The Hidden City

11

‘I can’t find anybody willing to stay in one place long enough for me to ask him any questions,’ Komier growled when he returned late one cloudy afternoon with his scouts. He looked sourly back across the empty, winter-fallow fields all neatly bordered with low stone walls, carefully shifting his broken right arm. ‘These Astellian serfs all take one look at us and bolt for the woods like frightened deer.’

‘What’s ahead?’ Darellon asked him. Darellon’s helmet hung from his saddlebow, one side so crushed in that it no longer fit his bandaged head. His eyes were unfocused, and his bandage was blood-soaked.

Komier took out his map and studied it. ‘We’re coming to the River Astel,’ he replied. ‘We saw a city over on the other side—Darsas, most likely. I couldn’t catch anybody to tell me for sure, though. I’m not the prettiest fellow in the world, but I’ve never had people flee from me in terror like this before.’

‘Emban warned us about that,’ Bergsten said. ‘The countryside’s crawling with agitators. They’re telling the serfs that we’ve all got horns and tails and that we’re coming here to burn down their churches and ram assorted heresies down their throats at ‘sword-point. This fellow called Sabre seems to be the one behind it all.’

‘He’s the one I want,’ Komier muttered darkly. ‘I think I’ll run him down and set him up as the centerpiece in a bonfire.’

‘Lets not stir up the locals any more than they already are, Komier,’ Darellon cautioned. ‘We’re not in any condition for confrontations at the moment.’ He glanced back at the battered column and the long string of wagons bearing the gravely wounded.

‘Did you see any signs of organized resistance?’ Heldin asked Komier.

‘Not yet. I expect we’ll find out how things really stand when we get to Darsas. If the bridge across the Astel’s been torn down and the tops of the city walls are lined with archers, we’ll know that Sabre’s message of peace and goodwill’s reached the people in authority.’ The Genidian Preceptor’s face darkened, and he squared his shoulders. ‘That’s all right. I’ve fought my way into towns before, so it won’t be a new experience.’

‘You’ve already managed to get Abriel and about a third of the Church Knights killed, Komier,’ Bergsten told him pointedly. ‘I ‘d say that your place in history’s secure. Let’s try a bit of negotiation before we start battering down gates and burning houses.’

‘You’ve had a clever mouth ever since we were novices, Bergsten. I should have done something about it before you put on that cassock.’

Bergsten hefted his war-axe a couple of times. ‘I can take my cassock off any time it suits you, old friend,’ he offered.

‘You’re getting side-tracked, gentlemen,’ Darellon said, his speech slightly slurred. ‘Our wounded need attention. This isn’t the time to pick fights—either with the local population or with each other. I think the four of us should ride on ahead under a flag of truce and find out which way the wind’s blowing before we start building siege-engines.’

‘Am I hearing the voice of reason here?’ Heldin rumbled mildly.

They tied a gleaming white Cyrinic cape to Sir Heldin’s lance and rode ahead through the cheerless afternoon to the west bank of the River Astel. The city beyond the river was clearly Elene, an ancient town with soaring towers and spires. It stood proudly and solidly on the far shore of the river under its snapping pennons of red and blue and gold proclaiming, or so it seemed, that it had always been there and always would be. It had high, thick walls and massive, closed gates. The bridge across the Astel was blocked by towering, bronze-faced warriors wearing minimal armor and carrying very unpleasant-looking weapons.

‘Atans,’ Sir Heldin identified them. ‘We definitely don’t want to fight those people.’

The ranks of bleak-faced infantry parted, and an ancient, bald Tamul in a gold-colored mantle flanked by a vastly-bearded Astellian clergyman all in black came forward to meet them. ‘Well-met, Sir Knights,’ the hairless old Tamul greeted the armored men in a dry, dusty voice. ‘King Alberen’s a trifle curious as to your intentions. We don’t see Church Knights in this part of the world very often.’

‘You would be Ambassador Fontan,’ Bergsten said. ‘Emban described you very well.’

‘I thought he had better manners,’ Fontan murmured.

Bergsten flashed him a brief smile. ‘You might want to send word back to the city, your Excellency. Assure His Majesty that our intentions are entirely peaceful.’

‘I’m sure he’ll be happy to hear that.’

‘Emban and Sir Tynian came back to Chyrellos a couple months ago,’ Bergsten continued. ‘Sparhawk sent word that things were getting out of hand here. Dolmant dispatched us to help restore order.’ The huge Patriarch made a sour face. ‘We didn’t get off to a very good start, I’m afraid. We had an unfortunate encounter near Basne and we have many wounded in need of medical attention.’

‘I’ll send word to the nearby monasteries, Sir Knight,’ the bearded clergyman standing at Fontan’s elbow offered.

‘Bergsten’s not a knight any more, your Reverence,’ Komier corected him. ‘He used to be, but God had other plans for him. He’s a Patriarch of the Church now. He prays well enough, I suppose, but we haven’t been able to get his axe away from him yet.’

‘My manners must be slipping,’ Fontan apologized. ‘My friend here is Archimandrite Morsel, the duly anointed head of the Church of Astel.’

