessa spoke to the king and queen of the Atans. His voice was loud and forceful. The Tamul tongue flowed musically from his lips as he declared his daughter fit. Then he turned, opened his robe and drew his sword. He spoke again, and there was a note of challenge in his voice.

‘What did he say?’ Talen whispered to Oscagne.

‘He offered to do violence to anyone who objected to his daughter’s passage.’ Oscagne replied. His voice was also profoundly respectful, even slightly choked with emotion.

Then Ehlana spoke, also in Tamul. Her voice rang out like a silver trumpet as she also declared that her child was fit and ready to assume her place as an adult.

‘She wasn’t supposed to say that last bit,’ Danae whispered in Sparhawk’s ear. ‘She’s adding things.’

‘You know your mother,’ he smiled.

Then the Queen of Elenia turned to look at the assembled Atans, and her voice took on a flinty note of challenge as she also opened her robe and drew a silver-hilted sword. Sparhawk was startled by the professional way she held it.

Then Mirtai spoke to the king and queen. ‘The child entreats passage,’ Norkan told them. King Androl spoke his reply, his voice loud and commanding, and his queen added her agreement. Then they too drew their swords and stepped forward to flank the child’s parents, joining in their challenge. The song of the Atans soared, and the trumpets added a brazen fanfare. Then the sound diminished again.

Mirtai faced her people and drew her daggers. She spoke to them, and Sparhawk needed no translation. He knew that tone of voice. The song raised, triumphant, and the five at the altar turned to face the roughly-chiselled stone block. In the centre of the altar lay a black velvet cushion, and nestled on it there was a plain gold circlet. The song swelled, and it echoed back from nearby mountains. And then, out of the velvet black throat of night, a star fell. It was an incandescently brilliant white light streaking down across the sky. Down and down it arched, and then it exploded into a shower of brilliant sparks.

‘Stop that!’ Sparhawk hissed to his daughter.

‘I didn’t do it,’ she protested. ‘I might have, but I didn’t think of it. How did they do that?’ She sounded genuinely baffled.

Then, as the glowing shards of the star drifted slowly toward the earth, filling the night with glowing sparks, the golden circlet on the altar rose unaided, drifting up like a ring of smoke. It hesitated as the Atan song swelled with an aching kind of yearning, and then, like a gossamer cobweb, it settled on the head of the child, and when Mirtai turned with exultant face, she was a child no longer. The mountains rang back the joyous sound as the Atans greeted her.

20

‘They know nothing of magic.’ Zalasta said it quite emphatically.

‘That circlet didn’t rise up into the air all by itself, Zalasta,’ Vanion disagreed, ‘and the arrival of the falling star at just exactly the right moment stretches the possibility of coincidence further than I’m willing to go.’

‘Chicanery of some kind perhaps?’ Patriarch Emban suggested. ‘There was a charlatan in Ucera when I was a boy who was very good at that sort of thing. I’d be inclined to look for hidden wires and burning arrows.’

They were gathered in the Peloi camp outside the city the following morning, puzzling over the spectacular conclusion of Mirtai’s Rite of Passage.

‘Why would they do something like that, your Grace? Khalad asked him.

‘To make an impression maybe. How would I know?’

‘Who would they have been trying to impress?’

‘Us, obviously.’

‘It doesn’t seem to fit the Atan character,’ Tynian said, frowning. ‘Would the Atans cheapen a holy rite with that kind of gratuitous trickery, Ambassador Oscagne?’

The Tamul emissary shook his head. ‘Totally out of the question, Sir Tynian. The rite is as central to their culture as a wedding or a funeral. They’d never demean it just to impress strangers—and it wasn’t performed for our benefit. The ceremony was for Atana Mirtai.’

‘Exactly,’ Khalad agreed, ‘and if there were hidden wires coming down from those tree-branches she’d have known they were there. They just wouldn’t have done that to her. A cheap trick like that would have been an insult, and we all know how Atans respond to insults.’

‘Norkan will be here in a little while,’ Oscagne told them. ‘He’s been in Atan for quite some time. I’m sure he’ll be able to explain it.’

‘It cannot have been magic,’ Zalasta insisted. It seemed very important to him for some reason. Sparhawk had the uneasy feeling that it had to do with the shaggy-browed magician’s racial ego. So long as Styrics were the only people who could perform magic or instruct others in its use, they were unique in the world. If any other race could do the same thing, their importance would be diminished.

‘How long are we going to stay here?’ Kalten asked. ‘This is a nervous kind of place. Some young knight or one of the Peloi is bound to make a mistake sooner or later. If somebody blunders into a deadly insult, I think all this good feeling will evaporate. We don’t want to have to fight our way out of town.’

‘Norkan will be able to tell us,’ Oscagne replied. ‘We don’t want to insult the Atans by leaving too early either.’

‘How far is it from here to Matherion, Oscagne?’ Emban asked.

‘About five hundred leagues.’

Emban sighed. ‘Almost two more months,’ he lamented. ‘I feel as if this journey’s lasted for years.’

‘You do look more fit, though, your Grace,’ Bevier told him.

‘I don’t want to look fit, Bevier. I want to look fat, lazy and pampered. I want to be fat, lazy and pampered and I want a decent meal with lots of butter and gravy and delicacies and fine wines.’

‘You did volunteer to come along, your Grace,’ Sparhawk reminded him.

‘I must have been out of my mind.’

Ambassador Norkan came across the Peloi campground with an amused expression on his face.

‘What’s so funny?’ Oscagne asked him.

‘I’ve been observing an exquisite dance, old boy,’ Norkan replied. ‘I’d forgotten just how profoundly literal an Elene can be. Any number of Atan girls have approached young Sir Berit and expressed a burning interest in western weaponry. They were obviously hoping for private lessons in some secluded place where he could demonstrate how he uses his equipment.’

‘Norkan,’ Oscagne chided him.

‘Did I say something wrong, old chap? I’m afraid my Elenic’s a bit rusty. Anyway, Sir Berit’s arranged a demonstration for the entire group. He’s just outside the city wall giving the whole bunch of them archery lessons.’

‘We’re going to have to have a talk with that boy,’ Kalten said to Sparhawk.

‘I’ve been told not to,’ Sparhawk said. ‘My wife and the other ladies want to keep him innocent. It seems to satisfy some obscure need.’

He looked at Norkan. ‘Maybe you can settle an argument for us, your Excellency. ‘

‘I’m good at peace-making, Sir Sparhawk. It’s not as much fun as starting wars, but the emperor prefers it.’

‘What really happened last night, Ambassador Norkan?’ Vanion asked him.

‘Atana Mirtai became an adult,’ Norkan shrugged. ‘You were there, Lord Vanion. You saw everything I did.’

‘Yes, I did. Now I’d like to have it explained. Did a star really fall at the height of the ceremony? And did the gold circlet really rise from the altar and settle itself on Mirtai’s head?’

‘Yes. Was there a problem with that?’

‘Impossible!’ Zalasta exclaimed.

‘You could do it, couldn’t you, learned one?’

‘Yes, I suppose so, but I am Styric.’

‘And these are Atans?’

‘That’s exactly my point.’

‘We were also disturbed when we first encountered the phenomenon,’ Norkan told him. ‘The Atans are our cousins. So, unfortunately, are the Arjuni and the Tegans. We Tamuls are a secular people, as you undoubtedly know. We have a pantheon of Gods that we ignore except on holidays. The Atans only have one, and they won’t even tell us what His name is. They can appeal to Him in the same way you Styrics appeal to your Gods, and He responds in the same fashion.’

Zalasta’s face suddenly went white. ‘Impossible!’ he said again in a choked voice. ‘We’d have known. There are Atans at Sarsos. We’d have felt them using magic.’

‘But they don’t do it at Sarsos, Zalasta,’ Norkan said patiently. ‘They only use it here in Atan and only during their ceremonies.’

‘That’s absurd!’

‘I wouldn’t tell them you feel that way. They hold you Styrics in some contempt, you know. They find the notion of turning a God into a servant a bit impious. Atans have access to a God, and their God can do the same sort of things other Gods do. They choose not to involve their God in everyday matters, so they only call on Him during their religious ceremonies—weddings, funerals, Rites of Passage, and a few others. They can’t understand your willingness to insult your Gods by asking them to do things you really ought to do for yourselves.’ He looked at Emban then with a sly sort of grin. ‘It just occurred to me that your Elene God could probably do exactly the same thing. Have you ever thought of asking Him, your Grace?’

‘Heresy!’ Bevier gasped.

‘Not really, Sir Knight. That word’s used to describe someone who strays from the teachings of his own faith. I’m not a member of the Elene faith, so my speculations can’t really be heretical, can they?’

‘He’s got you there, Bevier,’ Ulath said. ‘His logic’s unassailable.’

‘It raises some very interesting questions,’ Vanion mused. ‘It’s entirely possible that the Church blundered when she founded the Militant Orders. We may not have had to go outside our own faith for instruction in magic. If we’d asked Him the right way, our own God might have given us the help we needed.’ He coughed a bit uncomfortably. ‘I’ll trust you gentlemen not to tell Sephrenia I came up with that. If I start suggesting that she’s unnecessary, she might take it the wrong way.’

‘Lord Vanion,’ Emban said quite formally. ‘As the representative of the Church, I forbid you to continue this speculation. This is dangerous ground, and I want a ruling from Dolmant before we pursue the matter any further—and for God’s sake, don’t start experimenting.’

‘Ah—Patriarch Emban,’ Vanion reminded him rather mildly, ‘I think that you’re forgetting the fact that as the Preceptor of the Pandion Order, my rank in the Church is the same as yours. Technically speaking, you can’t forbid me to do anything.’

‘Sparhawk’s the Preceptor now.’

‘Not until he’s been confirmed by the Hierocracy, Emban. I’m not trying to demean your authority, old boy, but let’s observe the proprieties, shall we? It’s the little things that keep us civilised when we’re far from home.’

‘Aren’t Elenes fun?’ Oscagne said to Norkan.

‘I was just about to make the same observation myself.’

They met with King Androl and Queen Betuana later that morning. Ambassador Oscagne explained their mission in the flowing Tamul tongue.

‘He’s skirting around your rather unique capabilities, Sparhawk,’ Sephrenia said quietly. A faint smile touched her lips. ‘The emperor’s officials seem a little unwilling to admit that they’re powerless and that they had to appeal for outside help.’

Sparhawk nodded. ‘We’ve been through it before,’ he murmured. ‘Oscagne was very concerned about that when he spoke to us in Chyrellos. It seems a little shortsighted in this situation, though. The Atans make up the Tamul army. It doesn’t really make much sense to keep secrets from them.’

‘Whatever made you think that politics made sense, Sparhawk?’

‘I’ve missed you, little mother,’ he laughed.

‘I certainly hope so.’

King Androl’s face was grave, even stern as Oscagne described what they had discovered in Astel. Queen Betuana’s expression was somewhat softer, largely because Danae was sitting in her lap. Sparhawk had seen his daughter do that many times. Whenever there was a potential for tension in a situation, Danae started looking for laps. People invariably responded to her unspoken appeals to be held without even thinking about it.

‘She does that on purpose, doesn’t she?’ he whispered to Sephrenia.

‘That went by a little fast, Sparhawk.’

‘Aphrael. She climbs into people’s

Androl, and Oscagne retired to the Elene side of the room to perform the same service. The Tamuls had perfected the tedious but necessary business of translation to make it as smooth and unobtrusive as possible. King Androl pondered the matter for a few moments. Then he smiled at Ehlana and spoke to her in Tamul. His voice was very soft.

‘Thus says the King,’ Norkan began his translation. ‘Gladly do we greet Ehlana-Queen once more, for her presence is like the sunshine come at last after a long winter.’

‘Oh, that’s very nice,’ Sephrenia murmured. ‘We always seem to forget the poetic side of the Atan nature.’

‘Moreover,’ Norkan continued his translation, ‘glad are we to welcome the fabled warriors of the west and the wise-man of Chyrellos-Church.’ Norkan was obviously translating verbatim. Emban politely inclined his head.

‘Clearly we see our common concern in the matter at hand, and staunchly will we join with the West-warriors in such acts as are needful.’ Androl spoke again, pausing from time to time for translation. ‘Our minds have been unquiet in seasons past, for we have failed in tasks set for us by our Matherion-masters. This troubles us, for we are not accustomed to failure.’

His expression was slightly nortified as he made that admission. ‘I am sure, Ehlana-Queen, that Oscagne-Emperor-Speaker has told you of our difficulties in parts of Tamuli beyond our own borders. Shamed are we that he has spoken truly.’

Queen Betuana said something briefly to her husband. ‘She told him to get on with it,’ Sephrenia murmured to Sparhawk. ‘It appears that his tendency to be flowery irritates her—at least that was the impression I got.’

Androl said something to Norkan in an apologetic tone. ‘That’s a surprise,’ Norkan said, obviously speaking for himself now. ‘The King just admitted that he’s been keeping secrets from me. He doesn’t usually do that.’ Androl spoke again, and Norkan’s translation became more colloquial as the Atan king seemed to lay formality aside. ‘He says that there have been incidents here in Atan itself. It’s an internal matter, so he technically wasn’t obliged to tell me about it. He says they’ve encountered creatures he calls ‘the shaggy ones’. As I understand it, the creatures are even bigger than the tallest Atans.’

‘Long arms?’ Ulath asked intently. ‘Flat noses and big bones in the face? Pointed teeth?’ Norkan translated into Tamul, and King Androl looked at Ulath with some surprise. Then he nodded.

‘Trolls!’ Ulath said. ‘Ask him how many his people have seen at any one time.’

‘Fifty or more,’ came the reply. Ulath shook his head. ‘That’s very unlikely,’ he said flatly. ‘You might find a single family of Trolls walking together, but never fifty all at once.’

‘He wouldn’t lie,’ Norkan insisted.

‘I didn’t say he did, but Trolls have never behaved that way before. If they had, they’d have driven us out of Thalesia.’

‘It seems that the rules have changed, Ulath,’ Tynian noted. ‘Have there been any other incidents, your Excellency? Things that didn’t involve Trolls?’

Norkan spoke to the king and then translated the reply. ‘They’ve had encounters with warriors in strange armour and with strange equipment.’

‘Ask him if they might have been Cyrgai,’ Bevier suggested.

‘Horse-hair-crested helmets? Big round shields? Long spears?’ Norkan posed the question, though his expression was baffled. It was with some amazement that he translated the reply. ‘They were!’ he exclaimed. ‘They were Cyrgai! How’s that possible?’

‘We’ll explain later,’ Sparhawk said tersely. ‘Were there any others?’

Norkan asked the questions quickly now, obviously excited by these revelations. Queen Betuana leaned forward slightly and took over for her husband.

‘Arjuni,’ Norkan said tersely. ‘They were heavily armed and made no attempt to hide the way they usually do. And once there was an army of Elenes—mostly serfs.’

Then his eyes went wide with astonishment. That’s totally impossible—that’s only a myth!’

‘My colleague’s losing his grip,’ Oscagne told them. ‘The queen says that once they encountered the Shining Ones.’

‘Who are they?’ Stragen asked.

‘Norkan’s right,’ Oscagne replied. ‘The Shining Ones are mythical creatures. It’s another of those things I told you about back in Chyrellos. Our enemy’s been sifting through folk-lore for horrors. The Shining Ones are like vampires, werewolves and Ogres. Would your Majesty object if Norkan and I pursued this and then gave you a summary?’ he asked Ehlana.

‘Go right ahead, your Excellency,’ she agreed.

The two Tamuls began to speak more rapidly now, and Queen Betuana replied firmly. Sparhawk got the distinct impression that she was far more intelligent and forceful than her husband. Still holding Princess Danae in her lap, she answered the questions incisively, and her eyes were very intent.

‘Our enemy seems to be doing the same things here in Atan that he’s been doing elsewhere,’ Oscagne told them finally, ‘and he’s been adding a few twists besides. The forces from antiquity behave the same as your antique Lamorks did back in Eosia and the way those Cyrgai and their Cynesgan allies did in the forest west of Sarsos. They attack, there’s a fight, and then they vanish when their leader gets killed. Only their dead remain. The Trolls don’t vanish. They all have to be killed.’

‘What about these ‘Shining Ones’?’ Kalten asked.

‘There’s no way to be sure about those,’ Oscagne replied. ‘The Atans flee from them.’

‘They what?’ Stragen’s voice was startled.

‘Everybody’s afraid of the Shining Ones, Milord,’ Oscagne told him. ‘The stories about them make tales of vampires and werewolves and Ogres sound like bedtime stories.’

‘Could you accept a slight amendment, your Excellency?’ Ulath asked mildly. ‘I don’t want to alarm you, but Ogres are real. We see them all the time in Thalesia.’

‘You’re joking, Sir Ulath.’

‘No, not really.’ Ulath took off his horned helmet. ‘These are Ogre-horn,’ he said tapping the curved appurtenances on his headgear.

‘Maybe what you have in Thalesia’s just a creature you call an Ogre,’ Oscagne said dubiously.

‘Twelve feet tall? Horns? Fangs? Claws for fingers? That’s an Ogre, isn’t it?’

‘Well—’

‘That’s what we’ve got in Thalesia. If they aren’t Ogres, we’ll settle for them until you can find us some real ones.’ Oscagne stared at him. ‘They aren’t all that bad, your Excellency. The Trolls give us more trouble probably because they’re meat eaters. Ogres eat anything. Actually, they prefer trees for dinner over people. They’re particularly fond of maple trees for some reason—probably because they’re sweet. A hungry Ogre will kick his way right through your house to get at a maple tree you’ve got growing in your backyard.’

‘Is he actually serious?’ Oscagne appealed to the others. Ulath sometimes had that effect on people.

Tynian reached over and rapped the Ogre-horn on Ulath’s helmet with his knuckles. ‘These feel fairly serious to me, your Excellency,’ he said. ‘And that raises some other questions. If Ogres are real, we might want to re-think our positions on vampires, werewolves and these Shining Ones as well. Under the circumstances, we might consider discarding the word “impossible” for the time being.’

‘But you are, Mirtai,’ Princess Danae insisted.

‘It’s a different kind of thing, Danae,’ the Atana told her. ‘It’s symbolic in my case.’

‘Everything’s symbolic, Mirtai,’ Danae told her. ‘Everything we do means something else. There are symbols all around us. No matter how you want to look at it, though, we have the same mother, and that makes us sisters.’

It seemed very important to her for some reason. Sparhawk was sitting with Sephrenia in the corner of a large room of King Androl’s house. His daughter was busy asserting her kinship with Mirtai as Baroness Melidere and Ehlana’s maid looked on.

Mirtai smiled gently. ‘All right, Danae,’ she gave in, ‘if you want to think so, we’re sisters.’ Danae gave a little squeal of delight, jumped into Mirtai’s arms and smothered her with kisses.

‘Isn’t she a little darling?’ Baroness Melidere laughed.

‘Yes, Baroness,’ Alcan murmured. Then a small frown creased the girl’s brow. ‘I’ll never understand that,’ she said. ‘No matter how closely I watch her, she always manages to get her feet dirty.’ She pointed at Danae’s grass-stained feet. ‘Sometimes I almost think she’s got a boxful of grass hidden among her toys, and she shuffles her feet in it when my back’s turned just to torment me.’

Melidere smiled. ‘She just likes to run barefoot, Alcan,’ she said. ‘Don’t you ever want to take off your shoes and run through the grass?’

Alcan sighed. ‘I’m in service, Baroness,’ she replied. ‘I’m not supposed to give in to that sort of whim.’

‘You’re so very proper, Alcan,’ the honey-eyed Baroness said. ‘If a girl doesn’t give in to her whims now and then, she’ll never have any fun.’

‘I’m not here to have fun, Baroness. I’m here to serve. My first employer made that very clear to me.’ She crossed the room to the two ‘sisters’ and touched Danae’s shoulder. ‘Time for your bath, Princess,’ she said.

‘Do I have to?’

Yes.’

‘It’s such a bother. I’ll just get dirty again, you know.’

‘We’re supposed to make an effort to stay ahead of it, your Highness.’

‘Do as she tells you, Danae,’ Mirtai said.

‘Yes, sister dear,’ Danae sighed.

‘That was an interesting exchange, wasn’t it?’ Sparhawk murmured to Sephrenia.

‘Yes,’ the small woman agreed. ‘Has she been letting things slip that way very often?’

‘I didn’t quite follow that.’

‘She’s not really supposed to talk about symbols the way she just did when she’s around pagans.’

‘I wish you wouldn’t use that word to describe us, Sephrenia.’

‘Well, aren’t you?’

‘It sort of depends on your perspective. What’s so important about symbols that she’s supposed to hide them?’

‘It’s not the symbols themselves Sparhawk. It’s what talking about them that way reveals.’

‘Oh? What’s that?’

‘The fact that she doesn’t look at the world or think about it in the same way we do. There are meanings in the world for her that we can’t even begin to comprehend.’

‘I’ll take your word for it. Are you and Mirtai sisters now, too? I mean, if she’s Danae’s sister and you are too wouldn’t you almost have to be?’

‘All women are sisters, Sparhawk.’

‘That’s a generalisation, Sephrenia.’

‘How perceptive of you to have noticed.’

Vanion entered the room. ‘Where’s Ehlana?’ he asked.

‘She and Betuana are conferring,’ Sparhawk replied.

‘Who’s translating for them?’

‘One of Engessa’s girls from Darsas. What did you want to talk with her about?’

‘I think we’ll be leaving tomorrow. Engessa, Oscagne, and I talked with King Androl. Oscagne feels that we should press on to Matherion. He doesn’t want to keep the emperor waiting. Engessa’s sending his legions back to Darsas. He’ll be going on with us, largely because he speaks Elenic better than most Atans.’

‘That doesn’t disappoint me.’ Mirtai said. ‘He’s my father now and we really ought to get to know each other better.’

‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, Vanion?’ Sephrenia said it half-accusingly.

‘I’ve missed it,’ he admitted. ‘I’ve been at the centre of things for most of my life. I don’t think I was meant to sit on the back shelf.’

‘Weren’t you happy when there were just the two of us?’

‘‘Of course I was. I’d have been perfectly content to spend the rest of my life alone with you, but we’re not alone any more. The world’s intruding upon us, Sephrenia, and we both have responsibilities. We still have time for each other, though.’

‘Are you sure, Vanion?’

‘I’ll make sure, love.’

‘Would you two like to be alone?’ Mirtai asked them with an arch little smile.

‘Later perhaps,’ Sephrenia replied quite calmly.

‘Won’t we be a little under-manned without Engessa’s Atans?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘King Androl’s making arrangements,’ Vanion said. ‘Don’t worry, Sparhawk. Your wife’s almost as important to the rest of us as she is to you. We’re not going to let anything happen to her.’

‘We can discount the possibility of exaggeration,’ Sephrenia said. ‘The Atan character makes that very unlikely.’

‘I’ll agree there,’ Sparhawk concurred. ‘They’re warriors, and they’re trained to give precise reports.’ Vanion and Zalasta nodded. It was evening, and the four of them were walking together outside the city in order to discuss the situation apart from Norkan and Oscagne. It was not that they distrusted the two Tamuls. It was just that they wanted to be able to speak freely about certain things which Tamuls were culturally unprepared to accept.

‘Our opponent is quite obviously a God,’ Zalasta said firmly.

‘He says it so casually,’ Vanion noted. ‘Are you so accustomed to confronting Gods that you’re becoming blase about it, Zalasta?’

Zalasta smiled. ‘Just defining the problem, Lord Vanion. The resurrection of whole armies is beyond purely human capabilities. You can take my word for that. I tried it once and made a horrible mess of it. It took me weeks to get them all back into the ground again.’

‘We’ve faced Gods before,’ Vanion shrugged. ‘We stared across a border at Azash for five hundred years.’

‘Now who’s blase?’ Sephrenia said.

‘Just defining the solution, love,’ he replied. ‘The Church Knights were founded for just such situations. We really need to identify our enemy, though. Gods have worshippers, and our enemy’s inevitably utilising his worshippers in this plan. We have to find out who he is so that we’ know who his adherents are. We can’t disrupt his plans until we know whom to attack. Am I being obvious?’

‘Yes,’ Sparhawk told him, ‘but logic always is right at first. I like the notion of attacking his worshippers. If we do that, he’s going to have to stop what he’s doing and concentrate on protecting his own people. The strength of a God depends entirely on his worshippers. If we start killing his people, we’ll diminish him with every sword-stroke.’

‘Barbarian,’ Sephrenia accused.

‘Can you make her stop doing that to me, Vanion?’ Sparhawk appealed. ‘She’s called me both a pagan and a barbarian so far today.’

‘Well, aren’t you?’ she said.

‘Maybe, but it’s not nice to come right out and say it like that.’

‘It’s the presence of the Trolls that has concerned me since you told me about it at Sarsos,’ Zalasta told them. ‘They are not drawn from the past, and they have but recently come to this part of the world from their ancestral home in Thalesia. I know little of Trolls, but it was my understanding that they are fiercely attached to their homeland. What could have provoked this migration?’

‘Ulath’s baffled,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘I gather that the Thalesians are so happy that the Trolls have left that they didn’t pursue the matter.’

‘Trolls don’t habitually co-operate with each other,’ Sephrenia told them. ‘One of them might have decided on his own to leave Thalesia, but he’d never have persuaded the rest to go with him.’

‘You’re raising a very unpleasant possibility, love,’ Vanion said. They all looked at each other. ‘Is there any way they could have got out of Bhelliom?’ Vanion asked Sephrenia.

‘I don’t know, Vanion. Sparhawk asked me the same question quite some time ago. I don’t know what spell Ghwerig used to seal them inside the jewel. Troll-spells aren’t the same as ours.’

‘Then we don’t know if they’re still inside or if they’ve somehow managed to free themselves?’

She nodded glumly.

‘The fact that the Trolls banded up and left their ancestral home all at the same time suggests that something with sufficient authority over them commanded them to leave,’ Zalasta mused.

‘That would be their Gods, all right.’ Vanion’s face was as glum as Sephrenia’s. ‘Trolls wouldn’t obey anyone else.’ He sighed. ‘Well, we wanted to know who was opposing us. I think we may have just found out.’

‘You’re all full of light and joy today, Vanion,’ Sparhawk said sourly, ‘but I’d like something a little more concrete before I declare war on the Trolls.’

‘How did you force the Troll-Gods to stop attacking you in Zemoch, Prince Sparhawk?’ Zalasta asked him.

‘I used the Bhelliom.’

‘It rather looks as if you’ll have to use it again. I don’t suppose you happened to bring it with you, did you?’

Sparhawk looked quickly at Sephrenia. ‘You didn’t tell him?’ he asked with a certain surprise.

‘It wasn’t necessary for him to know, dear one. Dolmant wanted us all to keep it more or less to ourselves, remember?’

‘I gather that it’s not with you then, Prince Sparhawk,’ Zalasta surmised. ‘Did you leave it in some safe place in Cimmura?’

‘It’s in a safe place all right, learned one,’ Sparhawk replied bleakly, ‘but it’s not in Cimmura.’

‘Where is it then?’

‘After we used it to destroy Azash, we threw it into the sea.’ Zalasta’s face went chalk white. ‘In the deepest part of the deepest ocean in the world,’ Sephrenia added.

21

‘It is along the north coast, Ehlana-Queen,’ Norkan translated Queen Betuana’s reply. ‘These shaggy ones you call Trolls have come across the winter ice in large groups for the past two years. At first our people thought they were bears, but it was not so. They avoided us at first, and the snow and fog of winter made it hard for our people to see them clearly. When there were more of them here, they grew bolder. It was not until one of them was killed that we realised they were not bears.’

King Androl was not present. Androl’s intellectual gifts were not profound, and he much preferred to let his wife deal with state matters. The Atan King looked very impressive, but he was at his best in ceremonial situations where no surprises were likely to come up.

‘Ask her if they’ve seen any Trolls farther south,’ Sparhawk murmured to his wife.

‘Why don’t you ask her?’

‘Let’s keep things sort of formal, Ehlana. This is technically a conversation between the two of you. I don’t think the rest of us are supposed to join in. Let’s not take a chance of violating a propriety we don’t know about.’

Ehlana posed the question, and Oscagne translated.

‘No,’ Norkan repeated Ehlana’s answer. ‘The Trolls appear to have settled in the forests along the north slopes. So far as we know, they haven’t come deeper into Atan.’

‘Warn her that Trolls are very good at hiding in forests,’ Ulath advised.

‘So are we,’ the reply was translated.

‘Ask her if some advice on tactics would offend her,’ the Genidian Knight said then. ‘We Thalesians have had many experiences with Trolls—most of them bad.’

‘We are always willing to listen to the voice of experience,’ came the Atan queen’s reply.

‘When we encounter Trolls in Thalesia, we usually stay back a ways and shoot some arrows into them,’ Ulath informed Ehlana. ‘It’s hard to kill them with arrows, because their fur and their hides are so thick, but it’s a good idea to slow them down if you can. Trolls are much, much quicker than they look, and they have very long arms. They can snatch a man out of his saddle quicker than the man can blink.’ Ehlana went through the formality of repeating his words.

‘What does the Troll do then?’ Betuana’s expression was curious.

‘First he pulls off the man’s head. Then he eats the rest of him. Trolls don’t like to eat heads for some reason.’ Ehlana choked slightly on that.

‘We do not use the bow in war,’ Norkan translated Betuana’s flowing Tamul. ‘We only use it in the hunt for creatures we intend to eat.’

‘Well,’ Ulath said a bit dubiously, ‘you could eat a Troll if you wanted to, I guess. I won’t guarantee the flavour, though.’

‘I refuse to repeat that, Sir Ulath!’ Ehlana exclaimed.

‘Ask her if javelins would be acceptable in the Atan culture,’ Tynian suggested.

‘Javelins would be quite all right,’ Norkan replied. ‘I’ve seen the Atans practising with them.’

Betuana spoke to him rapidly and at some length. ‘Her Majesty’s asked me to translate in narrative,’ Norkan told them. ‘The sun is well up, and she knows you should be on the road. Oscagne tells me that you’re planning to take the road leading to Lebas in Tamul proper. Atan society’s organised along clan lines, and each clan has its own territory. You’ll be passed along from clan to clan as you ride east. It’s a breach of etiquette for one clan to intrude on the territory of another, and breaches of etiquette are avoided at all costs here in Atan.’

‘I wonder why,’ Stragen murmured.

‘Oscagne,’ Norkan said then, ‘as soon as you reach civilisation, send me a score or so of imperial messengers with fast horses. Her Majesty wants to keep in close contact with Matherion during the crisis.’

‘Very good idea,’ Oscagne agreed.

Then Betuana rose, towering over all of them. She affectionately embraced Ehlana and then Mirtai, clearly indicating that it was time for them to continue their journey eastward.

‘I will cherish the memory of this visit, dear Betuana,’ Ehlana told her.

‘And I will as well, dearly-loved sister-queen, Betuana replied in almost flawless Elenic.

Ehlana smiled. ‘I wondered how long you were going to hide your understanding of our language, Betuana,’ she said.

‘You knew?’ Betuana seemed surprised.

Ehlana nodded. ‘It’s very hard to keep your face and your eyes from revealing your understanding while you’re waiting for the translation. Why do you keep your knowledge of Elenic a secret?’

‘The time the translator takes to convert your words into human speech gives me time to consider my reply,’ Betuana shrugged.

‘That’s a very useful tactic,’ Ehlana said admiringly. ‘I wish I could use it in Eosia, but everybody there speaks Elenic, so I couldn’t really get away with it.’

‘Bandage your ears,’ Ulath suggested.

‘Does he have to do that?’ Ehlana complained to Sparhawk.

‘It’s only a suggestion, your Majesty,’ Ulath shrugged. ‘Pretend to be deaf and have some people around to wiggle their fingers at you as if they were translating.’

She stared at him. ‘That’s absurd, Ulath. Do you have any idea of how awkward and inconvenient that would be?’

‘I just said it was a suggestion, your Majesty,’ he said mildly. ‘I didn’t say it was a good one.’

Following a formal farewell which was once again primarily for Mirtai’s benefit, the queen and her party rode eastward out of Atana along the Lebas road. Once they were clear of the city, Oscagne, who had insisted on riding a horse that day, suggested to Sparhawk, Stragen and Vanion that they ride forward to confer with the other knights. They found them near the head of the column. Tynian was entertaining them with a much-embellished account of a probably imaginary amorous adventure.

‘What’s afoot?’ Kalten asked when Sparhawk and the others joined them.

‘Sparhawk and I conferred with Sephrenia and Zalasta last night,’ Vanion replied. ‘We thought we might share the fruits of our discussions—out of Ehlana’s hearing.’

‘That sounds ominous,’ the blond Pandion observed.

‘Not entirely,’ Vanion smiled. ‘Our conclusions are a bit tenuous, and there’s no point in alarming the .queen until we’re a bit more certain.’

‘Then there is something to be alarmed about, isn’t there, Lord Vanion?’ Talen asked.

‘There’s always something to be alarmed about,’ Khalad told his brother.

‘We’ve sort of concluded that we’re facing a God,’ Vanion told them. ‘I’m sure you’ve all more or less worked that out for yourselves.’

‘Did you really have to invite me to come along this time, Sparhawk?’ Kalten complained. ‘I’m not very good at dealing with Gods.’

‘Who is?’

‘You weren’t so bad at Zemoch.’

‘Luck, probably.’

‘This is the way our reasoning went,’ Vanion continued. ‘You’ve been seeing that shadow again, and the cloud. On the surface at least, they seem to be divine manifestations, and these armies out of the past—the Lamorks and the Cyrgai—couldn’t have been raised by a mortal. Zalasta told us that he’d tried it once and that it all fell apart on him. If he can’t do it, we can be fairly sure that nobody else can either.’

‘Logical,’ Bevier approved.

‘Thank you. Now then, the Trolls all left Thalesia a while back, and they’ve started to show up here in Atan. We more or less agreed that they wouldn’t have done that unless they’d been commanded to by someone they’d obey. Couple that fact with the shadow, and it seems to point at the Troll-Gods. Sephrenia’s not positive that they’re permanently locked inside Bhelliom, so we more or less have to accept the fact that they’ve somehow managed to escape.’

‘This isn’t going to be one of the good stories, I gather,’ Talen said glumly.

‘It is a bit gloomy, isn’t it?’ Tynian agreed.

Vanion raised one hand. ‘It gets worse,’ he told them. ‘We sort of agreed that all of this plotting involving ancient heroes, rabid nationalism and the like is somewhat beyond the capability of the Troll-Gods. It’s not likely that they’d have a very sophisticated concept of politics, so I think we’ll have to consider the possibility of an alliance of some kind. Someone—either human or immortal—is taking care of the politics, and the Troll-Gods are providing the muscle. They command the Trolls, and they can raise these figures from the grave.’

‘They’re being used?’ Ulath suggested.

‘So it would seem.’

‘It doesn’t wash, Lord Vanion,’ the Thalesian said bluntly.

‘How so?’

‘What’s in it for the Trolls? Why would the Troll-Gods ally themselves with somebody else if there weren’t any benefits to the Trolls to come out of the arrangement? The Trolls can’t rule the world, because they can’t come down out of the mountains.’

‘Why not?’ Berit asked’d him.

‘Their fur—and those thick hides of theirs. They have to stay where it’s cool. If you put a Troll out in the summer sun for two days, he’ll die. Their bodies are built to keep the heat in, not to get rid of it.’

‘That is a fairly serious flaw in your theory, Lord Vanion,’ Oscagne agreed.

‘I think I might be able to’suggest a solution,’ Stragen told them. ‘Our enemy—or enemies—want to re-arrange the world right?’

‘Well, at least the top part of it,’ Tynian amended. ‘Nobody I know of has ever suggested turning it all the way upside down and putting the peasantry in charge.’

‘Maybe that comes later,’ Stragen smiled. ‘Our friend out there wants to change the world, but he doesn’t have quite enough power to pull it off by himself, He needs the power of the Troll-Gods to make it work. but what could he offer the Trolls in exchange for their help? What do the Trolls really want?’

‘Thalesia.’ Ulath replied moodily.’

‘Precisely. Wouldn’t the Troll-Gods leap at an opportunity to wipe out the Elenes and Styrics in Thalesia and return total possession of the peninsula to the Trolls? If someone’s come up with a way to expel the Younger Styric Gods—or at least claims he has—wouldn’t that be fairly enticing to the Troll-Gods? It was the Younger Gods who dispossessed them in the first place, and that’s why they had to go hide. This is pure speculation, of course, but let’s say this friend of ours came up with a way to free the Troll-Gods. Then he offered an alliance, promising to drive the Elenes and Styrics out of Thalesia and possibly the north coasts of both continents as well—in exchange for the help he needs. The Trolls get the north, and our friend gets the rest of the world. If I were a Troll, that would sound like a very attractive bargain, wouldn’t you say?’

‘He may have hit on it,’ Ulath conceded.

‘His solution certainly answers my objection to the idea,’ Bevier concurred. ‘It may not be the precise arrangement between our friend and the Troll-Gods, but it’s a clear hint that something could have been worked out. What’s our course, then?’

‘We have to break up the alliance,’ Sparhawk replied.

‘That’s a neat trick when you don’t know who one of the allies is,’ Kalten told him.

‘We do sort of know about one part of it, so we’ll have to concentrate on that. Your theory narrows my options, Vanion. I guess I will have to declare war on the Trolls after all.’

‘I don’t quite understand,’ Oscagne confessed.

‘The Gods derive their strength from their worshippers, your Excellency,’ Bevier explained. ‘The more worshippers, the stronger the God. If Sparhawk starts killing Trolls, the Troll-Gods will notice it. If he kills enough of them, they’ll withdraw from the alliance. They won’t have any choice if they want to survive, and we found out at Zemoch that they’re very interested in surviving. They went all to pieces when Sparhawk threatened to destroy Bhelliom and them along with it.’

‘They became very co-operative at that point,’ Sparhawk said.

‘You gentlemen have a real treat in store for you,’ Ulath told them. ‘Fighting Trolls is very, very exhilarating.’

They set up their night’s encampment that evening in a meadow beside a turbulent mountain stream that had carved a deep gorge in the mountains. The lower walls of the gorge were tree-covered, and they angled up steeply to the sheer cliffs rising a hundred or more feet to the rim of the cut. It was a good defensive position, Sparhawk noted as he surveyed the camp. Evening came early in these canyons, and the cooking fires flared yellow in the gathering dusk, their smoke drifting blue and tenuous downstream in the night breeze.