‘Your Grace.’ Bergsten inclined his head politely.

‘Your Grace,’ Morsel replied, looking curiously at the warlike churchman. ‘Your friend Emban and I had some very stimulating discussions about our doctrinal differences. You and I might want to continue those, but let’s see to your wounded first. How many injured men do you have?’

‘Twenty thousand or so, your Grace,’ Komier answered bleakly. ‘It’s a little hard to keep an exact count. A few score die on us every hour or so.’

‘What in God’s name did you encounter up in those nountains?’ Morsel gasped.

‘The King of Hell, as closely as we can determine, your Grace,’ Darellon replied. ‘We left thirty thousand dead on the field mostly Cyrinics. Lord Abriel, their Preceptor, led the charge, and his knights followed closely behind him. They were fully engaged before they realized what they were up against.’ He sighed. ‘Abriel was nearing seventy, and he seemed to think he was leading his last charge.’

‘He was right about that,’ Komier grunted sourly. ‘There wasn’t enough of him left to bury.’

‘He died well, though,’ Heldin added.

‘His name’s Valash,’ Stragen told Sparhawk and Talen as the three of them, still wearing their tar-smeared sailor’s smocks, stepped out of the noisy, torch-lit street into a dark, foulsmelling alley. ‘He and his two friends are Dacites from Verel.’

‘Have you been able to find out who they’re working for?’ Sparhawk asked him as they stopped to let their eyes adjust to the darkness and their noses to the smell. The alleys of Beresa were particularly unpleasant.

‘I heard one of them mention Ogerajin,’ Stragen replied. ‘It makes sense, I guess. Ogerajin and Zalasta seem to be old friends.’

‘I thought Ogerajin’s brains were rotting out,’ Talen objected.

‘Maybe he has lucid moments. It doesn’t really matter who sent them, though. While they’re here, they’re reporting to Krager. As closely as I can make out, they’ve been sent here to assess the damage we did to them during the Harvest Festival and to pick up any bits and pieces of information that fall to hand. They’ve got money, but they don’t want to turn much of it loose. They’re in this strictly for gain—and for the chance to seem important.’

‘Does Krager come here to get their reports?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘He hasn’t recently. Valash communicates with him by messenger. These three Dacites are seriously out of their depth here. They want to hold on to as much of the money Ogerajin gave them as they can, but they don’t want to miss anything important. They aren’t professionals by any stretch of the imagination. They spend most of their time trying to figure out some way to get information without paying for it.’

‘A swindler’s dream,’ Talen noted. ‘What did they do for a living back in Verel?’

‘They sold children to people whose tastes run in that direction,’ Stragen replied in a disgusted tone. ‘As I understand it, Ogerajin used to be one of their best customers.’

‘That puts them right at the bottom, doesn’t it?’

‘Probably even lower than that.’ Stragen glanced around to make sure they were alone. ‘Valash wants to meet you two.’ Stragen pointed toward the end of the alley. ‘He’s just up those stairs. He’s renting a corner in the loft from a fellow who deals in stolen goods.’

Talen smiled a rather nasty little smile. ‘If these Dacites happened to pass too much erroneous information and false rumors on to Krager, he might just decide that they’ve outlived their usefulness, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Probably,’ Stragen shrugged.

‘That sort of stirs my creativity.’

‘Oh? Why’s that?’

‘I don’t like people who sell children. It’s a personal sort of thing. Let’s go meet this Valash. I’d like to find out if he’s as gullible as you say.’

They climbed a rickety outside stairway to a door that was flimsy and patched and showed some signs of having been kicked in a few times. The loft beyond the door was incredibly cluttered with all manner of worn clothing, battered furniture, and dented kitchen utensils. There were even broken farm tools gathering dust in the corners.

‘Some people will steal anything,’ Talen sniffed.

A lone candle guttered on the far side of the room, and a bony Elene sat drowsing at a table by its uncertain light. He wore a short, green brocade jacket of a Daconian cut, and his sparse, mud-colored hair stood almost straight up, looking much like a thin, dirty halo round his gaunt head. As they crossed the loft toward him, he stirred himself and quickly picked up some papers and began to shuffle them in a self-important manner.

He looked up with feigned impatience as they approached. ‘You’re late, Vymer,’ he accused in a high-pitched, nasal voice.

‘Sorry, Master Valash,’ Stragen apologized in a servile tone. ‘From and I were busy extricating young Reldin here from a tense situation. Reldin’s very good, but he overextends himself sometimes. Anyway, you wanted to meet my associates.’ He laid one hand on Sparhawk’s shoulder. ‘This is From. He’s a tavern brawler, so we let him deal with any situation that can be settled with a few quick punches or a kick in the belly. The boy there is Reldin, the nimblest sneak-thief I’ve ever known. He can wriggle through mouse-holes, and his ears are sharp enough to hear ants crossing the street on the other side of town.’

‘I just want to hire him, Vymer,’ Valash said. ‘I don’t want to buy him.’ He giggled at his own joke. He smirked at them, clearly expecting them to join in his laughter. Talen, however, did not laugh. His eyes took on an icy glitter.