‘A word with you, Prince Sparhawk?’ It was Zalasta, and his white Styric robe gleamed in the half-light.

‘Of course, learned one.’

‘I’m afraid your wife doesn’t like me,’ the magician observed. ‘She tries to be polite, but her distaste is fairly obvious. Have I offended her in some way?’

‘I don’t think so, Zalasta.’

A faintly bitter smile touched the Styric’s lips. ‘It’s what my people call “the Elene complaint”, then.’

‘I rather doubt that. I more or less raised her, and I made her understand that the common Elene prejudice was without foundation. Her attitude sort of derives from mine, and the Church Knights are actually quite fond of Styrics—the Pandions particularly so, since Sephrenia was our tutor. We love her very much.’

‘Yes. I’ve observed that.’ The magician smiled. ‘We ourselves are not without our failings in that area. Our prejudice against Elenes is quite nearly as irrational as yours against us. Your wife’s disapproval of me must come from something else, then.’

‘It may be something as simple as your accent, learned one. My wife’s a complex person. She’s very intelligent, but she does have her irrational moments.’

‘It might be best if I avoided her, then. I’ll travel on horseback from now on. Our close proximity in that carriage exacerbates her dislike, I expect. I’ve worked with people who’ve disliked me in the past and it’s no great inconvenience. When I have leisure, I’ll win her over.’ He flashed a quick smile. ‘I can be very winning when I set my mind to it.’

He looked on down the gorge where the rapids swirled and foamed white in the gathering darkness. ‘Is there any possibility that you might be able to retrieve the Bhelliom, Prince Sparhawk?’ he asked gravely. ‘I’m afraid we’re at a distinct disadvantage without it. We need something powerful enough to achieve some measure of parity with a group of Gods. Are you at liberty to tell me where you were when you threw it into the sea? I might be able to aid you in its retrieval.’

‘There weren’t any restrictions placed on me about discussing it, learned one,’ Sparhawk replied ruefully. ‘There wasn’t any need for that, since I haven’t got the foggiest idea of where it was. Aphrael chose the spot, and she very carefully arranged things so that we couldn’t identify the place. You might ask her, but I’m fairly sure she won’t tell you.’

Zalasta smiled. ‘She is a bit whimsical, isn’t she?’ he said. ‘We all loved her in spite of that, however.’

‘That’s right, you grew up in the same village with her and Sephrenia, didn’t you?’

‘Oh, yes. I am proud to call them my friends. It was very stimulating trying to keep up with Aphrael. She had a very agile mind. Did she give you any reason for her desire to keep the location a secret?’

‘Not in so many words, but I think she felt that the jewel was far too dangerous to be loosed in the world. It’s even more eternal than the Gods themselves, and probably more powerful. I can’t pretend to even begin to understand where it originated, but it seems to be one of those elemental spirits that are involved in the creation of the universe.’ Sparhawk smiled. ‘That gave me quite a turn when I found out about it. I was carrying something that could create whole suns not six inches from my heart. I think I can understand Aphrael’s concern about the Bhelliom, though. She told us once that the Gods can only see the future imperfectly, and she couldn’t really see what might happen if the Bhelliom fell into the wrong hands. She and I took a very real chance of destroying the world to keep it out of the hands of Azash. She wanted to put it where nobody could ever use it again.’

‘Her thinking is faulty, Prince Sparhawk.’

‘I wouldn’t tell her that, if I were you. She might take it as criticism.’

Zalasta smiled. ‘She knows me, so she’s not upset when I criticise her. If, as you say, the Bhelliom’s one of those energies that’s involved in the constructing of the universe, it must be allowed to continue its work. The universe will be flawed if it is not.’

‘She said that this world won’t last forever,’ Sparhawk shrugged. ‘In time, it’ll be destroyed, and Bhelliom will be freed. The mind sort of shudders away from the notion, but I gather that the space of time stretching from the moment Bhelliom was trapped on this world until the moment the world burns away when our sun explodes is no more than the blinking of an eye to the spirit which inhabits it.’

‘I sort of choke on the notions of eternity and infinity myself, Prince Sparhawk,’ Zalasta admitted.

‘I think we’ll have to accept the notion that Bhelliom’s lost for good, learned one,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘We’re at a disadvantage, certainly, but I don’t see any help for it. We’re going to have to deal with this situation ourselves, I’m afraid.’

Zalasta sighed. ‘You may be right, Prince Sparhawk, but we really need the Bhelliom. Our success or failure may hinge on that stone. I think we should concentrate our efforts on Sephrenia. We must persuade her to intercede with Aphrael. She has an enormous influence on her sister.’

‘Yes,’ Sparhawk agreed. ‘I’ve noticed that. What were they like as children?’

Zalasta looked up into the gathering darkness. ‘Our village changed a great deal when Aphrael was born,’ he reminisced. ‘We knew at once that she was no ordinary child. The Younger Gods are all very fond of her. Of all of them, she is the only child, and they’ve spoiled her outrageously over the aeons.’ He smiled faintly. ‘She’s perfected the art of being a child. All children are lovable, but Aphrael is so skilled at making people love her that she can melt the hardest of hearts. The Gods always get what they want, but Aphrael makes us do what she wants out of love.’

‘I’ve noticed that.’ Sparhawk said wryly.

‘Sephrenia was about nine when her sister was born, and from the moment she first saw the Child-Goddess, she committed her entire life to her service.’ There was a strange note of pain in the magician’s voice as he said it. ‘Aphrael seemed to have almost no infancy,’ he continued. ‘She was born with the ability to speak—or so it seemed—and she was walking in an incredibly short period of time. It was not convenient for her to go through a normal babyhood, so she simply stepped over such things as teething and learning to crawl. She wanted to be a child, not a baby. I was several years older than Sephrenia and already deep into my studies, but I did observe them rather closely. It’s not often that one has the opportunity to watch a God grow up.’

‘Very rare,’ Sparhawk agreed.

Zalasta smiled. ‘Sephrenia spent every moment with her sister. It was obvious from the very beginning that there was a special bond between them. It’s one of Aphrael’s peculiarities that she adopts the subservient position of a young child. She’s a Goddess, and she could command, but she doesn’t. She almost seems to enjoy being scolded. She’s obedient—when it suits her to be—but every so often she’ll do something outrageously impossible—probably just to remind people who she really is.’

Sparhawk remembered the swarm of fairies pollinating the flowers in the palace garden in Cimmura.

‘Sephrenia was a sensible child who always acted older than her years. I suspect Aphrael of preparing her sister for a lifelong task even before she herself was born. In a very real sense, Sephrenia became Aphrael’s mother. She cared for her, fed her, bathed her, although that occasioned some truly stupendous arguments. Aphrael absolutely hates to be bathed—and she really doesn’t need it, since she can make dirt go away whenever she wants to. I don’t know if you noticed it, but her feet always have grass-stains on them, even when she’s in a place where there is no grass. For some reason I can’t begin to fathom, she seems to need those stains.’

The Styric sighed. ‘When Aphrael was about six or so, Sephrenia was obliged to become her mother in fact. The three of us were off in the forest, and while we were gone, a mob of drunken Elene peasants attacked our vilage and killed everyone there.’

Sparhawk drew in his breath sharply. ‘That explains a few things,’ he said. ‘Of course it raises other things even more incomprehensible. After a tragedy like that, what could ever have persuaded Sephrenia to take on the chore of training generations of Pandion Knights?’.

‘Aphrael probably told her to,’ Zalasta shrugged. ‘Don’t make any mistakes, Prince Sparhawk. Aphrael may pretend to be a child, but in truth she is not. She will obey when it suits her, but never forget that she is the one who makes the ultimate decisions, and she always gets what she wants.’

‘What happened after your village was destroyed?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘We wandered for a time in the forest, and then another Styric village took us in. As soon as I was sure that the girls were settled in and safe, I left to pursue my studies. I didn’t see them again for many years, and when I finally met them again, Sephrenia was the beautiful woman she is now. Aphrael, however, was still a child, not a day older than she had been when I left them.’

He sighed again. ‘The time we spent together when we were children was the happiest of my life. The memory of that time strengthens and sustains me when I am troubled.’ He looked up toward the sky where the first stars were beginning to come out. ‘Please make my excuses, Prince Sparhawk. I think I’d like to be alone with my memories tonight.’

‘I will, Zalasta,’ Sparhawk replied, laying a friendly hand on the Styric’s shoulder.

‘We’re fond of him,’ Danae said.

‘Why are you keeping your identity a secret from him then?’

‘I’m not sure, father. Maybe it’s just because girls need secrets.’

‘That doesn’t make sense, you know.’

‘Yes, but I don’t have to make sense. That’s the nice thing about being universally adored.’

‘Zalasta thinks we’re going to need the Bhelliom.’ Sparhawk decided to get right to the point.

‘No.’ Aphrael said it very firmly. ‘I spent too much time and effort getting it into a safe place to turn around and drag it out every time there’s a change in the weather. Zalasta always wants to unleash more power than is really necessary in situations like this. If all we’re facing is the Troll-Gods, we can manage without Bhelliom.’ She held up one hand when he started to object. ‘My decision, Sparhawk,’ she told him.

‘I could always spank you and make you change your mind,’ he threatened.

‘Not unless I let you, you can’t.’ Then she sighed. The Troll-Gods aren’t going to be a problem for much longer.’

‘Oh?’

‘The Trolls are doomed,’ she said rather sadly, ‘and once they’re gone their Gods will be powerless.’

‘Why are the Trolls doomed?’

‘Because they can’t change, Sparhawk. We may not always like it, but that’s the way the world is. The creatures of this world must change—or die. That’s what happened to the Dawn-men. The Trolls supplanted them because they couldn’t change, and now it’s the turn of the Trolls. Their nature is such that they need a great deal of room. A lone Troll needs fifty or so square leagues of range, and he won’t share that range with any other Troll. There just isn’t enough room left for them any more. There are Elenes in the world now as well, and you’re cutting down trees to build your houses and to clear fields for your crops. The Trolls might have survived if they only had to live with Styrics. Styrics don’t chop trees down.’ She smiled. ‘It’s not that we’re really all that fond of trees. It’s just that we don’t have very good axes. When you Elenes discovered how to make steel, you doomed the Trolls—and their Gods.’

‘That lends some weight to the notion that the Trollgods may have allied themselves with someone else,’ Sephrenia noted. ‘If they can understand what’s happening, they’re probably getting desperate. Their survival depends on preserving the Trolls and their range.’

Sparhawk grunted. ‘That might help to explain something that’s been bothering me,’ he said.

‘Oh?’ Sephrenia asked him.

‘If there’s someone involved as well as the Troll-Gods, it might account for the differences I’ve been feeling. I’ve been getting this nagging sense that things aren’t quite the same as they were last time—jarring little discrepancies, if you take my meaning. The major discrepancy lies in the fact that these elaborate schemes with people like Drychtnath and Ayachin are just too subtle for the Troll-Gods to understand.’ He made a rueful face. ‘But that immediately raises another problem. How can this other one get the co-operation of the Troll-Gods if he can’t explain what he’s doing and why?’

‘Would it offend your pride if I offered you a simpler solution?’ Danae asked him.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘The Troll-Gods know that others are smarter than they are, and the one you call ‘our friend’ has a certain hold over them. He can always cram them back into Bhelliom and let them spend several million years in that box on the sea-bottom if they don’t co-operate. Maybe he’s just telling them what he wants them to do without bothering to explain it to them. The rest of the time, he could just be letting them blunder around making noise. All that crashing through the bushes would certainly help conceal what he’s doing, wouldn’t it?’

He stared at her for a long time. Then he laughed. ‘I love you, Aphrael,’ he said, lifting her in his arms and kissing her.

‘He’s such a nice boy,’ the little Goddess beamed to her sister.

Two days later, the weather changed abruptly. Heavy clouds swept in off the Tamul sea several hundred odd leagues to the east, and the sky turned suddenly murky and threatening. To add to the gloom, one of those breakdowns in communications so common in all government enterprises occurred. They reached a clan border marked by a several-hundred-yard-wide strip of open ground about noon only to find no escort awaiting them. The clan which had brought them this far could not cross that border, and, indeed, looked nervously back toward the safety of the forest.

‘There are bad feelings between these two clans, Sparhawk-Knight,’ Engessa advised gravely. ‘It is a serious breach of custom and propriety for either clan to come within five hundred paces of the line between them.’

‘Tell them to go on home, Atan Engessa,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘There are enough of us here to protect the queen, and we wouldn’t want to start a clan war just for the sake of maintaining appearances. The other clan should be along soon, so there’s no real danger.’

Engessa looked a bit dubious, but he spoke with the leader of their escort, and the Atans gratefully melted back into the forest.

‘What now?’ Kalten asked.

‘How about some lunch?’ Sparhawk replied.

‘I thought you’d never think of that.’

‘Have the knights and the Peloi draw up around the carriage and get some cooking fires going. I’ll go tell Ehlana.’ He rode back to the carriage.

‘Where’s the escort?’ Mirtai asked brusquely. Now that she was an adult, Mirtai was even more commanding than she had been before.

‘I’m afraid they’re late,’ Sparhawk told her. ‘I thought we might as well have some lunch while we’re waiting for them.’

‘Absolutely splendid idea, Sparhawk,’ Emban beamed.

‘We thought you might approve, your Grace. The escort should be here by the time we finish eating.’

They were not, however. Sparhawk paced back and forth, chafing at the delay, and his patience finally evaporated. ‘That’s it!’ he said loudly. ‘Let’s get ready to move out.’

‘We’re supposed to wait, Sparhawk,’ Ehlana told him.

‘Not out in the open like this, we’re not. And I’m not going to sit here for two days waiting for some Atan clan-chief to mull his way through a message.’

‘I think we’d better do as he says, friends,’ Ehlana told the others. ‘I know the signs, and my beloved’s beginning to grow short-tempered.’

‘-Er,’ Talen added.

‘You said what?’ Ehlana asked him.

‘Short-tempered-er. Sparhawk’s always shorttempered. It’s only a little worse now. You have to know him very well to be able to tell the difference.’

‘Are you short-tempered-er right now, love?’ she teased her husband.

‘I don’t think there is such a word, Ehlana. Let’s get ‘ready and move on out. The road’s well-marked, so we can hardly get lost.’

The trees beyond the open space were dark cedars with swooping limbs that brushed the ground and concealed everything more than a few yards back into the forest. The clouds rolling in from the east grew thicker and the light back among the trees grew dim. The air hung motionless and sultry, and the whine of mosquitoes seemed to grow louder as they rode deeper into the woods.

‘I love wearing armour in mosquito country,’ Kalten said gaily. ‘I have this picture of hordes of the little blood-suckers sitting around with teeny little hammers trying to pound their beaks straight again,’

‘They won’t really try to bite you through the steel, Sir Kalten,’ Zalasta told him. ‘They’re attracted by your smell, and I don’t think any living creature finds the smell of Elene armour all that appetising.’

‘You’re taking all the fun out of it, Zalasta.’

‘Sorry, Sir Kalten.’

There was a rumble far off to the east. ‘The perfect end to a day gone sour,’ Stragen observed, ‘a nice rousing thunderstorm with lots of lightning, hail, driving rain and howling winds.’

Then, echoing down some unseen canyon back in the forest there came a hoarse, roaring bellow. Almost immediately there came an answer from the opposite direction. Sir Ulath swore, biting off curses the way a dog tears at a piece of meat.

‘What’s wrong?’ Sparhawk demanded.

‘Didn’t you recognise it, Sparhawk?’ the Thalesian said. ‘You’ve heard it before—back at Lake Venne.’

‘What is it?’ Khalad asked apprehensively.

‘It’s a signal that it’s time for us to fort up! Those are Trolls out there!’

22

‘It’s not perfect, friend Sparhawk,’ Kring said. a bit dubiously, ‘but I don’t think we’ve got time to look for anything better.’

‘He’s right about that, Sparhawk,’ Ulath agreed. ‘Time’s definitely a major concern right now.’

The Peloi had ranged out into the surrounding forest in search of some defensible position. Given their nervousness about wooded terrain, Kring’s horsemen had displayed a great deal of courage in the search.

‘Can you give me some details?’ Sparhawk asked the shaved-headed Domi.

‘It’s a blind canyon, friend Sparhawk,’ Kring replied, nervously fingering the hilt of his sabre. ‘There’s a dried-up stream-bed running down the centre of it. From the look of it, I’d say that the stream runs full in the springtime. There seems to be a dry waterfall at the upper end. There’s a cave at the foot of the dry falls that should provide some protection for the women, and it’ll be a good place to defend if things get desperate.’

‘I thought they already were,’ Tynian noted.

‘How wide is the mouth of the canyon?’ Sparhawk asked intently.

‘The canyon mouth itself is maybe two hundred paces across,’ Kring told him, ‘but when you go back in a ways, it narrows down to about twenty paces. Then it widens out again into a sort of a basin where the falls are.’

‘The bad thing about a canyon is that you’re down in a hole,’ Kalten said. ‘It won’t take the Trolls too long to go up to the canyon rim and start throwing rocks down on our heads.’

‘Do we have any choice?’ Tynian asked him.

‘No, but I thought I’d point it out.’

‘There’s no place else?’ Sparhawk asked the Domi.

‘A few clearings,’ Kring shrugged. ‘A hill or two that I could spit over.’

‘It looks like it’s the canyon then,’ Sparhawk said grimly. ‘We’d better get there and start putting up some sort of fortification across that narrow place.’

They gathered closely around the carriage and pushed their way into the forest. The carriage jolted over the rough ground, and on several occasions fallen logs had to be dragged out of the way. After about five hundred yards, though, the ground began to slope upward and the trees thinned out.

Sparhawk pulled Faran in beside the carriage. ‘There’s a cave ahead, Ehlana,’ he told his wife. ‘Kring’s men didn’t have time to explore it, so we don’t know how deep it is.’

‘What difference would that make?’ she asked him. Ehlana’s face was even more pale than usual. The bellowing of the Trolls far back in the forest had obviously unnerved her.

‘It might be very important,’ he replied. ‘When you get there, have Talen explore the place. If it goes back in far enough or branches out, you’ll have a place to hide. Sephrenia’s going to be with you, and she’ll be able to block the entrance and hide any side-chamber so that the Trolls can’t find you if they manage to get past us.’

‘Why don’t we all just go into the cave? You and Sephrenia can use magic to block the entrance, and we can just sit there until the Trolls get bored and go away.’

‘According to Kring, the cave’s not big enough. He’s got men out looking for another one, but we know this one’s there. If something better turns up, we’ll change the plan, but for right now this is the best we can manage. You’ll take the other ladies, Patriarch Emban and Ambassador Oscagne and go inside. Talen will go in with you, and Berit and eight or ten other knights will cover the entrance to the cave. Please don’t argue, Ehlana. This is one of those situations where I make the decisions. You agreed to that back in Chyrellos.’

‘He’s right, your Majesty,’ Emban told her. ‘We need a general right now, not a queen.’

‘Am I encumbering you gentlemen?’ she asked tartly.

‘Not in the slightest, my Queen.’ Stragen said smoothly. ‘Your presence will inspire us to greater heights. We’ll dazzle you with our prowess and our courage.’

‘I’d be happy to simulate dazzlement if we could avoid this,’ she said in a worried voice.

‘I’m afraid you’d have to convince the Trolls on that score,’ Sparhawk told her, ‘and Trolls are very hard to convince particularly if they’re hungry.’

Although the situation was grave, Sparhawk was not quite as desperately concerned about his wife’s safety as he might normally have been. Sephrenia would be there to protect her and if things grew truly desperate, Aphrael could take a hand in the matter as well. He knew that his daughter would not permit any harm to come to her mother, even if it meant revealing her identity.

The canyon had its drawbacks, there was no question about that. The most obvious was the one Kalten had raised. If the Trolls ever reached the canyon rim above them, the situation would quickly become untenable. Kalten made quite an issue of pointing that out. ‘I told you so’ figured prominently in his remarks.

‘I think you’re over-estimating the intelligence of Trolls, Kalten,’ Ulath disagreed. ‘They’ll come straight at us, because they’ll be thinking of us as food not as enemies. Supper’s more important to them than a military victory.’

‘You’re just loaded with cheery thoughts today, aren’t you, Ulath?’ Tynian said dryly. ‘How many of them do you think there are?’

‘It’s hard to say,’ Ulath shrugged. ‘I’ve heard ten different voices so far—probably the heads of families. There’s probably a hundred or so of them out there at the very least.’

‘It could be worse,’ Kalten said.

‘Not by very much,’ Ulath disagreed. ‘A hundred Trolls could have given Warguns’s whole army some serious problems.’

Bevier, their expert on fortifications and defensive positions, had been surveying the canyon. ‘There are plenty of rocks in the stream-bed for breastworks,’ he observed, ‘and whole thickets of saplings for stakes. Ulath, how long do you think we have before they attack?’

Ulath scratched at his chin. ‘The fact that we’re stopping gives us a bit more space,’ he mused. ‘If we were still moving, they’d attack right away, but now they’ll probably take their time and gather their forces. I believe that you might want to re-think your strategy though, Bevier. Trolls aren’t going to shoot arrows at us so breastworks aren’t really necessary. Actually they’d hinder us more than they would the Trolls. Our advantage lies in our horses—and our lances. You really want to keep Trolls at a distance if you possibly can. The sharpened stakes would be good, though. A Troll takes the easiest way to get at what he wants. If we can clutter up the sides of this narrow entrance and funnel them through so that only a few at a time can come at us, we’ll definitely improve the situation. We don’t want to take on more of them at any one time than we absolutely have to. What I’d really like is a dozen or so of Kurik’s crossbows.’

‘I have one, Sir Ulath,’ Khalad volunteered.

‘And many of the knights have longbows,’ Bevier added.

‘We slow them down with the stakes so that we can pick them off with arrows?’ Tynian surmised.

‘That’s the best plan,’Ulath agreed. ‘You don’t want to go hand to hand with a Troll if you can possibly avoid it.’

‘We’d better get at it, then,’ Sparhawk told them.

The work was feverish for the next hour. The narrow gap was necked down even more with boulders from the stream-bed, and a forest of sharpened stakes, all slanting sharply outward, was planted to the front. There was a method to the planting of the stakes. They bristled so thickly along the sides of the gap as to be well-nigh impenetrable, but the corridor leading to the basin at the head of the canyon was planted only sparsely with them to encourage the monsters to follow that route. Kring’s Peloi found a large bramble thicket, uprooted the thorn-bushes, and threw them back among the thick-planted stakes at the sides to further impede progress.

‘What’s Khalad doing there?’ Kalten asked puffing and sweating with the large rock he carried in his arms.

‘He’s building something,’ Sparhawk replied.

‘This isn’t really the time for the construction of camp improvements, Sparhawk.’

‘He’s a sensible young man. I’m sure he’s usefully occupied.’

At the end of the hour, they stopped to survey the fruits of their labours. The gap had been narrowed to no more than eight feet wide, and the ground at the sides of the gap was dense with chest-high stakes angled so that they would keep the Trolls on the right path. Tynian, however, added one small embellishment. A number of his Arciones were driving pegs into the middle of the pathway and then sharpening the protruding ends.

‘Trolls don’t wear shoes, do they?’ he asked Ulath.

‘It’d take half a cow-hide to make shoes for a Troll,’ Ulath shrugged, ‘and they eat cows hide and all, so they’re a little short of leather.’

‘Good. We want to keep them in the centre of the canyon, but we don’t want to make it too easy for them. Barefoot Trolls aren’t going to run through that stubblefield—not after the first few yards, anyway.’

‘I like your style, Tynian,’ Ulath grinned.

‘Could you gentlemen stand off to one side, please?’ Khalad called.

He had cut two fairly sturdy saplings off so that the stumps were about head high and had then lashed a third across them. Then he had strung a rope across the ends of the horizontal sapling and drawn it tight to form a huge bow. The bow was fully drawn, tied off to another stump at the rear, and it was loaded with a ten-foot javelin.

Sparhawk and the others moved off to the sides of the narrow cut, and Khalad released the bow by cutting the rope that held it drawn. The javelin shot forward with a sharp whistling sound and buried itself deep into a tree a good hundred yards down the canyon.

‘I’m going to like that boy,’ Kalten smiled. ‘He’s almost as good at this sort of thing as his father was.’

‘The family shows a lot of promise,’ Sparhawk agreed. ‘Let’s position our archers so that they have a clear shot at that gap.’

‘Right,’ Kalten agreed. ‘What then?’

‘Then we wait.’

‘That’s the part I hate the most. Why don’t we grab something to eat? Just to pass the time, of course.’

‘Of course.’

The storm which had been building to the east all morning was closer now, the clouds purplish-black and seething. There were flickers of lightning deep inside the cloud bank, and the thunder rolled from horizon to horizon, shaking the ground with every peal. They waited. The air was dead calm and sultry and the knights were sweating uncomfortably in their armour.

‘Can we think of anything else?’ Tynian asked.

‘I’ve contrived a few rudimentary catapults,’ Bevier replied. ‘They’re hardly more than bent saplings, so they won’t throw very big rocks, and their range is limited.’

‘I’ll take all the help I can get when it comes to fighting Trolls,’ Ulath told him. ‘Every one of them we knock down before they get to us is one less we’ll have to fight.’

‘Dear God!’!’ Tynian exclaimed.

‘What?’ Kalten demanded with a certain alarm. ‘I think I just saw one of them back at the edge of the forest. Are they all that big?’

‘Nine feet or so tall?’ Ulath asked quite casually.

‘At least.’

‘That’s fairly standard for a Troll, and they weigh between thirty-five and fifty stone.’

‘You’re not serious!’ Kalten said incredulously.

‘Wait just a bit and you’ll be able to weigh one for yourself.’ Ulath looked around at them. ‘Trolls are hard to kill,’ he cautioned. ‘Their hides are very tough, and their skull-bones are almost a half-inch thick. They can take a lot of punishment when they’re excited. If we get in close, try to maim them. You can’t really count on clean kills with Trolls, so every arm you chop off is one less the Troll can grab you with.’

‘Will they have weapons of any kind?’ Kalten asked.

‘Clubs are about all. They aren’t good with spears Their arms aren’t hooked on right for jabbing.’

‘That’s something, anyway.’

‘Not very much,’ Tynian told him.

They waited as the thunder moved ponderously toward them. They saw several more Trolls at the edge of the forest in the next ten minutes, and the bellowing roars of those scouts were obviously summoning the rest of the pack.

The only Troll Sparhawk had ever seen before had been Ghwerig, and Ghwerig had been dwarfed and grossly deformed. He quickly began to revise his assessment of the creatures. They were, as Ulath had stated, about nine feet tall, and they were covered with dark-brown, shaggy fur. Their arms were very long, and their huge hands hung below their knees. Their faces were brutish, with heavy brow-ridges, muzzle-like mouths and protruding fangs. Their eyes were small, deep-set and they burned with a dreadful hunger. They slouched along at the edge of the forest, not really trying to conceal themselves, and Sparhawk clearly saw that their long arms played a significant part in their locomotion, sometimes serving as an additional leg and sometimes grasping trees to help pull themselves along. Their movements were flowing, even graceful, and bespoke an enormous agility.

‘Are we more or less ready?’ Ulath asked them.

I could stand to wait a little longer,’ Kalten replied.

‘How long?’

‘Forty or fifty years sounds about right to me. What did you have in mind?’

‘I’ve seen about fifteen different individuals,’ the big Thalesian noted. ‘They’re coming out one by one to have a look, and that means that they’re all more or less gathered just back under the trees. I thought I’d insult them for a while. When a Troll gets angry, he doesn’t really think. Of course Trolls don’t have very much to think with in the first place. I’d like to provoke them into an ill-considered attack if possible. If I really insult them, they’ll scream and howl and then come rushing out of those woods foaming at the mouths. They’ll be easy targets for the bowmen at that point, and if a few of them get through, we can charge them with our horses and the lances. We should be able to kill quite a few of them before they come to their senses. I’d really like to whittle down their numbers, and enraged Trolls make easy targets.’

‘Do you think we might be able to kill enough of them to frighten the rest away?’ Kalten asked.

‘I wouldn’t count on it, but anything’s possible, I suppose. I’d have sworn that you couldn’t get a hundred Trolls to even walk in the same direction at the same time, so the situation here’s completely new to me.’

‘Let me talk with the others before we precipitate anything,’ Sparhawk told him. He turned and walked back to where the knights and the Peloi waited with their horses. Vanion stood with Stragen, Engessa and Kring.

‘We’re about ready to start,’ Sparhawk told them.

‘Did you plan to invite the Trolls?’ Stragen asked him. ‘Or are we going to begin without them?’

‘Ulath’s going to see if he can provoke them into something rash,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘The stakes should slow them down enough so that our archers can work on them. We really want to thin them out a bit. If they manage to break through, we’ll charge them with lances.’ He looked at Kring. ‘I’m not trying to insult you, Domi, but could you hold back a bit? Ulath tells us that Trolls take a lot of killing. It’s a dirty business, but somebody’s going to have to come along after we charge and kill the wounded.’

Kring’s face clearly registered his distaste. ‘We’ll do it, friend Sparhawk,’ he agreed finally, ‘but only out of friendship. ‘

‘I appreciate that, Kring. As soon as Ulath enrages them enough to get them moving, those of us at the barricade will come back and get on our horses to join the charge. Oh, one thing—just because a Troll has a broken-off lance sticking out of him doesn’t mean that he’s out of action. Let’s stick a few more in each one then—just to be on the safe side. I’ll go advise the ladies that we’re about to start, and then we’ll get on with it.’

‘I’ll go with you,’ Vanion said, and the two of them walked back up the canyon towards the cave-mouth. Berit and a small group of young knights stood guard at the entrance to the cave.

‘Are they coming?’ the handsome young man asked nervously.

‘We’ve seen a few scouts,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘We’re going to try to goad them into an attack. If we have to fight them, I’d rather do it in the daylight.’

‘And before that storm hits,’ Vanion added.

‘I don’t think they’ll get past us,’ Sparhawk told the youthful knight, ‘but stay alert. If things start to look tight, pull back inside the cave.’ Berit nodded.

Then Ehlana, Talen and Sephrenia emerged from the cave. ‘Are they coming?’ Ehlana asked, her voice slightly shrill.

‘Not yet,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘It’s just a question of time, though. We’re going to try to goad them a bit. Ulath thinks he might be able to enrage some of them enough so that they’ll attack before the rest are ready. We’d rather not have to face them all at once if we can avoid it.’ He looked at Sephrenia. ‘Are you up to a spell or two, Sephrenia?’

‘That depends on the spell.’

‘Can you block the cave mouth so that the Trolls can’t get at you and the others?’

‘Probably, and if not, I can always collapse it.’

‘I wouldn’t do that except as a last resort. Wait for Berit and his men to get inside with you, though.’

Talen’s fine clothes were a bit mud-smeared.

‘Any luck?’ Sparhawk asked him.

‘I found a place where a bear spent last winter,’ the boy shrugged. ‘It involved a bit of wriggling. There are a couple of other passageways I want to look at.’

‘Pick the best one you can. If Sephrenia has to bring down the cave-mouth, I’d like to have you all back where it’s safe.’ Talen nodded.

‘Be careful, Sparhawk,’ Ehlana said to him, embracing him fiercely.

‘Always, love.’

Sephrenia had also embraced Vanion, her admonition echoing Ehlana’s. ‘Now go, both of you,’ she added.

‘Yes, little mother,’ Sparhawk and Vanion said in unison.

The two knights started back down the canyon. ‘You don’t approve, do you, Sparhawk?’ Vanion asked gravely.

‘It’s none of my business, my friend.’

‘I didn’t ask if it was any of your business, I asked if you approved. There wasn’t any other way, you know. The laws of both our cultures prohibit our marrying.’

‘I don’t think the laws apply to you two, Vanion. You both have a special friend who ignores the laws when she chooses to.’ He smiled at his old friend. ‘Actually, I’m rather pleased about it. I got very tired of seeing the pair of you moping about the way you were.’

‘Thanks, Sparhawk. I wanted to get that out into the open. I’ll never be able to go back to Eosia, though.’

‘I’d say that’s no great loss under the circumstances. You and Sephrenia are happy, and that’s all that matters.’

‘I’ll agree there. When you get back to Chyrellos, try to put the best face on it you can, though. I’m afraid Dolmant will burst into flames when he hears about it.’

‘He might surprise you, Vanion.’

Sparhawk was a bit startled to discover that he still remembered a few words in Troll. Ulath stood in the centre of their narrow gap, bellowing at the forest in that snarling tongue.

‘What’s he saying?’ Kalten asked curiously.

‘It wouldn’t translate very well,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘Trollish insults lean heavily in the direction of body functions.’

‘Oh. Sorry I asked.’

‘You’d be a lot sorrier if I could translate,’ Sparhawk said, wincing at a particularly vile imprecation Ulath had just hurled at the Trolls.

The Trolls, it appeared, took insults very seriously. Unlike humans, they seemed not to be able to shrug such things off as no more than a customary prelude to battle. They howled at each new sally from the big Genidian Knight. A number of them appeared at the edge of the wood, foaming at the mouth and stamping in rage.

‘How much longer before they charge?’ Tynian asked his tall blond friend.

‘You can’t always tell with Trolls,’ Ulath replied. ‘I don’t think they’re accustomed to fighting in groups. I can’t say for sure, but I think one of them will lose his temper before the others, and he’ll come rushing at us. I’m not positive if the others will follow.’

He roared something else at the huge creatures at the forest’s edge. One of the Trolls shrieked with fury and broke into a shambling, three-legged run, brandishing a huge club in his free hand. First one Troll, then several others, began to run after him. Sparhawk glanced around, checking the positions of his archers. Khalad, he noted, had given his crossbow to another young Pandion and stood coolly sighting along the shaft of the javelin resting across the centre of his improvised engine.

The Troll in the lead was swinging wildly at the sharpened stakes with his club, but the springy saplings bent beneath his blows and then snapped back into place. The enraged Troll lifted his muzzle and howled in frustration.

Khalad cut the rope holding his over-sized bow drawn back. The limbs of the bow snapped forward with an almost musical twang, and the javelin shot forward in a long, smooth arc to sink into the Troll’s vast, furry chest with a meaty-sounding ‘chunk!’ The Troll jerked back and stood staring stupidly at the shaft protruding from his chest. He touched it with one tentative finger as if he could not even begin to understand how it had got there. Then he sat down heavily with blood pouring from his mouth. He grasped the shaft feebly with both hands and wrenched at it. A fresh gush of blood burst from his mouth, and he sighed and toppled over on one side.

‘Good shot,’ Kalten called his congratulations to Sparhawk’s squire, who, with the help of two other young Pandions, was already re-cocking the engine.

‘Pass the word to the other archers,’ Khalad called back. ‘The Trolls stop when they come to those stakes. They don’t seem to be able to understand them, and they make perfect targets when they’re standing still like that.’

‘Right.’ Kalten went to the archers on one side of the canyon and Bevier to the other to pass the word along. The half-dozen or so Trolls who had followed the first one paid no attention to his fall and lunged on forward towards the field of sharpened stakes.

‘We might have a problem, Sparhawk,’ Tynian said. ‘They’re not used to fighting in groups, so they don’t pay any attention to casualties. Ulath says that they don’t die of natural causes, so they don’t really understand what death’s all about. I don’t think they’ll back away just because we kill all their comrades. It’s not like fighting humans, I’m afraid. They’ll make one charge, and they’ll keep coming until they’re all dead. We may have to adjust our tactics to take that into account.’

More Trolls came out of the trees, and Ulath continued to shout obscenities at them. Kalten and Bevier returned.

‘I just had a thought,’ Kalten said. ‘Ulath, will the females attack too?’

‘Probably.’

‘How do you tell the females from the males?’

‘Are you having urges?’

‘That’s disgusting. I just don’t want to kill women, that’s all.’

‘Women? These are Trolls, Kalten, not people. You can’t tell a female from a male unless she’s got cubs with her—or unless you get very, very close to her—and that’s not a good idea. A sow will tear off your head just as quickly as a boar will.’

The Genidian went back to shouting insults. More Trolls joined the charge, and then, with a vast roar, the entire edge of the woods erupted with the monsters. They did not pause, but joined the loping herd.

‘That’s it,’ Ulath said with a certain satisfaction. ‘The whole pack’s committed now. Let’s go get our horses.’

‘They ran back to join the others as the several Cyrinics firing Bevier’s improvised catapults and the Pandions working Khalad’s engine began to launch missiles at the oncoming Trolls. The archers at the canyon walls rained arrows into the shaggy ranks. Some Trolls fell, riddled with arrows, but others continued the charge, ignoring the shafts sticking out of them.

‘I don’t think we can count on their breaking and running just because their friends have been killed,’ Sparhawk told Vanion and the others as he hauled himself onto Faran’s back.

‘Friends?’ Stragen said mildly. ‘Trolls don’t have friends, Sparhawk. They aren’t even particularly fond of their mates.’

‘What I’m getting at is the fact that this is all going to be settled in one fight,’ Sparhawk said to them. ‘There probably won’t be a second charge. They’ll just keep coming until they break through or until they’re all dead.’

‘It’s better that way, friend Sparhawk,’ Kring said with a wolfish grin. ‘Protracted fights are boring, wouldn’t you say?’

‘I wouldn’t say that, would you, Ulath?’ Tynian asked mildly.

The knights moved into formation, their lances at the ready as the Trolls continued their bellowing advance. The first half-dozen or so Trolls that had been in the forefront of the charge were all down now, either dead or dying of arrow wounds, and the front rank of the bellowing horde was faltering as sheets of arrows struck them. The Trolls at the rear, however, simply ran over the top of their mortally wounded companions. Mouths agape and fangs dripping, they charged on and on.

The sharpened stakes served their purpose well. The Trolls, after a few futile efforts to break through the bristling forest, were forced into the narrow corridor where they were jammed together and milled impatiently behind the brutes who were leading the charge as Tynian’s sharpened pegs protruding from the ground slowed the rushing advance of the leaders. Not even the most enraged creature in the world charges very well on sore paws.

Sparhawk looked around. The knights were drawn up into a column, four abreast, and their lances were all slightly advanced. The Trolls continued their limping charge up the gap until the first rank, also four abreast, reached the end of the stake-lined corridor where it opened out into the basin.

‘I guess it’s time,’ he said. Then he rose up in his stirrups and roared ‘Charge!’