Valash seemed a bit abashed by their reception of his feeble joke. ‘Why are you all dressed as sailors?’ he asked, more for something to say than out of any real curiosity.

Stragen shrugged. ‘It’s a port city, Master Valash. The streets are crawling with sailors, so three more won’t attract any particular attention.’

Valash grunted. ‘Have you anything for me that I might find worth my while?’ he asked in a superior, bored tone of voice.

Talen snatched off his cap. ‘You’ll have to decide that for yourself, Master Valash,’ he whined, as he bowed awkwardly. ‘I did come across something, if you’d care to hear it.’

‘Go on,’ Valash told him.

‘Well, sir, there’s this rich Tamul merchant who owns a big house over in the fancy part of town. He’s got a tapestry on the wall of his study that I’ve had my eye on for quite some time now. It’s a very good one—lots of tiny stitches, and the color hasn’t faded very much. The only trouble is that it covers the whole wall. You can get a fortune for really good tapestry, but only if you can get it all out in one piece. It’s not worth much if you have to cut it up to carry it out. Anyway, I went into his house the other night to try and come up with some way to get it out without butchering it. The merchant was in the study, though, and he had a friend with him—some noble from the imperial court at Matherion. I listened at the door, and the noble was telling the merchant about some of the rumors running around the imperial palace. Everybody’s saying that the Emperor’s very unhappy with these people from Eosia. That attempt to overthrow the government last fall really frightened him, and he’d like to come to some kind of agreement with his enemies, but this Sparhawk person won’t let him. Sarabian’s convinced that they’re going to lose, so he’s secretly outfitted a fleet of ships all loaded down with treasure and as soon as trouble shows up on the horizon, he’s going to make a run for it. The courtiers all know about his plans, so they’re stealthily making arrangements for their own escapes when the fighting starts. Some morning very soon this Sparhawk’s going to wake up and find an unfriendly army at his gates and nobody around to help hold them off.’ He paused. ‘Was that the sort of information you wanted?’

The Dacite made some effort to conceal his excited interest. He put on a deprecating expression. ‘It’s nothing we haven’t heard before. About all it does is help to confirm what we’ve already picked up.’ He tentatively pushed a couple of small silver coins across the table. ‘I’ll pass it on to Panem-Doa and see what they think about it.’

Talen looked at the coins and then at Valash. Then he crammed his cap back on. ‘I’ll be leaving now, Vymer,’ he said in a flat tone, ‘and don’t waste my time on this cheapskate again.’

‘Don’t be in such a rush,’ Stragen said placatingly. ‘Let me talk with him first.’

‘You’re making a mistake, Valash,’ Sparhawk told the Dacite. ‘You’ve got a heavy purse hanging off your belt. If you try to cheat Reldin, he’ll come back some night and slice open the bottom of it. He won’t leave you enough to buy breakfast.’

Valash put his hand protectively over his purse. Then he opened it with what appeared to be extreme reluctance.

‘I thought Lord Scarpa was at Natayos,’ Stragen said casually. ‘Has he moved his operations to Panem-Doa?’

Valash was sweating as he counted out coins, his fingers lingering on each one as if he were parting with an old friend. ‘There are a lot of things you don’t know about our operation, Vymer,’ he replied. He gave Talen a pleading look as he tentatively pushed the money across the table.

Talen made no move to accept the coins.

Valash made a whimpering sound and added more coins.

‘That’s a little better,’ Talen told him, scooping up the money.

‘Then Scarpa’s moved?’ Stragen asked.

‘Of course not,’ Valash retorted. ‘You didn’t think his whole army’s at Natayos, did you?’

‘That’s what I’d heard. He has other strongholds as well, I take it?’

‘Of course. Only a fool puts his entire force in one place, and Scarpa’s far from being a fool, I’ll tell the world. He’s been recruiting men in the Elene kingdoms of western Tamuli for years now, and he sends them all to Hydros and then on to Panem-Doa for training. After that, they go on to either Synagua or Norenja. Only his crack troops are at Natayos. His army’s at least five times larger than most people believe. These jungles positively seethe with his men.’

Sparhawk carefully concealed a smile. Valash obviously had a great need to appear important, and that need made him reveal things he shouldn’t be talking about.

‘I didn’t know Scarpa’s army was so big,’ Stragen admitted. ‘It makes me feel better. It might be nice to be on the winning side for a change.’

‘It’s about time,’ Sparhawk growled. ‘I’m getting a little tired of being chased out of every town we visit before I’ve even had the time to unpack my sea-bag.’ He squinted at Valash. ‘As long as the subject’s come up anyway, could we expect Scarpa’s people out there in the brush to take us in if things turn sour and we have to make a run for it?’

‘What could possibly go wrong?’

‘Have you ever taken a good look at an Atan, Valash? They’re as tall as trees, and they’ve got shoulders like bulls. They do unpleasant things to people, so I want a friendly place to come down if I suddenly have to take flight. Are there any other safe places out there in the woods?’