The tactic Sparhawk had devised for the Church Knights was simple. They would charge four abreast into the face of the Trolls as soon as the creatures came out into the basin. They would drive their lances into the first rank of Trolls and then veer off, two-by-two, to the sides of the gap so that the next rank of four could make their charge. Once they had moved out of the way, they would return to the end of the column, take up fresh lances and proceed in an orderly fashion to the front rank again. It was, in effect, an endless charge. Sparhawk was rather proud of the concept. It probably wouldn’t work against humans, but it had great potential in an engagement with Trolls.

Shaggy carcasses began to pile up at the head of the gap. A Troll, it appeared, was not guileful enough to play dead. He would continue to attack until he died or was so severely injured that he could not continue. After several ranks of the knights had struck the Trollfront, some of the brutes had as many as four broken-off lances protruding from them. Still the monsters came, clambering over the bleeding bodies of their fellows.

Sparhawk, Vanion, Kalten and Tynian made their charge. They speared fresh Trolls in the raging front, snapped off their lances with well-practise twists of their arms and veered off to the sides.

‘Your plan seems to be going well,’ Kalten congratulated his friend. ‘The horses have time to rest between charges.’

‘That was part of the idea,’ Sparhawk replied a bit smugly as he took a fresh lance from the rack at the rear of the column.

The storm was nearly on them now. The howling wind shrieked among the trees, and lightning staggered down in brilliant flashes from the purple clouds. Then, from back in the forest there came a tremendous bellow.

‘What in God’s name was that?’ Kalten cried. ‘Nothing can make that much noise!’

Whatever it was, was huge, and it was coming toward them, crushing the forest as it came. The raging wind carried a foul, reptilian reek as it tore at the visored faces of the armoured knights.

‘It stinks like a charnel-house!’ Tynian shouted over the noise of the storm and the battle.

‘Can you tell what it is, Vanion?’ Sparhawk demanded.

‘No,’ the Preceptor replied. ‘Whatever it is, it’s big, though—bigger than anything I’ve ever encountered.’ Then the rain struck in driving sheets, obscuring the knights’ vision and half-concealing the advancing Trolls.

‘Keep at them!’ Sparhawk commanded,in a great voice. ‘Don’t let up.’

The methodical charges continued as the Trolls doggedly pushed through the mud into the killing zone. The strategy was going well, but it had not been without casualties. Several horses were down, felled by club strokes from wounded and enraged Trolls, and a few armoured knights lay motionless on the rain-swept ground.

Then the wind suddenly dropped, and the rain slackened as the calm at the centre of the storm passed over them.

‘What’s that?’ Tynian shouted pointing beyond the howling Trolls: It was a single, incandescent spark, brighter than the sun, and it hung just over the edge of the forest. It began to grow ominously, swelling, surging, surrounded by a blazing halo of purplish light.

‘There’s something inside it!’ Kalten yelled.

Sparhawk strained to see, squinting in the brilliant purple light that illuminated the battle-ground. ‘It’s alive,’ he said tersely. ‘It’s moving.’

The ball of purple light swelled faster and faster, and blazing orange flames shot out from the edges of it. There was someone standing in the centre of that fiery ball—someone robed and hooded and burning green. The figure raised one hand, opened it wide, and a searing bolt of lightning shot from that open palm. A charging Cyrinic Knight and his horse were blasted into charred fragments by the bolt.

And then, from behind that searing light, an enormous shape reared up out of the forest. It was impossible that anything alive could be so huge. The head left no doubt that the creature was reptilian. The huge head was earlessly sleek, scaly and had a protruding, lipless muzzle filled with row after row of back-curving teeth. It had a short neck, narrow shoulders and tiny forepaws. The rest of the body was mercifully concealed by the trees.

‘We can’t fight that thing!’ Kalten cried. The hooded figure within the ball of purple and orange fire raised its arm again. It seemed to clench itself, and then again the lightning shot from its open palm—and stopped, exploding in midair in a dazzling shower of sparks.

‘Did you do that?’ Vanion shouted at Sparhawk.

‘Not me, Vanion. I’m not that fast.’

Then they heard the deep, resonant voice chanting in Styric. Sparhawk wheeled Faran to look. It was Zalasta. The silvery-haired Styric stood partway up the steep slope on the north side of the canyon, his white robe gleaming in the storm’s half-light. He had both arms extended over his head, and his staff, which Sparhawk had thought to be no more than an affectation, blazed with energy. He swung the staff downward, pointing it at the hooded figure standing in its fiery nimbus. A brilliant spark shot from the tip of the staff and sizzled as it passed over the heads of the Peloi and the armoured knights to explode against the ball of fire. The figure in the fire flinched, and once more lightning shot from its open palm, directed at Zalasta this time. The Styric brushed it disdainfully aside with his staff and immediately responded with another of those brilliant sparks of light which shattered like the last on the surface of the ball of fire. Again the hooded one inside its protecting fire flinched, more violently this time. The gigantic creature behind it screamed and drew back into the darkness. The Church Knights, dumbfounded by the dreadful confrontation, had frozen in their tracks.

‘We have our own work to attend to, gentlemen!’ Vanion roared his reminder. ‘Charge!’

Sparhawk shook his head to clear his mind. ‘Thanks, Vanion,’ he said to his friend. ‘I got distracted there for a moment.’

‘Pay attention, Sparhawk,’ Vanion said crisply in precisely the same tone he had always used on the practice field years before when Sparhawk and Kalten had been novices.

‘Yes, my Lord Preceptor,’ Sparhawk replied automatically in the self-same embarrassed tone he had used as a stripling.

The two looked at each other, and then they both laughed.

‘Just like old times,’ Kalten said gaily. ‘Well then, why don’t we go Troll-hunting and leave the incidentals to Zalasta?’

The knights continued their endless charge and the two magicians continued their fiery duel overhead. The Trolls were no less savage now, but their numbers were diminished and the huge pile of their dead impeded their attack. The bloody work on the ground went on and on while the air above the battleground sizzled and crackled with awful fire.

‘Is it my imagination, or is our purple friend up there getting a little pale and wan?’ Tynian suggested as they took up fresh lances once more.

‘His fire’s beginning to fade just a bit,’ Kalten agreed. ‘And he’s taking longer and longer to work himself up to another thunderbolt.’

‘Don’t grow over-confident, gentlemen,’ Vanion admonished them. ‘We still have Trolls to deal with, and that oversized lizard’s still out there in the forest.’

‘I was trying very hard not to think about that,’ Kalten replied.

Then, very suddenly, as suddenly as it had expanded, the bit of purple-orange fire began to contract. Zalasta stepped up his attack, the fiery sparks shooting from his staff in rapid succession to burst against the outer surface of that rapidly constricting nimbus like fiery hail. Then the blazing orb vanished.

A cheer went up from the Peloi, and the Trolls cheered. Khalad, his face strangely numb, set another javelin on his improvised engine and cut the rope to unleash his missile. The javelin sprang from the huge bow, and as it sped forward it seemed to ignite, and it blazed with light as it arced out higher and farther than any of the young man’s previous shots had done.

The great lizard rearing up out of the forest roared, its awful mouth gaping. And then the burning javelin took it full in the chest. It sank deep, and the hideous creature shrieked a great cry of agony and rage, its tiny forepaws clutching futilely at the burning shaft. And then there was a heavy, muffled thud within the monster’s body, a confined explosion that shook the very ground. The vast lizard burst open in a spray of bloody fire, and its ripped remains sank twitching back into the forest. A nebulous kind of wavering appeared at the edge of the trees, a wavering very much like the shimmer of heat on a hot summer day, and then they all saw something emerging from that shimmer. It was a face only, brutish, ugly and filled with rage and frustration. The shaggy face sloped sharply back from its fang-filled muzzle, and the pig-like eyes burned in their sockets. It howled—a vast howl that tore at the very air. It howled again, and Sparhawk recoiled. The wavering apparition was bellowing in Trollish again it howled, its thunderous voice bending the trees around it like a vast wind.

‘What in God’s name is that?’ Bevier cried.

‘Ghworg,’ Ulath replied tensely, ‘the Troll-God of Kill.’

The immortal beast howled yet again, and then it vanished.

23

All semblance of co-operation among the Trolls vanished with the disappearance of Ghworg. They were not, as Ulath had so frequently pointed out, creatures which normally ran in packs, and without the presence of the God to coerce them into semi-unity, they reverted to their customary antagonism toward each other. Their charge faltered as a number of very nasty fights broke out in their ranks. These fights quickly spread, and within moments there was a general brawl in progress out beyond the mouth of the canyon.

‘Well?’ Kalten asked Ulath.

‘It’s over,’ the Genidian Knight shrugged, ‘—at least our part of it is. The riot among the Trolls themselves might go on for quite a while, though.’

Kring, it appeared, had reached the same conclusion, and his Peloi moved purposefully on the heaps of Trollish casualties, their sabres and lances at the ready. Khalad was still standing behind his roughly constructed engine, his face blank and his eyes unseeing. Then he seemed to awaken.

‘What happened?’ he asked, looking around with some confusion.

‘You killed that big reptile, my young friend,’ Tynian told him. ‘It was a spectacular shot.’

‘I did? I don’t remember even shooting at it. I thought it was out of range.’

Zalasta had come down from the sloping side of the canyon with a look of satisfaction on his beetle-browed face. ‘I’m afraid I had to override your thoughts for a few moments there, young sir,’ he explained to Sparhawk’s Squire. ‘I needed your engine to deal with the thunder beast. I hope you’ll forgive me, but there wasn’t time to consult with you about it.’

‘That’s quite all right, learned one. I just wish I’d been able to see the shot. What kind of beast was it?’

‘Its species roamed the earth millions of years ago,’ the Styric replied. ‘Before mankind or even the Trolls emerged. Our opponent appears to be very gifted in resurrecting the ancient dead.’

‘Was that him inside that ball of fire?’ Kalten asked.

‘I can’t be positive about that, Sir Kalten. It seems that we have many layers of enemies out there. If the one in the orb wasn’t our main enemy, though, he was probably very high up in the opposing councils. He was most skilled.’

‘Let’s see to the wounded,’ Vanion said crisply. Despite his protestations that Sparhawk was now in charge of the Pandions, the habit of command still ran deep in Vanion’s blood.

‘We might want to barricade that gap as well,’ Ulath suggested, ‘just to keep the surviving Trolls from paying us any unannounced visits during the night.’

‘I’ll go advise the ladies that the worst of this is over,’ Sparhawk told them. He turned Faran and rode back to the cave. He was a bit surprised and more than a bit exasperated to find Ehlana and the rest of the party from the cavern standing out in the open. ‘I told you to stay in the cave,’ he reprimanded his wife sharply.

‘You didn’t really expect me to do it, did you?’

‘Yes, as a matter of fact, I did.’

‘Life’s just filled with these little disappointments, isn’t it?’ Her tone was challenging.

‘That will do, children,’ Sephrenia said wearily. ‘Domestic squabbles shouldn’t be aired in public. Do your fighting in private.’

‘We weren’t fighting, were we, Sparhawk?’ Ehlana said.

‘We were just about to start.’

‘I’m sorry, dear,’ she apologised contritely. ‘I couldn’t bear to stay inside while you were in such terrible danger.’ Then she made a wry face. ‘Right now I’m going to have to choke down my royal pride and eat a large dish of crow. I’ve wronged Zalasta dreadfully. He saved the day for us, didn’t he?’

‘He certainly didn’t hurt us,’ Talen agreed.

‘He was stupendous!’ the queen exclaimed.

‘He’s very, very skilled,’ Sephrenia said proudly. Perhaps unconsciously, she was holding Danae in her arms. Their centuries of sisterhood had made the small Styric woman’s responses instinctive.

‘What was that awful face at the edge of the woods?’ Sir Berit asked with a shudder.

‘Ulath says it was Ghworg, the Troll-God of Kill,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘I sort of remember him from the Temple of Azash back in Zemoch. I didn’t really look at him that closely then, though. I was a little preoccupied at the time.’ He made a face.

‘Well, little mother,’ he said to Sephrenia, ‘it looks as if we might have been right. I’d say that Ghwerig’s spell wasn’t quite as iron-clad as we originally thought. The Troll-Gods are loose—at least Ghworg is. But what baffles me is why they didn’t escape earlier. If they could get out at any time, why didn’t they break free when I threatened to smash Bhelliom in the temple?’

‘Maybe they needed help,’ she shrugged. ‘It’s altogether possible that our enemy was able to enlist their aid by offering to help them escape their imprisonment. We’ll ask Zalasta. He might know.’

More of the knights had been injured during the fight with the Trolls than Sparhawk had originally thought, and some fifteen of their number had been killed. As evening settled into the canyon, Engessa came to Sparhawk, his eyes hard.

‘I’ll leave now, Sparhawk-Knight,’ he said abruptly. Sparhawk looked at him, startled. ‘I must go have words with the clan of this region. Their failure to be at the boundary was inexcusable.’

‘There was probably a reason for it, Atan Engessa.’

‘No reason that I’ll accept. I’ll be back in the morning with enough warriors to protect Ehlana-Queen.’

‘There are Trolls out there in the forest, you know.’

‘They will not greatly inconvenience me, Sparhawk-Knight.’

‘Just be careful, Atan Engessa. I’m getting very tired of burying friends.’

Engessa suddenly grinned at him. ‘That’s one of the good things about fighting Trolls, Sparhawk-Knight. You don’t have to bury dead friends. The Trolls eat them.’ Sparhawk shuddered.

Zalasta was clearly the hero of the day. All of the Peloi and most of the Church Knights were obviously in awe of him. The vision of his explosive duel with the hooded figure in the blazing purple orb and the spectacular demise of the vast reptile was vividly etched on the minds of the entire party. He bore himself modestly, however, shrugging off his stunning accomplishments as if they were of no moment. He did, however, seem very pleased that Ehlana’s animosity had dissolved and that she was now whole-heartedly cordial toward him. His somewhat stiff manner softened—Ehlana had that effect on people—and he became somehow less reserved and more human.

Engessa arrived the next morning with a thousand Atan clansmen. The faces of their officers clearly showed that Engessa had spoken firmly with them about their failure to be at the clan-border at the appointed time. The wounded knights were placed on litters borne by Atan warriors, and the much enlarged party moved slowly on back to the road and continued eastward toward Lebas in Tamul proper. Hindered as they were by the wounded, they did not make good time—or so it seemed. After what had apparently been two full days of travel, Sparhawk spoke very briefly with his daughter, advising her that he needed to talk with her at some point while the minds of the others were asleep. When the blank faces of his companions indicated that Aphrael was compressing time again, he rode back to the carriage.

‘Please get right to the point, Sparhawk,’ the little goddess told him. ‘It’s very difficult this time.’

‘Is it different somehow?’

‘Of course it is. I’m extending the pain of the wounded, and that’s very distasteful. I’m making them sleep as much as possible, but there are limits, you know.’

‘All right then, how much of what happened back there was real?’

‘How could I possibly know that?’

‘You mean you can’t tell.’

‘Well, of course I can’t, Sparhawk. When we create an illusion, nobody can tell. It wouldn’t be much of an illusion if someone could detect it, would it?’

‘You said ‘we’. If it was an illusion, there was a God behind it then?’

‘Yes—either directly or indirectly. If it was indirectly, though, someone has a great deal of influence with whatever God was involved. We don’t surrender that much power very often—or very willingly. Don’t beat around the bush, Sparhawk. What’s bothering you?’

‘I don’t really know, Aphrael,’ he confessed. ‘Something about it didn’t seem quite right.’

‘Specifics, Sparhawk. I need something specific to work with.’

‘It just seemed to me that it was overdone, that’s all. I got a distinct feeling that someone was just showing off. It was adolescent.’

She considered that, her bow-like little mouth pouting. ‘Maybe we are adolescent, Sparhawk. It’s one of the dangers of our situation. There’s nothing powerful enough to make us grow up, so we’re at liberty to indulge ourselves. I’ve even noticed that in my own character.’

‘You?’

‘Be nice, father.’ She said it almost absently, her small black brows knitted in concentration. ‘It’s certainly consistent,’ she added. ‘Back in Astel, that Sabre fellow showed a rather profound lack of maturity, and he was being rather tightly controlled. You may just have hit upon one of our weaknesses, Sparhawk. I’d rather you didn’t apply the notion to me directly, but keep the idea that we’re all just a bit immature sort of in the front of your mind. I won’t be able to see it myself, I’m afraid. If it is one of our failings, I’m just as infected with it as the others. We all love to impress each other, and it’s polite to be impressed when someone else is showing off.’

She made a little face. ‘It’s automatic, I’m afraid. Keep a firm hold on your scepticism, Sparhawk. Your cold-eyed lack of gullibility might be very useful. Now please go back to sleep. I’m very busy right now.’

They crossed the summit of the mountains of Atan and moved on down the eastern slopes toward the border. The demarcation between Atan and Tamul was abrupt and clearly evident. Atan was a wilderness of trees and rugged peaks, Tamul was a carefully-tended park. The fields were excruciatingly neat, and even the hills seemed to have been artfully sculpted to provide pleasing prospects and vistas. The peasantry seemed industrious, and they did not have that expression of hopeless misery so common on the faces of the peasants and serfs of the Elene Kingdoms.

‘Organisation, my dear Emban,’ Oscagne was telling the fat little churchman. ‘The key to our success lies in organisation. All power in Tamul descends from the emperor, and all decisions are made in Matherion. We even tell our peasants when to plant and when to harvest. I’ll admit that central planning has its drawbacks, but the Tamul nature seems to require it.’

‘Elenes, unfortunately, are much less disciplined, Emban replied. ‘The Church would be happier with a more docile congregation, but we have to make do with what God gave us to work with.’ He smiled. ‘Oh, well, it keeps life interesting.’

They reached Lebas late one afternoon. It was a small, neat city with a distinctly alien-looking architecture that leaned strongly in the direction of artistic embellishment. The houses were low and broad, with graceful roofs that curved upward at the ends of their ridge-lines as if the architects felt that abrupt straight lines were somehow incomplete. The cobbled streets were broad and straight, and they were filled with citizens dressed in brightly coloured silks. The entrance of the westerners created quite a stir, since the Tamuls had never seen Elene knights before. It was the Queen of Elenia, however, who astonished them the most. The Tamuls were a golden-skinned, dark-haired people, and the pale, blonde queen filled them with awe as her carriage moved almost ceremonially through the streets.

Their first concern, of course, was the wounded. Oscagne assured them that Tamul physicians were among the finest in the world. It appeared, moreover, that the ambassador held a fairly exalted rank in the empire. A house was immediately provided for the injured knights, and a medical staff seemed to materialise at his command. Additional houses were provided for the rest of their company, and those houses were fully staffed with servants who could not understand a single word of the Elenic language.

‘You seem to throw a great deal of weight around, Oscagne,’ Emban said that evening after they had eaten an exotic meal consisting of course after course of unidentifiable delicacies and sometimes startling flavours.

‘I’m not the overweight one, my friend,’ Oscagne smiled. ‘My commission is signed by the emperor, and his hand had the full weight of the entire Daresian continent behind it. He’s ordered that all of Tamuli do everything possible—and even impossible—to make the visit of Queen Ehlana pleasant and convenient. No one ever disobeys his orders.’

‘They must not have reached the Trolls then,’ Ulath said blandly. ‘Of course Trolls have a different view of the world than we do. Maybe they thought Queen Ehlana would be entertained by their welcome.’

‘Does he have to do that?’ Oscagne complained to Sparhawk.

‘Ulath? Yes, I think he does, your Excellency. It’s something in the Thalesian nature, terribly obscure, I’m afraid, and quite possibly perverted.’

‘Sparhawk.’ Ulath protested.

‘Nothing personal there, old boy,’ Sparhawk grinned, ‘just a reminder that I haven’t yet quite forgiven you for all the times you’ve tricked me into doing the cooking when it wasn’t really my turn.’

‘Hold still,’ Mirtai commanded.

‘You got some of it in my eye,’ Talen accused her.

‘It won’t hurt you. Now hold still.’ She continued to daub the mixture onto his face.

‘What is that, Mirtai?’ Baroness Melidere asked curiously.

‘Saffron. We use it in our cooking. It’s a kind of a spice.’

‘What are we doing here?’ Ehlana asked curiously as she and Sparhawk entered the room to find the Atana spreading the condiment over Talen’s face.

‘We’re modifying your page, my Queen,’ Stragen explained. ‘He has to go out into the streets, and we want him to be unobtrusive. Mirtai’s changing the colour of his skin.’

‘You could do that with magic, couldn’t you, Sparhawk?’ Ehlana asked.

‘Probably,’ he said, ‘and if I couldn’t, Sephrenia certainly could.’

‘Now you tell me,’ Talen said in a slightly bitter tone. ‘Mirtai’s been seasoning me for the past half hour.’

‘You smell good, though,’ Melidere told him.

‘I didn’t set out to be somebody’s supper. Ouch.’

‘Sorry,’ Alcan murmured, carefully disengaging her comb from a snarl in his hair. ‘I have to work the dye in, though, or it won’t look right.’ Alcan was applying black dye to the young man’s hair.

‘How long will it take me to wash this yellow stuff off?’ Talen asked.

‘I’m not sure,’ Mirtai shrugged. ‘It might be permanent, but it should grow out in a month or so.’

‘I’ll get you for this, Stragen,’ Talen threatened.

‘Hold still,’ Mirtai said again and continued her daubing.

‘We have to make contact with the local thieves,’ Stragen explained. ‘The thieves at Sarsos promised that we’d get a definite answer here in Lebas.’

‘I see a large hole in the plan, Stragen,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘Talen doesn’t speak Tamul.’

‘That’s no real problem,’ Stragen shrugged. ‘The chief of the local thieves is a Cammorian.’

‘How did that happen?’

‘We’re very cosmopolitan, Sparhawk. All thieves are brothers, after all, and we recognise the aristocracy of talent. Anyway, as soon as he can pass for a Tamul, Talen’s going to the local thieves’ den to talk with Caalador—that’s the Cammorian’s name. He’ll bring him here, and we’ll be able to talk with him privately.’

‘Why aren’t you the one who’s going?’

‘And get saffron all over my face? Don’t be silly, Sparhawk.’

Caalador the Cammorian was a stocky, red-faced man with curly black hair and an open, friendly countenance. He looked more like a jovial innkeeper than a leader of thieves and cutthroats. His manner was bluff and good humoured, and he spoke in the typical Cammorian drawl and with the slovenly grammar that bespoke back-country origins.

‘So yet the one oz has got all the thieves of Daresia so sore perplexed,’ he said to Stragen when Talen presented him.

‘I’ll have to plead guilty on that score, Caalador, Stragen smiled.

‘Don’t never do that, brother. Alluz try’n lie yet way outten thangs.’

‘I’ll try to remember that. What are you doing so far from home, my friend?’

‘I nought ax you the same question, Stragen. It’s a fur piece from here t’ Thalesia.’

‘And quite nearly as far from Cammoria.’

‘Ain, that’s easy explained, m’ friend. I started out in life oz a poacher, ketchin’ rabbits an’ sick in the bushes on land that weren’t rightly mine, but that’s a sore hard kinda work with lotsar risk and mighty slim profit, so I tooken t’ liftin’ chickens outten hen-roosts—chickens not runnin’ near oz fast oz rabbits, especial at night. Then I moved up t’ sheep-stealing—only one night I had me a set-to with a hull passel o’ sheep-dawgs which it wuz oz betrayed me real cruel by not stayin’ bribed.’

‘How do you bribe a dog?’ Ehlana asked curiously.

‘Easiest thang in the world, little lady. Y thrum ‘em some meat-scraps t’ keep then attention.

‘Well, sir, them there dawgs tore into me somethin’ fierce, an’ I lit out leavin’, misfortunate-like, a hat which it wuz I wuz partial ‘to an’ which it wuz oz could be rekonnized oz mine by half the parish. Now, I’m gist a country boy at hert ‘thout no real citified ways t’ get me by in town, an’ so I tooken t’ sea, an’ t’ make it short, I fetched up on this yore furrin coast an’ beat my way inland, the capting of the ship I wuz a-sailin’ on wanhn’ t’ talk t’ me ‘bout some stuff oz had turnt up missin’ tum the cargo hold, y’ know.’ He paused.

‘Have I sufficiently entertained you as yet, Milord Stragen?’ he grinned.

‘Very, very good, Caalador,’ Stragen murmured. ‘Convincing—although it was a trifle overdone.’

‘A failing, Milord. It’s so much fun that I get carried away. Actually, I’m a swindler. I’ve found that posing as an ignorant yokel disarms people. No one in this world is as easy to gull as the man who thinks he’s smarter than you are.’

‘Ohh.’ Ehlana’s tone was profoundly disappointed.

‘Wuz yet Majesty tooken with the iggernent way I wuz ‘atalkin?’ Caalador asked sympathetically. ‘I’ll do ‘er agin, iff’n yet of a mind—of course it takes a beastly long time to get to the point that way.’

She laughed delightedly. ‘I think you could charm the birds out of the bushes, Caalador,’ she told him.

‘Thank you, your Majesty,’ he said, bowing with fluid grace. Then he turned back to Stragen. ‘Your proposal has baffled our Tamul friends, Milord,’ he said. ‘The demarcation line between corruption and outright theft is very clearly defined in the Tamul culture. Tamul thieves are quite class-conscious, and the notion of actually co-operating with the authorities strikes them as unnatural for some reason. Fortunately, we Elenes are far more corrupt than our simple yellow brothers, and Elenes seem to rise to the top in our peculiar society natural talent, most likely. We saw the advantages of your proposal immediately. Kondrak of Darsas was most eloquent in his presentation. You seem to have impressed him enormously. The disturbances here in Tamuli have been disastrous for business, and when we began reciting profit and loss figures to the Tamuls, they started to listen to reason. They agreed to co-operate grudgingly, I’ll grant you, but they will help you to gather information.’

‘Thank God!’ Stragen said with a vast sigh of relief. ‘The delay was beginning to make me very, very nervous.’

‘Ye made promises t’ yet queen, an’ y’ wuzn’t shore iff’n y’ could deliver, is that it?’

‘That’s very, very close, my friend.’

‘I’ll give you the names of some people in Matherion.’ Caalador looked around. ‘Private-like, if’n y’ take my meanin’,’ he added. ‘It’s all vury well t’ talk ‘bout lendin’ a helpin’ hand an’ sich, but ‘taint hardly nach’ral t’ be namin’ no names right out in fronta no queens an’ knights an’ sich.’ He grinned impudently at Ehlana. ‘An’ now, yet queenship, how’d y’ like it iff’n I wuz t’ spin y’ a long, long tale ‘bout my advenchoors in the shadowy world o’ crime?’

‘I’d be delighted, Caalador,’ she replied eagerly.

Another of the injured knights died that night, but the two dozen sorely-wounded seemed on the mend. As Oscagne had told them, Tamul physicians were extraordinarily skilled, although some of their methods were strange to Elenes.

After a brief conference, Sparhawk and his friends decided to press on to Matherion. Their trek across the continent had yielded a great deal of information, and they all felt that it was time to combine that information with the findings of the Imperial government.

And so they set out from Lebas early one morning and rode south under a kindly summer sky. The countryside was neat, with crops growing in straight lines across weedless fields marked off with low stone walls. Even the trees in the woodlands grew in straight lines, and all traces of unfettered nature seemed to have been erased. The peasants in the fields wore loose-fitting trousers and shirts of white linen and tightly-woven straw hats that looked not unlike mushroom-tops. Many of the crops grown in this alien countryside were unrecognisable to the Elenes—odd-looking beans and peculiar grains.

They passed Lake Sama and saw fishermen casting nets from strange-looking boats with high prows and sterns, boats of which Khalad profoundly disapproved.

‘One good gust of wind from the side would capsize them,’ was his verdict.

They reached Toea, some sixty leagues to the north of the capital, with that sense of impatience that comes near the end of every long journey. The weather held fair, and they set out early and rode late each day, counting off every league put behind them. The road followed the coast of the Tamul sea, a low, rolling coast-line where rounded hills rose from broad beaches of white sand and long waves rolled in to break and foam and slither back out into deep blue water. Eight days—more or less—after they left Toea, they set up for the night in a park-like grove with an almost holiday air, since Oscagne assured them that they were no more than five leagues from Matherion.

‘We could ride on,’ Kalten suggested. ‘We’d be there by morning.’

‘Not on your life, Sir Kalten,’ Ehlana said adamantly. ‘Start heating water, gentlemen, and put up a tent we can use for bathing. The ladies and I are not going to ride into Matherion with half the dirt of Daresia caked on us—and string some lines so that we can hang our gowns out to air and to let the breeze shake the wrinkles out of them.’ She looked around critically. ‘And then, gentlemen, I want you to see to yourselves and your equipment. I’ll inspect you before we set out tomorrow morning, and I’d better not find one single speck of rust.’

Kalten sighed mournfully. ‘Yes, my Queen,’ he replied in a resigned tone of voice.

They set out the following morning in a formal column with the carriage near the front. Their pace was slow to avoid raising dust, and Ehlana, gowned in blue and crowned with gold and diamonds, sat regally in the carriage, looking for all the world as if she owned everything in sight. There had been one small but intense disagreement before they set out, however. Her Highness, the Royal Princess Danae, had objected violently when told that she would wear a proper dress and a delicate little tiara. Ehlana did not cajole her daughter about the matter, but instead she did something she had never done before. ‘Princess Danae,’ she said quite formally, ‘I am the queen. You will obey me.’ Danae blinked in astonishment. Sparhawk was fairly certain that no one had ever spoken to her that way before. ‘Yes, your Majesty,’ she replied finally in a suitably submissive tone.

Word of their approach had preceded them, of course. Engessa had seen to that, and as they rode up a long hill about mid-afternoon, they saw a mounted detachment of ceremonial troops wearing armour of black lacquered steel inlaid with gold awaiting them at the summit. The honour guard was drawn up in ranks on each side of the road. There were as yet no greetings, and when the column crested the hill, Sparhawk immediately saw why.

‘Dear God!’ Bevier breathed in awed reverence.

A crescent-shaped city embraced a deep blue harbour below. The sun had passed its zenith, and it shone down on the crown of Tamuli. The architecture was graceful, and every building had a dome-like, rounded roof. It was not so large as Chyrellos, but it was not the size which had wrung that referential gasp from Sir Bevier. The city was dazzling, but its splendour was not the splendour of marble. An opalescent sheen covered the capital, a shifting rainbow-hued fire that blazed beneath the surface of its very stones, a fire that at times blinded the eye with its stunning magnificence.

‘Behold!’ Oscagne intoned quite formally. ‘Behold the seat of beauty and truth! Behold the home of wisdom and power! Behold fire-domed Matherion, the centre of the world!’

24

‘It’s been that way since the twelfth century,’ Ambassador Oscagne told them as they were escorted down the hill toward the gleaming city.

‘Was it magic?’ Talen asked him. The young thief’s eyes were filled with wonder.

‘You might call it that,’ Oscagne said wryly, ‘but it was the kind of magic one performs with unlimited money and power rather than with incantations. The eleventh and twelfth centuries were a foolish period in our history. It was the time of the Micaen Dynasty, and they were probably the silliest family to ever occupy the throne. The first Micaen emperor was given an ornamental box of mother-of-pearl—or nacre, as some call it by an emissary from the Isle of Tega when he was about fourteen years old. History tells us that he would sit staring at it by the hour, paralysed by the shifting colours. He was so enamoured of the nacre he had his throne sheathed in the stuff.’

‘That must have been a fair-sized oyster,’ Ulath noted.

Oscagne smiled. ‘No, Sir Ulath. They cut the shells into little tiles and fit them together very tightly. Then they polish the whole surface for a month or so. It’s a very tedious and expensive process. Anyway, the second Micaen emperor took it one step further and sheathed the columns in the throne-room. The third sheathed the walls,’ and on and on and on. They sheathed the palace, then the whole royal compound. Then they went after the public buildings. After two hundred years, they’d cemented those little tiles all over every building in Matherion. There are low dives down by the waterfront that are more magnificent than the Basilica of Chyrellos. Fortunately the dynasty died out before they paved the streets with it. They virtually bankrupt the empire and enormously enriched the Isle of Tega in the process. Tegan divers became fabulously wealthy plundering the sea floor.’

‘Isn’t mother-of-pearl almost as brittle as glass?’ Khalad asked him.

‘It is indeed, young sir, and the cement that’s used to stick it to the buildings isn’t all that permanent. A good wind-storm fills the streets with gleaming crumbs and leaves all the buildings looking as if they’ve got the pox. As a matter of pride, the tiles have to be replaced. A moderate hurricane can precipitate a major financial crisis in the empire, but we’re saddled with it now. Official documents have referred to ‘Fire-domed Matherion’ for so long that it’s become a cliche. Like it or not, we have to maintain this absurdity.’

‘It is breath-taking, though,’ Ehlana marveled in a slightly speculative tone of voice.

‘Never mind, dear,’ Sparhawk told her quite firmly.

‘What?’

‘You can’t afford it. Lenda and I almost come to blows every year hammering out the budget as it is.’

‘I wasn’t seriously considering it, Sparhawk,’ she replied. ‘Well—not too seriously, anyway,’ she added.

The broad avenues of Matherion were lined with cheering crowds that fell suddenly silent as Ehlana’s carriage passed. The citizens stopped cheering as the Queen of Elenia went by because they were too busy grovelling to cheer. The formal grovel involved kneeling and touching the forehead to the paving-stones.

‘What are they doing?’ Ehlana exclaimed.

‘Obeying the emperor’s command, I’d imagine,’ Oscagne replied. ‘That’s the customary sign of respect for the imperial person.’

‘Make them stop!’ she commanded.

‘Countermand an imperial order? Me, your Majesty? Not very likely. Forgive me, Queen Ehlana, but I like my head where it is. I’d rather not have it displayed on a pole at the city gate. It is quite an honour, though. Sarabian’s ordered the population to treat you as his equal. No emperor’s ever done that before.’

‘And the people who don’t fall down on their faces are punished?’ Khalad surmised with a hard edge to his voice.

‘Of course not. They do it out of love. That’s the official explanation, of course. Actually, the custom originated about a thousand years ago. A drunken courtier tripped and fell on his face when the emperor entered the room. The emperor was terribly impressed, and characteristically, he completely misunderstood. He awarded the courtier a dukedom on the spot. People aren’t banging their faces on the cobblestones out of fear, young man. They’re doing it in the hope of being rewarded.’

‘You’re a cynic, Oscagne,’ Emban accused the ambassador.

‘No, Emban, I’m a realist. A good politician always looks for the worst in people.’

‘Someday they may surprise you, your Excellency,’ Talen predicted.

‘They haven’t yet.’

The palace compound was only slightly smaller than the city of Demos in eastern Elenia. The gleaming central palace, of course, was by far the largest structure in the grounds. There were other palaces, however glowing structures in a wide variety of architectural styles. Sir Bevier drew in his breath sharply.

‘Good Lord!’ he exclaimed. ‘That castle over there is almost an exact replica of the palace of King Dregos in Larium.’

‘Plagiarism appears to be a sin not exclusively committed by poets,’ Stragen murmured.

‘Merely a genuflection toward cosmopolitanism, Milord,’ Oscagne explained. ‘We are an empire, after all, and we’ve drawn many different peoples under our roof. Elenes like castles, so we have a castle here to make the Elene Kings of the western empire feel more comfortable when they come to pay a call.’

‘The castle of King Dregos certainly doesn’t gleam in the sun the way that one does,’ Bevier noted.

‘That was sort of the idea, Sir Bevier,’ Oscagne smiled.

They dismounted in the flagstoned, semi-enclosed court before the main palace, where they were met by a horde of obsequious servants.

‘What does he want?’ Kalten asked, holding off a determined-looking Tamul garbed in crimson silk.

‘Your shoes, Sir Kalten,’ Oscagne explained.

‘What’s wrong with my shoes?’

‘They’re made of steel, Sir Knight.’

‘So? I’m wearing armour. Naturally my shoes are made of steel.’

‘You can’t enter the palace with steel shoes on your feet. Leather boots aren’t even permitted—the floors, you understand.’

‘Even the floors are made of sea-shells?’ Kalten asked incredulously.

‘I’m afraid so. We Tamuls don’t wear shoes inside our houses, so the builders went ahead and tiled the floors of the buildings here in the imperial compound as well as the walls and ceilings. They didn’t anticipate visits by armoured knights.’

‘I can’t take off my shoes,’ Kalten objected, flushing.

‘What’s the problem, Kalten?’ Ehlana asked him.

‘I’ve got a hole in one of my socks,’ he muttered, looking dreadfully embarrassed. ‘I can’t meet an emperor with my toes hanging out.’ He looked around at his companions, his face pugnacious. He held up one gauntleted fist. ‘If anybody laughs, there’s going to be a fight,’ he threatened.

‘Your dignity’s secure, Sir Kalten,’ Oscagne assured him. ‘The servants have down-filled slippers for us to wear inside.’

‘I’ve got awfully big feet, your Excellency,’ Kalten pointed out anxiously. ‘Are you sure they’ll have shoes to fit me?’

‘Don’t be concerned, Kalten-Knight,’ Engessa said. ‘if they can fit me, they can certainly fit you.’

Once the visitors had been re-shod, they were escorted into the palace. There were oil lamps hanging on long chains suspended from the ceiling, and the lamplight set everything aflame. The shifting, rainbow-hued colours of the walls, floors and ceiling of the broad corridors dazzled the Elenes, and they followed the servants all bemused.

There were courtiers here, of course—no palace is complete without them and like the citizens in the Streets outside, they groveled as the Queen of Elenia passed.

‘Don’t become too enamoured of their mode of greeting, love,’ Sparhawk warned his wife. ‘The citizens of Cimmura wouldn’t adopt it no matter what you offered them.’

‘Don’t be absurd, Sparhawk,’ she replied tartly. ‘I wasn’t even considering it. Actually, I wish these people would stop. It’s really just a bit embarrassing.’

‘That’s my girl,’ he smiled.

They were offered wine and chilled, scented water to dab on their faces. The knights accepted the wine enthusiastically, and the ladies dutifully dabbed.

‘You really ought to try some of this, father,’ Princess Danae suggested, pointing at one of the porcelain basins of water. ‘It might conceal the fragrance of your armour.’

‘She has a point, Sparhawk,’ Ehlana agreed.

‘Armour’s supposed to stink,’ he replied, shrugging. ‘If an enemy’s eyes start to water during a fight, it gives you a certain advantage.’

‘I knew there was a reason,’ the little princess murmured.

Then they were led into a long corridor where mosaic portraits were inlaid into the walls, stiff, probably idealised representations of long-dead emperors. A broad strip of crimson carpet with a golden border along each edge protected the floor of that seemingly endless corridor.

‘Very impressive, your Excellency,’ Stragen murmured to Oscagne after a time. ‘How many more miles is it to the throne-room?’

‘You are droll, Milord.’ Oscagne smiled briefly.

‘It’s artfully done,’ the thief observed, ‘but doesn’t it waste a great deal of space?’

‘Very perceptive, Milord Stragen.’

‘What’s this?’ Tynian asked.

‘The corridor curves to the left,’ Stragen replied. ‘It’s hard to detect because of the way the walls reflect the light, but if you look closely, you can see it. We’ve been walking around in a circle for the past quarter of an hour.’

‘A spiral, actually, Milord Stragen,’ Oscagne corrected him. ‘The design was intended to convey the notion of immensity. Tamuls are of short stature, and immensity impresses us. That’s why we’re so fond of the Atans. We’re reaching the inner coils of the spiral now. The throne-room’s not far ahead.’

The corridors of shifting fire were suddenly filled with a brazen fanfare as hidden trumpeters greeted the queen and her party. That fanfare was followed by an awful screeching punctuated by a tinny clanking noise. Mmrr, nestled in her little mistress’ arms, laid back her ears and hissed.

‘The cat has excellent musical taste,’ Bevier noted, wincing at a particularly off-key passage in the music.

‘I’d forgotten that,’ Sephrenia apologised to Vanion. ‘Try to ignore it, dear one.’

‘I am,’ he replied with a pained expression on his face.

‘You remember that Ogress I told you about?’ Ulath asked Sparhawk, ‘The one who fell in love with that poor fellow up in Thalesia?’

‘Vaguely.’

‘When she sang to him, it sounded almost exactly like that.’

‘He went into a monastery to get away from her, didn’t he?’

‘Yes.’

‘Wise decision.’

‘It’s an affectation of ours,’ Oscagne explained to them. ‘The Tamul language is very musical when it’s spoken. Pretty music would seem commonplace, even mundane—so our composers strive for the opposite effect.’

‘I’d say they’ve succeeded beyond human imagination,’ Baroness Melidere said. ‘It sounds like someone’s torturing a dozen pigs inside an iron works.’

‘I’ll convey your observation to the composer, Baroness,’ Oscagne told her. ‘I’m sure he’ll be pleased.’

‘I’d be pleased if his song came to an end, your Excellency.’

The vast doors that finally terminated the endless-seeming corridor were covered with beaten gold, and they swung ponderously open to reveal an enormous, domed hall. Since the dome was higher than the surrounding structures, the illumination in the room came through inch-thick crystal windows high overhead. The light poured down through those windows to set the walls and floor of Emperor Sarabian’s throne room afire. The hall was of suitably stupendous dimensions, and the expanses of nacreous white were broken up by accents of crimson and gold. Heavy red velvet draperies hung at intervals along the glowing walls, flanking columnar buttresses inlaid with gold. A wide avenue of crimson carpet led from the huge doors to the foot of the throne, and the room was filled with courtiers, both Tamul and Elene.

Another fanfare announced the arrival of the visitors, and the Church Knights and the Peloi formed up in military precision around Queen Ehlana and her party. They marched with ceremonial pace down that broad, carpeted avenue to the throne of his Imperial Majesty, Sarabian of Tamul. The ruler of half the world wore a heavy crown of diamond-encrusted gold, and his crimson cloak, open at the front, was bordered with wide bands of tightly-woven gold thread. His robe was gleaming white, caught at the waist by a wide golden belt.

Despite the splendour of his throne-room and his clothing, Sarabian of Tamul was a rather ordinary-looking man. His skin was pale by comparison with the skin of the Atans, largely, Sparhawk surmised, because the emperor was seldom out of doors. He was of medium stature and build and his face was unremarkable. His eyes, however, were far more alert than Sparhawk had expected. When Ehlana entered the throne-room, he rose somewhat hesitantly to his feet.

Oscagne looked a bit surprised. ‘That’s amazing,’ he said. ‘The emperor never stands to greet his guests.’

‘Who are the ladies gathered around him?’ Ehlana asked in a quiet voice.

‘His wives,’ Oscagne replied, ‘the Empresses of Tamuli. There are nine of them.’

‘Monstrous!’ Bevier gasped.

‘Political expediency, Sir Knight,’ the ambassador explained. ‘An ordinary man has only one wife, but the emperor has to have one from each kingdom in the empire. He can’t really show favouritism, after all. ‘

‘It looks as if one of the empresses forgot to finish dressing,’ Baroness Melidere said critically, staring at one of the imperial wives, a sunny-faced young woman who stood naked to the waist with no hint that her unclad state caused her any concern. The skirt caught around her waist was a brilliant scarlet, and she had a red flower in her hair.

Oscagne chuckled. ‘That’s our Elysoun,’ he smiled. ‘She’s from the Isle of Valesia, and that’s the costume or lack of it—customary among the islanders. She’s a totally uncomplicated girl, and we all love her dearly. The normal rules governing marital fidelity have never applied to the Valesian Empress. It’s a concept the Valesians can’t comprehend. The notion of sin is alien to them.’

Bevier gasped.

‘Hasn’t anyone ever tried to instruct them?’ Emban asked.’

‘Oh, my, yes, your Grace,’ Oscagne grinned. ‘Churchmen from the Elene kingdoms of western Tamuli have gone by the score to Valesia to try to persuade the islanders that their favourite pastime is scandalous and sinful. The churchmen are filled with zeal right at first, but it doesn’t usually last for very long. Valesian girls are all very beautiful and very friendly. Almost invariably, it’s the Elenes who are converted. The Valesian religion seems to have only one commandment:. “be happy”.’

‘There are worse notions,’ Emban sighed.

‘Your Grace!’ Bevier exclaimed.

‘Grow up, Bevier,’ Emban told him. ‘I sometimes think that our Holy Mother Church is a bit obsessive about certain aspects of human behaviour.’ Bevier flushed, and his face grew rigidly disapproving.

The courtiers in the throne-room, obviously at the emperor’s command, once again ritualistically grovelled as Ehlana passed. Practice had made them so skilled that dropping to their knees, banging their foreheads on the floor, and getting back up again was accomplished with only minimal awkwardness. Ehlana, gowned in royal blue, reached the throne and curtseyed gracefully. The set look on her face clearly said that she would not grovel. The emperor bowed in response, and an astonished gasp ran through the crowd. The imperial bow was adequate, though just a bit stiff. Sarabian had obviously been practising, but bowing appeared not to come naturally to him. Then he cleared his throat and spoke at some length in the Tamul language, pausing from time to time to permit his official translator to convert his remarks into Elenic.

‘Keep your eyes where they belong,’ Ehlana murmured to Sparhawk. Her face was serene, and her lips scarcely moved.

‘I wasn’t looking at her,’ he protested.

‘Oh, really?’

The Empress Elysoun had the virtually undivided attention of the Church Knights and the Peloi, and she quite obviously was enjoying it. Her dark eyes sparkled, and her smile was just slightly naughty. She stood not far from her Imperial husband, breathing deeply, evidently a form of exercise among her people. There was a challenge in the look she returned to her many admirers, and she surveyed them clinically. Sparhawk had seen the same look on Ehlana’s face when she was choosing jewellery or gowns. He concluded that Empress Elysoun was very likely to cause problems.

Emperor Sarabian’s speech was filled with formalised platitudes. His heart was full. He swooned with joy. He was dumbstruck by Ehlana’s beauty. He was quite overwhelmed by the honour she did him in stopping by to call. He thought her dress was very nice. Ehlana, the world’s consummate orator, quickly discarded the speech she had been preparing since her departure from Chyrellos and responded in kind. She found Matherion quite pretty. She advised Sarabian that her life had now seen its crown (Ehlana’s life seemed to find a new crown each time she made a speech). She commented on the unspeakable beauty of the imperial wives, (though making no mention of Empress Elysoun’s painfully visible attributes). She also promised to swoon with joy, since it seemed to be the fashion here. She thanked him profusely for his gracious welcome. She did not, however, talk about the weather.

Emperor Sarabian visibly relaxed. He had clearly been apprehensive that the Queen of Elenia might accidentally slip something of substance into her speech which would have then obliged him to respond without consultation.

He thanked her for her thanks. She thanked him for his thanks for her thanks. Then they stared at each other. Thanks for thanks for thanks can only be carried so far without becoming ridiculous. Then an official with an exaggeratedly bored look on his face cleared his throat. He was somewhat taller than the average Tamul, and his face showed no sign whatsoever of what he was thinking. It was with enormous relief that Emperor Sarabian introduced his prime minister, Pondia Subat.

‘Odd name,’ Ulath murmured after the emperor’s remarks had been translated. ‘I wonder if his close friends call him ‘Pondy’.’

‘Pondia is his title of nobility, Sir Ulath,’ Oscagne explained. ‘It’s a rank somewhat akin to that of viscount, though not exactly. Be a little careful of him, my lords. He is not your friend. He also pretends not to understand Elenic, but I strongly suspect that his ignorance on that score is feigned. Subat was violently opposed to the idea of inviting Prince Sparhawk to come to Matherion. He felt that to do so would demean the emperor. I’ve also been advised that the emperor’s decision to treat Queen Ehlana as an equal quite nearly gave our prime minister apoplexy.’

‘Is he dangerous?’ Sparhawk murmured.

‘I’m not entirely certain, your Highness. He’s fanatically loyal to the emperor, and I’m not altogether sure where that may lead him.’ Pondia Subat was making a few remarks. ‘He says that he knows you’re fatigued by the rigours of the journey,’ Oscagne translated. ‘He urges you to accept the imperial hospitality to rest and refresh yourselves. It’s a rather neat excuse to conclude the interview before anyone says anything that might compel the emperor to answer before Subat has a chance to prompt him.’

‘It might not be a bad idea,’ Ehlana decided. ‘Things haven’t gone badly so far. Maybe we should just leave well enough alone for the time being.’

‘I shall be guided by you, your Majesty,’ Oscagne said with a florid bow.

Ehlana let that pass. After another effusive exchange between their Majesties, the prime minister escorted the visitors from the hall. just outside the door to the throne-room they mounted a flight of stairs and proceeded along a corridor directly to the far side of the palace, foregoing the pleasure of retracing their steps around and around the interminable spiral. Pondia Subat, speaking through an interpreter, pointed out features of interest as they progressed. His tone was deliberately off-hand, treating wonders as commonplace. He was not even particularly subtle about his efforts to put these Elene barbarians in their place. He did not quite sneer at them, but he came very close. He led them along a covered walk-way to the gleaming Elene castle, where he left them in the care of Ambassador Oscagne.

‘Is his attitude fairly prevalent here in Matherion?’ Emban asked the ambassador.

‘Hardly,’ Oscagne replied. ‘Subat’s the leader of a vary small faction here at court. They’re archconservatives who haven’t had a new idea in five hundred years.’

‘How did he become prime minister if his faction is so small?’ Tynian asked.

‘Tamuli politics are very murky, Sir Tynian. We serve at the emperor’s pleasure, and he’s in no way obliged to take our advice on any matter. Subat’s father was a very close friend of Emperor Sarabian’s sire, and the appointment of Subat as prime minister was more in the nature of a gesture of filial respect than a recognition of outstanding merit, although Subat’s an adequate prime minister—unless something unusual comes up. Then he tends to go all to pieces. Cronyism’s one of the major drawbacks of our form of government. The head of our church has never had a pious thought in his life. He doesn’t even know the names of our Gods.’

‘Wait a minute,’ Emban said, his eyes stunned. ‘Are you trying to say that ecclesiastical positions are bestowed by the emperor?’

‘Of course. They are positions of authority, after all, and Tamul emperors don’t like to let authority of any kind out of their hands.’

They had entered the main hall of the castle, which, with the exception of the gleaming nacre that covered every exposed surface, was very much like the main hall of every Elene castle in the world.

‘The servants here are Elenes,’ Oscagne told them, ‘so you should have no difficulty explaining your needs to them. I trust you’ll excuse me now. I must go make my report to his Imperial Majesty.’ He made a face. ‘I’m not really looking forward to it, to be honest with you. Subat’s going to be standing at his Majesty’s elbow making light of everything I say.’ He bowed to Ehlana, then turned and left.

‘We’ve got problems here, I think,’ Tynian observed. ‘All this formality’s going to keep us away from the emperor, and if we can’t tell him what we’ve discovered, he’s not likely to give us the freedom of movement we’re going to need.’

‘And the antagonism of the prime minister’s going to make things that much worse,’ Bevier added. ‘It rather looks as if we’ve come half-way round the world to offer our help only to be confined in this very elaborate prison.’

‘Let’s feel things out a bit before we start getting obstreperous,’ Emban counseled. ‘Oscagne knows what he’s doing, and he’s seen almost everything we’ve seen. I think we can count on him to convey the urgency of the situation to Sarabian.’

‘If you have no need of us, your Majesty,’ Stragen said to Ehlana, ‘Talen and I should go make contact with the local thieves. If we’re going to be tied up in meaningless formalities here, we’ll need some help in gathering information.’

‘How do you plan to communicate with them?’ Khalad asked him.

‘Matherion’s a very cosmopolitan place, Khalad. Caalador directed me to several Elenes who carry quite a bit of weight with the local thieves.’

‘Do what you must, Stragen,’ Ehlana told him, ‘but don’t cause any international incidents.’

‘Trust me, your Majesty,’ he grinned.

The royal apartments in the castle were high up in a central tower. The castle was purely ornamental, of course, but since it was a faithful reproduction of an Elene fort, the builders had unwittingly included defensive features they probably hadn’t even recognised. Bevier was quite pleased with it. ‘I could defend the place,’ he judged. ‘About all I’d need would be a few vats of pitch and some engines and I could hold this castle for several years.’

‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, Bevier,’ Ehlana replied.

Later that evening, when Sparhawk and his extended family had said good night to the others and retired to the royal apartment, the prince consort lounged in a chair by the window while the ladies did all those little things ladies do before going to bed. Many of those little ceremonies had clearly practical reasons behind them, others ~were totally incomprehensible.

‘I’m sorry, Sparhawk,’ Ehlana was saying, ‘but it concerns me. If the Empress Elysoun’s as indiscriminately predatory as Oscagne suggests, she could cause us a great deal of embarrassment. Take Kalten, for example. Do you believe that he’d decline the kind of offers she’s likely to make, particularly in view of her costume?’

‘I’ll have a talk with him,’ Sparhawk promised.

‘ly hand,’ Mirtai suggested. ‘Sometimes it’s a little hard to get Kalten’s attention when he’s distracted.’

‘She’s vulgar,’ Baroness Melidere sniffed.’

‘She’s very pretty, though, Baroness,’ Alcan added, ‘And she’s not really flaunting her body. She knows it’s there, of course, but I think she just likes to share it with people. She’s generous more than vulgar.’

‘Do you suppose we could talk about something else?’ Sparhawk asked them in a pained tone.

There was a light knock on the door, and Mirtai went to see who was asking admittance. As always, the Atana had one hand on a dagger-hilt when she opened the door. It was Oscagne. He was wearing a hooded cloak, and he was accompanied by another man similarly garbed. The two stepped inside quickly.

‘Close the door, Atana,’ the Ambassador hissed urgently, his usually imperturbable face stunned and his eyes wild.

‘What’s your problem, Oscagne?’ she asked bluntly.

‘Please, Atana Mirtai, close the door. If anybody finds out that my friend and I are here, the palace will fall down around our ears.’

She closed the door and bolted it. A sudden absolute certainty came over Sparhawk, and he rose to his feet. ‘Welcome, your Imperial Majesty,’ he greeted Oscagne’s hooded companion.

Emperor Sarabian pushed back his hood. ‘How the deuce did you know it was me, Prince Sparhawk?’ he asked. His Elenic was only slightly accented. ‘I know you couldn’t see my face.’

‘No, your Majesty,’ Sparhawk replied, ‘but I could see Ambassador Oscagne’s. He looked very much like a man holding a live snake.’

‘I’ve been called a lot of things in my time,’ Sarabian laughed, ‘But never that.’

‘Your Majesty is most skilled,’ Ehlana told him with a little curtsy. ‘I didn’t see a single hint on your face that you understood Elenic. I could read it in Queen Betuana’s face, but you didn’t give me a single clue.’

‘Betuana speaks Elenic?’ He seemed startled. ‘What an astounding thing.’ He removed his cloak. ‘Actually, your Majesty,’ he told Ehlana, ‘I speak all the languages of the Empire—Tamul, Elenic, Styric, Tegan, Arjuni, Valesian and even the awful language they speak in Cynesga. It’s one of our most closely guarded state secrets. I even keep it a secret from my government, just to be on the safe side.’ He looked a bit amused. ‘I gather that you’d all concluded that I’m not quite bright,’ he suggested.

‘You fooled us completely, your Majesty,’ Melidere assured him.

He beamed at her. ‘Delightful girl,’ he said. ‘I adore fooling people. There are many reasons for this subterfuge, my friends, but they’re mostly political and not really very nice. Shall we get to the point here? I can only be absent for a short period of time without being missed.’

‘We are, as they say, at your immediate disposal, your Majesty,’ Ehlana told him.

‘I’ve never understood that phrase, Ehlana,’ he confessed. ‘You don’t mind if we call each other by name, do you? All those ‘your Majesties’ are just too cumbersome. Where was I? Oh, yes—‘immediate disposal’. It sounds like someone running to carry out the trash.’ His words seemed to tumble from his lips as if his tongue were having difficulty keeping up with his thoughts. ‘The point of this visit, my dear friends, is that I’m more or less the prisoner of custom and tradittion here in Matherion. My role is strictly defined, and for me to overstep certain bounds causes earthquakes that can be felt from here to the Gulf of Daconia. I could ignore those earthquakes, but our common enemy could probably feel them too, and we don’t want to alert him.’

‘Truly,’ Sparhawk agreed.

‘Please don’t keep gaping at me like that, Oscagne,’ Sarabian told the ambassador. ‘I didn’t tell you that I was really awake when most of you thought I was sleeping because it wasn’t necessary for you to know before. Now it is. Snap out of it, man. The foreign minister has to be able to take these little surprises in his stride.’

‘It’s just taking me a little while to re-adjust my thinking, your Majesty.’

‘You thought I was an idiot, am I right?’

‘Well—’

‘You were supposed to think so, Oscagne—you and Subat and all the other ministers. It’s been one of my main defences—and amusements. Actually, old boy, I’m something of a genius.’ He smiled at Ehlana. ‘That sounds immodest, doesn’t it? But it’s true, nonetheless. I learned your language in three weeks, and Styric in four. I can find the logical fallacies in the most abstruse treaties on Elene theology, and I’ve probably read—and understood—just about everything that’s ever been written. My most brilliant achievement, however, has been to keep all that a secret. The people who call themselves my government—no offence intended, Oscagne—seem to be engaging in some vast conspiracy to keep me in the dark. They only tell me things they think I’ll want to hear. I have to look out of a window to get an accurate idea of the current weather. They have the noblest of motives, of course. They want to spare me any distress, but I really think that someone ought to tell me when the ship I’m riding in is sinking, don’t you?’

Sarabian was still talking very fast, spilling out ideas as quickly as they came to him. His eyes were bright, and he seemed almost on the verge of laughing out loud. He was obviously tremendously excited.

‘Now then,’ he rushed on, ‘we must devise a means of communicating without alerting everyone in the palace down to and including the scullery boys in the kitchen to what we’re doing. I desperately need to know what’s really going on so that I can bring my towering intellect to bear on it.’ That last was delivered with self-deprecating irony. ‘Any ideas?’

‘What are your feelings about magic, your Majesty?’ Sparhawk asked him.

‘I haven’t formed an opinion yet, Sparhawk.’

‘It won’t work then,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘You have to believe that the spell’s going to work, or it’ll fail.’

‘I might be able to make myself believe,’ Sarabian said just a bit dubiously.

‘That probably wouldn’t do it, your Majesty,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘The spells would succeed or not depending on your mood. We need something a bit more certain. There are things we’ll need to tell you that will be so important that we won’t be able to just trust to luck.’

‘My feelings exactly, Sparhawk. That defines our problem then. We need an absolutely certain method of passing information back and forth that can’t be detected. My experience tells me that it has to be something so commonplace that nobody will pay any attention to it.’

‘Exchange gifts,’ Baroness Melidere suggested in an offhand way.

‘I’d be delighted to send you gifts, my dear Baroness,’ Sarabian smiled. ‘Your eyes quite stop my heart, but—’

She held up one hand. ‘Excuse me, your Majesty,’ She told him, ‘but nothing is more common than the exchange of gifts between ruling monarchs. I can carry little mementos from the queen to you, and the ambassador here can carry yours to her. After we’ve run back and forth a few times, nobody will pay any attention to us. We can conceal messages in those gifts, and no one will dare to search for them.’

Where did you find this wonderful girl, Ehlana?’ Sarabian demanded. ‘I’d marry her in a minute—if I didn’t already have nine wives—oh, incidentally, Sparhawk, I need to talk with you about that—privately, perhaps.’ He looked around. ‘Can anyone see any flaws in the baroness’s plan?’

‘Just one,’ Mirtai said, ‘but I can take care of that.’

‘What is it, Atana?’ the excited emperor asked.

‘Someone may still have suspicions about this exchange of gifts—particularly if there’s a steady stream of them. He might try to intercept Melidere, but I’ll escort her back and forth. I’ll personally guarantee that no one will interfere.’

‘Excellent, Atana! Capital! We’d better get back, Oscagne. Subat misses me terribly when I’m not where he expects me to be. Oh, Sparhawk please designate several of your knights to entertain my wife, Elysoun.’

‘I beg your Majesty’s pardon?’

‘Young preferably handsome and with lots of stamina—you know the type.’

‘Are we talking about what I think we’re talking about, your Majesty?’

‘Of course we are. Elysoun enjoys exchanging gifts and favours too, and she’d be crushed if no one wanted to play with her. She’s terribly shrill when she’s unhappy. For the sake of my ears, please see to it, old boy.’

‘Ah—how many, your Majesty?’

‘A dozen or so should suffice, I expect. Coming, Oscagne?’ And the emperor of Tamuli rushed to the door.

25

‘Its a characteristic of people with a certain level of intelligence, your Majesty,’ Zalasta advised Ehlana. ‘They talk very fast because their ideas are spilling over. Emperor Sarabian may not be quite as brilliant as he thinks he is, but his is a mind to be reckoned with. The amazing thing is that he’s managed to keep it a secret from everybody in his government. Those people are usually so erratic and excitable that they trip themselves up.’

They were all gathered in the royal apartment to discuss the previous night’s startling revelation. Ambassador Oscagne had arrived early, bringing with him a diagram of the hidden passageways and concealed listening posts inside the Elene castle which was their temporary home. A half-dozen spies had been rooted out and politely but firmly invited to leave.

‘There’s nothing really personal involved, your Majesty,’ Oscagne apologised to Ehlana. ‘It’s just a matter of policy.’

‘I understand completely, your Excellency,’ she replied graciously. Ehlana wore an emerald green gown this morning, and she looked particularly lovely.

‘Is your espionage system very well-developed, your excellency?’ Stragen asked.

‘No, not really, Milord. Each bureau of the government has its spies, but they spend most of their time spying on each other. We’re far more nervous about our colleagues than we are about foreign visitors.’

‘There’s no centralised intelligence service, then?’

‘I’m afraid not, Milord.’

‘Are we sure we cleaned all the spies out?’ Emban asked, looking a bit nervously at the gleaming walls.

‘Trust me, your Grace,’ Sephrenia smiled.

‘I didn’t follow that, I’m afraid.’

‘She wiggled her fingers, Patriarch Emban,’ Talen said dryly. ‘She turned all the spies we didn’t catch into toads.’

‘Well, not exactly,’ she amended, ‘but if there are any spies left hiding behind the walls, they can’t hear anything.’

‘You’re a very useful person to have around, Sephrenia,’ the fat little churchman observed.

‘I’ve noticed that myself,’ Vanion agreed.

‘Let’s push on here,’ Ehlana suggested. ‘We don’t want to overuse our subterfuge, but we will want to exchange a few gifts with Sarabian just to make sure that no one’s going to intercept our messages and to get the courtiers in the hallways accustomed to seeing Melidere trotting back and forth with trinkets.’

‘I won’t really trot, your Majesty,’ Melidere objected. ‘I’ll swish seductively. I’ve found that a man who’s busy watching your hips doesn’t pay too much attention to what the rest of you is doing.’

‘Really?’ Princess Danae said. ‘I’ll have to remember that. Can you show me how to swish, Baroness?’

‘You’re going to have to grow some hips first, Princess,’ Talen told her.

Danae’s eyes went suddenly dangerous. ‘Never mind,’ Sparhawk told her.

She ignored him. ‘I’ll get you for that, Talen,’ she threatened.

‘I doubt it, your Highness,’ he replied impudently. ‘I can still run faster than you can.’

‘We have another problem,’ Stragen told them. ‘The absolutely splendid plan I conceived some months ago fell all to pieces on me last night. The local thieves aren’t going to be much help, I’m afraid. They’re even worse than Caalador led us to believe back in Lebas. Tamul society’s so rigid that my colleagues out there in the streets can’t think independently. There’s a certain way that thieves are supposed to behave here, and the ones we met last night are so hide-bound that they can’t get around the stereotypes. The Elenes in the local thieves’ community are creative enough, but the Tamuls are hopelessly inept.’

‘That’s certainly the truth,’ Talen agreed. ‘They don’t even try to run when they’re caught stealing. They just stand around waiting to be taken into custody. It’s the most immoral thing I’ve ever heard of.’

‘We might be able to salvage something out of it,’ Stragen continued. ‘I’ve sent for Caalador. Maybe he can talk some sense into them. What concerns me the most is their absolute lack of any kind of organisation. The thieves don’t talk to the murderers, the whores don’t talk to the beggars and nobody talks to the swindlers. I can’t for the life of me see how they survive.’

‘That’s bad news,’ Ulath noted. ‘We were counting on the thieves to serve as our spy-network.’

‘Let’s hope that Caalador can fix it,’ Stragen said. ‘The fact that there’s no central intelligence-gathering apparatus in the government makes those thieves crucial to our plans.’

‘Caalador will be able to talk some sense into them,’ Ehlana said. ‘I have every confidence in him.’

‘That’s probably because you like to hear him talk,’ Sparhawk told her.

‘Speaking of talking,’ Sephrenia said, ‘I think our efforts here are going to be limited by the fact that most of you don’t speak Tamul. we’re going to have to do something about that.’ Kalten groaned. It won’t be nearly as painful this time, dear one,’ she said. ‘We don’t really have the time for you to actually learn the language, so Zalasta and I are going to cheat.’

‘Could you clarify that a bit for me, Sephrenia?’ Emban said, looking puzzled.

‘We’ll cast a spell,’ she shrugged.

‘Are you trying to say that you can teach somebody a foreign language by magic?’ he asked.

‘Oh, yes,’ Sparhawk assured him. ‘She taught me to speak Troll in about five seconds in Ghwerig’s cave, and I’d imagine that Troll’s a lot harder to learn than Tamul. At least Tamuls are human.’

‘We’ll have to be careful, though,’ the small Styric woman cautioned. ‘if you all appear to be linguistic geniuses, it’s going to look very curious. We’ll do it a bit at a time—a basic vocabulary and a rudimentary grammar right at first, and then we’ll expand on that.’

‘I could send you instructors, Lady Sephrenia,’ Oscagne offered.

‘Ah—no, thanks all the same, your Excellency. Your instructors would be startled and suspicious if they suddenly found a whole platoon of extraordinarily gifted students. We’ll do it ourselves in order to conceal what we’re up to. I’ll give our pupils here abominable accents right at first, and then we’ll smooth things out as we go along.’

‘Sephrenia?’ Kalten said in a slightly resentful tone.

‘Yes, dear one?’

‘You can teach people languages by magic?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then why did you spend all those years trying to teach me Styric? When you saw that it wasn’t going to work, why didn’t you just wiggle your fingers at me?’

‘Kalten dear,’ she said gently, ‘why was I trying to teach you Styric?’

‘So that I could perform magic tricks, I guess,’ he shrugged. ‘That’s unless you just enjoy making people suffer.’

‘No, dear one. It was just as painful for me as it was for you.’ She shuddered. ‘More painful, probably. You were in fact, trying to learn Styric so that you could work the spells, but in order to do that, you have to be able to think in Styric. You can’t just mouth the words and make them come off the way you want them to.’

‘Wait a minute,’ he objected. ‘Are you saying that people who speak other languages don’t think the same way we do?’

‘They may think the same way but they don’t think in the same words.’

‘Do you mean to say that we actually think in words?’

‘Of course we do. What did you think thoughts were?’

‘I don’t know. But we’re all human. Wouldn’t we all think the same way and in the same language?’

She blinked. ‘And which language would that be, dear one?’

‘Elenic, naturally. That’s why foreigners aren’t as clever as we are. They have to stop and translate their thoughts from Elenic into that barbarian gabble they call language. They do it just to be stubborn, of course.’

She stared at him suspiciously. ‘You’re actually serious, aren’t you?’

‘Of course. I thought everybody knew that’s why Elenes are smarter than everybody else.’ His face shone with blinding sincerity.

‘Oh, dear,’ she sighed in near-despair.

Melidere put on a lavender gown and swished off to the emperor’s private apartments bearing a blue satin Elene doublet over one arm. Mirtai followed her. Mirtai did not swish. Melidere’s eyes were ingenuously wide. Her expression was vapid. Her lower lip was adorably taught between her teeth as if she were breathless with excitement. Emperor Sarabian’s courtiers watched the swishing with great interest. Nobody paid the slightest attention to what she did with her hands. She delivered the gift to the emperor with a breathy little speech, which Mirtai translated. The emperor responded quite formally. Melidere curtseyed and then swished back to the Elene castle. The courtiers still concentrated on the swishing—even though they had already had plenty of opportunity to observe the process.

‘It went off without a hitch,’ the Baroness reported smugly.

‘Did they enjoy the swishing?’ Stragen asked her.

‘I turned the entire court to stone, Milord Stragen,’ she laughed.

‘Did she really?’ he asked Mirtai. ‘Not entirely,’ the Atana replied. ‘A number of them followed her so that they could see more. Melidere’s a very good swisher. What was going on inside her gown looked much like two cats fighting inside a burlap sack.’

‘We should use the talents God gave us, wouldn’t you say, your Grace?’ the blonde girl asked Emban with mock piety.

‘Absolutely, my child,’ he agreed without so much as cracking a smile.

Ambassador Oscagne arrived about fifteen minutes later bearing an alabaster box on a blue velvet cushion. Ehlana took the emperor’s note out of the box and read aloud:

Ehlana, Your message arrived safely. I get the impression that the members of my court will not merely refrain from interfering with the Baroness as she moves through the halls but will passionately defend her right to do so. How does the girl manage to move so many things all at the same time? Sarabian.

‘Well,’ Stragen asked the honey-blonde girl, ‘how do you?’

‘It’s a gift, Milord Stragen.’

The visiting Elenes made some show of receiving instruction in the Tamul language for the next few weeks, and Oscagne helped their subterfuge along by casually advising various members of the government that he had been teaching the visitors the language during their long journey. Ehlana made a brief speech in Tamul at one of the banquets the prime minister had arranged for the guests in order to establish the fact that she and her party had already achieved a certain level of proficiency. There were awkward moments, of course. On one occasion Kalten grossly offended a courtier when he smilingly delivered what he thought to be a well-turned compliment.

‘What’s the matter with him?’ the blond Pandion asked, looking puzzled as the courtier stalked away.

‘What were you trying to say to him?’ Mirtai asked, stifling a laugh.

‘I told him that I was pleased to see that he was smiling,’ Kalten replied.

‘That’s not what you said.’

‘Well, what did I say?’

You said, ‘May all of your teeth fall out.’

‘I used the wrong word for “smiling”, right?’

‘I’d say so, yes.’

The pretense of learning a new language provided the queen and her entourage with a great deal of leisure time. The official functions and entertainments they were obliged to attend usually took place in the evening, and that left the days generally free. They passed those hours in idle conversation—conducted for the most part in Tamul. The spell Sephrenia and Zalasta had woven gave them all a fairly complete understanding of vocabulary and syntax, but the smoothing out of pronunciation took somewhat longer.

As Oscagne had predicted he would, the prime minister threw obstacles in their paths at every turn. Insofar as he could, he filled their days with tedious and largely meaningless activities. They attended the openings of cattle-shows. They were awarded honorary degrees at the university. They visited model farms. He provided them with huge escorts whenever they left the imperial compound—escorts that usually took several hours to form up. Pondia Subat’s agents put that time to good use, clearing the streets of precisely the people the visitors wanted to see. Most troublesome, however, was the fact that he severely restricted there access to Emperor Sarabian.

Subat made himself as inconvenient as he possibly could, but he was unprepared for Elene ingenuity and the fact that many in their party were not entirely what they seemed to be. Talen in particular seemed to completely baffle the prime minister’s agents. As Sparhawk had noticed long ago, it was quite nearly impossible to follow Talen in any city in the world. The young man had a great deal of fun and gathered a great deal of information.

On one drowsy afternoon, Ehlana and the ladies were in the royal apartments, and the queen’s maid, Alcan, was speaking as Kalten and Sparhawk quietly entered.

‘It’s not uncommon,’ the doe-eyed girl was saying quietly. ‘It’s one of the inconveniences of being a servant.’ As usual, Alcan wore a severe dress of muted grey.

‘Who was he?’ Ehlana’s eyes were like flint.

‘It’s not really important, your Majesty,’ Alcan replied, looking slightly embarrassed.

‘Yes, Alcan,’ Ehlana disagreed, ‘it is.’

‘It was Count Osril, your Majesty.’

‘I’ve heard of him.’ Ehlana’s tone was frosty.

‘So have I.’ Melidere’s tone was just as cold.

‘I gather that the Count’s reputation is unsavoury?’ Sephrenia asked.

‘He’s what’s’ referred to as a rake, Lady Sephrenia,’ Melidere replied. ‘He wallows in debauchery of the worst kind. He boasts that he’s saving God all the inconvenience of condemning him, since he was born to go to hell anyway.’

‘My parents were country people,’ Alcan continued, ‘so they didn’t know about the count’s reputation. They thought that placing me in service to him would give me the opportunity of a lifetime. It’s the only real chance a peasant has for advancement. I was fourteen and very innocent. The count seemed friendly at first, and I considered myself lucky. Then he came home drunk one night, and I discovered why he’d been so nice to me. I hadn’t received the kind of training Mirtai had, so there was nothing I could do. I cried afterward, of course, but all he did was laugh at my tears. Fortunately, nothing came of it. Count Osril customarily turned pregnant maids out with nothing but the clothes on their backs. After a few times, he grew tired of the game. He paid me my salary and gave me a good recommendation. I was fortunate enough to find employment at the palace.’

She smiled a tight, hurt little smile. ‘Since there were no after-effects, I suppose it doesn’t really matter all that much.’

‘It does to me,’ Mirtai said bleakly. ‘You have my word that he won’t survive my return to Cimmura by more than a week.’

‘If you’re going to take that long, you’ll miss your chance, Mirtai,’ Kalten told her almost casually. ‘Count Osril won’t see the sunset of the day when I get back to Cimmura, I promise you.’

‘He won’t fight you, Kalten,’ Sparhawk told his friend.

‘He won’t have any choice,’ Kalten replied. ‘I know any number of insults that no man can swallow—and if they don’t work, I’ll start slicing pieces off him. If you cut off a man’s ears and nose, he almost has to reach for his sword probably because he doesn’t know what you plan to cut off next.’

‘You’ll get arrested.’

‘That’s no problem, Sparhawk,’ Ehlana said, grimly. ‘I’ll pardon him.’

‘You don’t have to do that, Sir Kalten,’ Alcan murmured, her eyes downcast.

‘Yes,’ Kalten replied in a stony voice, ‘as a matter of fact, I do. I’ll bring you one of his ears after I’ve finished with him—just to prove that I’ve kept my promise.’

Sparhawk fully expected the gentle girl to react with violent revulsion to her protector’s brutal offer. She did not, however. She smiled warmly at Sparhawk’s friend. ‘That would be very nice, Sir Kalten,’ she said.

‘Go ahead, Sephrenia,’ Sparhawk said to his tutor. ‘Roll your eyes and sigh. I might even agree with you this time.’

‘Why should I do that, Sparhawk?’ she asked. ‘I think Sir Kalten’s come up with a very appropriate course of action.’

‘You’re a savage, little mother,’ he accused.

‘So?’

Later that afternoon, Sparhawk and Kalten had joined the other knights in the gleaming great hall of the counterfeit Elene castle. The knights had put aside their formal armour and now wore doublets and hose.

‘It wouldn’t take very much,’ Sir Bevier was saying. ‘The walls are really very sturdy, and the fosse is already in place. The drawbridge is functional, though the capstans that raise it need some grease. All we really need to finish it off are sharpened stakes in the fosse.’

‘And a few barrels of pitch?’ Ulath suggested. ‘I know how much you Arcians enjoy pouring boiling pitch on people.’

‘Gentlemen,’ Vanion said disapprovingly, ‘if you start reinforcing the defences of this place, our hosts may take it the wrong way.’ He thought about it for a moment. ‘It might not hurt to quietly lay in a goodly supply of stakes, though,’ he added, ‘and maybe a number of barrels of lamp-oil. It’s not quite as good as pitch, but it won’t attract so much attention when we bring it inside. I think we might also want to start unobtrusively bringing in provisions. There are quite a lot of us, so concealing the fact that we’re filling storerooms shouldn’t be too hard. Let’s keep it all fairly low-key, though.’

‘What are you contemplating, Vanion?’ Emban asked.

‘Just a few simple precautions, your Grace. Things are unstable here in Tamuli, and we have no way of knowing what might happen. Since we’ve got a perfectly good castle, we might just as well give it a few finishing touches—just in case.’

‘Is it just my imagination, or does it seem to anybody else that this is a very, very long summer,’ Tynian asked suddenly.

Sparhawk became very alert. Someone had been bound to notice that eventually, and if they really pursued the matter and started counting days, they’d be certain to uncover the fact that someone had been tampering with time. ‘It’s a different part of the world, Tynian,’ he said easily. ‘The climate’s bound to be different.’

‘Summer is summer, Sparhawk, and it’s not supposed to last forever.’