Valash’s expression grew wary as if he had suddenly realized that he’d said too much already.

‘Ah—I think we know what we need to, From,’ Stragen interposed smoothly. ‘There are safe places out there if we really need to find them. I’m sure there are many things Master Valash knows that he’s not supposed to talk about.’

Valash puffed himself up slightly, and his expression took on a knowing, secretive cast. ‘You understand the situation perfectly Vymer,’ he said. ‘It wouldn’t be proper for me to reveal things Lord Scarpa’s told me in strictest confidence.’ He pointedly picked up his papers again.

‘We won’t keep you from important matters, Master Valash,’ Stragen said, backing away. ‘We’ll nose around town some more and let you know if we find out anything else.’

‘I’d appreciate that, Vymer,’ Valash replied, shuffling his papers as his visitors departed.

‘What an ass,’ Talen muttered as the three of them carefully descended the rickety staircase to the alley again.

‘Where did you learn so much about tapestry?’ Sparhawk asked him.

‘I don’t know anything about tapestry.’

‘You were talking as if you did.’

‘I talk about a lot of things I don’t know anything about. It fills in the gaps when you’re trying to peddle something that’s worthless. I could tell by the way Valash’s eyes glazed over when I mentioned the word “tapestry” that he didn’t know any more about it than I did. He was too busy trying to make us think that he’s important to pay any real attention. I could get rich from that one. I could sell him blue butter.’

Sparhawk gave him a puzzled look.

‘It’s a swindler’s term,’ Stragen explained. ‘The meaning’s a little obscure.’

‘I’m sure it is.’

‘Did you want me to explain it?’

‘Not particularly, no.’

‘Is it a family custom? Or just a way to honor your father?’ Berit asked Khalad as the two of them, wearing mail-shirts and grey cloaks, lounged against the forward rail of the scruffy lake-freighter plodding across the Sea of Arjun from Sepal to Tiara.

Khalad shrugged. ‘No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just that the men in our family all have heavy beards—except for Talen. If I decided not to wear a beard, I’d have to shave twice a day. I clip it close with scissors once a week and let it go at that. It saves time.’

Berit rubbed at his altered cheek. ‘I wonder what Sparhawk would do if I let his beard grow,’ he mused.

‘He might not do anything, but Queen Ehlana would probably peel you like an apple. She likes his face just the way it is. She’s even fond of that crooked nose.’

‘It looks as if we’ve got weather up ahead.’ Berit pointed toward the west.

Khalad frowned. ‘Where did that come from? The sky was clear just a minute ago. It’s funny I didn’t smell it coming.’

The cloud-bank hovering low on the western horizon was purplish black, and it roiled ominously, swelling upward with surprising speed. There were flickers of lightning deep inside the cloud, and the sullen rumble of thunder came to them across the dark, choppy waters of the lake.

‘I hope these sailors know what they’re doing,’ Berit said. ‘That has the earmarks of a very nasty squall.’

They continued to watch the inky cloud as it boiled higher and higher, covering more and more of the western sky.

‘That’s not a natural storm, Berit,’ Khalad said tensely. ‘It’s building too fast.’

Then there was a shocking crash of thunder, and the cloud blanched and shuddered as the lightning seethed within it. Both the young men saw the shadowy shape in the instant that the bluish lightning thrust back the darkness to reveal what lay hidden in the cloud. ‘Klael!’ Berit gasped, staring at the monstrous, winged shape half-concealed in the churning storm-front. The next crash of thunder ripped the sky, and the shabby vessel shuddered in the overwhelming sound. The inverted wedge of Klael’s face seemed to ripple and change in the midst of its veiling cloud, and the slitted eyes flamed in sudden rage.

The great, batlike wings began to claw at the approaching storm, and the awful mouth opened to roar forth the thunder of Klael’s frustration. He howled in vast fury, and his enormous arms stretched up into the murky air, reaching hungrily to clutch at something that was not there.

And then the thing was gone, and the unnatural cloud tattered and streamed harmlessly off to the southeast to become no more than a dirty smudge on the horizon. The air, however, was filled with a sulphurous reek.

‘You’d better pass the word to Aphrael,’ Khalad said grimly. ‘Klael’s loose again. He was looking for something, and he didn’t find it. God knows where he’ll look next.’

‘Komier’s arm is broken in three places,’ Sir Heldin rumbled when he joined the mail-skirted Patriarch Bergsten, Ambassador Fontan, and Archimandrite Morsel in Morsel’s book-littered study in the east wing of the palace, ‘and Darellon’s still seeing two of everything. Komier can travel if he has to, but I think we’d better leave Darellon here until he recovers.’

‘How many knights are fit to ride?’ Bergsten asked.

‘Forty thousand at most, your Grace.’

‘We’ll just have to make do with what we’ve got. Emban knew that we’d probably come this way, and he’s been sending messengers by the platoon. Things are coming to a head in southeastern Tamuli. Sparhawk’s wife has been taken hostage, and our enemies are offering to trade her for Bhelliom. There’s a rebel army in the Arjuni jungles preparing to march on Matherion, and two more armies massing on the eastern frontier of Cynesga. If those armies all join up, the game’s over. Emban wants us to ride east across the steppes until we’re past the Astel Marshes and then turn south and lay siege to the Cynesgan capital. He needs a diversion of some kind to pull those armies back from the border.’