‘You can never tell about climate,’ Ulath disagreed, ‘particularly along a sea-coast. There’s a warm current that runs up the west coast of Thalesia. It can be the dead of winter in Yosut on the east coast, and only mid-autumn in Horset.’

Good old Ulath, Sparhawk thought with some relief.

‘It still seems a little strange to me,’ Tynian said dubiously.

‘Lots of things seem strange to you, my friend,’ Ulath smiled. ‘You’ve turned down any number of invitations I’ve sent you to go Ogre-hunting with me.’

‘Why kill them if you’re not going to eat them?’ Tynian shrugged.

‘You didn’t eat any of those Zemochs you killed.’

‘I didn’t have a good recipe for cooking them.’

They all laughed and let the subject drop, and Sparhawk breathed a bit easier. Talen came into the hall then. As usual, he had almost routinely shaken off the agents of the prime minister that morning and gone out into the city.

‘Surprise, surprise,’ he said dryly. ‘Krager’s finally made it to Matherion. I was starting to worry about him.’

‘That does it!’ Sparhawk burst out, slamming his fist down on the arm of his chair. ‘That man’s starting to make me very tired.’

‘We didn’t really have the time to chase him down before, my Lord,’ Khalad pointed out.

‘Maybe we should have taken the time. I was sure of that when we saw him back in Sarsos. We’re settled in now, though, so let’s devote a little time and energy to rooting him out. Draw some pictures of him, Talen. Spread them around and promise a reward.’

‘I know how to go about it, Sparhawk.’

‘Do it then. I want to put my hands on that drunken little weasel. There’s all kinds of information inside that sodden skin of his, and I’m going to wring him out until I’ve got the very last drop of it.’

‘Testy, isn’t he?’ Tynian said mildly to Kalten.

‘He’s been having a bad day,’ Kalten shrugged. ‘He discovered a streak of brutality in his women-folk, and it upset him.’

‘Oh?’

‘There’s a nobleman in Cimura who needs killing. When I get home, I’m going to slice off his ears before I butcher him. The ladies all thought it was a wonderful idea. Their approval shattered a number of Sparhawk’s illusions.’

‘What’s the fellow done?’

‘It’s a private matter.’

‘Oh. Well, at least Sephrenia agreed with him.’

‘No, as a matter of fact, she was even more bloodthirsty than the rest. She went so far as to offer some suggestions later on that even made Mirtai turn pale.’

‘The fellow really must have done something awful.’

‘He did indeed, my friend, and I’m going to give him hours and hours to regret it.’ Kalten’s blue eyes were like ice, and his nostrils were white and pinched with suppressed fury.

‘I didn’t do it, Kalten,’ Tynian told him, ‘so don’t start looking at me like that.’

‘Sorry,’ Kalten apologised. ‘Just thinking about it makes my blood boil.’

‘Don’t think about it then.’

Their accents were still rough, Sephrenia had seen to that, but their understanding of the Tamul language was very nearly perfect. ‘Are we ready?’ Sparhawk asked his tutor one evening.

‘Unless you plan to make speeches, Prince Sparhawk,’ Emperor Sarabian, who was paying them another of those whirlwind visits, said. ‘Your accent is really vile, you know.’

‘I’m going out there to listen, your Majesty,’ Sparhawk told him, ‘not to talk. Sephrenia and Zalasta are hiding our proficiency behind the accents.’

‘I wish you’d told me you could do this, Zalasta,’ Sarabian said just a bit wistfully. ‘You could have saved me months of time when I was studying languages, you know.’

‘Your Majesty was keeping your studies a secret,’ Zalasta reminded him. ‘I didn’t know you wanted to learn other tongues.’

‘Caught by my own cleverness then,’ Sarabian shrugged. ‘Oh, well. What precisely are we planning?’

‘We’re going to winnow through your court, your Majesty,’ Vanion told him. ‘Your government’s compartmentalised, and your ministers keep secrets from each other. That means that no one really has a grasp of the whole picture. We’re going to fan out through the various compartments and gather up everything we can find. When we put it all together, we might be able to see some patterns starting to emerge.’

Sarabian made a sour face. ‘It’s my own fault,’ he confessed.

‘Please don’t be cryptic, Sarabian,’ Ehlana told him. The two monarchs were good friends by now, largely because the emperor had simply pushed all formalities aside and had spoken directly and had insisted that Ehlana do the same.

‘I blundered, Ehlana,’ he said ruefully. ‘Tamuli’s never faced a real crisis before. Our bureaucrats are more clever than the subject peoples, and they have the Atans to back them up. The imperial family’s always been more afraid of its own government than of outsiders. We don’t encourage co-operation between the various ministries. I seem to be reaping the fruit of a misguided policy. When this is all over, I think I’ll fix it.’

‘My government doesn’t keep secrets from me,’ Ehlana told him smugly.

‘Please don’t rub it in,’ he said. ‘What exactly are we looking for, Lord Vanion?’

‘We observed a number of phenomena on our way to Matherion. Our guess is that we’re facing an alliance of some sort. We know—or at least we have good evidence—about who one of the parties is. We need to concentrate on the other now. We’re at a distinct disadvantage until we can identify him. If it’s all right with you, your Majesty, Queen Ehlana and Prince Sparhawk will be spending a great deal of time with you. That means that you’re going to have to have a long talk with your prime minister, I’m afraid. Pondia Subat’s starting to be inconvenient.’

Sarabian raised one eyebrow questioningly. ‘He’s done everything he possibly can to make you inaccessible to us, Sarabian,’ Ehlana explained.

‘He was told not to do that,’ Sarabian said bleakly.

‘Apparently he didn’t listen, your Majesty,’ Sparhawk said. ‘We have to wade through his people whenever we get near the main palace, and every time one of us so much as sticks his head out of a window, whole platoons of spies start to form up to follow us. Your prime minister doesn’t approve of us, I gather.’

‘It rather looks as if I’m going to have to explain some things to the esteemed Pondia Subat,’ Sarabian said. ‘I think he’s forgotten the fact that his office isn’t hereditary and that his head’s not so firmly attached that I can’t have it removed if it starts to inconvenience me.’

What charges would you bring against him, Sarabian?’ Ehlana asked curiously.

‘Charges? What on earth are you talking about, Ehlana? This is Tamuli. I don’t need charges. I can have his head chopped off if I decide that I don’t like his haircut. I’ll take care of Pondia Subat, my friends. I can promise his complete co-operation from now on—either his or that of his successor. Please continue, Lord Vanion.’

Vanion pushed on. ‘Patriarch Emban will concentrate his attention on the prime minister,’ he said, ‘whoever he happens to be. Sir Bevier will spend his time with the faculty of the university. Scholars pick up a great deal of information, and governments tend to ignore their findings—until it’s too late. Ulath, Kring and Tynian will observe the general staff of the army—the Tamul high command rather than the Atans. Atan Engessa will cover his own people. Milord Stragen and Talen will serve as liaison with the thieves of Matherion, and Alcan and Khalad will circulate among the palace servants. Sephrenia and Zalasta will talk with the local Styric community and Melidere and Sir Berit will charm all the courtiers. ‘

‘Isn’t Sir Berit just a bit young?’ Sarabian asked. ‘My courtiers are a very sophisticated group of people.’

‘Sir Berit has some special qualifications, your Majesty.’ Melidere smiled. ‘The younger women of your court—and some not quite so young—will do almost anything for him. He may have to sacrifice his virtue a few times, but he’s a very dedicated young man, so I’m sure we can count on him.’

Berit blushed. ‘Why do you always have to say things like that, Baroness?’ he asked plaintively.

‘I’m only teasing’, Berit,’ she said fondly.

‘It’s something that men don’t understand, your Majesty,’ Kalten told the emperor. ‘Berit has a strange effect on young women for some reason.’

‘Kalten and Mirtai will attend Sparhawk and the queen,’ Vanion continued. ‘We don’t know exactly how far our opponents might be willing to go, so they’ll provide you with some additional protection.’

‘And you, Lord Vanion?’ the emperor asked.

‘Vanion and Oscagne are going to try to put it all together, Sarabian,’ Ehlana replied. ‘We’ll all bring everything we find directly to them. They’ll sort through it all and isolate the gaps so that we’ll know where to concentrate further efforts.’

‘You Elenes are a very methodical people,’ Sarabian noted.

‘It’s an outgrowth of their dependency on logic, your Majesty,’ Sephrenia told him. ‘Their plodding search for corroboration is maddening sometimes, but it does get results. A well-trained Elene will spend half a day making observations before he’ll allow himself to admit that it’s raining.’

‘Ah,’ Emban said to her, ‘but when an Elene says that it’s raining, you can be absolutely sure that he’s telling you the truth.’

‘And what about you, your Highness?’ Sarabian smiled down at the little girl in his lap. ‘What part are you going to play in this grand scheme?’

‘I’m supposed to distract you so that you don’t ask too ‘many questions, Sarabian,’ Danae replied quite calmly. ‘Your new friends are going to do things that aren’t really proper, so I’m supposed to keep you from noticing.’

‘Danae.’ her mother exclaimed.

‘Well, aren’t you? You’re going to lie to people and spy on them and probably kill anybody who gets in your way. Isn’t that what you mean when you use the word politics?’

Sarabian laughed. ‘I think she’s got you there, Ehlana,’ he chortled. ‘Her definition of politics is a little nurrt, but it’s very close to the mark. She’s going to make an excellent queen.’

‘Thank you, Sarabian,’ Danae said sweetly, kissing his cheek.

Then Sparhawk felt that sudden chill, and even though he knew it was useless, his hand went to his sword-hilt as the flicker of darkness tugged at the very corner of his vision. He started to swear—half in Elenic and half in Tamul—as he realised that everything they had said had just been revealed to the shadowy presence that had been dogging their steps for all these months.

26

‘Adus used to try to sneak around and spy on people. That’s why Martel had to finally hire Krager.’

‘Who’s Adus?’ Sarabian asked.

‘A fellow we used to know, your Majesty,’ Kalten replied. ‘He wasn’t of much use as a spy. Everybody for a hundred yards in any direction knew when Adus was around. He didn’t believe in bathing, so he had a distinctive fragrance.’

‘Is that at all possible?’ Vanion asked Sephrenia. ‘Could Kalten have actually come up with the right answer?’

‘Vanion.’ Kalten objected.

‘Sorry, Kalten. That didn’t come out exactly the way I’d intended. Seriously though, Sephrenia, could our visitor be unaware of the shadow he’s casting?’

‘Anything’s possible, I suppose, dear one.’

‘A visual stink?’ Ulath suggested incredulously.

‘I don’t know if I’d use that exact term, but—’ Sephrenia looked at Zalasta. ‘is it possible?’

‘It would explain the phenomenon,’ he replied after pondering the notion for a moment. ‘The Gods are remarkable—not only in the depth of their understanding, but also in their limitations. It could very well be that our visitor doesn’t know that we can smell him when he pays a call—if I may borrow Sir Ulath’s metaphor. He may actually believe that he’s totally invisible to us—that his spying is going unnoticed.’

Bevier was shaking his head. ‘We always talk about it right after it happens,’ he disagreed. ‘He’d have heard us, so he has to know that he’s giving himself away.’

‘Not necessarily, Bevier,’ Kalten disagreed. ‘Adus didn’t know that he smelled like a cesspool, and it’s not really the sort of thing one admits to oneself. Maybe this shadow’s the same sort of thing—a kind of socially unacceptable offensiveness, like bad breath or poor table-manners.’

‘There’s a fascinating idea,’ Patriarch Emban laughed. ‘We could extrapolate a complete book of divine etiquette from this one single incident.’

‘To what purpose, your Grace?’ Oscagne asked him.

‘The noblest of purposes, your Excellency—the greater understanding of God. Isn’t that why we’re here?’

‘I’m not sure that a dissertation on the table-manners of the Gods would significantly advance the sum of human knowledge, Emban,’ Vanion observed. ‘Might we prevail on your Majesty to smooth our way into the inner circles of your government?’

‘Smooth or rough, Lord Vanion,’ Sarabian grinned, I’ll insert you into the ministries. After I’ve straightened Pondia Subat out, I’ll take on the other ministers, one by one or row by row. I think it’s time they all found out just exactly who’s in charge here.’ He suddenly laughed with delight. ‘I’m so glad you decided to stop by, Ehlana. You and your friends have made me realise that I’ve been sitting on absolute power for all these years, and yet it’s never occurred to me to use it. I think it’s time to pull it out, dust it off and wave it around just a bit.’

‘Oh, dear,’ Oscagne said, his face suddenly filled with chagrin. ‘What have I done?’

‘We got this yore problem, Stragen,’ Caalador drawled in Elenic. ‘These yore yaller brothers o’ our ain’t tooken eth th’ notion o’ steppin’ cross no social boundaries.’

‘Please, Caalador,’ Stragen said, ‘spare me the folksy ebie. Get to the point.’

‘’Taint really natch’ral, Stragen.’

‘Do you mind?’

Talen, Stragen and Caalador were meeting in a cell near the waterfront. It was mid-morning, and the local thieves were beginning to stir.

‘As you’ve already discovered, the brotherhood here in Matherion’s afflicted with a caste system,’ Caalador continued. ‘The thieves’ guild doesn’t talk to the swindlers, and the beggars guild doesn’t talk to the whores—except in the line of business, of course—and the murderer’s guild is totally outcast.’

‘Now that there’s realnt on-natch-ral,’ Talen observed.

‘Don’t do that, Talen,’ Stragen told him. ‘One of you is bad enough. I couldn’t bear two. Why are the murderers so despised?’

‘Because they violate one of the basic precepts of Tamul culture,’ Caalador shrugged. ‘They’re paid assassins actually, and they don’t bow and scrape to their victims before they cut their throats. The concept of courtesy overwhelms Tamuls. They don’t really object to the notion of someone murdering noblemen or hire. It’s the rudeness of it all that upsets them.’ Caalador shook his head. ‘That’s one of the reasons so many Tamul thieves get caught and beheaded. It’s considered impolite to run away.’

‘Unbelievable,’ Talen murmured. ‘It’s worse than we thought, Stragen. If these people don’t talk to each other, we’ll never get any information out of them.’

‘I think I warned you not to expect too much here in Matherion, my friends,’ Caalador reminded them.

‘Are the rest of the guilds afraid of the murderers?’ Stragen asked.

‘Oh, yes,’ Caalador replied.

‘We’ll start from there then. What’s the general feeling about the emperor?’

‘Awe, generally, and a level of adoration that hovers right on the verge of outright worship.’

‘Good. Get in touch with the murderers’ guild. When Talen brings you the word, have the cutthroats round up the heads of the other guilds and bring them to the palace.’

‘What are we a-fixin’ t’ do here, m’ friend?’

‘I’ll speak with the emperor and see if I can persuade him to make a speech to our brothers,’ Stragen shrugged.

‘Have you lost your mind?’

‘Of course not. Tamuls are completely controlled by custom, and one of those customs is that the emperor can suspend customs.’

‘Were you able to follow that?’ Caalador asked Talen. ‘I think he lost me on that sharp turn right there at the end.’

‘Let’s see if I’ve got this straight,’ Caalador said to the blond Thalesian. ‘You’re going to violate every known propriety of the criminal culture here in Matherion by having the murderers kidnap the leaders of the other guilds.’

‘Yes,’ Stragen admitted.

‘Then you’re going to have them all taken to the palace compound, where they’re absolutely forbidden to go.’

‘Yes.’

‘Then you’re going to ask the emperor to make a speech to a group of people whose very existence he’s not even supposed to know about.’

‘That’s more or less what I had in mind.’

‘And the emperor’s going to command them to suspend aeons-old custom and tradition and start cooperating with each other?’

‘Is there some problem with that?’

‘No, not really. I just wanted to be sure I had it all down straight in my mind, that’s all.’

‘See to it, would you, old boy?’ Stragen asked. ‘I’d probably better go talk with the emperor.’

Sephrenia sighed.. ‘You’re being childish, you know,’ she said.

Salla’s eyes bulged. ‘How dare you?’ he almost screamed. The Styric elder’s face had gone white.

‘You forget yourself, Elder Salla,’ Zalasta told the outraged man. ‘Councillor Sephrenia speaks for the Thousand. Will you defy them? And the Gods they represent?’

‘The Thousand are misguided!’ Salla blustered. ‘There can never be an accommodation between Styricum and the pig-eaters!’

‘That’s for the Thousand to decide,’ Zalasta told him in a flinty tone.

‘But look at what the Elene barbarians have done to us,’ Salla said, his voice choked with outrage.

‘You’ve lived out your whole life here in the Styric quarter in Matherion, Elder Salla,’ Zalasta said. ‘You’ve probably never even seen an Elene.’

‘I can read, Zalasta.’

‘I’m delighted to hear it. We’re not really here for discussion, however. The High Priestess of Aphrael is conveying the instruction of the Thousand. Like it or not, you’re compelled to obey.’

Salla’s eyes filled with tears. ‘They’ve murdered us!’ he choked.

‘You seem to be in remarkably good condition for a man who’s been murdered, Salla,’ Sephrenia told him. ‘Tell me, was it painful?’

‘You know what I mean, Priestess.’

‘Ah, yes,’ she said, ‘that tiresome Styric compulsion to expropriate pain. Someone on the far side of the world stabs a Styric, and you start to bleed. You sit here in Matherion in protected luxury feeling sorry for yourself and secretly consumed with a gnawing envy that you’re being denied martyrdom. Well, if you want to be a martyr so badly, Salla, I can arrange it for you.’ Sephrenia was coldly angry with this babbling fool. ‘The Thousand has made its decision,’ she said flatly. ‘I don’t really have to explain it to you, but I will—so that you can convey the decision to your followers—and you will explain it, Salla. You’ll be very convincing about it, or I’ll replace you.’

‘I hold my position for life,’ he declared defiantly.

‘Precisely my point.’ Her tone was ominous.

He stared at her. ‘You wouldn’t!’ he gasped.

‘Try me.’ Sephrenia had wanted to say that to someone for years. She found it quite satisfying. ‘It goes like this, Salla—feel free to stop me if I start going too fast for you. The Elenes are savages who are looking for an excuse to kill every Styric they see. If we don’t assist them in this crisis, we’ll be handing them that excuse on a velvet cushion. We will assist them, because if we don’t, they’ll slaughter every Styric on the Eosian continent. We don’t want them to do that, do we?’

‘But—’

‘Salla, if you say “but” to me one more time, I’ll obliterate you.’ She was startled to discover just how enjoyable it was to behave like an Elene. ‘I’ve given you the instruction of the Thousand, and the Thousand speaks for the Gods. The matter is not open for discussion, so quit trying to snivel or wriggle your way out of this. You will obey, or you will die. Those are your options. Choose quickly. I’m in a bit of a hurry.’

Even Zalasta seemed shocked at that.

‘Your Goddess is cruel, councillor Sephrenia,’ Salla accused.

She hit him before she even thought about it, her hand and arm seeming to move all on their own. She had spent generations with the Pandion Knights, and she knew how to get her shoulder behind the blow. It was more than an ineffectual slap. She caught him sollidly on the point of the chin with the heel of her hand, and he reeled back, his eyes glazed. Sephrenia began to intone the words of the deadly incantation, her hands moving quite openly in the accompanying gestures.

‘I won’t do that, Sephrenia.’ Aphrael’s voice rang sharply in her mind.

‘I know,’ Sephrenia threw back the thought. ‘I’m just trying to get his attention, that’s all.’

Salla gasped as he realised what she was doing. Then he screamed and fell to his knees, blubbering and begging for mercy.

‘Will you do as I have commanded you to do?’ she snapped.

‘Yes, Priestess, yes, please don’t kill me!’

‘I have stopped the spell, but I have not cancelled it. I can finish it at any time. Your heart lies in my fist, Salla. Keep that firmly in mind the next time you feel an urge to insult my Goddess. Now get up and go do as you’re told. Come along, Zalasta. The smell of selfpity in here nauseates me.’

‘You’ve grown hard, Sephrenia,’ Zalasta accused when they were back out in the narrow streets of the Styric quarter.

‘I was bluffing, my old friend,’ she told him. ‘Aphrael would never have responded to the spell.’ She touched her forearm gingerly. ‘Do you happen to know where I might find a good physician, Zalasta? I think I’ve just sprained my wrist.’

‘Not very impressive, are they?’ Ulath suggested as he, Tynian and Kring walked back across the neatlytrimmed grounds of the imperial compound toward the Elene castle.

‘Truly,’ Kring agreed. ‘They seem to spend all their time thinking about parades.’ The three of them were returning from their meeting with the Imperial High Command. ‘They’re all show,’ the Domi concluded. ‘There’s no substance to them.’

‘Uniformed courtiers,’ Ulath dismissed the Tamul general staff.

‘I’ll agree,’ Tynian concurred. ‘The Atans are the real military force in Tamuli. Decisions are made by the government, and the general staff simply passes those decisions on to the Atan commanders. I began to have some doubts about the effectiveness of the imperial army when they told me that rank is hereditary. I wouldn’t want to rely on them in the event of an emergency.’

‘That’s God’s own truth, friend Tynian,’ Kring said. Their cavalry general took me to the stables and showed me what they call horses here.’ He shuddered.

‘Bad?’ Ulath asked.

‘Worse than bad, friend Ulath. Their mounts wouldn’t even make good plough-horses. I wouldn’t have believed that horses could get that fat. Anything faster than a walk would kill the poor beasts.’

‘Are we agreed then?’ Tynian ‘ asked them. ‘The imperial army is totally useless?’

‘I think you’re flattering them, Tynian,’ Ulath replied.

‘We’ll have to phrase our report rather carefully,’ the Alcione Knight told his companions. ‘We probably shouldn’t offend the emperor. Could we say “undertrained?”’ That’s the truth certainly,’

Kring answered. ‘How about “unversed in modern tactics and strategy?”’

‘No argument there,’ Ulath grunted.. ‘“Poorly equipped?”’

‘That’s not exactly true, friend Tynian,’ Kring disagreed. ‘Their equipment is of very good quality. It’s probably the best twelfth-century equipment I’ve ever seen.’

‘All right,’ Tynian laughed, ‘how about “archaic weaponry”?’

‘I could accept that,’ the Domi conceded.

‘You’d rather not mention fat, lazy, stupid or inept, I gather?’ Ulath asked.

‘That might be just a shade undiplomatic, Ulath.’

‘True, though,’ Ulath said mournfully.

Pondia Subat did not approve. Emban and Vanion could sense that, although the prime minister’s face and manner remained diplomatically bland. Emperor Sarahian had, as promised, spoken at length with his prime minister, and Pondia Subat was going out of his way to be co-operative and to conceal his true feelings.

‘The details are very commonplace, my Lords,’ he said deprecatingly, but then, the details of day-to-day government always are, aren’t they?’

‘Of course, Pondia,’ Emban shrugged, ‘but when taken in the mass, the accretion of detail conveys the sense of governing style, wouldn’t you say? From what I’ve seen so far this morning, I’ve already reached certain conclusions.’

‘Oh?’ Subat’s tone was neutral.

‘The guiding principle here seems to be the protection of the emperor,’ Emban told him. ‘That principle’s very familiar to me, since it’s identical to the one that dominates our thinking in Chyrellos. The government of the Church exists almost entirely to protect the Archprelate.’

‘Perhaps, Your Grace, but you’ll have to admit that there are differences.’

‘Oh, of course, but the fact that Emperor Sarabian’s not as powerful as Archprelate Dolmant doesn’t really change things.’

Subat’s eyes widened slightly, but he instantly gained control of his expression.

‘I realise that the concept is alien to you, Pondia,’ Emban continued smoothly, but the Archprelate speaks for God, and that makes him the most powerful man on earth. That’s an Elene perception, of course, and it may have little or nothing to do with reality. So long as we all believe it, though, it is true. That’s what those of us in church government do. We devote a great deal of our effort to making sure that all Elenes continue to believe that Dolmant speaks for God. So long as they believe that, the Archprelacy’s safe.’

The fat little churchman considered it. ‘If you don’t mind an observation, Pondia Subat, your central problem here in Matherion stems from the fact that you Tamuls have a secular turn of mind. Your church has been diminished, probably because you can’t bring yourselves to accept the notion that any authority might equal or exceed that of the emperor. You’ve erased the element of faith from your national character. Scepticism is all very well and good, but it tends to get out of hand. After you’ve applied it to God—or your Gods—it starts to spill over, and people begin to question other things as well—the rightness of government, imperial wisdom, the justice of the tax system, that sort of thing. In the most perfect of worlds, the emperor would be deified, and church and state would become one.’

He laughed in a self-deprecating little way. ‘Sorry, Pondia Subat. I didn’t mean to preach. It’s an occupational compulsion, I suppose. The point is that both Tamuls and Elenes have made the same mistake. You didn’t make your emperor a God, and we didn’t make our Archprelate an emperor. We’ve both failed the people by placing an incomplete authority over them. They deserved better of us. But I can see that you’re busy, and my stomach’s telling me rather pointedly that it’s lunch-time. We’ll talk again—soon. Coming, Lord Vanion?’

‘You don’t actually believe what you just said, do you, Emban?’ Vanion murmured as the two Elenes left the office.

‘Probably not,’ Emban shrugged, ‘but we’re going to have to do something to widen the crack in that stone shell around Subat’s mind. I’m sure that the emperor’s offer to have his head docked opened his eyes a bit, but until he starts actually thinking instead of simply plodding along the well-worn paths of his preconceptions, we’re not going to get anything out of him. Despite his general disapproval of us, he’s still the most important man in the government, and I’d rather have him working for us than against us. Do you suppose we could step right along, Vanion? I’m definitely getting hungry.’

‘It should be blue, though,’ Danae was saying. She sat with Mmrr in Emperor Sarabian’s lap, looking directly into his eyes.

‘For an Elene, yes, but—’ The Emperor sounded dubious.

‘Right,’ she agreed. ‘Tamul skin tone would be better with—’

‘But not red-red, though. More scarlet, perhaps even—’

‘No. Maroon’s too dark. It’s a ball, not a—’

‘We don’t wear dark clothes at funerals. We wear—’

‘Really? That’s a very interesting notion. Why do you—?’

‘It’s considered insulting to—’

‘The dead—’

‘They don’t really mind, Sarabian. They’re busy someplace else.’

‘Can you even begin to follow them?’ Ehlana murmured to Sparhawk.

‘Sort of. They’re both thinking about the same thing, so they don’t have to finish sentences.’

Emperor Sarabian laughed delightedly. ‘You’re the most stimulating conversationalist I’ve ever met, your Royal Highness,’ he said to the little girl in his lap.

‘Thank you, your Imperial Majesty,’ she replied. ‘You’re not so bad yourself, you know.’

‘Danae!’ Ehlana said sharply.

‘Oh, mother. Sarabian and I are just getting to know each other.’

‘I don’t suppose—’ Sarabian’s tone was speculative.

‘I’m afraid not, your Majesty,’ Danae replied. ‘I’m not being disrespectful, but the crown prince is much too young for me. People gossip when the wife’s older than the husband. He’s a sweet-natured baby, though. But I’ve already decided who I’m going—’

‘You have? So young?’

‘It avoids confusion later on. Girls get silly when they reach the marrying age. It’s better to decide those things while you’ve still got your wits about you—isn’t it, mother?’ Ehlana blushed suddenly. ‘Mother started setting traps for my father when she was about my age,’ Danae confided to the Emperor of Tamuli.

‘Did you, Ehlana?’ Sarabian asked.

‘Well, yes, but it’s not nice to talk about it in public.’

‘He didn’t mind being trapped, mother,’ Danae said. ‘At least not after he’d got used to the idea. All in all, they make a fairly good set of parents—except when mother starts throwing her rank around.’

That will do, Princess Danae,’ Ehlana said in her official tone.

‘You see what I mean?’ Danae grinned at the Emperor.

‘Your daughter’s going to be a remarkably gifted queen,’ Sarabian complimented them. ‘Elenia’s going to be a lucky kingdom to have the two of you on the throne one right after another. The problem with hereditary succession has always been those lamentable lapses in talent. A great king or emperor is almost inevitably succeeded by a hopeless incompetent.’

‘What’s the customary procedure here in Tamuli, Sarabian?’ Ehlana asked. ‘I know that you have nine wives. Does your first-born become the crown prince, no matter what the race of his mother?’

‘Oh, no. Certainly not. The throne descends to the first-born son of the first wife. She’s always a Tamul, since a Tamul princess is always the first one a crown prince marries. I was married at the age of two, actually. I married my other wives right after I was crowned emperor. It was a group ceremony—eight brides and one bridegroom. That eliminates jealousies and arguments about rank. I was absolutely exhausted the following morning.’

‘You mean that—?’

‘Oh, yes. It’s required. It’s another way to avoid those jealousies I mentioned. And it all has to be finished by sunrise.’

‘How do they decide who’s first?’ Ehlana sounded very interested.

‘I have no idea. Maybe they roll dice for the privilege. There were four royal bed-chambers on each side of a long corridor. I was obliged to go down that endless hallway and to pay a call on each of my new brides. It killed my grandfather. He wasn’t a young man when he ascended the throne, and the exertion was too much for him. ‘

‘Do you suppose we could change the subject?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘Prude,’ Ehlana chided him.

‘I wonder if Dolmant would let me have more than one husband,’ Danae mused.

‘Never mind,’ Sparhawk told her very firmly.

The others arrived, and they all gathered around a large table set with a lunch consisting of unfamiliar delicacies.

‘How did you find Subat, your Grace?’ Sarabian asked the Primate of Ucera.

‘We went to his offices, and there he was, your Majesty.’

‘Emban,’ Sephrenia chided the fat little churchman, who was looking suspiciously at an undefinable meatcourse.

‘Sorry, your Majesty,’ Emban apologised. ‘Your prime minister still seems to be a bit set in his ways.’

‘You noticed,’ Sarabian said dryly.

‘We definitely noticed, your Majesty,’ Vanion replied. ‘His Grace here turned his thinking upside down for him just a bit, though. He suggested that what the world really needs is a Divine Emperor or an Imperial Archprelacy. Both offices are incomplete as they stand.’

‘Me? A God? Don’t be ridiculous, Emban. I’ve got enough problems with a government. Please don’t pile a priesthood on top of it.’

‘I wasn’t really serious your Majesty,’ Emban replied. ‘I just wanted to shake up his thinking a bit more. That talk you had with him opened his eyes right enough, but we still have to open his mind.’

‘What happened to your arm?’ Vanion asked the woman he loved. Sephrenia had just turned back her sleeve to reveal her bandaged wrist.

‘I sprained it,’ she replied.

‘On a stubborn Styric head,’ Zalasta added, chuckling.

‘Sephrenia.’ Vanion stared at her.

‘I used my Pandion training, dear one,’ she smiled. ‘Someone should have told me that I was supposed to kkl my wrist, though.’

You actually hit someone?’ Kalten asked incredulously.

‘She did indeed, Sir Kalten,’ Zalasta grinned. ‘She knocked him half-way across the room. She also threatened to kill him and even went so far as to begin the death spell. He grew very co-operative at that point.’

They all stared at her in disbelief.

‘Oh, stop that,’ she told them. Then she laughed softly. ‘It was a great deal of fun actually. I’ve never bullied anyone before. It’s very satisfying, isn’t it?’

‘We like it,’ Ulath grinned.

‘The Styrics will co-operate fully,’ she told them.

‘How was the army?’ Emban asked Tynian.

‘I don’t think we should expect too much there, your Grace,’ Tynian replied carefully, glancing at the emperor. ‘Their function’s primarily ceremonial.’

‘They come from the very best families, Sir Knight,’ Sarabian said defensively.

‘That might be part of the problem, your Majesty, that and the fact that they’ve never had to actually fight anybody. We’ll be depending on the Atans anyway, so we won’t really need the Imperial Army.’

He looked at Engessa. ‘is the local garrison up to standard, Atan Engessa?’ he asked.

‘A little soft, Tynian-Knight. I took them out for a run this morning, and they began to falter after twenty miles. I gave some orders. They’ll be fit by the end of the week.’

‘Things are falling into place,’ Vanion approved.

‘The palace servants have all the usual vices, Lord Vanion,’ Khalad reported. ‘They love to gossip. Alcan’s making much better progress than I am—probably because she’s prettier.’

‘Thank you,’ the girl murmured, lowering her eyelashes.

‘It’s no great compliment, Alcan,’ Talen told her. ‘My brother’s not a raving beauty—none of us are. Our faces are designed for wear, not for show.’

‘I’d guess that by the end of the week we should have gained their confidence sufficiently to start picking up secrets,’ Khalad surmised.

‘You Elenes amaze me,’ Sarabian marvelled. ‘You all seem to have an absolute genius for intrigue.’

‘This is a rather select group your Majesty,’ Emban told him. ‘We knew before we left Chyrellos that our major task here would be the gathering of information. We chose people who were skilled at it.’

‘I came across one of the scholars in the contemporary affairs department at the university,’ Bevier reported. ‘Most of the rest of the faculty has already established reputations based on this or that past event. Resting on one’s laurels is one of the failings of academics. They can coast along on a single monograph for decades. Anyway, this fellow I mentioned is young and hungry. He’s come up with a theory, and he’s riding it for all he’s worth. He’s absolutely convinced that all the present turmoil’s emanating from Arjuna—perhaps because no one else on the faculty’s staked out that particular ground yet. He’s also convinced that Scarpa’s the man behind the entire conspiracy.’

‘Who’s Scarpa?’ Kalten asked.

‘Zalasta told us about him,’ Ulath reminded him. ‘He serves the same function in Arjuna as Sabre does in Astel and Gerrich does in Lamorkand.’

‘Oh, yes, now I remember.’

‘Anyway,’ Bevier continued, ‘our scholar’s gathered a huge mass of corroborating evidence, some of it very shaky. He’ll talk for hours about his theory to anybody who cares to listen.’

‘Is anybody else at the university working on any alternatives?’ Emban asked him.

‘Not actively, your Grace. They don’t want to risk their reputations on false leads. Academic timidity’s urging them to take a wait-and-see position. My young enthusiast doesn’t have a reputation, so he’s willing to take some risks.’

‘Stay with him, Bevier,’ Vanion said. ‘Even negative conclusions can help to narrow the search.’

‘My feelings exactly, Lord Vanion.’

‘Do you suppose I could impose on your Majesty?’ Stragen asked the emperor.

‘That’s what a host is for, Milord,’ Sarabian grinned. ‘Impose to your heart’s content.’

‘You did know that there are criminals here in Matherion, didn’t you?’

‘You mean other than the members of my government?’ Stragen laughed.

‘Score one for you, your Majesty,’ he said. ‘There’s a world below the surface in every major city in the world,’ he explained. ‘It’s a world of thieves, pickpockets, burglars, beggars, whores, swindlers and murderers. They eke out a precarious existence by preying on the rest of society.’

‘We’re aware that such people exist, of course,’ Sarabian said. ‘That’s why we have policemen and prisons.’

‘Yes, your Majesty. Those are some of the minor inconveniences in the criminal’s life. What isn’t generally known, however, is the fact that the criminals of the world co-operate with each other to some degree.’

‘Go on.’

‘I’ve had some contacts with those people in the past, your Majesty,’ Stragen went on, choosing his words carefully. ‘They can be very useful. There’s almost nothing that goes on in a city that some criminal doesn’t know about. If you make it clear that you’re not interested in their activities, they’ll usually sell you the information they’ve picked up.’

‘A business arrangement then?’

‘Precisely. It’s something on the order of buying stolen goods. It’s not very nice, but many people do it.’

‘Of course.’

‘Now, then. This co-operative spirit I mentioned doesn’t exist here in Matherion. Tamuls don’t cooperate very well for some reason. Each profession here keeps strictly to itself. They’ve even formed guilds, and they view other criminal professions with contempt and suspicion. We’re going to have to break down those walls if those people are to be of any use to us.’

‘That stands to reason, Milord.’

Stragen seemed to breathe a bit easier. ‘I’ve made some arrangements, your Majesty,’ he said. ‘The leaders of the various criminal guilds are going to come here. They respect you enormously, and they’ll obey if you tell them to do something.’ He paused. ‘That’s as long as you don’t command them to become honest, of course.’

‘Of course. You can’t ask a man to give up his profession, I suppose.’

‘Exactly. What you can order them to do, though, your Majesty, is to abandon these caste barriers and start talking to each other. If they’re going to be of any use, they’re going to have to be willing to pass information to one central collecting point. If we have to contact the head of each guild, information would be stale long before we’ got our hands on it.’

‘I see. Correct me if I’m wrong, Milord Stragen. What you want me to do is to organise the criminals of Matherion so that they can prey on honest citizens more effectively in exchange for unspecified information they may or may not be able to pick up in the street. Is that it?’

Stragen winced. ‘I was afraid your Majesty might look at it that way,’ he said.

‘You needn’t be fearful, Milord Stragen. I’ll be happy to have a chat with these loyal criminals. The gravity of the current crisis over-rides my natural revulsion for having dealings with knaves and rogues. Tell me, Milord, are you a good thief?’

‘I guess I’ve underestimated your Majesty,’ Stragen sighed. ‘Yes, actually I’m a very good thief. I hate to sound immodest, but I’m probably the best thief in the world.’

‘How’s business?’

‘Not so good lately, Emperor Sarabian. Times of turmoil are very bad for crime. Honest men grow nervous and start protecting their valuables. Oh, one thing, your Majesty. The criminals you’ll be addressing will all be masked. They respect you enormously, but they’ll probably want to hide their faces from you.’

‘I can understand that I suppose. I’m rather looking forward to speaking with your friends, Stragen. We’ll put our heads together and come up with ways to circumvent the authorities.’

‘That’s not really a good idea, your Majesty,’ Talen told him. ‘Never let a thief get within ten feet of you. He raised his hand to show Sarabian a jeweled bracelet. The startled emperor looked quickly at his naked right wrist. ‘Merely a demonstration, your Majesty,’ Talen grinned. ‘I wasn’t really going to keep it.’

‘Give him back the rest as well, Talen,’ Stragen told the boy.

Talen sighed. ‘Your eyes are unwholesomely sharp, Stragen.’ He reached inside his doublet and took out several other jewels. ‘The best plan is not to have anything of value on your person when you talk with thieves, your Majesty,’ he advised.

‘You’re very good, Master Talen,’ Sarabian complimented the boy.

‘It’s all in the wrist,’ Talen shrugged.

‘I absolutely love you Elenes,’ Sarabian said. ‘Tamuls are a dull, boring people, but you’re full of surprises.’ He smiled archly at Melidere. ‘And what startling revelations do you have for me, Baroness?’ he asked her.

‘Nothing really very startling, your Majesty,’ she smiled. ‘The swishing back and forth through the corridors has earned me several fairly predictable offers and a fair number of pinches. Tamuls pinch more than Elenes, don’t they? I’ve learned to keep my back to the wall, though. A pinch or two in the spirit of good clean fun is all right, I suppose, but the bruises take a long time to fade.’

Then they all looked at Berit. The young Pandion Knight blushed furiously. ‘I haven’t really got anything to report, my Lords and Ladies,’ he mumbled.

‘Berit,’ Ehlana said gently, ‘it’s not nice to lie like that, you know.’

‘It wasn’t really anything, your Majesty,’ he protested. ‘It was all a misunderstanding, I’m sure—probably because I don’t speak Tamul very well.’

‘What happened, my young friend?’ Sarabian asked him.

‘Well, your Majesty, it was your wife, the empress Elysoun—the one with the unusual costume.’

‘Yes, I’m acquainted with her.’

‘Well, your Majesty, she approached me in one of the corridors and said that I was looking a bit tired—perhaps because I was keeping my eyes closed.’

‘Why were you doing that?’

‘Ah—well, her costume, you understand, your Majesty. I thought it might be impolite to stare.’

‘In Elysoun’s case, it’s impolite not to. She’s very proud of her attributes, and she likes to share them with people.’

‘Berit’s blush deepened. ‘Anyway,’ he floundered on, she said I looked tired and told me that she had a very comfortable bed in her quarters that I could use if I wanted to get some rest.’

Kalten was gazing at the youthful knight with openmouthed envy. ‘What did you say?’ he asked almost breathlessly.

‘Well, I thanked her, of course, but I told her that I wasn’t really sleepy.’

Kalten buried his face in his hands and groaned. ‘There, there,’ Ulath said patting his shoulder comfortingly.

27

‘Well sir, yer Queenship,’ Caalador was saying in his broad, colloquial drawl, ‘these yore trinkets is putty thangs, I’ll tell the world, but they ain’t got no real practicle use to ‘em.’ He offered Ehlana a pair of carved ivory figurines.

‘They’re gorgeous, Caalador,’ she gushed.

‘Is that guard gone?’ Caalador muttered to Sparhawk.

Sparhawk nodded. ‘Mirtai just shoved him out the door.’

‘I thought he was planning to stay all day.’

‘Did you have any trouble getting on the grounds? Ehlana asked him.

‘Not a bit, your Majesty.’

‘I should hope not—not after the fuss I made.’ She looked more closely at the figurines. ‘These are really lovely, Caalador,’ she said. ‘Where did you get them?’

‘I had them stolen from the museum at the university,’ he shrugged. ‘They’re ninth century Tegan—very fine and very valuable.’ He grinned at her impishly. ‘If’n yet queenship’s got this yore passion fer anhkits, y might’s well git th’ real thangs.’

‘I love to listen to this man talk,’ Ehlana said.

Barroness Melidere escorted the others into the royal quarters.

‘Any problems?’ Stragen asked his brother thief.

‘in slicker’n a weasel burrowin’ into a hen-roost.’

‘Please, Caalador, spare me.’

Caalador was serving the Queen of Elenia in the roll of ‘procurer of antiquities,’ and by her orders was to be granted immediate access to her at any time. One or the other of the knights had escorted him onto the grounds several times during the past several weeks in order to familiarize the guards at the gates with his face, but this was the first time he had tried to gain entry by himself. Their assorted subterfuges were growing more and more subtle.

‘Has anything meaningful turned up, Master Caalador?’ Zalasta asked.

‘I’m not entirely sure, learned one,’ Caalador frowned. ‘We keep running into something a little peculiar.’

‘Oh?’

‘All sorts of people are talking about something called ‘the Hidden City’. They’re the very people we’ve been watching, so we thought it might have some significance.’

‘It is a’bit unusual,’ Zalasta agreed. ‘It’s not the sort of thing you’d expect to hear noised about on the streets.’

‘It actually means something then?’

Zalasta nodded. ‘It’s an old Tamul platitude that has to do with the life of the mind. Are they saying, ‘The way to the Hidden City is long, but the rewards to be found there are treasures beyond price?’’

‘That’s it exactly, learned one. Two people meet on the street, one of them recites the first half, and the other recites the second.’

Zalasta nodded. ‘The platitude’s supposed to refer to the rewards of the search for knowledge and enlightenment. I’d suspect some other significance in this case, however. Are your people hearing it from anybody other than Tamuls?’

Caalador nodded. ‘A couple of Elene merchants greeted each other with it on a street-corner just yesterday.’

‘It sounds very much like a sign and countersign,’ Vanion mused.

‘I’d hate to concentrate all our efforts on something like that to the exclusion of everything else,’ Zalasta said cautiously.

‘Ah, ‘taint no big thang, yet sorcerership,’ Caalador assured him. ‘I’m up t’ m’ ears in beggars an’ whores an’ sneak thieves an’ sich. I got what y’ might call a embarrassment o’ riches in that deportment.’

Zalasta looked puzzled.

‘He says he’s got more than enough people at his disposal, Zalasta,’ Sephrenia translated.

‘It’s a colourful dialect, isn’t it?’ Zalasta observed mildly.

Ulath was frowning. ‘I’m not entirely positive,’ he said, ‘but it seemed to me that I heard two of the palace guards talking about “the Hidden City” a few days ago. There might be more people involved than we thought.’

Vanion nodded. ‘It may not lead anywhere,’ he said, but it won’t hurt anything if we all keep our ears open. If Caalador has stumbled across the password of the other side, it could help us to identify conspirators we might otherwise miss. Let’s compile a sort of a list. Let’s gather the names of all these people who hunger and thirst for the hidden city of the mind. If this is a sign and countersign, and if it’s in any way connected to what we’re looking for, let’s have a group of names to work with.’

‘You’re starting to sound very much like a policeman, Lord Vanion,’ Talen said, half accusingly.

‘Can you ever forgive me?’

‘Oh, by the way, I saw an old friend at the university,’ Bevier told them with a faint smile. ‘It seems that Baron Kotyk’s brother-in-law’s come to Matherion to expose the Department of Contemporary Literature to his unspeakable art.’

‘Wouldn’t “inflict” be a better word there, Bevier?’ Ulath asked. ‘I’ve heard some of Elron’s poetry.’

‘Who’s Elron?’ Sephrenia asked.

Sparhawk exchanged a long look with Emban. They were still bound by the oaths they had given Archimandrite Morsel. ‘Ah—’ he began, not quite sure how to proceed, ‘he’s an Astel—a sort of semi-aristocrat with literary pretensions. We’re not sure just how much he’s involved in the disturbances in Astel, but his opinions and sympathies seem to indicate that he’s a strong supporter of the man known as Sabre.’

‘Isn’t it a coincidence that he just happens to have made the trip to Matherion at just about the same time that we’re getting a strong odour of dead fish in the streets?’ Tynian asked. ‘Why would he come to the very centre of the culture of the godless yellow devils he professes to hate?’

‘Unusual,’ Ulath agreed.

‘Anything that’s unusual is suspicious,’ Kalten asserted.

‘That’s a gross generalisation,’ Sparhawk accused.

‘Well, isn’t it?’

‘In this case you might be right. Maybe we’d better keep an eye on him. You’d better pull out your drawing pad again, Talen.’

‘You know, Sparhawk,’ the boy said, ‘I could make a lot of money drawing these pictures if you weren’t so set on making a Pandion of me and saddling me with all those high ideals.’

‘Service is its own reward, Talen,’ Sparhawk replied piously.

‘Caalador,’ Sephrenia said thoughtfully.

‘Yes, yer sorceress-ship?’

‘Please, don’t do that,’ she said wearily. ‘There are a number of these so-called firebrands loose in Tamuli. Is it at all possible that some of the local thieves might have seen any of them?’

‘I’ll ask around, Lady Sephrenia, and I can send to the other kingdoms for people who’ve seen them if I have to. I’m not sure how much good physical descriptions are going to be, though. If you say that a man’s sort of medium, that’s going to include about half the population almost by definition.’

‘She can go beyond physical descriptions, Caalador,’ Talen assured him. ‘She’ll wiggle her fingers at your witnesses and put an image of the person they’ve seen in a pail of water. I can draw a picture from that.’

‘It might not be a bad idea to have pictures of these various patriots in circulation,’ Sephrenia murmured. ‘If Elron and Krager are here, others may decide to visit Matherion as well. If they’re going to hold a convention, we should know about it, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Shouldn’t you add a picture of Count Gerrich as well?’ Danae suggested.

‘But he’s all the way across the world in Lamorkand, Princess,’ Kalten pointed out.

‘He’s still one of the people involved, Kalten,’ she said. ‘If you’re going to do something, do it right. How much is it going to cost? A few sheets of paper maybe? And the use of Talen’s pencil for half an hour?’

‘All right, include him. I don’t care. I don’t think he’ll ever show up here, but go ahead and have Talen draw his picture, if you want.’

‘Oh, thank you, Kalten. Thank you, thank you, thank you.’

‘Isn’t it nearly her nap-time?’ Kalten asked sourly.

‘Speaking of Krager,’ Sparhawk said, ‘have there been any new sightings of him?’

‘Just those two I mentioned earlier,’ Caalador replied. ‘Is he the kind who’s likely to go to ground?’

‘That’s Krager, all right,’ Kalten said. ‘He’s perfectly at home with sewer rats—being at least half-rat himself. As long as there was someone around to fetch wine for him, he’d be quite happy to stay down a rat-hole for six months at a stretch.’

‘I really want him, Caalador,’ Sparhawk grated. ‘My friends are all having a wonderful time telling me that they told me so.’

‘I didn’t follow that one,’ Caalador said with a puzzled look.

‘They all think I should have killed him. Even Sephrenia’s all athirst for his blood.’

‘Well, now, m’ friend,’ Caalador drawled, ‘I kin make a real good case fer gist how forchoonate-like it wuz that y’ din’t kill ‘im. You an’ yet friends here all knows this bin iffn y’d slit his weasand, now would he? We knows this yore Krager, an’ we’ll chase im’ down sooner er later an’ set fire t’ his feet until he starts talkin’. If’n he wuz t’ be a absolute stranger, we wouldn’t have no idea a-tall ‘bout who we wuz a-lookin’ fer, now would we?’

Sparhawk smiled beatifically around at his friends. ‘See,’ he said to them. ‘I told you I knew what I was doing.’

Later that day, Sparhawk and Ehlana met with Emperor Sarabian and Foreign Minister Oscagne to discuss their findings to date.

‘Is it at all possible that anyone in the government might have noticed people using this sign and counter-sign, your Excellency?’ Sparhawk asked Oscagne.

‘Quite possible, Prince Sparhawk.’ Oscagne replied. ‘The interior ministry’s got spies everywhere, but their reports probably won’t surface for six months to a year. They’re great paper-shufflers over at Interior.’

‘Subat’s got his own spies,’ Sarabian said moodily, ‘but he wouldn’t tell me if he’s discovered anything. I doubt that he’d tell me if someone had cut the Isle of Tega adrift and towed it away.’

‘All the traditions of the Prime Ministry tell him to protect you, your Imperial Majesty,’ Oscagne told him. ‘Despite that little talk you had with him, you’ll still probably have to pry information out of him. He devoutly believes that it’s his duty to spare you the anguish of hearing unpleasant news.’

‘If my house is on fire, I’d rather not be spared the anguish of finding out about it,’ Sarabian said tartly.

‘I have informants in the other ministries, your Majesty. I’ll put them to work on it. Speaking of that, by the way, Interior’s been getting a great many reports of disturbances—far more than we were experiencing previously. Kolata’s at his wits end.’

‘Kolata?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘The Minister of the Interior,’ Sarabian said, ‘the empire’s chief of police. He’s almost as good at keeping secrets from me as Subat is. What’s afoot now, Oscagne?’

‘The graveyards have been spitting out their dead, your Majesty. Someone’s been digging up the recently deceased and re-animating them. They shamble about moaning and blank-eyed. Whole villages in Edam have been abandoned because of them. The werewolves are running in packs in Daconia, the vampires in the jungles of Arjuna are flocking up like migratory birds, and the Shining Ones are terrorising the region around Dasan. Add to that the fact that the Trolls are on the march in northern Atan and that the town of Sarna’s been attacked twice by what appear to be Cyrgai, and we have some fair evidence that things may be coming to a head. In the past, these disturbances were sporadic and localised. Now they’re becoming general.’

‘Wonderful,’ Sarabian said sourly. ‘I think I’ll just go into exile somewhere.’

‘You’ll miss all the fun, your Majesty,’ Sparhawk told him.

‘What fun?’

‘We haven’t even begun to take counter-measures yet. We might not be able to do too much about vampires and the like, but we can definitely move against the Trolls and the Cyrgai. Engessa’s been training the local Atans in certain Elene tactics. I think Engessa’s Atans might be able to deal with the Trolls and the Cyrgai,’ Sparhawk said.

Sarabian looked a bit surprised. ‘Atan Engessa’s the commander of the garrison at Genae in Astel,’ he said. ‘He doesn’t have any authority here in Matherion.’

‘As a matter of fact, he does, your Majesty,’ Sparhawk disagreed. ‘I gather that he’s received a special commission from King Androl—or Queen Betuana, more than likely. Other Atan commanders have been ordered to follow his suggestions.’

‘Why doesn’t anybody ever tell me these things?’

‘Imperial policy, your Majesty,’ Oscagne smiled. ‘if you were to know too much, you might start interfering with the government.’

‘Anyway,’ Sparhawk continued, ‘Engessa was very impressed with our tactics in the encounters we had on our way here. We’ve been training some of his Atans in Western techniques.’

‘That’s surprising,’ Sarabian said. ‘I wouldn’t have expected Atans to listen to anybody when it came to military matters.’

‘Engessa’s a professional, your Majesty,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘Professionals are always interested in technical advances in weaponry and tactics. We rounded up some very large draught-horses so that we could mount a number of his Atans, and Kalten and Tynian have been giving them instruction with the lance. That’s the safest way to deal with Trolls, we’ve found. Bevier’s taken another group in hand, and he’s teaching them how to construct and use siege-engines. When we encountered those Cyrgai outside Sarsos, Bevier’s catapults broke up their phalanx. It’s very hard to maintain a military formation when it’s raining boulders. Oh, there’s something else we should be aware of. Khalad found a tree outside town that was riddled with short steel arrows. Someone’s been practising with a crossbow.’

‘What’s a crossbow?’ Sarabian asked.

‘It’s a Lamork weapon, your Majesty.’ Sparhawk scribbled a quick sketch. ‘It looks something like this. The limbs are much stronger than those of an ordinary long-bow, so it has greater range and penetrating power. It’s a serious threat to an armoured knight. Someone here in Matherion’s working on a way to counter the advantage our armour gives us.’

‘It’s beginning to sound as if I’m hanging on to my throne by my fingertips,’ Sarabian said. ‘Could I appeal to you for political asylum, Ehlana?’

‘I’d be delighted to have you, Sarabian,’ she replied, ‘but let’s not give up on Sparhawk just yet. He’s terribly resourceful. ‘

‘As I was saying before,’ Sparhawk continued, ‘we can’t do too much about the ghouls or werewolves or the Shining Ones or vampires, but I think we might be able to give the Trolls and the Cyrgai a few surprises. I’d like for the Atans to have a bit more training with mounted tactics and the use of Bevier’s engines, and then I think it might be time to let our opponent know that he’s not going to win this in a walk. I’d particularly like to decimate the Trolls. Our enemy’s relying rather heavily on the Troll-Gods, and they’ll leave the alliance if too many of their worshippers get killed. I think that early next week we might want to mount a couple of expeditions—one up into Troll-country and another down to Sama. It’s time to make our presence known.’

‘And this local business?’ Oscagne asked. ‘All this fascination with the hidden city of the mind?’

‘Caalador will keep working on that. We’ve got their password now, and that can open all kinds of doors for us. Vanion’s drawing up a list of names. Before long, we’ll know everybody in Matherion who’s been talking about the Hidden City.’ He looked at Sarabian. ‘Have I your Majesty’s permission to detain those people if necessary?’ he asked. ‘If we move first and round them all up before they can set their scheme in motion, we’ll break the back of this plot before it gets too far along.’

‘Detain away, Sparhawk,’ Sarabian grinned. ‘I’ve got lots of buildings we can use for prisons.’

‘All right, young lady,’ Sparhawk said quite firmly to his daughter a few days later. ‘One of Caalador’s beggars saw Count Gerrich in a street not far from here. How did you know that he’d be here in Matherion?’

‘I didn’t know, Sparhawk. I just had a hunch.’ Danae was sitting calmly in a large chair, scratching her cat’s ears. Mmrr was purring gratefully.

‘A hunch?’

‘Intuition, if that word makes you feel any better. It just didn’t seem right that Krager and Elron would be here without the others being here as well—and that would logically include Gerrich, wouldn’t it?’

‘Don’t confuse the issue by using the words ‘logic’ and ‘intuition’ in the same sentence.’

‘Oh, Sparhawk, do grow up. That’s all that logic really is—a justification for hunches. Have you ever known anyone who used logic to disprove something he already believed?’

‘Well—not personally, maybe, but I’m sure there have been some.’

‘I’ll wait while you track one down. I’m an immortal, so time doesn’t really mean all that much to me.’

‘That’s really offensive, Aphrael.’

‘Sorry, father.’ She didn’t sound very contrite. ‘Your mind gathers information in hundreds of ways, Sparhawk—things you hear, things you see, things you touch and even things you smell. Then it puts all of that information together and jumps from there to a conclusion. That’s all that hunches really are. Intuition is just as precise as logic, really, but it doesn’t have to go through the long, tedious process of plodding along step by step to prove things. It leaps immediately from evidence to conclusion without all the tiresome intermediate steps. Sephrenia doesn’t like logic because it’s so boring. She already knows the answers you’re so laboriously trying to prove—and so do you, if you’d be honest about it.’

‘Folk-lore is full of these hunches, Aphrael—and they’re usually wrong. How about the old notion that thunder sours milk?’

‘That’s a mistake in logic, Sparhawk, not a mistake in intuition.’

‘Would you like to explain that?’

‘You could just as easily say that sour milk causes thunder, you know.’

‘That’s absurd.’

‘Of course it is. Thunder and sour milk are both effects, not causes.’

‘You should talk to Dolmant. I’d like to see you try to explain that he’s been wasting his time on logic all these years.’

‘He already knows,’ she shrugged. ‘Dolmant’s far more intuitive than you give him credit for being. He knew who I was the moment he saw me—which is a lot more than I can say for you, father. I thought for a while there that I was going to have to fly in order to persuade you.’

‘Be nice.’

‘I am. There are all sorts of things I didn’t say about you. What’s Krager up to?’

‘Nobody knows.’

‘We really need to find him, Sparhawk.’

‘I know. I want him even more than you do. I’m going to enjoy wringing him out like a wet sock.’

‘Be serious, Sparhawk. You know Krager. He’d tell you his whole life story if you even frowned at him.’

He sighed. ‘You’re probably right,’ he conceded. ‘It takes a lot of the fun out of it though.’

‘You’re not here to have fun, Sparhawk. Which would you rather have? Information or revenge?’

‘Couldn’t we come up with a way to have both?’

She rolled her eyes upward. ‘Elenes,’ she sighed.

Bevier took a detachment of newly-trained Atan engineers west toward Sama early the next week. The following day Kalten, Tynian and Engessa took two hundred mounted Atans north toward the lands being ravaged by the Trolls. At Vanion’s insistence the parties filtered out of Matherion in twos and threes to assemble later outside the city.

‘There’s no point in announcing what we’re up to,’ he said.

A few days after the departure of the two military expeditions, Zalasta left for Sarsos. ‘I won’t be very long,’ he told them. ‘We have a certain commitment from the Thousand, but I think I’d like to see some concrete evidence that they’re willing to honour that commitment. Words are all well and good, but let’s see some action—just as a demonstration of good faith. I know my brothers. Nothing in the world would please them more than being able to reap the benefits of allying themselves with us “in principle” without the inconvenience of actually being obliged to do anything to help. They’re best suited to deal with these supernatural manifestations, so I’ll pry them loose from their comfortable chairs in Sarsos and disperse them to these troublespots.’ He smiled thinly at Vanion from under his beetling brows. ‘Extensive travel might toughen them up a bit, my Lord,’ he added. ‘Perhaps we can avoid spraining any more of your ankles in demonstrations of how flabby and lazy they are.’

‘I appreciate that, Zalasta,’ Vanion laughed.

There were always more things to do than there was time for. The ceremonies and ‘occasions’ that surrounded the state visit by the Queen of Elenia filled their afternoons and evenings, and so Sparhawk and the others were obliged to work late and rise early in order to conduct their surreptihous operations in the city and the imperial compound. They all grew short-tempered from lack of sleep, and Mirtai began to badger Sparhawk about the condition of his wife’s health. Ehlana was, in fact, beginning to develop dark circles under her eyes and an increasingly waspish disposition.

The break-through came about ten days after the departure of the expeditions to Sama and to the newly-occupied lands of the Trolls. Caalador arrived early one morning with a kind of exultant tightness of his face and a large canvas sack in one hand.

‘It was pure luck, Sparhawk,’ he chortled when the two met in the royal apartment.

‘We’re due for some,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘What did you find?’

‘How would you like to know the exact day and hour when this ‘Hidden City’ business is going to come to a head?’

‘I’d be moderately interested in that, yes. That selfcongratulatory expression spread all over your face says that you’ve found out a few things.’

‘I have indeed, Sparhawk, and it fell into my hand like an over-ripe peach.’ Caalador slid into his drawl. ‘Them there fellers on t’ other side’s mighty careless with wrote-down instructions. It seems that this yore cut-purse o’ my acquaintance—enterprisin’ young feller with a real sharp knife—he slit open the purse o’ this yore fat Dacite merchant, an’ a hull fistful o’ coins come slitherin’ out, an’ mixt in with them there silver an’ brass coins they wuz this yore message, which it wuz oz bed bin passt onta him by one o’ his feller-conspiracy-ors.’ Caalador frowned. ‘Maybe the right word there would have been ‘conspirytors’,’ he mused.

‘Ehlana’s still in bed, Caalador,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘You don’t have to entertain me with that dialect.’

‘Sorry. Just keeping in practice. Anyway, the note was quite specific.’ It said, ‘The day of the revelation of the Hidden City is at hand. All is in readiness. We will come to your warehouse for the arms at the second hour past sunset ten days hence.’ Isn’t that interesting?’

‘It is indeed, Caalador, but the note could be a week old.’

‘No, actually it’s not. Would you believe that the idiot who wrote it actually dated it?’

‘You’re not serious.’

‘May muh tongue turn green if I ain’t.’

‘Can your cut-purse identify this Dacite merchant? I’d like to locate this warehouse and find out what kind of arms are stored there.’

‘I’m way ahead of you, Sparhawk,’ Caalador grinned. ‘We tracked down the Dacite, and I called on my vast experience as a chicken-rustler to get inside his storehouse.’ He opened the large bag he had brought with him and took out what appeared to be a newly-made crossbow. ‘They wuz several hunnerd o’ these in that there hen-roost o’ his’n,’ he said, ‘along with a hull passel o’ cheap swords—which wuz most likely forged in Lebros in Cammoria—which it is that’s notorious fer makin’ shoddy goods fer trade with backward few.’

Sparhawk turned the crossbow over in his hands. ‘It’s not really very well-made, is it?’ he noted.

‘She’ll prob’ly shoot, though—once, anyway.’

‘This explains that tree Khalad found with all the crossbow bolts stuck in it. It looks as if we’ve been anticipated. Our friend out there wouldn’t really need crossbows unless he knew he was going to come up against men in armour. The long-bow’s a lot more efficient against ordinary people. It shoots faster.’

‘I think we’d better face up to something, Sparhawk,’ Caalador said gravely. ‘Several hundred crossbows means several hundred conspirators, not counting the ones who’ll be using the swords, and that’s fair evidence that the conspiracy’s going to involve unpleasantness here in Matherion itself as well as out there in the hinterlands. I think we’d better be prepared for a mob—and for fighting in the streets.’

‘You could very well be right, my friend. Let’s see what we can do to defang that mob.’

He went to the door and opened it. As usual, Mirtai sat outside with her sword in her lap. ‘Could you get Khalad for me, Atana?’ he asked politely.

‘Who’s going to guard the door while I’m gone?’ she asked him.

‘I’ll take care of it.’

‘Why don’t you go get him? I’ll stay here and see to Ehlana’s safety.’

He sighed. ‘Please, Mirtai—as a special favour to me.’

‘If anything happens to Ehlana while I’m gone, you’ll answer to me, Sparhawk.’

‘I’ll keep that in mind.’

‘Pretty girl, isn’t she?’ Caalador noted after the giantess had gone in search of Sparhawk’s squire.

‘I wouldn’t make a point of noticing that too much when Kring’s around, my friend. They’re betrothed, and he’s the jealous type.’

‘Should I say that she’s ugly, then?’

‘That wouldn’t really be a good idea either. If you do that she’ll probably kill you.’

‘Touchy, aren’t they?’

‘Oh, yes—both of them. Theirs promises to be a very lively marriage.’

Mirtai returned with Khalad a few minutes later. ‘You sent for me, my Lord?’ Kurik’s son asked.

‘How would you go about disabling this crossbow without making it obvious that it had been tampered with?’ Sparhawk asked, handing the young man the weapon Caalador had brought with him.

Khalad examined the weapon. ‘Cut the string almost all the way through—up here where it’s attached to the end of the bow,’ he suggested. ‘It’ll break as soon as anyone tries to draw it.’

Sparhawk shook his head. ‘They might load the weapons in advance,’ he said. ‘Someone’s going to try to use these on us, I think, and I don’t want him to find out that they don’t work until it’s too late.’

‘I could break the trigger-mechanism,’ Khalad said. ‘The bowman could draw it and load it, but he couldn’t shoot it—at least he couldn’t aim it at the same time.’

‘Would it stay cocked until he tried to shoot it?’

‘Probably. This isn’t a very well-made crossbow, so he won’t expect it to work very well. All you’d have to do is drive out this pin that holds the trigger in place and stick short steel pegs in the holes to hide the fact that the pin’s gone. There’s a spring that holds the bow drawn, but without the pin to provide leverage, the trigger won’t release that spring. They’ll be able to draw it, but they won’t be able to shoot it.’

‘I’ll take your word for it. How long would it take you to put this thing out of action?’

‘A couple of minutes.’

‘You’ve got a few long nights ahead of you then, my friend. There are several hundred of these to deal with and you’re going to have to do it quietly and in poor light. Caalador, can you slip my friend here into the Dacite merchant’s warehouse?’

‘If’n he kin move around sorta quiet-like, I kin.’

‘I think he can manage. He’s a country-boy the same as you are, and I’d guess that he’s almost as skilled at making rabbit snares and stealing chickens.’

‘Sparhawk!’ Khalad protested.

‘Those skills are too valuable to have been left out of your education, Khalad, and I knew your father, remember?’

‘They knew we were coming, Sparhawk,’ Kalten said angrily. ‘We split up into small groups and stayed away from towns and villages, and they still knew we were coming. They ambushed us on the west shore of Lake Sama.’

‘Trolls?’ Sparhawk’s voice was tense.

‘Worse. It was a large group of rough-looking fellows armed with crossbows. They made the mistake of shooting all at the same time. If they hadn’t, none of us would have made it back to tell you about it. They decimated Engessa’s mounted Atans, though. He was seriously put out about that. He tore quite a number of the ambushers apart with his bare hands.’

A sudden cold fear gripped Sparhawk’s stomach. ‘Where’s Tynian?’ he asked.

‘He’s in the care of a physician. He caught a bolt in the shoulder, and it broke some things in there.’

‘Is he going to be all right?’

‘Probably. It didn’t improve his temper very much though. He uses his sword almost as well with his left hand as he does with his right. We had to restrain him when the ambushers broke and ran. He was going to chase them down one by one, and he was bleeding like a stuck pig. I think we’ve got spies here in this imitation castle, Sparhawk. Those people couldn’t have laid that ambush without some fairly specific information about our route and our destination.’

‘We’ll sweep those hiding-places again.’

‘Good idea, and this time let’s do a bit more than reprimand the people we catch for bad manners. A spy can’t creep through hidden passages very well with two broken legs.’ The blond Pandion’s face was grim. ‘I get to do the breaking,’ he added. ‘I want to be sure that there aren’t any miraculous recoveries. A broken shinbone heals in a couple of months, but if you take a sledge-hammer to a man’s knees, you’ll put him out of action for much, much longer.’

Bevier, who led the survivors of his detachment back into Matherion two days later, took Kalten’s suggestion a step further. His notion involved amputations at the hip. The devout Cyrinic Knight was very angry about being ambushed and he used language Sparhawk had never heard from him before. When he had calmed himself finally, though, he contritely sought absolution from Patriarch Emban. Emban not only forgave him, but granted an indulgence as well—just in case he happened across some new swear-words.

A thorough search of the opalescent castle turned up no hidden listeners, and they all gathered to confer with Emperor Sarabian and Foreign Minister Oscagne the day after Sir Bevier’s return. They met high in the central tower to be on the safe side, and Sephrenia added a spell to further ensure that their discussions private.

‘I'm not accusing anyone,’ Vanion said, ‘so don’t take this personally. Word of our plans is somehow leaking out, so I think we should all pledge that no hint of what we discuss here should leave this room.’

'An oath of silence, Lord Vanion?' Kalten seemed surprised. That Pandion tradition had fallen into disuse in the past century.

‘Well,’ Vanion amended, ‘something on that order, I suppose, but we’re not all Pandion Knights here, you know.’ He looked around. ‘All right then, let’s summarise the situation. The plot here in Matherion quite obviously goes beyond simple espionage. I think we’d better face up to the probability of an armed insurrection directed at the imperial compound. Our enemy seems to be growing impatient.’

‘Or fearful,’ Oscagne added. ‘The presence of Church Knights—and Prince Sparhawk—here in Matherion poses some kind of threat. His campaign of random terror, civil disturbance and incipient insurrection in the subject kingdoms was working fairly well, but it appears that something’s come up that makes that process too slow. He has to strike at the centre of imperial authority now. ‘

‘And directly at me, I gather,’ Emperor Sarabian added.

‘That’s unthinkable, your Majesty,’ Oscagne objected. ‘In all the history of the empire, no one ever directly confronted the emperor.’

‘Please, Oscagne,’ Sarabian said, ‘don’t treat me like an idiot. Any number of my predecessors have met with “accidents” or fallen fatally ill under peculiar circumstances. Inconvenient emperors have been removed.’

‘But never right out in the open, your Majesty. That’s terribly impolite.’

Sarabian laughed. ‘I’m sure that the three government-haters who threw my great-great-grandfather from the top of the highest tower in the compound were all exquisitely courteous about it, Oscagne. We’re going to have an armed mob in the streets then, all enthusiastically howling for my blood?’

‘I wouldn’t discount the possibility, your majesty.’ Vanion conceded.

‘I hate this.’ Ulath said sourly.

‘Hate what?’ Kalten asked him.

‘Isn’t it obvious? We’ve got an Elene castle here. It might not be quite as good as one that Bevier would have designed, but it’s still the strongest building in Matherion. We’ve got three days until the streets are going to be filled with armed civilians. We don’t have much choice. We have to pull back inside these walls and fort up until the Atans can restore order. I detest sieges.’

‘I’m sure we won’t have to go that far, Sir Ulath,’ Oscagne protested. ‘As soon as I heard about that message Master Caalador unearthed, I sent word to Norkan in Atana. There are ten thousand Atans massed twenty leagues from here. The conspirators aren’t going to move until after dark on the appointed day. I can have the streets awash with seven-foot tall Atans before noon of that same day. The attempted coup will fail before it ever gets started.’

‘And miss the chance to round them all up?’ Ulath said. ‘Very poor military thinking, your Excellency. We’ve got a defensible castle here. Bevier could hold this place for two years at least.’

‘Five,’ Bevier corrected. ‘There’s a well inside the walls. That adds three years.’

‘Even better,’ Ulath said. ‘We work on our fortifications here very quietly, and mostly at night. We bring in barrels of pitch and naphtha. Bevier builds siege engines. Then just before the sun goes down, we move the entire government and the Atan garrison inside the castle. The mob will storm the imperial compound and rage through the halls of all those impressive buildings here in the grounds. They won’t encounter any resistence—until they come here. They’ll try to storm our walls, and they’ll be over-confident because nobody will have tried to fight them in any of the other buildings. They won’t really be expecting a hail-storm of large boulders or sheets of boiling pitch dumped in their faces. Add to that the fact that their crossbows won’t work cause Khalad’s been breaking the triggers in that Dacite warehouse for the last two nights, and you’ve got a large group of people with a serious problem. They’ll mill around out there in confusion and chant, and then, probably about midnight, the Atans will enter the city, come to the imperial compound and grind the whole lot of them right into the ground.’

‘Yes!’ Engessa exclaimed enthusiastically.

‘It’s a brilliant plan, Sir Ulath,’ Sarabian told the big Thalesian. ‘Why are you so dissatisfied with it?’

‘Because I don’t like sieges, your Majesty.’

‘Ulath,’ Tynian said wincing slightly as he shifted his broken shoulder, ‘don’t you think it’s time that you abandoned this pose? You’re as quick to suggest forting up as any of the rest of us when the situation calls for it.’

‘Thalesians are supposed to hate sieges, Tynian. It’s a part of our national character. We’re supposed to be impetuous, impatient and more inclined toward brute force than toward well-considered endurance.’

‘SIr Ulath,’ Bevier said, smiling slightly, ‘King Wargun’s father endured a siege at Heid that lasted for seventeen years. He emerged from it none the worse for wear.

‘Yes, but he didn’t enjoy it, Bevier. That’s my point.’

‘I think we’re overlooking an opportunity, my friends,’ Kring noted. ‘The mob’s going to come to the imperial compound here, right?’

‘If we’ve guessed their intentions correctly, yes.’ Tynian agreed.

‘Some of them are going to be all afire with political fervor—but not really very many, I don’t think. Most of them are going to be more interested in looting the various palaces.’

Sarabian’s face blanched. ‘Hell and night!’ he swore. ‘I hadn’t even thought of that!’

‘Don’t be too concerned, friend Emperor,’ the Domi told him. ‘Whether it’s politics or greed that brings them, they’ll almost all come into the grounds. The walls around the compound are high and the gates very imposing. Why don’t we let them come in—but then make sure they don’t leave? I can hide men near the gate-house. After the mob’s in the grounds, we’ll close the gates. That should keep them all more or less on hand to greet the Atans when they arrive. The loot will bring them in, and the gates will keep them in. They’ll loot, right enough, but loot isn’t really yours until you’ve escaped with it. We’ll catch them all this way, and we won’t have to dig any of them out of rabbit-holes later.’

‘That’s got real possibilities, you know that, Kring?’ Kalten said admiringly.

‘I’d have expected no less of him,’ Mirtai said. ‘He is a brilliant warrior, after all—and my betrothed.’ Kring beamed.

‘One last touch perhaps,’ Stragen added. ‘I think we all have a burning curiosity about certain things, and we’ve compiled this list of the names of people who might have answers to some of our most urgent questions. Battles are chancy, and sometimes valuable people get killed. I think there are some out there in Matherion who should be removed to safety before the fighting starts.’

‘Good idea, Milord Stragen,’ Sarabian agreed. ‘I’ll send out some detachments on the morning of the big day to round up those we’d like to keep alive.’

‘Ah—perhaps that might not be the best way to go at it, your Majesty. Why not let Caalador attend to it? As a group, policemen tend to be obvious when they arrest people—uniforms, chains, marching in step—that sort of thing. Professional murderers are much more unobtrusive. You don’t have to put chains on a man when you arrest him. A dagger-point held discreetly to his side is just as effective, I’ve found.’

Sarabian gave him a shrewd look. ‘You’re speaking from experience, I gather?’ he speculated.

‘Murder is a crime, your Majesty,’ Stragen pointed out, ‘and as a leader of criminals,. I should have some experience in all branches of the field. Professionalism, you understand.’

28

‘It was definitely Scarpa, Sparhawk,’ Caalador assured the big Pandion. ‘We didn’t have to rely entirely on the drawing. One of the local whores is from Arjuna, and she’s had business dealings with him in the past. She positively identified him.’

The two of them were standing atop the castle wall where they could speak privately. ‘That seems to be everybody but Baron Parok of Daconia then,’ Sparhawk noted. ‘We’ve seen Krager, Gerrich, Rebal of Edam, this Scarpa from Arjuna, and Elron from Astel.’

‘I thought the conspirator from Astel was called Sabre,’ Caalador said.

Sparhawk silently cursed his careless tongue. ‘Sabre keeps his face hidden,’ he said. ‘Elron’s a sympathizer—more than that, probably.’

Caalador nodded. ‘I’ve known some Astels,’ he agreed, ‘and some Dacites, too. I wouldn’t be positive that Baron Parok’s not lurking in the shadows somewhere. They’re definitely all gathering here in Matherion.’ He looked thoughtfully out over the gleaming nacreous battlements at the fosse below. ‘Is that ditch down there going to be all that much a barrier?’ he asked. ‘The sides are so gently sloped that there’s lawn growing on them.’

‘It gets more inconvenient when it’s filled with sharpened stakes,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘We’ll do that at the last minute. Has there been any influx of strangers into Matherion? All those assorted patriots have large followings. A mob gathered off the streets is one thing. but a horde drawn from most of Tamuli would be something else entirely.’

‘We haven’t seen any unusual number of strangers here in town,’ Caalador said, ‘and there aren’t any large gatherings out in the countryside—at least not within five leagues in any direction.’

‘They could be holding in place farther on out,’ Sparhawk said. ‘If I had a supporting army out there some place, I wouldn’t bring them in until the last minute.’

Caalador turned and looked pointedly at the harbour. ‘That’s our weakness right there, Sparhawk. There could be a fleet hiding in coves and inlets along the coast. We’d never see them coming until they showed up on the horizon. I’ve got pirates and smugglers scouring the coasts, but—’ He spread his hands.

‘There’s not very much we can do about it, I’m afraid,’ Sparhawk said. ‘We’ve got an army of Atans close at hand though, and they’ll be inside the city soon after the uprising starts. Do your people have the hiding places of these assorted visitors fairly well-pinpointed? If things go well, I’d like to sweep them all up at once if possible.’