Sir Heldin pulled out his map. ‘It’s workable,’ he said after a moment’s study, ‘but we’re going to be a little light for that kind of job.’

‘We’ll get by. Vanion’s in the field, but he’s badly outnumbered along that Cynesgan frontier. If we don’t create enough of a disturbance to relieve some of the pressure on him, he’ll be swarmed under.’

Heldin looked speculatively at the huge Thalesian patriarch. ‘You’re not going to like this, your Grace,’ he said, ‘but there’s not much choice in the matter.’

‘Go ahead,’ Bergsten told him.

‘You’re going to have to lay your cassock aside and take command. Abriel’s been killed, Darellon’s incapacitated, and if Komier gets into a fight, the weight of his axe will cripple him.’

‘You’re still here, Heldin. You can take charge.’

Heldin shook his head. ‘I’m not a Preceptor, your Grace, and everybody in the army knows it. I’m also a Pandion, and the other orders have strong feelings about us. We haven’t made very many friends in the past couple of centuries. The other orders won’t accept me as commander. You’re a Patriarch, and you speak for Sarathi—and the Church. They’ll accept you with no argument.’

‘It’s out of the question.”

‘Then we’ll have to sit here until Dolmant sends us a new commander.’

‘We can’t wait!’

‘My point exactly. Do I have your permission to tell the knights that you’re taking command?’

‘I can’t, Heldin. You know that I’m forbidden to use magic.’

‘We can work our way around that, your Grace. There are plenty of accomplished magicians in the ranks. Just tell us what you want done, and we’ll see to it.’

‘I’ve taken an oath.’

‘You took another one earlier, Lord Bergsten. You promised to defend the Church. That oath takes precedence in this situation.’

The hugely bearded and black-robed Archimandrite Morsel looked speculatively at the reluctant Thalesian. Then he spoke in a neutral sort of way. ‘Would you like an independent opinion, Bergsten?’

Bergsten scowled at him.

‘You’re going to get it anyway,’ the Astellian churchman said with unruffled calm. ‘Given the nature of our opponent, we’re face to face with a “Crisis of the Faith”, and that suspends all the other rules. God needs your axe, Bergsten, not your theology.’ He squinted at the Thalesian Patriarch. ‘You don’t seem convinced,’ he said.

‘I’m not trying to be offensive, Morsel, but “Crisis of the Faith” can’t just be pulled out and dusted off whenever we want to bend some rules.’

‘All right, let’s try this one then. This is Astel, and your Church at Chyrellos recognizes my authority here. As long as we’re in Astel, I speak for God.’

Bergsten pulled off his helmet and absently polished the glossy black Ogre-horns on his sleeve. ‘Technically, I suppose,’ he conceded.

‘Technicalities are the very soul of doctrine, your Grace.’ Morsel’s huge beard bristled with disputational fervor. ‘Do you agree that I speak for God here in Astel?’

‘All right, for the sake of argument, yes.’

‘I’m glad you agree, I’d hate to have to excommunicate you. Now then, I speak for God here, and God wants you to take command of the Church Knights. Go forth and smite God’s enemies, my son, and may heaven strengthen your arm.’

Bergsten squinted out the window at the dirty-looking sky for a long moment, mulling the clearly specious argument over in his mind. ‘You take full responsibility, Morsel?’ he asked.

‘I do.’

‘That’s good enough for me, then.’ Bergsten crammed his helmet back on his head. ‘Sir Heldin, go tell the knights that I’m assuming command of the four orders. Instruct them to make all the necessary preparations. We march first thing in the morning.’

‘At once, General Bergsten,’ Heldin replied, coming to attention.

‘Anakha,’ Bhelliom’s voice echoed in the vaults of Sparhawk’s mind, ‘thou must awaken.’

Even before he opened his eyes, Sparhawk could feel a light touch on the thong about his neck. He caught the little hand and opened his eyes. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he demanded of the Child Goddess.

‘I have to have the Bhelliom, Sparhawk!’ her voice was desperate, and her eyes were streaming tears.

‘What’s going on, Aphrael? Calm down and tell me what’s happened.’

‘Sephrenia’s been stabbed! She’s dying! Please, Sparhawk! Give me the Bhelliom!’

He came to his feet all in one motion. ‘Where did this happen?’

‘In Dirgis. She was getting ready for bed, and Zalasta came into her room. He stabbed her in the heart, Sparhawk! Please, Father, give me the Bhelliom! I’ve got to have it to save her!’

‘She’s still alive?’

‘Yes, but I don’t know for how long! Xanetia’s with her. She’s using a Delphaeic spell to keep her breathing, but she’s dying, my sister’s dying!’ She wailed and hurled herself into his arms, weeping uncontrollably.

‘Stop that, Aphrael. This isn’t helping. When did this happen?’

‘A couple of hours ago. Please, Sparhawk! Only Bhelliom can save her!’

‘We can’t, Aphrael. If we take Bhelliom out of that box, Cyrgon will know immediately that we’re trying to trick him, and Scarpa will kill your mother!’

The Child Goddess clung to him, sobbing uncontrollably. ‘I know!’ she wailed. ‘What are we going to do, Father? We can’t just let her die!’

‘Can’t you do something?’

‘The knife touched her heart, Sparhawk. I can’t reverse that! Only Bhelliom has that kind of power!’

Sparhawk’s soul seemed to shrivel, and he smashed at the wall with his fist. He lifted his face.

‘What can I do?’ he hurled his voice upward. ‘What in God’s name can I do?”

‘Compose thyself, Anakha!’ Bhelliom’s voice was sharp in his mind. ‘Thou wilt serve neither Sephrenia nor thy mate by this unseemly display!’

‘We have to do something, Blue Rose!’

‘Thou art not at this moment fit to decide. Thou must therefore be ruled by me. Go at once and do as the Child Goddess doth entreat thee.’

‘Thou wilt condemn my wife!’

‘That is not certain, Anakha. Sephrenia, however, doth linger on the brink of death. That much is certain. It is her need that is most pressing.’

‘No. I can’t do that!’

‘Thou wilt obey me, Anakha! Thou art my creature, and therefore subject to my will. Go thou and do as I have commanded thee!’

12

Sparhawk dug into his sea-bag, throwing clothes on the floor.

‘What are you doing?’ Aphrael demanded urgently. ‘We have to hurry!’

‘I’ve got to leave a note for Stragen, but I can’t find any paper.’

‘Here.’ She held out her hand, and a sheet of parchment appeared in it.

‘Thank you.’ He took the parchment and continued to rummage in the bag.

‘Get on with it, Sparhawk.’

‘I need something to write with.’

She muttered something in Styric and handed him a quill and a small inkpot.

‘Vymer,’ Sparhawk scribbled, ‘something’s come up, and I’ll be gone for a while. Keep Reldin out of trouble.’ And he signed it, ‘From.’ Then he laid it in the center of Stragen’s bed.

‘Now can we go?’ she asked impatiently.

‘How are you going to do this?’ He picked up his cloak.

‘We have to get out of town first. I don’t want anybody to see us. What’s the quickest way to the woods?’

‘East. It’s about a mile to the edge of the forest.’

‘Let’s go.’

They left the room, went down the stairs and on out into the Street. Sparhawk picked her up and half-enfolded her in his cloak.

‘I can walk,’ she protested.

‘Not without attracting attention, you can’t. You’re a Styric, and people would notice that.’ He started off down the street, carrying her in his arms.

‘Can’t you go any faster?’

‘Just let me handle this part of it, Aphrael. If I start running, people will think I’ve stolen you.’ He looked around to make sure no one on the muddy street was close enough to hear.

‘How are you going to manage this?’ he asked her. ‘There are people out there who can feel it when you tamper with things, you know. We don’t want to attract attention.’

She frowned. ‘I’m not sure. I was upset when I came here.’

‘Are you trying to get your mother killed?’

‘That’s a hateful thing to say.’ She pursed her little mouth in thought. ‘There’s always a certain amount of noise,’ she mused.

‘I didn’t quite follow that.’

‘It’s one of the disadvantages of having our two worlds overlap the way they do. The sounds of one sort of spill over into the other. Most humans can’t hear us—or feel us—when we move around, but we can definitely hear and feel each other.’

Sparhawk crossed the street to avoid a noisy brawl that had just erupted from a sailors’ tavern. ‘If the others can hear you, how are you going to hide what you’re doing?’

‘You didn’t let me finish, Sparhawk. We’re not alone here. There are others all around us—my family, the Tamul Gods, your Elene God, various spirits and ghosts, and the air’s positively littered with the Powerless Ones. Sometimes they flock up like migrating birds.’

He stopped and stepped back to let a rickety charcoal wagon creak past. ‘Who are these “Powerless Ones?”?’ he asked her. ‘Are they dangerous?’

‘Hardly. They don’t even really exist any more. They’re nothing but memories—old myths and legends.’

‘Are they real? Could I see them?’

‘Not unless you believe in them. They were Gods once, but their worshippers either died out or were converted to the worship of other Gods. They wail and flutter around the edges of reality without substance or even thought. All they have is need.’ She sighed. ‘We go out of fashion, Sparhawk—like last year’s gowns or old shoes and hats. The Powerless Ones are discarded Gods who shrink and shrink as the years go by until they’re finally nothing at all but a kind of anguished wailing.’ She sighed again. ‘Anyway,’ she went on, ‘there’s all this noise in the background, and it makes it very hard to concentrate or pick out specifics.’

They passed another smelly tavern loud with drunken song.

‘Is this noise something like that?’ Sparhawk asked, jerking his head toward the singing. ‘Meaningless sound that fills up your ears and keeps you from hearing what you’re really listening for?’