‘They don’t seem to have lighted in specific places yet, Sparhawk. They’re all moving around quite a bit. I’ve got people following them. We could pick them up early, if you’d like.’

‘Let’s not expose our preparations. If we can catch them on the day of the uprising, fine. If not, we can chase them down later. I’m not going to endanger our counter-measures just for the pleasure of their company. Your people are doing very well, Caalador.’

‘Their performance is a bit forced, my friend,’ Caalador admitted ruefully. ‘I’ve had to gather a large number of burly ruffians with clubs to keep reminding the Tamul criminals that we’re all working together in this affair.’

‘Whatever it takes.’

‘Her Majesty’s suggestion has some advantages, Lord Vanion,’ Bevier said after giving it some thought. ‘It’s what the fosse was designed for originally anyway. It’s supposed to be a moat, not just a grassy ditch.’

‘It completely exposes the fact that we’re preparing to defend the castle, Bevier,’ Vanion objected. ‘If we start pumping the moat full of water, everybody in Matherion will know about it within the hour.’

‘You didn’t listen to the whole plan, Vanion,’ Ehlana said patiently. ‘We’ve been attending balls and banquets and various other entertainments ever since we arrived here. It’s only proper that I respond to all those kindnesses, so I’m planning a grand entertainment to pay my social obligations. It’s not my fault that it’s going to take place on the night of the uprising, is it? We have an Elene castle, so we’ll have an Elene party. We’ll have an orchestra on the battlements, coloured lanterns and buntings on the walls and festive barges in the moat, complete with canopies and banquet tables. I’ll invite the emperor and his whole court.’

‘That would be extremely convenient, Lord Vanion,’ Tynian said. ‘We’d have everybody we want to protect right close at hand. We wouldn’t have to go looking for them, and we wouldn’t alert anybody to what we’re doing by chasing cabinet ministers across the lawns.’

Sparhawk’s squire was shaking his head. ‘What is it, Khalad?’ Ehlana asked him.

‘The bottom of the ditch hasn’t been prepared to hold water, your Majesty. We don’t know how porous the sub-soil is. There’s a very good chance that the water you pump in will just seep into the ground. Your moat could be empty again a few hours after you fill it.’

‘Oh, bother!’ Ehlana fretted. ‘I didn’t think of that.’

‘I’ll take care of it, Ehlana,’ Sephrenia smiled. ‘A good plan shouldn’t be abandoned just because it violates a few natural laws.’

‘Would you have to do that before we started to fill the moat, Sephrenia?’ Stragen asked her.

‘It’s easier that way.’ He frowned. ‘What’s the problem?’ she asked.

‘There are those three tunnels that lead under the fosse to connect with the hidden passageways and listening posts inside the castle.’

‘Three that we know about, anyway,’ Ulath added.

‘Exactly my point. Wouldn’t we all feel more secure if all those tunnels—the ones we know about and the ones we don’t—are flooded before the fighting starts?’

‘Good point,’ Sparhawk said.

‘I can wait to seal the bottom of the moat until after you’ve flooded the tunnels,’ Sephrenia told them.

‘What do you think, Vanion?’ Emban asked.

‘The preparations for the queen’s party would cover a lot of activity,’ Vanion conceded. ‘It’s a very good plan.’

‘I like all of it except the barges,’ Sparhawk said. ‘I’m sorry, Ehlana, but those barges would just give the mob access to our walls. They’d defeat the whole purpose the moat was designed for in the first place.’

‘I’m getting to that, Sparhawk. Doesn’t naphtha float on top of water?’

‘Yes, but what’s that got to do with it?’

‘A barge isn’t just a floating platform, you know. It’s got a hold under the deck. Now, suppose we fill the holds with casks of naphtha. Then, when the trouble starts, we throw boulders down from the battlements and crack the barges open like eggshells. The naphtha will spread out over the water in the moat, we set fire to it and surround the castle with a wall of flame. Wouldn’t that sort of inconvenience people trying to attack the castle?’

‘You’re a genius, my Queen!’ Kalten exclaimed.

‘How nice of you to have noticed that, Sir Kalten,’ she replied smugly. ‘And the beautiful part about the whole thing is that we can make all of our preparations right out in the open without sneaking around at night and losing all that sleep. This grand party gives us the perfect excuse to do almost anything to the castle in the name of decoration.’

Mirtai suddenly embraced her owner and kissed her. ‘I’m proud of you, my mother,’ she said.

‘I’m glad you approve, my daughter,’ Ehlana said modestly, ‘but you really ought to be more reserved, you know. Remember what you told me about girls kissing girls.’

‘We found two more tunnels, Sparhawk,’ Khalad reported as his lord joined him on the parapet. Khalad was wearing a canvas smock over his black leather vest. Sparhawk looked out at the moat where a gang of workmen were driving long steel rods into the soft earth at the bottom of the ditch.

‘Isn’t that a little obvious?’ he asked.

‘We have to have mooring stakes for the barges, don’t we? The tunnels are all about five feet below the surface. Most of the workmen with the sledge-hammers don’t know what they’re really looking for, but I’ve got a fair number of knights down in the ditch with them. The ceilings of those tunnels will be very leaky when we start to fill the moat.’ Khalad looked out across the lawn. Then he cupped his hands around his mouth. ‘Be careful with that barge!’ he bellowed in Tamul. ‘If you spring her seams, she’ll leak!’

The foreman of the Tamul work-crew laboriously pulling the broad-beamed barge across the lawn on rollers looked up. ‘It’s very heavy, honoured sir, he called back. ‘What have you got inside of it?’

‘Ballast, you idiot!’ Khalad called back. ‘There are going to be a lot of people on that deck tomorrow night. If the barge capsizes and the emperor falls in the moat, we’ll all be in trouble.’ Sparhawk looked inquiringly at his squire. ‘We’re putting the naphtha casks in the barges inside the construction sheds,’ Khalad explained. ‘We decided to do that more or less in private.’ He looked at his lord. ‘You don’t necessarily have to tell your wife I said this, Sparhawk,’ he said, ‘but there were a few gaps in her plan. The naphtha was a good idea as far as it went, but we’ve added some pitch as well, just to make sure it catches on fire when we want it to. Naphtha casks are also very tight. They won’t do us much good if they just sink to the bottom of the moat when we break open the barges. I’m going to put a couple of Kring’s Peloi in the hold of each barge. They’ll take axes to the casks at the last minute.’

‘You think of everything, Khalad.’

‘Somebody has to be practical in this group.’

‘Now you sound like your father.’

‘There is one thing though, Sparhawk. Your partygoers are going to have to be very, very careful. There’ll be lanterns—and probably candles as well—on those barges. One little accident could start the fire quite a bit sooner than we’d planned, and—ah, actually, we’re a bit ahead of schedule, your Highness,’ he said in Tamul for the benefit of the half dozen labourers who were pulling a two-wheeled cart along the parapet. The cart was filled with lanterns which the labourers were hanging from the battlements.

‘No, no, no!’ Khalad chided them. ‘You can’t put two green ones side by side like that. I’ve told you a thousand times—white, green, red, blue. Do it the way I told you to do it. Be creative in your own time.’ He sighed exaggeratedly. ‘It’s so hard to get good help these days, your Highness,’ he said.

‘You’re overacting, Khalad,’ Sparhawk muttered.

‘I know, but I want to be sure they’re getting the point.’

Kring came along the parapet rubbing his hand over his scarred head. ‘I need a shave,’ he said absently, ‘and Mirtai’s too busy to attend to it.’

‘Is that a Peloi custom, Domi?’ Sparhawk asked. ‘Is it one of the duties of a Peloi woman to shave her man’s head?’

‘No, actually it’s Mirtai’s personal idea. It’s hard to see the back of your own head, and I used to miss a few places. Shortly after we were betrothed, she took my razor away from me and told me that from now on, she was going to do the shaving. She does a very nice job, really—when she isn’t too busy.’ He squared his shoulders. ‘They absolutely refused, Sparhawk,’ he reported. ‘I knew they would, but I put the matter before them the way you asked. They won’t be locked up inside your fort during the battle. If you stop and think about it, though, we’ll be much more useful ranging around the grounds on horseback anyway. A few score mounted Peloi will stir that mob around like a kettle-full of boiling soup. If you want confusion out there tomorrow night, we’ll give you lots of confusion. A man who’s worried about getting a sabre across the back of the head isn’t going to be able to concentrate on attacking a fort.’

‘Particularly when his weapon doesn’t work,’ Khalad added.

Sparhawk grunted. ‘Of course we’re assuming that the warehouse full’of crossbows Caalador found was the only one,’ he added.

‘I’m afraid we won’t find that out until tomorrow night,’ Khalad conceded. ‘I disabled about six hundred of those things. If twelve hundred crossbowmen come into the palace grounds we’ll know that half of their weapons are going to work. We’ll have to take cover at that point. You there!’ he shouted suddenly, looking upward. ‘Drape that bunting! Don’t stretch it tight that way.’ He shook his fist at the workman leaning precariously out of a window high up in one of the towers.

Although he was obviously quite young, the scholar Bevier escorted into Ehlana’s presence was almost totally bald. He was very nervous, but his eyes had that burning glaze to them that announced him to be a fanatic. He prostrated himself before Ehlana’s thronelike chair and banged his forehead on the floor.

‘Don’t do that, man,’ Ulath rumbled at him. ‘It offends the queen. Besides, you’ll crack the floor tiles.’

The scholar scrambled to his feet, his eyes fearful. ‘This is Emuda,’ Bevier introduced him. ‘He’s the scholar I told you about—the one with the interesting theory about Scarpa of Arjuna.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Ehlana said in Tamul. ‘Welcome, Master Emuda. Sir Bevier has spoken highly of you.’

Actually, Bevier had not, but a queen is allowed to take certain liberties with the truth. Emuda gave her a fawning sort of look. Sparhawk moved in quickly to cut off a lengthy, rambling preamble.

‘Correct me if I’m wrong about this, Master Emuda,’ he said, but our understanding of your theory is that you think that Scarpa’s behind all these disturbances in Tamuli.’

‘That’s a slight over-simplification, Sir?’ Emuda looked inquiringly at the tall Pandion Knight.

‘Sparhawk,’ Ulath supplied. Emuda’s face went white, and he began to tremble violently.

‘I’m a simple sort of man, neighbour,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘Please don’t confuse me with complications. What sort of evidence do you have that lays everything at Scarpa’s door?’

‘It’s quite involved, Sir Sparhawk,’ Emuda apologised.

‘Un-involve it. Summarise, man. I’m busy.’

Emuda swallowed very hard. ‘Well, uh—’ he faltered. ‘We know—that is, we’re fairly certain—that Scarpa was the first of the spokesmen for these so-called “heroes from the past.”’

‘Why do you say ‘so-called’, Master Emuda?’ Tynian asked him. Sir Tynian still had his right arm in a sling.

‘Isn’t it obvious, Sir Knight?’ Emuda’s tone was just slightly condescending. ‘The notion of resurrecting the dead is an absurdity. It’s all quite obviously a hoax. Some henchman is dressed in ancient clothing, appears in a flash of light—which any country-fair charlatan can contrive—and then starts babbling gibberish, which the “spokesman” identifies as an ancient language. Yes, it’s clearly a hoax.’

‘How clever of you to have unmasked it,’ Sephrenia murmured. ‘We all thought it was magic of some kind.’

‘There’s no such thing as magic, madame.’

‘Really?’ she replied mildly. ‘What an amazing thing.’

‘I’d stake my reputation on that.’

‘How courageous of you.’

‘You say that Scarpa was the first of these revolutionaries to appear?’ Vanion asked him.

‘By more than a year, Sir Knight. The first reports of his activities began to appear in diplomatic dispatches from the capital at Arjuna just over four years ago. The next to emerge was Baron Parok of Daconia, and I have a sworn statement from a ship-captain that Scarpa sailed from Kaftal in southwestern Arjuna to Alar in Daconia. Alar is Baron Parok’s home, and he began his activities about three years ago. The connection is obvious.’

‘It would seem so, wouldn’t it?’ Sparhawk mused.

‘From Alar I have documented evidence of the travels of the two. Parok went into Edam, where he actually stayed in the home town of Rebal—that connection gave me a bit of trouble, since Rebal isn’t using his real name. We’ve identified his home district, though, and the town Parok visited is the district capital. I think I’m safe in assuming that a meeting took’ place during Parok’s visit. While Parok was in Edam, Scarpa travelled all the way up into Astel. I can’t exactly pinpoint his travels there, but I know he moved around quite a bit just to the north of the marches on the Edomish-Astellian border, and that’s the region where Sabre makes his headquarters. The disturbances in Edam and Astel began some time after Scarpa and Parok had journeyed into those kingdoms. The evidence of connection between the four men is all very conclusive.’

‘What about these reports of supernatural events?’ Tynian asked.

‘More hoaxes, Sir Knight.’ Emuda’s expression was offensively superior. ‘Pure charlatanism. You may have noticed that they always occur out in the countryside where the only witnesses are superstitious peasants and ignorant serfs. Civilised people would not be fooled by such obvious trickery.’

‘I wondered about that,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Are you sure about this timetable of yours? Scarpa was the first to start stirring things up?’

‘Definitely, Sir Sparhawk.’

‘Then he contacted the others and enlisted them? Perhaps a year and a half later?’ Emuda nodded. ‘Where did he go when he left Astel after recruiting Sabre?’

‘I’ve lost track of him for a time there, Sir Sparhawk. He went into the Elene Kingdoms of Western Tamuli about two and a half years ago and didn’t return to Arjuna until eight or ten months later. I have no idea of where he was during that interim. Oh, one other thing. The so-called vampires began to appear in Arjuna at almost precisely the same time that Scarpa began telling the Arjuni that he’d been in contact with Sheguan, their national hero. The traditional monsters of the other kingdoms also put in their appearance at the same time these other revolutionaries began their campaigns. Believe me, your Majesty,’ he said earnestly to Ehlana, if you’re looking for a ringleader, Scarpa’s your man.’

‘We thank you for this information, Master Emuda, she said sweetly. ‘Would you please provide Sir Bevier with your supporting data and describe your findings to him in greater detail? Pressing affairs necessarily limit the time we can spend with you, fascinating though we find your conclusions.’

‘I shall be happy to share the entire body of my research with Sir Bevier, your Majesty.’ Bevier rolled his eyes ceilingward and sighed. They watched the enthusiast lead poor Bevier from the room.

‘I’d hate to have to take that case into any court—civil or ecclesiastical,’ Emban snorted.

‘It is a bit thin, isn’t it?’ Stragen agreed.

‘The only thing that makes me pay any attention to him at all is that timetable of his,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Dolmant sent me to Lamorkand late last winter to look into the activities of Count Gerrich. While I was there, I heard all the wild stories about Drychnath. It seems that our prehistoric Lamork started making appearances at a time that coincides almost exactly with the period when our scholarly friend lost track of Scarpa. Emuda’s such a complete ass that I sort of hate to admit it, but he may just have hit upon the right answer.’

‘But it’s for all the wrong reasons, Sparhawk,’ Emban objected.

‘I’m only interested in his answers, your Grace,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘As long as they’re the right answers I don’t care how he got them.’

‘It’s just too risky to do it any earlier, Sparhawk,’ Stragen said later that day.

‘You two are taking a lot of chances,’ Sparhawk objected.

‘It’s a hull lot more chancy t’ start out earlier, Sparhawk,’ Caalador drawled. ‘If’n we want t’ grab th’ leaders sooner, them oz is left could gist call it all off, an’ all these traps o’ ourn wouldn’t ketch no rabbits. We gotta wait ‘till they open that warehouse an’ start passin’ out them there weepons.’

Sparhawk winced. ‘Weepons?’

‘The word wouldn’t appear in that particular dialect,’ Caalador shrugged. ‘I had to countrify it up—just for the sake of consistency.’

‘You switch back and forth like a frog on a hot rock, my friend.’

‘I know. Infuriating, isn’t it? It goes like this, Sparhawk. If we pick up the conspirators any time before they start arming the mob, they’ll be able to suspend operations and go to ground. They’ll wait, reorganise and then pick another day—which it is that we won’t know nuthin’ about. On the other hand, once they pass out the weapons, it’ll be too late. There’ll be thousands in the streets—most of them about half-drunk. Our friends in the upper councils could no more stop them than stop the tide. The sheer momentum of this attempted coup will be working for us instead of for our shadowy friends.’

‘They can still go to ground and just feed the mob to the wolves, you know.’

Caalador shook his head. ‘Tamul justice is a bit abrupt, and an attack on the emperor is going to be viewed as the worst sort of bad manners. Several hundred people are going to be sent to the headsman’s block. Recruitment after that will be virtually impossible. They have no choice. Once they start, they have to follow through.’

‘You’re talking about some very delicate timing, you know.’

‘Ain, that’s easy tuk care of, Sparhawk,’ Caalador grinned. ‘There’s this yore temple right smack dab in the middle o’ town. It’s more’n likely all fulla cobwebs an’ dust, on accounta our little yolla brothers don’t take then religion none too serious-like. There’s these yore priests oz sits around in there, drinkin’ an’ carousin’ an’ sick. When they gits themselves all beered-up an’ boistrous-like, they usual decides t’ hold services. They got this yore bell, which it is oz must weigh along ‘bout twenty ton ‘er so. One o’ them there drunk priests, he wobbles over t’ that there bell an’ he takes up this yore sledge-hammer an’ he whacks the bell a couple licks with it. Makes the awfullest sound you ever did hear. Sailors bin known t’ hear it ‘bout ten leagues out t’ sea. Now, there ain’t no special time set fer when they goes t’ whackin’ on that there bell. Folks here in Matherion don’t pay no attention t’ it, figgerin’ that it’s gist the priests enjoyin’ themselves.’

Even Caalador could apparently tire of the exaggerated dialect. ‘That’s the beauty of it, Sparhawk,’ he said, lapsing into normal speech. ‘The sound of that bell is random, and nobody takes any special note of it. Tomorrow night, though, it’s going to be profoundly significant. As soon as that warehouse opens, the bell’s going to peal out its message of hope and joy. The murderers sitting almost in the laps of the people we want to talk with will take that as their orders to move. We’ll have the whole lot rounded up in under a minute.’

‘What if they try to resist?’

‘Oh, there’ll be some losses,’ Caalador shrugged. ‘You can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs. There are several dozen people we want to pick up, so we can afford to lose a few.’

‘The sound of the bell will also alert you, Sparhawk,’ Stragen pointed out. ‘When you hear it start ringing, you’ll know that it’s time to move your wife’s party inside.’

‘But you can’t do this, your Majesty.’ the minister of the interior protested shrilly the next morning as tons of water began to gush into the moat from the throats of the huge pipes strewn across the lawn of the imperial compound.

‘Oh?’ Ehlana asked innocently. ‘And why is that, Minister Kolata?’

‘Uh, well, uh, there’s no sub-foundation under the moat, your Majesty. The water will just sink into the ground.’

‘Oh, that’s all right, Minister Kolata. It’s only for one night. I’m sure the moat will stay full enough until after the party.’ Kolata stared with chagrin at a sudden fountain-like eruption of air and muddy water out in the centre of the moat. ‘My goodness,’ Ehlana said mildly, looking at the sudden whirlpool funnelling down where the eruption had taken place. ‘There must have been an old abandoned cellar under there.’ She laughed a silvery little laugh. ‘I’d imagine that the rats who lived in there were very surprised, wouldn’t you agree, your Excellency?’

Kolata looked a bit sick. ‘Uh, would you excuse me, your Majesty?’ he said, and he turned to hurry across the lawn without waiting for a reply.

‘Don’t let him get away, Sparhawk,’ Ehlana said coolly. ‘I strongly suspect that Lord Vanion’s list wasn’t as complete as we might have hoped. Why don’t you invite the minister of the interior into the castle so that you can show him our other preparations?’ She tapped one finger thoughtfully against her chin. ‘And you might ask Sir Kalten and Sir Ulath to join you when you get around to showing his Excellency the torture chamber. Emperor Sarabian’s excellent minister of the interior might want to add a few names to Vanion’s list.’

It was the cool and unruffled way , she said it that chilled Sparhawk’s blood the most.

‘He’s beginning to feel more than a little offended, Sparhawk,’ Vanion said soberly as the two of them watched Khalad’s workmen ‘decorating’ the vast gates of the imperial compound. ‘He’s not stupid, and he knows that we’re not telling him everything.’

‘It can’t be helped, Vanion. He’s just too erratic to be let in on all the details.’

‘Mercurial might be a more diplomatic term.’

‘Whatever. We don’t really know him all that well, Vanion, and we’re operating in an alien society. For all we know, he keeps a diary and writes everything down. That could be a Tamul custom. It’s entirely possible that our whole plan could be available to the chambermaid who makes up his bed every morning.’

‘You’re speculating, Sparhawk.’

‘These ambushes out in the countryside weren’t speculation. ‘

‘Surely you don’t suspect the emperor.’

‘Somebody passed the word of our expeditions along to our enemy, Vanion. We can apologise to the emperor after this evening’s entertainment is concluded.’

‘Oh, that’s just too obvious, Sparhawk!’ Vanion burst out, pointing at the heavy steel lattice Khalad’s workmen were installing on the inside of the gates.

‘It won’t be visible when they open the gates all the way, Vanion, and Khalad’s going to hang bunting on the lattice to conceal it. Did Sephrenia have any luck when she tried to contact Zalasta?’

‘No. He must still be too far away.’

‘I’d be a lot more comfortable if he were here. If the Troll-Gods put in an appearance tonight, we could be in very serious trouble.’

‘Aphrael can deal with them.’

‘Not without revealing her true identity, she can’t, and if that comes out, my wife’s going to find out some things I’d rather she didn’t know. I’m not so fond of Sarabian that I’m willing to risk Ehlana’s sanity just to keep him on his throne.’

The sun crept slowly down the western sky, moving closer and closer to the horizon. Although he knew it to be an absurdity, it seemed to Sparhawk that the blazing orb was plummeting to earth like a shooting star. There were so many details—so many things that had yet to be done. Worse yet, many of those tasks could not even be commenced until after the sun went down and gathering darkness concealed them from the hundreds of eyes that were certainly out there watching.

It was early evening when Kalten finally came to the royal apartment to announce that they had gone as far as they could go until after dark. Sparhawk was relieved to know that at least that much had been completed on time.

‘Was the minister of the interior at all forthcoming?’ Ehlana asked from her chair near the window, where Alcan and Melidere were involved in the extended process known as doing her hair.

‘Oh, yes, your Majesty,’ Kalten replied with a broad grin. ‘He seems even more eager to talk than your cousin Lycheas was. Ulath can be very persuasive at times. Kolata seemed to be particularly upset by the leeches.’

‘Leeches?’

Kalten nodded. ‘It was right after Ulath offered to stuff him head-down into a barrelful of leeches that Kolata developed this burning desire to share things with us.’

‘Dear God!’ the queen shuddered.

It was the general opinion of all the guests present that evening that the Queen of Elenia’s party was absolutely the crowning event of the season. The lanterns illuminating the mother-of-pearl battlements were spectacular, the gay buntings—several thousand yards of very expensive silk—were festive, and the orchestra on the battlements, playing traditional Elene airs rather than the discordant cacophony that passed for music in Sarabian’s court, lent a pleasantly archaic quality to the entire occasion.

It was the barges moored in the moat, however, that drew the most astonished comment. The idea of dining out of doors had never occurred to the Tamuls, and the notion of floating dining-rooms ablaze with candle-light and draped with brightly-coloured silk bunting was quite beyond the imagination of the average member of the emperor’s court. The candles caused the knights no end of concern. The thought of open flame so close to the hidden cargo of the barges was sufficient to make strong men turn pale.

Since the party was taking place around the Elene castle, and the hostess was herself an Elene, the ladies of the Emperor’s court had quite nearly exhausted the creative talents of every dressmaker in Matherion in their efforts to ‘dress Elene.’ The results were not uniformly felicitous, however, since the dressmakers of Matherion were obliged to rely on books for inspiration, and many of the books in the library of the university were several hundred years old and the gowns depicted on their pages were terribly out of fashion.

Ehlana and Melidere were in fashion, however, and they were the absolute centre of attention. Ehlana’s gown was of regal blue, and she wore a diamond and ruby-studded tiara nestled in her pale-blonde hair. Melidere was gowned in lavender. It seemed to be her favourite colour.

Mirtai was defiantly not in fashion. She wore the blue sleeveless gown she had worn at her owner’s wedding, and this time, she was visibly armed. Rather surprisingly, Sephrenia also wore an Elene gown—of snowy white, naturally—and Vanion was obviously smitten by her all over again. The knights of the queen’s escort wore doublets and hose, much against Sparhawk’s better judgement. Their armour, however, was close at hand.

After the members of the imperial court had made their appearance and had begun to circulate on the barges, there was a pause, and then a brazen Elene fanfare.

‘I had to offer violence to the musicians to get them to greet the emperor properly,’ the elegantly garbed Stragen muttered to Sparhawk.

‘Oh?’

‘They were very insistent that the emperor should be greeted by that dreadful noise they call music around here. They became much more co-operative after I sliced the smock off one of the trumpeters with my rapier.’ Stragen’s eyes suddenly widened. ‘For God’s sake, man!’ he hissed at a servant placing a large platter of steaming beef on one of the tables, ‘be careful of those candles!’

‘He’s a Tamul, Stragen,’ Sparhawk pointed out when the servant gave the Thalesian a blank stare. ‘You’re trying to talk to him in Elenic.’

‘Make him be careful, Sparhawk! A single tongue of fire in the wrong place on any of these barges could broil us all alive!’

Then the emperor and his nine wives appeared on the drawbridge and came down the carpeted steps to the first barge. Everyone bowed to the emperor, but no one looked at him. All eyes were locked on the radiantly smiling Empress Elysoun of Valesia.

She had modified the customary Elene costume to accommodate her cultural tastes. Her scarlet gown was really quite lovely, but it had been altered so that those attributes Elene ladies customarily concealed and Valesian ladies flaunted were nestled on two frilly cushions of snowy lace and were thus entirely, even aggressively, in full view.

‘Now that is what you might call a fashion statement,’ Stragen murmured.

‘That it is, my friend,’ Sparhawk chuckled, adjusting the collar of his black velvet doublet, ‘and everybody’s listening to her. Poor Emban appears to be quite nearly on the verge of apoplexy.’

In a kind of formal little ceremony, Queen Ehlana escorted Sarabian and his empresses across the bridges that stepped from barge to barge. The Empress Elysoun was obviously looking for someone, and when she saw Berit standing off to one side on the second barge, she altered course and bore down upon him with all sails set—figuratively speaking, of course. Sir Berit looked at first apprehensive, then desperate, as Elysoun more or less pinned him to the tail of the barge without so much as laying a hand on him.

‘Poor Berit,’ Sparhawk said sympathetically. ‘Stay close to him, Stragen. I don’t know for sure if he can swim. Be ready to rescue him if he jumps into the moat.’

After the emperor had been given the grand tour, the banquet began. Sparhawk had judiciously spaced out the knights among the diners. The knights were not really very interesting dinner companions, since they all concentrated almost exclusively on the candles and the lanterns.

‘God help us if a wind comes up,’ Kalten muttered to Sparhawk.

‘Truly,’ Sparhawk agreed fervently.

‘Ah—Kalten, old friend.’

‘Yes?’

‘You’re supposed to be keeping an eye on the candles, not the front of the Empress Elysoun’s gown.’

‘What front?’

‘Don’t be vulgar, and remember what you’re supposed to be doing here.’

‘How are we going to herd this flock of over-dressed sheep inside when that bell rings?’ Kalten shifted uncomfortably. His green satin doublet was buttoned very tightly across his stomach.

‘If we’ve timed it right, the feasters will be finishing up the main course at just about the same time as our friends out in the city start distributing the weapons. When that bell rings, Ehlana’s going to invite all the revellers into the castle dining-room where the dessert course is set upon more tables.’

‘Very clever, Sparhawk,’ Kalten said admiringly.

‘Go congratulate my wife, Kalten. It was her idea.’

‘She’s really awfully good at this sort of thing, you know that? I’m glad she decided to come along.’

‘I’m still of two minds about that,’ Sparhawk grunted.

The feast went on, and there were toasts by the dozen. The feasters heaped praise upon the Queen of Elenia. Since the revellers were totally unaware of the impending climax of the evening, there were many inadvertent ironies in the compliments. Sparhawk scarcely tasted his dinner, and he picked at his food, his eyes constantly on the candles and his ears alert for the first sound of the bell which would announce that his enemies were on the move.

Kalten’s appetite, however, seemed unaffected by the impending crisis. ‘How can you stuff yourself that way?’ Sparhawk asked his friend irritably.

‘Just keeping up my strength, Sparhawk. I’m likely to burn up a lot of energy before the night’s out. If you’re not busy, old boy, would you mind passing that gravy down this way?’

Then from somewhere near the centre of the gleaming moon-drenched city of Matherion, a deep-toned bell began to boom, announcing that the second half of the evening’s entertainment had begun.

29

‘Why didn’t you tell me, Ehlana?’ Sarabian demanded. The emperor’s face was livid with suppressed fury, and his heavy gold crown was slightly askew.

‘Please calm yourself, Sarabian,’ the blonde queen suggested. ‘We didn’t find out until mid-morning today, and there was no possible way to get the information to you without taking the chance of compromising it.’

‘Your snake-hipped Baroness could have carried a message to me,’ he accused, smacking his palm down on the battlement. They were on the parapet, ostensibly admiring the view.

‘My fault there, your Majesty,’ Sparhawk apologised. ‘I’m more or less in charge of security, and Minister Kolata’s the man who controls the police in Tamuli—both the overt police and the ones who hide in the bushes. There was no way we could be absolutely sure that our subterfuge involving the baroness had been successful. The information that we had discovered the minister’s involvement was just too sensitive to risk. This attempt on your government tonight has to go off as planned. If our enemy gets the slightest hint that we know what he’s up to, he’ll postpone things until another day, and we won’t have any idea of which day it’s going to be.’

‘I’m still very put out with you, Sparhawk,’ Sarabian complained. ‘I can’t fault your reasoning, but you’ve definitely bruised my feelings here.’

‘We’re supposed to be watching the play of lights on the waters of the moat, Sarabian,’ Ehlana reminded the emperor. ‘Please at least glance over the battlements once in a while.’ Their position on the parapet gave them privacy, and a good vantage-point from which to watch for the approach of the mob.

‘The news about Kolata’s involvement in this business is really distressing,’ Sarabian fretted. ‘He controls the police, palace security and all the spies inside the empire. Worse than that, he has a certain amount of authority over the Atans. If we lose them, we’re in very serious trouble.’

‘Engessa’s trying to sever that connection, your Majesty,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘He sent runners to the Atan forces outside the city to advise the commanders that the agents of the ministry of the interior aren’t to be trusted. The commanders will pass that on to Androl and Betuana.’

‘Are we safe here in the event that Atan Engessa’s runners are intercepted?’

‘Sir Bevier assures us that he can hold this castle for five years, Sarabian,’ Ehlana told him, ‘and Bevier’s the expert on sieges.’

‘And when the five years runs out?’

‘The Church Knights will be here long before then, your Majesty,’ Sparhawk assured him. ‘Caalador has his instructions. If things go awry, he’ll get word to Dolmant in Chyrellos.’

‘You people are still making me very, very nervous.’

‘Trust me, your Majesty,’ Sparhawk said.

Kalten came puffing up the stairs to the parapet. ‘We’re going to need more wine, Sparhawk,’ he said. ‘I think we made a mistake when we set those wine-casks in the courtyard. The queen’s guests are lingering down there, and they’re swilling down Arcian red like water.’

‘May I draw on your wine-cellars, Sarabian?’ Ehlana asked sweetly.

Sarabian winced. ‘Why are you pouring all that drink into them?’ he demanded. ‘Arcian red’s very expensive here in Matherion.’

‘Drunk people are easier to manage than sober ones, your Majesty,’ Kalten shrugged. ‘We’ll let them continue to carouse down there in the courtyard and inside the castle until the fighting starts. Then we’ll push the stragglers on inside the castle with the others and keep them drinking. When they wake up tomorrow morning, most of them won’t even know there’s been a battle.’

The party in the courtyard was growing noisier. Tamul wines were not nearly as robust as Elene vintages, and the wits of the revellers had become fuddled. They laughed a great deal and walked about the yard unsteadily with silly grins on their faces.

Queen Ehlana looked critically down from the parapet. ‘How much longer would you say it’s going to take them to be totally incapacitated, Sparhawk?’ she asked.

‘Not much longer,’ he shrugged. He turned and looked out towards the city. ‘I don’t want to seem critical, Emperor Sarabian, but I have to point out that your citizenry is profoundly unimaginative. Your rebels out there are carrying torches.’

‘So?’

‘It’s a cliche, your Majesty. The mob in every bad Arcian romance ever written carries torches.’

‘How can you be so cool, man?’ Sarabian demanded. ‘If someone made a loud noise behind me right now, i’d jump out of my skin.’

‘Professional training, I guess. I’m more concerned that they might not reach the imperial compound than that they will. We want them to come here, your Majesty.’

‘Shouldn’t you raise the drawbridge?’

‘Not yet. There are conspirators here in the compound as well as out there in the streets. We don’t want to give away the fact that we know they’re coming.’

Khalad thrust his head out of the turret at the corner of the battlements and beckoned to his lord. ‘Will you excuse me, your Majesties?’ Sparhawk asked politely. ‘I have to go put on my work-clothes. Oh, Ehlana, why don’t you signal Kalten that it’s time to push those stragglers inside and lock them in the dining room with the others?’

‘What’s this?’ Sarabian asked.

‘We don’t want them underfoot when the fighting starts, Sarabian,’ the queen smiled. ‘The wine should keep them from noticing that they’re locked in the dining room.’

‘You Elenes are the most cold-blooded people in the world,’ Sarabian accused as Sparhawk moved off down the parapet toward the turret where Khalad was waiting with the suit of black armour.

When he returned about ten minutes later, he was dressed in steel. He found Ehlana talking earnestly with Sarabian. ‘Can’t you talk with her?’ she was saying. ‘The poor young man’s on the verge of hysteria.’

‘Why doesn’t he just do what she wants him to? Once they’ve entertained each other, she’ll lose interest.’

‘Sir Berit’s a very young knight, Sarabian. His ideals haven’t been tarnished yet. Why doesn’t she chase after Sir Kalten or Sir Ulath? They’d be happy to oblige her.’

‘Sir Berit’s a challenge to Elysoun, Ehlana. Nobody’s ever turned her down before.’

‘Doesn’t her rampant infidelity bother you?’

‘Not in the slightest. It doesn’t really mean anything in her culture, you see. Her people look upon it as a pleasant but unimportant pastime. I sometimes think you Elenes place far too much significance on it.’

‘Can’t you make her put some clothes on?’

‘Why? She’s not ashamed of her body, and she enjoys sharing it with people. Be honest, Ehlana, don’t you find her quite attractive?’

‘I think you’d have to ask my husband about that.’

‘You don’t really expect me to answer that kind of question, do you?’ Sparhawk said. He looked out over the battlements. ‘Our friends out there seem to have found their way to the palace compound,’ he noted as the torch-bearing rioters began to stream through the gate onto the grounds.

‘The guards are supposed to stop them,’ Sarabian said angrily.

‘The guards are taking their orders from Minister Kolata, I expect,’ Ehlana shrugged.

‘Where’s the Atan garrison then?’

‘We’ve moved them inside the castle here, your Majesty,’ Sparhawk advised him. ‘I think you keep overlooking the fact that we want those people in the grounds. It wouldn’t make much sense to impede their progress.’

‘Isn’t it about time to raise the drawbridge?’ Sarabian seemed nervous about that.

‘Not yet, your Majesty,’ Sparhawk replied coolly. ‘We want them all to be inside the compound first. At that point, Kring will close the gates. Then we’ll raise the drawbridge. Let them take the bait before we spring the trap on them.’

‘You sound awfully sure of yourself, Sparhawk.’

‘We have all the advantages, your Majesty.’

‘Does that mean that nothing can possibly go wrong?’

‘No, something can always go wrong, but the probabilities are remote.’

‘You don’t mind if I worry a little bit anyway, do you?’

‘Go right ahead, your Majesty.’

The mob from the streets of Matherion continued to stream unimpeded through the main gate of the Imperial grounds and fanned out rapidly, shouting excitedly as they crashed their way into the various palaces and administration buildings. As Kring had anticipated, many emerged from the gleaming buildings burdened down with assorted valuables they had looted from the interiors.

There was a brief flurry of activity in front of the castle when one group of looters reached the drawbridge and encountered a score of mounted knights under the command of Sir Ulath. The knights were there to provide cover for the Peloi who had been hidden in the holds of the barges during the earlier festivities and who had fallen to work on the naphtha casks with their axes as soon as the revellers had retired to the castle yard. A certain amount of glistening seepage from the sides of the barges indicated that the axemen crossing the decks of the festive vessels in the roost toward the drawbridge had done their work well. When the mob reached the outer end of the drawbridge, Ulath made it abundantly clear to them that he was in no mood to receive callers. The survivors decided to find other places to loot.

The courtyard had been cleared, and Bevier and his men were moving their catapults into place on the parapet. Engessa’s Atans had moved up onto the parapets with the Cyrinics and were crouched down out of sight behind the battlements.

Sparhawk looked around. Everything seemed in readiness. Then he looked at the gates of the compound. The only revolutionaries coming in now were the lame and the halt. They crutched their way along vigorously, but they had lagged far behind their companions. Sparhawk leaned out over the battlements. ‘We might as well get started, Ulath,’ he called down to his friend. ‘Why don’t you ask Kring to close the gates? Then you should probably come inside.’

‘Right!’ Ulath’s face was split with a broad grin. He lifted his curled Ogre-horn to his lips and blew a hollow-sounding blast. Then he turned and led his knights across the drawbridge back into the castle. The huge gate at the entrance to the palace grounds moved ponderously, slowly, swinging shut with a dreadful kind of inexorability. Sparhawk noted that several of those still outside stumped along desperately on their crutches, trying for all they were worth to get inside before the gate closed.

‘Kalten,’ he yelled down into the courtyard.

‘What?’ Kalten’s tone was irritable.

‘Would you like to let those people out there know that we’re not receiving any more visitors tonight?’

‘Oh, all right. I suppose so.’ Then the blond Pandion grinned up at his fellow-knight and he and his men began turning the capstan that raised the drawbridge.