‘More or less. We have a couple of senses that you don’t, though, so we know when others are around, for one thing, and we know when they’re doing things—tampering, if you want to call it that—for another. Maybe I can hide what I’m doing in all that other noise. How much further do we have to go?’

He turned a corner into a quiet street. ‘We’re coming to the edge of town now.’ He shifted her in his arms and continued on up the street, walking a little faster now. The houses here on the outskirts of Beresa were more substantial, and they were set back from the streets in aloof, self-important pride. ‘After we go through the charcoal yards, we’ll come to the woods,’ he told her. ‘Are you sure this noise that I can’t hear will be loud enough to hide your spells?’

‘I’ll see if I can get some help. I just thought of something. Cyrgon doesn’t know exactly where I am, and it’ll take him a little while to identify me and pinpoint my exact location. I’ll ask some of the others to come here and have a party or something. If they’re loud enough, and if I move fast enough, he won’t even know that I’ve been here.’

There were only a few workmen tending the sullen fires in the charcoal yards that ringed Beresa, incurious men, blackened by their tasks and far gone with drink, who lurched around the smoky flames like hellish imps dancing on eternal coals.

Sparhawk walked even faster now, carrying the distraught Child Goddess toward the shadowy edge of the tangled forest.

‘I’ll need to be able to see the sky,’ she told him. ‘I don’t want any tree-limbs in my way.’ She paused. ‘Are you afraid of heights?’ she asked.

‘Not particularly, why?’

‘Just asking. Don’t get excited when we start. I won’t let anything happen to you. You’ll be perfectly safe as long as I’m holding your hand.’ She paused again. ‘Oh, dear,’ she murmured. ‘I just remembered something.’

‘What?’ He pushed aside a branch and slipped past it into the darkness of the forest.

‘I have to be real when I do this.’

‘What do you mean “real? you’re real now, aren’t you?’

‘Not exactly. Don’t ask questions, Sparhawk. Just find me a patch of open sky and don’t bother me for a while. I have to appeal for some help—if I can find them.’

He pushed through the tangled brush, a cold knot in his stomach and his heart like a stone in his chest. The hideous dilemma they faced tore at him, seeming almost to rip him apart. Sephrenia was dying, but he must endanger Ehlana in order to save her life. It was only the force of Bhelliom’s will that kept him moving at all. His own will was paralyzed by the conflicting needs of the two he loved most in all the world. He pushed at the tangle surrounding him in a kind of hopeless frustration.

Then he broke through the screen of brush into a small clearing carpeted by deep moss where a pool of water fed by a gurgling spring winked back at the stars strewn like bright grain across the velvet night. It was a quiet place, almost enchanted, but his eyes refused to accept its beauty. He stopped and set Aphrael down. Her small face was devoid of expression, and her eyes were blank, unseeing. Sparhawk waited tensely.

‘Well, finally,’ she said at last in an exasperated tone of voice. ‘It’s so hard to explain anything to them. They never stop babbling long enough to listen.’

‘Who’s this we’re talking about?’

‘The Tamul Gods. Now I can see why Oscagne’s an atheist. I finally persuaded them to come here to do their playing. That should help to hide you and me from Cyrgon.’

‘Playing?’

‘They’re children, Sparhawk, babies who run and play and squeal and chase each other for months on end. Cyrgon absolutely hates them, so he won’t go anywhere near them. That should help. They’ll be here in a few minutes, and then we’ll be able to start. Turn your back, Father. I don’t like having people watch me change.’

‘I’ve seen you before—your reflection anyway.”

‘That part doesn’t bother me. The process of the changeover’s a little degrading, though. Just turn your back, Father. You wouldn’t understand.’

He obediently turned and gazed up at the night sky. Several familiar constellations were either missing or in the wrong places.

‘All right, Father, you can turn around now.’ Her voice was richer and more vibrant.

He turned. ‘Would you please put some clothes on?’

‘Why?’

‘Just do it, Aphrael. Humor my quirks.’

‘This is so tedious.’ She reached out and took hold of a gauzy kind of veil she had spun out of nothing and wrapped herself in it. ‘Better?’ she asked.

‘Not much. Can we leave now?’

‘I’ll check.’ Her eyes went distant for a moment. ‘They’re coming,’ she reported. ‘They got side-tracked. It doesn’t take much to distract them. Now, listen very carefully. Try to stay calm when we do this. Just keep the fact firmly in mind that I’m not going to let you get hurt. You won’t fall.’

‘Fall? Fall from where? What are you talking about?’

‘You’ll see. I’d do it differently, but we have to get to Dirgis in a hurry, and I don’t want Cyrgon to have time to locate me. We’ll take it in easy stages at first, so you’ll have time to get used to the idea.’ She turned her head slightly. ‘They’re here,’ she said. ‘We can start now.’

Sparhawk cocked his head slightly. He seemed to hear the distant sound of childish laughter, though it might have been only the sound of an errant breeze rustling the leaves in the treetops.

‘Give me your hand,’ she instructed.

He reached out and took her by the hand. It seemed very warm and somehow comforting.