‘Clown,’ Sparhawk muttered.

The significance of the simultaneous closing of the gate and raising of the drawbridge did not filter through the collective mind of the mob for quite some time. Then sounds of shouted commands and even occasional clashes of weapons from nearby buildings announced that at least some of the rebels were beginning, however faintly, to see the light. Tentatively, warily, the torch-bearing mob began to converge on the pristinely white Elene castle, where the gaily-coloured silk buntings shivered tremulously in the night breeze and the lantern and candle-lit barges bobbed sedately in the moat.

‘Hello, the castle!’ a bull-voiced fellow in the front rank roared in execrable Elenic. ‘Lower your drawbridge, or we’ll storm your walls!’

‘Would you please reply to that, Bevier?’ Sparhawk called to his Cyrinic friend.

Bevier grinned and carefully shifted one of his catapults. He sighted carefully, elevated his line of sight so that the catapult was pointed almost straight up, and then he applied the torch to the mixture of pitch and naphtha in the spoon-like receptacle at the end of the catapult-arm. The mixture took fire immediately.

‘I command you to lower your drawbridge!’ the unshaven knave out beyond the moat bellowed arrogantly.

Bevier cut the retaining rope on the catapult-arm. The blob of dripping fire sizzled as it shot almost straight up into the air, then it slowed and seemed to hang motionless for a moment. Then it fell. The ruffian who had been demanding admittance gaped at Bevier’s reply as it majestically rose into the night sky and then fell directly upon him like a comet. He vanished as he was engulfed in fire.

‘Good shot!’ Sparhawk called his compliment.

‘Not bad,’ Bevier replied modestly. ‘It was sort of tricky, because he was so close.’

‘I noticed that.’ Emperor Sarabian had gone very pale, and he was visibly shaken. ‘Did you have to do that, Sparhawk?’ He demanded in a choked voice as the now-frightened mob fled back across the lawns to positions that may or may not have been out of Sir Bevier’s range.

‘Yes, your Majesty,’ Sparhawk replied calmly. ‘We’re playing for time here. The bell that started to ring an hour or so ago was a sort of general signal. Caalador’s cutthroats took the ring-leaders into custody when it rang, Ehlana moved the party-goers inside the castle, and the Atan legions outside the city started to march as soon as they heard it. That loud-mouth who’s presently on fire at the edge of the moat is a graphic demonstration of just how truly unpleasant things are going to get if the mob decides to insist on being admitted. It’s going to take some serious encouragement to persuade them to approach us again.’

‘I thought you said you could hold them off.’

‘We can, but why risk lives if you don’t have to? You’ll note that there was no cheering or shouts when Bevier shot his catapult. Those people out there are staring at an absolutely silent, apparently unmanned castle that almost negligently obliterates offensive people. That’s a terrifying sort of thing to contemplate. This is the part of the siege that frequently lasts for several years.’ Sparhawk looked down the parapet. ‘I think it’s time for us to move inside that turrret, your Majesties,’ he suggested. ‘We can’t be positive that Khalad disabled all the crossbows—or that somebody in the mob hasn’t repaired a few. I’d have a great deal of trouble explaining why I was careless enough to let one of you get killed. We can see what’s going on from the turret, and I’ll feel much better if you’ve both got nice thick stone walls around you.’

‘Shouldn’t we rupture those barges now, dear?’ Ehlana asked him.

‘Not just yet. We’ve got the potential for inflicting a real disaster on the besiegers there. Let’s not waste it.’

Some few of the crossbows in the hands of the mob functioned properly, but not very many. There seemed to be a great deal of swearing about that. A serious attempt to re-open the gates of the compound fell apart when the Peloi, their sabres flashing and their shrill, ululating war cries echoing back from the walls of nearby opalescent palaces, charged across the neatly-clipped lawns to savage the crowd clustered around the gate. Then, because once the Peloi have been unleashed they are very hard to rein in again, the tribesmen from the marches of eastern Pelosia sliced back and forth through the huddled mass cowering on the grass. The palace guards who had joined the mob made some slight effort to respond, but the Peloi horsemen gleefully rode them down.

Sephrenia and Vanion entered the turret. The small Styrik woman’s white gown gleamed in the shaft of moonlight that streamed in through the door. ‘What are you thinking of, Sparhawk?’ she demanded angrily. ‘This isn’t a safe place for Ehlana and Sarabian.’

‘I think it’s as safe as I can manage, little mother. Ehlana, what would you say if I told you that you had to go inside?’

‘I’d say no, Sparhawk. I’d crawl out of my skin if you locked me up in some safe room where I couldn’t see what’s going on.’

‘I sort of thought you might feel that way. And you, Emperor Sarabian?’

‘Your wife just nailed my feet to the floor, Sparhawk. How could I possibly run off and hide while she’s standing up here on the wall like the figurehead on a warship?’ The emperor looked at Sephrenia. ‘Is this insane foolhardiness a racial characteristic of these barbarians?’ he asked her.

She sighed. ‘You wouldn’t believe some of the things they’re capable of, Sarabian,’ she replied, throwing a quick smile at Vanion.

‘At least someone in that mob’s still thinking coherently, Sparhawk,’ Vanion said to his friend. ‘He’s just realised that there are all sorts of unpleasant implications in the fact that they can’t get in here or out of the compound. He’s out there trying to whip them up by telling them that they’re doomed unless they take this castle.’

‘I hope he’s also telling them that they’re doomed if they try,’ Sparhawk replied.

‘I’d imagine that he’s glossing over that part. I had some misgivings about you when you were a novice, my friend. You and Kalten seemed like a couple of wild colts, but now that you’ve settled down, you’re really quite good. Your strategy here has been brilliant, you know. You actually haven’t embarrassed me too much this time.’

‘Thanks, Vanion,’ Sparhawk said dryly

‘No charge.’

The rebels approached the moat tentatively, their faces filled with apprehension and their eyes fixed on the night sky, desperately searching for that first flicker of fire which would announce that Sir Bevier was sending them greetings. The chance passage of a shooting-star across the velvet throat of night elicited screams of fright, followed by a vast nervous laugh. The gleaming, brightly-lit castle, however, remained silent. No soldiers lined the battlements. No globs of liquid fire sprang into the night sky from within those nacreous walls. The defenders crouched silently behind the battlements and waited.

‘Good,’ Vanion muttered after a quick glance out of one of the embrasures in the turret. ‘Someone saw the potential of those barges. They’ve clapped together some scaling ladders.’

‘We have to rupture those barges now, Vanion!’ Ehlana exclaimed urgently.

‘You didn’t tell her?’ Vanion asked Sparhawk.

‘No. The concept might have been difficult for her to accept.’

‘You’d better take her back inside the castle then, my friend. What’s going to happen next is likely to upset her a great deal.’

‘Will you two stop talking about me as if I weren’t even here?’ Ehlana burst out in exasperation. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘You’d better tell her,’ Vanion said bleakly.

‘We can start that fire at any time, Ehlana,’ Sparhawk said as gently as he could. ‘In a situation like this, fire’s a weapon. It’s not tactically practical to waste it by setting it off before your enemies are around to receive its benefits.’

She stared at him, the blood draining from her face. ‘This wasn’t what I’d planned, Sparhawk!’ she said vehemently. ‘The fire’s supposed to keep them away from the moat. I didn’t want you to burn them alive with it.’

‘I’m sorry, Ehlana. It’s a military decision. A weapon’s useless unless you demonstrate your willingness to employ it. I know it’s hard to accept, but if we take your plan to its ultimate application, it may save lives in the long run. We’re outnumbered here in Tamuli, and if we don’t establish a certain reputation for ruthlessness, we’ll be over-run the next time there’s a confrontation.’

‘You’re a monster!’

‘No, dear. I’m a soldier.’

She suddenly started to cry. ‘Would you take her inside now, little mother?’ Sparhawk asked Sephrenia. ‘I think we’d all rather she didn’t see this.’ Sephrenia nodded and took the weeping queen to the stairway leading down from the turret.

‘You might want to go too, your Majesty,’ Vanion suggested to Sarabian. ‘Sparhawk and I are more or less accustomed to this sort of unpleasantness. You don’t have to watch, though.’

‘No, I’ll stay, Lord Vanion,’ Sarabian said firmly.

‘That’s up to you, your Majesty.’

A sheet of crossbow bolts rattled against the battlements like hail. It appeared that the rebels had been repairing the results of Khalad’s tampering. Then, fearfully, splashing in panicky desperation, swimmers leapt from the edge of the moat and struggled their way to the barges to slip the mooring lines. The barges were quickly pulled to shore, and the rebels, their makeshift scaling-ladders already raised, swarmed on board and began to pole their way rapidly across the moat to the sheer castle-wall.

Sparhawk stuck his head out through the doorway of the turret. ‘Kalten!’ he hissed to his friend who was crouched down on the parapet not far from the turret. ‘Pass the word! Tell the Atans to get ready!’

‘Right.’

‘But tell them not to move until they hear the signal.’

‘I know what I’m doing, Sparhawk. Quit treating me like an idiot.’

‘Sorry.’

The urgent whisper sped around the battlements. ‘Your timing’s perfect, Sparhawk,’ Vanion said tensely in a low voice. ‘I just saw Kring’s signal from the compound wall. The Atans are outside the gate.’ He paused. ‘You’re having an unbelievable run of good luck, you know. Nobody could have guessed in advance that the mob would start up the wall and the Atans would arrive at precisely the same time.’

‘Probably not,’ Sparhawk agreed. ‘I think we might want to do something nice for Aphrael the next time we see her.’

In the moat below, the barges bumped against the castle walls, and the rebels began their desperate scramble up the ladders towards the ominously silent battlements. Another urgent whisper slithered back around the parapet.

‘The barges are all up against the wall now, Sparhawk!’ Kalten whispered hoarsely.

‘All right.’ Sparhawk drew in a deep breath. ‘Tell Ulath to give the signal.’

‘Ulath!’ Kalten shouted, no longer even bothering to whisper. ‘Toot your horn!’

‘Toot?’ Ulath’s voice was outraged. Then his Ogre-horn rang out its message of pain and death. From around the parapet, great boulders were lifted, teetered a moment on the battlements and then plummeted down onto the swarming decks of the barges below. The barges ruptured, splintered and began to sink. The viscous mixture of naphtha and pitch spread out across the surface of the moat. The spreading slick was rainbow-hued and, Sparhawk absently thought, really rather pretty. The towering Atans rose from their places of concealment, took up the lanterns conveniently hanging from the battlements, and hurled them down into the moat like a hundred flaring comets. The rebels who had leaped from the sinking barges and who were struggling in the oily water below screamed in terror as they saw flaming death raining down on them from above.

The moat exploded. A sheet of blue fire shot across the naphtha-stained water, and it was immediately followed by towering billows of sooty orange flame and dense black smoke. There were volcano-like eruptions from the sinking barges as the deadly, unspilled naphtha still in their holds took fire. The flames belched upward to sear the rebels still clinging to the scaling ladders. They fell or jumped from the burning ladders, streaking flame as they plunged into the inferno below. The screams were dreadful. Some few of the burning men reached the far bank of the moat and ran blindly across the tidy lawns of the compound, shrieking and dripping fire. The rebels who had stood at the brink of the moat impatiently awaiting their turn to cross the intervening water to scale the walls recoiled in horror from the sudden conflagration that had just made the gleaming castle of the Elenes as unreachable as the far side of the moon.

‘Ulath!’ Sparhawk roared. ‘Tell Kring to open the gate.’

Once more the Ogre-horn sang. The massive gates of the compound swung slowly open, and the golden Atan giants, running in perfect unison, swept into the imperial compound like an avalanche.

30

‘I don’t know how they did it, Sparhawk,’ Caalador replied with a dark scowl. ‘Krager himself hasn’t been seen for days. He’s a slippery one, isn’t he?’ Caalador had come in from the city and located Sparhawk on the parapet.

‘That he is, my friend. What about the others? I wouldn’t have thought that Elron could have managed something like that.’

‘Neither would I. He was doing everything but wearing a sign reading “conspirator” on his forehead—all that swirling of his cape and exaggerated tip-toeing through back alleys.’ Caalador shook his head. ‘Anyway, he was staying in the house of a local Edomish nobleman. We know he was inside, because we watched him go in through the front door. We were watching every single door and window, so we know he didn’t come back out, but he wasn’t inside when we went to pick him up.’

There was a crash from a nearby palace as the Atans broke in the doors to get at the rebels hiding inside.

‘Did your people check the house for hidden rooms or passages?’ Sparhawk asked.

Calador shook his head. ‘They stood the Edomish noble barefoot in a brazier of hot coals instead. It’s faster that way. There was no place to hide in that house. I’m sorry, Sparhawk. We picked up all the second-raters without a hitch, but the leaders—’ He spread his hands helplessly.

‘Somebody was probably using magic. They’ve done it before.’

‘Can you really do that sort of thing with magic?’

‘I can’t, but I’m sure Sephrenia knows the proper spells.’

Caalador looked out over the battlements. ‘Well, at least we broke up this attack on the government. That’s the main thing.’

‘I’m not so sure,’ Sparhawk disagreed.

‘It was fairly important, Sparhawk. If they’d succeeded, all of Tamuli would have flown apart. As soon as the Atans finish mopping up, we’ll be able to start questioning survivors—and those underlings we did manage to catch. They might be able to direct us to the important plotters.’

‘I sort of doubt it. Krager’s very good at this sort of thing. I think we’ll find that the underlings don’t actually have a lot of information. It’s a shame. I really wanted to have a little talk with Krager.’

‘You always get that tone of voice when you talk about him.’ Caalador observed. ‘Is there something personal between you two?’

‘Oh, yes, and it goes back a long, long ways. I’ve missed any number of opportunities to kill him—usually because it wasn’t convenient. I was usually too busy concentrating on the man who employed him, and that may have been a mistake. Krager always makes sure that he’s got just enough information to make him too valuable to kill. The next time I come across him, I think I’ll just ignore that.’

The Atans were efficiency personified as they rounded up the rebels. They offered the armed insurgents one opportunity to surrender each time they surrounded a group, and they didn’t ask twice. By two hours past midnight, the imperial compound was quiet again. A few Atan patrols searched the grounds and buildings for any rebels who might have gone into hiding, but there was little in the way of significant activity.

Sparhawk was bone-tired. Though he had not physically participated in the suppression of the rebellion, the tension had exhausted him more than a two-hour battle might have. He stood on the parapet looking wearily down into the compound, watching without much interest as the grounds-keepers, who had been pressed into service for the unpleasant task, gingingly pulled the floating dead out of the moat.

‘Why don’t you go to bed, Sparhawk?’ It was Khalad. His bare, heavy shoulders gleamed in the torchlight. His voice and appearance and brusque manner were so much like his father’s that Sparhawk once again felt that brief, renewed pang of sorrow.

‘I just want to be sure that there won’t be any bodies left floating in the moat when my wife wakes up tomorrow morning. People who’ve been burned to death aren’t very pretty.’

‘I’ll take care of that. Let’s go to the bath-house. I’ll help you out of your armour, and you can soak in a tub of hot water for a while.’

‘I didn’t really exert myself very much this evening, Khalad. I didn’t even work up a sweat.’

‘You don’t have to. That smell’s so ingrained into your armour that five minutes after you put it on, you smell as if you haven’t bathed for a month.’

‘It’s one of the drawbacks of the profession. Are you sure you want to be a knight?’

‘It wasn’t my idea in the first place.’

‘Maybe when this is all over, the world will settle down enough so that there won’t be any need for armoured knights any more.’

‘Of course, and maybe someday fish will fly too.’

‘You’re a cynic, Khalad.’

‘What is he doing up there?’ Khalad demanded irritably, looking up toward the towers soaring over the castle.

‘Who’s doing what where?’

‘There’s somebody up in the very top of that south tower. This is the fourth time I’ve caught a flicker of candle-light through that window.’

‘Maybe Tynian or Bevier put one of their knights up there to keep watch,’ Sparhawk shrugged.

‘Without telling you? Or Lord Vanion?’

‘If it worries you so much, let’s go take a look.’

‘You don’t sound very concerned.’

‘I’m not. This castle’s absolutely secure, Khalad.’

‘I’ll go have a look after I get you ready for bed.’

‘No, I’ll go along.’

‘I thought you were certain that the castle’s secure.’

‘It never hurts to be careful. I don’t want to have to tell your mothers that I made a mistake and got you killed.’

They went down from the battlements, crossed the courtyard and went into the main building. There were loud snores coming from behind the bolted door of the main dining hall.

‘I’d imagine that there are going to be some monumental headaches emerging from that room in the morning,’

Khalad laughed. ‘We didn’t force our guests to drink so much.’

‘They’ll accuse us of it, though.’

They started up the stairway that led to the top of the south tower. Although the main tower and the north tower had been constructed in the usual fashion with rooms stacked atop each other, the south tower was little more than a hollow shell with a wooden stairway rising up through a creaking scaffolding. The architect had evidently added this structure primarily for the purposes of symmetry. The single room in the entire tower was at the very top, a room floored with wooden beams roughly adzed square.

‘I’m getting too old to be climbing stairs in full armour,’ Sparhawk puffed when they were about halfway up.

‘You’re out of condition, Sparhawk,’ Khalad told his lord bluntly. ‘You’re spending too much time on your backside talking about politics.’

‘It’s part of my job, Khalad.’ They reached the door at the top of the stairs. ‘You’d better let me go in first,’ Sparhawk murmured, sliding his sword out of its scabbard. Then he reached out and pushed the door open.

A shabby-looking man sat at a wooden table in the centre of the room, his face lit by a single candle. Sparhawk knew him. The years of hard drinking had not been kind to Krager. His hair had thinned even more in the six or so years since Sparhawk had last seen him, and the puffy pouches under his eyes were even more pronounced. The eyes themselves, nearsighted and watery, were discoloured and seemed to be overlaid with a kind of yellow stain. The hand in which he held his wine-cup palsied, and a continual tic shuddered in his right cheek. Sparhawk moved without even stopping to think. He levelled his sword at Martel’s threadbare former underling and lunged. There was no feeling of resistance as the sword plunged into Krager’s chest and emerged from his back.

Krager flinched violently, and then he laughed in his rusty, drink-corroded voice. ‘God, that’s a startling experience!’ he said conversationally. ‘I could almost feel the blade running through me. Put your sword away, Sparhawk. You can’t hurt me with it.’

Sparhawk pulled the sword out of Kragers substantial-appearing body and swept it back and forth through the man’s head. ‘Please don’t do that, Sparhawk,’ Krager said, closing his eyes. ‘It’s really very unnerving, you know.’

‘My compliments to your magician, Krager,’ Sparhawk said flatly. ‘That’s really a very convincing illusion. You look so real that I can almost smell you.’

‘I see that we’re going to be civilised about this,’ Krager said, taking a drink of his wine. ‘Good. You’re growing up, Sparhawk. Ten years ago, you’d have chopped the room into kindling before you’d have finally been willing to listen to reason.’

‘Magic?’ Khalad asked Sparhawk.

Sparhawk nodded. ‘And fairly sophisticated too. Actually Krager’s sitting in a room a mile or more away from here. Someone’s projecting his image into this tower. We can see him and hear him, but we can’t touch him.’

‘Pity,’ Khalad murmured, fingering the hilt of his heavy dagger.

‘You’ve really been very clever this time, Sparhawk,’ Krager said. ‘Age seems to be improving you—like a good wine.’

‘You’re the expert on that, Krager.’

‘Petty, Sparhawk. Very petty.’ Krager smirked. ‘Before you engage in an orgy of self-congratulation, though, you ought to know that this was just another of those tests a friend of mine mentioned to you a while back. I told my associates all about you, but they wanted to see for themselves. We arranged a few entertainments for you so that you could demonstrate your prowess and your limitations. The catapults definitely confused the Cyrgai, and your mounted tactics against the Trolls were almost brilliant. You also did remarkably well in an urban setting here in Matherion. You really surprised me on that score, Sparhawk. You caught on to our sign and counter-sign much faster than I’d thought you would, and you intercepted the message about the warehouse in a remarkably short period of time. That Dacite merchant only had to walk through town three times before your spy stole the note from him. I’d have expected you to fail miserably when faced with a conspiracy instead of an army in the field. My congratulations.’

‘You’ve been drinking for too many years, Krager. Your memory’s starting to slip. You’re forgetting what happened in Chyrellos during the election. As I recall, we countered just about every one of the schemes Martel and Annias cooked up there as well.’

‘That wasn’t really a very great accomplishment, Sparhawk. Martel and Annias weren’t really very challenging opponents. I tried to tell them that their plots weren’t sophisticated enough, but they wouldn’t listen. Martel was too busy thinking about the treasure-rooms under the Basilica, and Annias was so blinded by the Archprelate’s mitre that he couldn’t see anything else. You really missed your chance there, Sparhawk. I’ve always been your most serious opponent. You had me right in your hands, and you let me go just for the sake of a few crumbs of information and some exaggerated testimony before the Hierocracy. Very poor thinking there, old boy.’

‘This evening’s festivities weren’t really designed to succeed then, I gather?’

‘Of course not, Sparhawk. If we’d really wanted to take Matherion, we’d have brought in whole armies.’

‘I’m sure there’s a point to all this,’ Sparhawk said to the illusion. ‘Do you suppose we could step right along? I’ve had a tiring day.’

‘The tests have all been designed to oblige you to commit your resources, Sparhawk. We needed to know what kinds of responses you had at your command.’

‘You haven’t seen them all yet, Krager—not by half.’

‘Khalad, isn’t it?’ Krager said to Sparhawk’s squire. ‘Tell your master that he should practise a bit more before he tries lying. He’s really not very convincing. Oh, convey my regards to your mother. She and I always got on well.’

‘I sort of doubt that,’ Khalad replied.

‘Be realistic, Sparhawk,’ Krager went on. ‘Your wife and daughter are here. Do you really expect me to believe that you’d hold anything back if you thought they were in danger?’

‘We used what was necessary, Krager. You don’t have to send out a whole regiment to step on a bug.’

‘You’re so much like Martel was, Sparhawk,’ Krager observed. ‘You two could almost have been brothers. I used to despair of ever nursing him through his adolescence. He was a hopeless innocent when he started out, you know. About all he had was a towering resentment directed primarily at you and Vanion—and at Sephrenia, of course, although to a lesser degree. I had to raise him from virtual infancy. God, the hours I spent patiently grinding away all those knightly virtues.’

‘Reminisce on your own time, Krager. Get to the point. Martel’s history now. This is a new situation, and he’s not around any more.’

‘Just renewing our acquaintance, Sparhawk. You know, “the good old days” and all that. I’ve found a new employer, obviously.’

‘I gathered as much.’

‘When I was working for Martel, I had very little direct contact with Otha and almost none with Azash Himself. That situation might have had an entirely different outcome if I’d had direct access to the Zemoch God. Martel was obsessed with revenge, and Otha was too sunk in his own debauchery for either of them to think clearly. They were giving Azash very poor advice as a result of their own limitations. I could have given him a much more realistic assessment of the situation.’

‘Provided you were ever sober enough to talk.’

‘That’s beneath you, Sparhawk. Oh, I’ll admit that I take a drink now and then, but never so much that I lose sight of the main goals. Actually, it turned out better for me in the long run. If I’d been the one advising Azash, He’d have beaten you. Then I’d have been inextricably involved with Him, and I’d have been destroyed when He confronted Cyrgon—that’s my new employer’s name, by the way. You’ve heard of Him, I suppose?’

‘A few times.’ Sparhawk forced himself to sound casual.

‘Good. That saves us a lot of time. Pay attention now, Sparhawk. We’re getting to the significant part of this little chat. Cyrgon wants you to go home. Your presence here on the Daresian continent is an inconvenience nothing more, really. just an inconvenience. If you had Bhelliom in your pocket, we might take you seriously, but you don’t—and so we don’t. You’re all alone here, my old friend. You don’t have the Bhelliom, and you don’t have the Church Knights. You’ve only got the remnants of Ehlana’s honour guard and a hundred of those mounted apes from Pelosia. You’re hardly worth even noticing. If you go home, Cyrgon will give you His pledge not to move against the Eosian continent for a hundred years. You’ll be long dead by then, and so will everybody you care about. It’s not really a bad offer, you know. You get yourself a hundred years of peace just by getting on a ship and going back to Cimmura.’

‘And if I don’t?’

‘We’ll kill you—after we’ve killed your wife and your daughter and everybody else in the whole world you care about. There’s another possibility, of course. You could join us. Cyrgon could see to it that you lived longer than even Otha did. He specifically told me to make you that offer.’

‘Thank Him for me—if you ever see Him again.’

‘You’re declining, I gather?’

‘Obviously. I haven’t seen nearly as much of Daresia as I want to see, so I think I’ll stay for a while, and I’m sure I wouldn’t care for the company of you and Cyrgon’s other hirelings.’

‘I told Cyrgon you’d take that position, but He insisted that I make the offer.’

‘If he’s so all-powerful, why’s He trying to bribe me?’

‘Out of respect, Sparhawk. Can you believe that? He respects you because you’re Anakha. The whole concept baffles Him, and He’s intrigued by it. I honestly believe He’d like to get to know you. You know how childish Gods can be at times.’

‘Speaking of Gods, what’s behind this alliance He’s made with the Troll-Gods?’ Then Sparhawk thought of something. ‘Never mind, Krager, I’ve just worked it out for myself. A God’s power is dependent on the number of worshippers he has. The Cyrgai are extinct, so Cyrgon’s no more than a squeaky little voice making hollow pronouncements in a ruin somewhere in central Cynesga—all noise and no substance.’

‘Someone’s been telling you fairy-tales, Sparhawk. The Cyrgai are far from extinct—as you’ll find out to your sorrow if you stay in Tamuli. Cyrgon made the alliance with the Troll-Gods in order to bring the Trolls to Daresia. Your Atans are very impressive, but they’re no match for Trolls. Cyrgon’s very sentimental about His chosen people. He’d rather not lose them needlessly in skirmishes with a race of freaks, so He made an arrangement with the Troll-Gods. The Trolls will get the pleasure of killing—and eating—the Atans.’ Krager drained the rest of his wine.

‘This is starting to bore me, Sparhawk, and my cup’s gone empty. I told Cyrgon I’d present you with His offer. He’s giving you the chance to live out the rest of your life in peace. I’d advise you to take it. He won’t make the offer again. Really, old boy, why should you care what happens to the Tamuls? They’re nothing but yellow monkeys, after all.’

‘Church policy, Krager. Our Holy Mother takes the long view. Tell Cyrgon to take His offer and stick it up His nose. I’m staying.’

‘It’s your funeral, Sparhawk,’ Krager laughed. ‘I might even send flowers. I’ve had all the entertainment of knowing a pair of anachronisms—you and Martel. I’ll drink to your memories from time to time—if I remember you at all.’ And then the illusion of the shabby scoundrel vanished.

‘So that’s Krager,’ Khalad said in a chill tone. ‘I’m glad I got the chance to meet him.’

‘What exactly have you got in mind, Khalad?’

‘I thought I might kill him just a little bit. Fair’s fair, Sparhawk. You got Martel, Talen got Adus, so Krager’s mine.’

‘Sounds fair to me,’ Sparhawk agreed.

‘Was he drunk?’ Kalten asked.

‘Krager’s always a little drunk,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘He wasn’t so far gone that he got careless, though.’ He looked around. ‘Would everybody like to say “I told you so” right here and now?’ he asked them. ‘Let’s have it out of the way right at the start, so I don’t have it hanging over my head. Yes, it probably would have been more convenient if I’d killed him the last time I saw him, but if we hadn’t had his testimony to the Hierocracy at the time of the election, Dolmant probably wouldn’t be the Archprelate right now.’

‘I might be able to learn to live with that,’ Ehlana murmured.

‘Be nice,’ Emban told her.

‘Only joking, your Grace.’

‘Are you sure you repeated what he said verbatim?’ Sephrenia asked Sparhawk.

‘It was very close, little mother,’ Khalad assured her.

She frowned. ‘It was contrived. I’m sure you all realise that. Krager didn’t really tell us anything we didn’t already know—or could have guessed.’

‘The name Cyrgon hadn’t come up before, Sephrenia,’ Vanion disagreed.

‘And it may very well never come up again,’ she replied. ‘I’d need a lot more than Krager’s unsubstantiated word before I’ll believe that Cyrgon’s involved.’

‘Well, somebody’s involved,’ Tynian noted. ‘Somebody had to be impressive enough to get the attention of the Troll-Gods, and Krager doesn’t quite fit that description.’

‘Not to mention the fact that Krager can’t even pronounce “magic”, much less use it,’ Kalten added. ‘Could just any Styric have cast that spell, little mother?’

Sephrenia shook her head. ‘It’s very difficult,’ she conceded. ‘If it hadn’t been done exactly right, Sparhawk’s sword would have gone right through the real Krager. Sparhawk would have started the thrust in that room up in the tower, and it would have finished up in a room a mile away sliding through Krager’s heart.’

‘All right then,’ Emban said, pacing up and down the room with his pudgy hands clasped behind his back. ‘Now we know that this so-called uprising tonight wasn’t intended seriously.’

Sparhawk shook his head. ‘No, your Grace, we don’t know that for certain. Regardless of what he says, Krager learned much of his style from Martel, and trying to shrug a failure off by pretending that the scheme wasn’t really serious in the first place is exactly the sort of thing Martel would have done.’

‘You knew him better than I did,’ Emban shrugged. ‘Can we really be sure that Krager and the others are working for a God—Cyrgon or maybe some other one?’

‘Not really, Emban,’ Sephrenia replied. ‘The Troll-Gods are involved, and they could be doing the things we’ve encountered that are beyond the capability of a human magician. There’s a sorcerer out there, certainly, but we can’t be certain that there’s a God—other than the Troll-Gods involved as well.’

‘But it could be a God, couldn’t it?’ Emban pressed.

‘Anything’s possible, your Grace,’ she shrugged.

‘That’s what I needed to know,’ the fat little churchman said. ‘It rather looks as if I’m going to have to make a flying trip back to Chyrellos.’

‘That went by me a little fast, your Grace,’ Kalten confessed.

‘We’re going to need the Church Knights, Kalten,’ Emban said. ‘All of them.’

‘They’re committed to Render, your Grace,’ Bevier reminded him.

‘Render can wait.’

‘The Archprelate may feel differently about that, Emban,’ Vanion told him. ‘Reconciliation with the Renders has been one of our Holy Mother’s goals for over half a millennium now.’

‘She’s patient. She’ll wait. She’s going to have to wait. This is a crisis, Vanion.’

‘I’ll go with you, your Grace,’ Tynian said. ‘I won’t be of much use here in Tamuli until my shoulder heals anyway, and I’ll be able to clarify the military situation to Sarathi much better than you will. Dolmant’s had Pandion training, so he’ll understand military terminology. Right now we’re standing out in the open with our breeches down—begging your Majesty’s pardon for the crudity of that expression,’ he apologised to Ehlana.

‘It’s an interesting metaphor, Sir Tynian,’ she smiled, ‘and it conjures up an absolutely enthralling image.’

‘I’ll agree with the Patriarch of Ucera,’ Tynian went on. ‘We definitely have to have the Church Knights here in Tamuli. If we don’t get them here in a hurry, this whole situation’s going to crumble right in our hands.’

‘I’ll send word to Tikume,’ Kring volunteered. ‘He’ll send us several thousand mounted Peloi. We don’t wear armour or use magic, but we know how to fight.’

‘Will you be able to hold out here until the Church Knights arrive, Vanion?’ Emban asked.

‘Talk to Sparhawk, Emban. He’s in charge.

‘I wish you wouldn’t keep doing that, Vanion,’ Sparhawk objected. He thought for a moment. ‘Atan Engessa,’ he said then, ‘how hard was it to persuade your warriors that it’s not really unnatural to fight on horseback? Can we persuade any more of them?’

‘When I tell them that this Krager-drunkard called them a race of freaks, they’ll listen to me, SparhawkKnight.’

‘Good. Krager may have helped us more than he thought then. Are you convinced that it’s best to attack Trolls with warhorses and lances, my friend?’

‘It was most effective, Sparhawk-Knight. We haven’t encountered the Troll-beasts before. They’re bigger than we are. That may be difficult for my people to accept, but once they do, they’ll be willing to try horses if you can find enough of those big ones.’

‘Did Krager happen to make any references to the fact that we’ve been using thieves and beggars as our eyes and ears?’ Stragen asked.

‘Not in so many words, Milord,’ Khalad replied.

‘That puts an unknown into our equation then,’ Stragen mused.

‘Please don’t do that, Stragen,’ Kalten pleaded. ‘I absolutely hate mathematics.’

‘Sorry. We don’t know for certain whether Krager’s aware that we’ve been using the criminals of Matherion as spies. If he is aware of it, he could use it to feed us false information.’

‘That spell they used sort of hints that they know, Stragen,’ Caalador noted. ‘That explains how it was that we saw the leaders of the conspiracy go into a house and never come out. They used illusions. They wouldn’t have done that if they hadn’t known we were watching.’

Stragen stuck out his hand and wobbled it from side to side a bit dubiously. ‘It’s not set in stone yet, Caalador,’ he said. ‘He may not know just exactly how well-organised we are.’

Bevier’s expression was profoundly disgusted. ‘We’ve been had, my friends,’ he said. ‘This was all an elaborate ruse—armies from the past, resurrected heroes, vampires and ghouls—all of it. It was a trick with no other purpose than to get us to come here without the entire body of the Church Knights at our backs.’

‘Then why have they turned round and told us to go home, Sir Bevier?’ Talen asked him.

‘Maybe they found out that we were a little more effective than they thought we’d be,’ Ulath rumbled. ‘I don’t think they really expected us to break up that Cyrgai assault or exterminate a hundred Trolls or break the back of this coup-attempt the way we did. It’s altogether possible that we surprised them and even upset them more than a little. Krager’s visit could have been sheer bravado, you know. We might not want to get over-confident, but I don’t think we should get under-confident either. We’re professionals, after all, and we’ve won every encounter so far. Let’s not give up the game and run away just because of a few windy threats by a known drunkard.’

‘Well said,’ Tynian murmured.

‘We don’t have any choice, Aphrael,’ Sparhawk told his daughter later when they were alone with Sephrenia and Vanion in a small room several floors above the royal apartments. ‘It’s going to take Emban and Tynian at least three months to get back to Chyrellos and then nine months for the Church Knights to come overland to Daresia. Even then, they’ll still be present only in the western kingdoms.’

‘Why can’t they come by boat?’ The princess sounded a bit sulky, and she was holding Rollo tightly to her chest.

‘There are a hundred thousand Church Knights, Aphrael,’ Vanion reminded her, ‘twenty-five thousand in each of the four orders. I don’t think there are enough ships in the world to transport that many men and horses. We can bring in some, ten thousand perhaps, by ship, but the bulk of them will have to come overland. We won’t be able to count on even that ten thousand for at least six months—the time it’s going to take Emban and Tynian to reach Chyrellos and then come back by ship with the knights and their horses. Until they arrive, we’re all alone here.’

‘With your breeches down,’ she added.

‘Watch your tongue, young lady,’ Sparhawk scolded her.

She shrugged that off. ‘My instincts all tell me that it’s a very bad idea,’ she told them. ‘I went to a lot of trouble to find a safe place for Bhelliom, and the first time there’s a little rain-shower, you all want to run to retrieve it. Are you sure you’re not exaggerating the danger? Ulath might have been right, you know. Everything Krager said to you could have been sheer bluster. I still think you can handle it without Bhelliom.’

‘I disagree,’ Sephrenia told her. ‘I know Elenes better than you do, Aphrael. It’s not in their nature to exaggerate dangers. Quite the reverse, actually.’

‘The whole point here is that your mother may be in danger,’ Sparhawk told his daughter. ‘Until Tynian and Emban bring the Church Knights to Tamuli, we’re seriously over-matched. Even as stupid as they are, it was only the Bhelliom that gave us any advantage over the Troll-Gods last time. You couldn’t even deal with them, as I recall.’

‘That’s a hateful thing to say, Sparhawk,’ she flared.

‘I’m just trying to get you to look at this realistically, Aphrael. Without the Bhelliom, we’re all in serious danger here—and I’m not just talking about your mother and all our friends. If Krager was telling the truth and we are matched up against Cyrgon, He’s at least as dangerous as Azash was.’

‘Are you sure all of these flimsy excuses aren’t coming into your head because you want to get your hands on Bhelliom again, Sparhawk?’ she asked him. ‘Nobody’s really immune to its seduction, you know. There’s a great deal of satisfaction to be had in wielding unlimited power.’

‘You know me better than that, Aphrael,’ he said reproachfully. ‘I don’t go out of my way looking for power.’

‘If it is Cyrgon, His first step would be to exterminate the Styrics, you know,’ Sephrenia reminded the little Goddess. ‘He hates us for what we did to His Cyrgai.’

‘Why are you all joining forces to bully me?’ Aphrael demanded.

‘Because you’re being stubborn,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘Throwing Bhelliom into the sea was a very good idea when we did it, but the situation’s changed now. I know that it’s not in your nature to admit that you made a mistake, but you did, you know.’

‘Bite your tongue!’

‘We have a new situation here, Aphrael,’ Sephrenia said patiently. ‘You’ve told me again and again that you can’t fully see the future, so you couldn’t really have foreseen all of what’s happening here in Tamuli. You didn’t really make a mistake, baby sister, but you have to be flexible. You can’t let the world fly all to pieces just because you want to maintain a reputation for infallibility.’

‘Oh, all right!’ Aphrael gave in, flinging herself into a chair and starting to suck her thumb as she glared at them.

‘Don’t do that,’ Sparhawk and Sephrenia told her in unison.

She ignored them. ‘I want all three of you to know that I’m really very put out with you for this. You’ve been very impolite and very inconsiderate of my feelings. I’m ashamed of you. Go ahead. I don’t care. Go ahead and get the Bhelliom if you think you absolutely have to have it.’

‘Ah—Aphrael,’ Sparhawk said mildly, ‘we don’t know where it is, remember?’

‘That’s not my fault,’ she replied in a sulky little voice.

‘Yes, actually it is. You were very careful to make sure that we didn’t know where we were when we threw it into the sea.’

‘That’s a spiteful thing to say, father.’

A horrible thought suddenly occurred to Sparhawk ‘You do know where it is, don’t you?’ he asked her anxiously.

‘Oh, Sparhawk, don’t be silly! Of course I know where it is. You didn’t think I’d let you put it someplace where I couldn’t find it, did you?’