‘Just look up at the sky, Sparhawk,’ the heartbreakingly beautiful young woman instructed.

He raised his face and saw the upper edge of the moon come creeping pale and luminous up above the treetops.

‘You can look down now.’

They were standing some ten feet above the rippled waters of the pool. Sparhawk’s muscles tensed.

‘Don’t do that!’ she said sharply. ‘Just relax. You’ll slow us down if I have to drag you through the air like a water-logged cat.’

He tried, but he didn’t have much success. He was certain that his eyes were lying to him, though. He could feel solidity under his feet. He stamped on it, and it was as firm as earth ought to be.

‘That’s just for now,’ the Goddess told him. ‘In a little while you won’t need it any more. I always have to put something solid down for Sephrenia—’ Her voice broke off with a strange little sob. ‘Please get control of yourself, Sparhawk,’ she pleaded. ‘We must hurry. Look at the sky again. We’re going a little higher.’

He felt nothing at all, no rush of air, no sinking in the pit of his stomach, but when he looked down again, the clearing and its enchanted pool had shrunk to a dot. The tiny lights of Beresa twinkled from minuscule windows, and the moon had laid a long, glowing path out across the Tamul Sea.

‘Are you all right!’ Her inflections were still Aphrael’s, but her voice, and most definitely her appearance, were totally different. Her face peculiarly combined Flute’s features with Danae’s, making her the adult who had somehow been both little girls. Sparhawk didn’t answer, but instead stood stamping one foot on the solid nothing under him.

‘I won’t be able to keep that there when we start,’ she warned. ‘We’ll be going too fast. Just hold onto my hand, but don’t get excited and break my fingers.’

‘Don’t do anything to surprise me, then. Are you going to sprout wings?’

‘What an absurd idea. I’m not a bird, Sparhawk. Wings would only get in my way. Just lean back and relax.’ She looked intently at him. ‘You’re really handling this well. Sephrenia’s usually in hysterics at this point. Would you be more at ease if you sat down?’

‘On what?’

‘Never mind. Maybe we’d better stand. Take a couple of deep breaths, and let’s get started.’

He found that looking up helped. When he was looking at the stars and the newly risen moon, he could not see the awful emptiness under him.

There was no sense of movement, no whistle of the wind in his ears, no flapping of his cloak. He stood holding Aphrael’s hand and looking intently at the moon as it receded ponderously southward. Then there was a pale luminosity coming up from beneath them.

‘Oh, bother,’ the Goddess said.

‘What’s wrong?’ His voice was a little shrill.

‘Look down.’

He looked down and saw a fairy-tale world under them, glowing in the moonlight, stretched out as if forever. Mountains of airy mist swelled up from a folded, insubstantial plain, and pillars and castles of curded cloud stood sentinel-like between. Sparhawk’s mind filled with wonder as the soft, moonlit cloudscape flowed smoothly back below them.

‘Beautiful,’ he murmured.

‘Maybe, but I can’t see the ground.’

‘I think I prefer it that way.’

‘I need reference points, Sparhawk. I can’t see where I am, so I can’t tell where I’m going. Bhelliom can find a place with nothing but a name to work with, but I can’t. I need landmarks, and I can’t see them with all these clouds in the way.’

‘Why don’t you use the stars?’

‘What?’

‘That’s what sailors do when they’re out at sea. The stars don’t move, so the sailors pick out a certain star or constellation and steer toward it.’

There was a long silence while the swiftly receding rush of cloud beneath them slowed and finally stopped. ‘Sometimes you’re so clever that I can’t stand you, Sparhawk,’ the Goddess holding his hand said tartly.

‘You mean you’ve never even thought of it?’ he asked her incredulously.

‘I don’t fly at night very often.’ Her tone was defensive. ‘We’re going down. I have to find a landmark.’

They sank downward, the clouds rushing up to meet them, and then they were immersed in a dense, clinging mist.

‘They’re made out of fog, aren’t they? Clouds, I mean.’ Sparhawk was musing.

‘What did you think they were?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve never thought of it before. It just seems strange for some reason.’

They broke out of the underside of the cloud—clouds no bathed in moonglow, now hanging close over their heads a ly ceiling that closed off the light. The earth beneath them was enveloped in almost total darkness. They drifted gliding in air and veering this way and that, peering and searching for something recognizable.

‘Over there.’ Sparhawk pointed. ‘It must be a fair-sized town. There’s quite a lot of light.’

They moved in that direction, drawn toward the light like mindless insects. There was a sense of unreality as Sparhawk looked down. The town lying beneath them seemed tiny. It huddled like a child’s toy on the edge of a large body of water.

Sparhawk scratched at his cheek, trying to remember the details of his map. ‘It’s probably Sepal,’ he said. ‘That lake almost has to be the Sea of Arjun.’ He stopped, his mind suddenly reeling. ‘That’s over three hundred leagues from where we started, Aphrael!’ he exclaimed. ‘Almost a thousand miles!’

‘Yes—if that town really is Sepal.’

‘It has to be. The Sea of Arjun’s the only large body of water on this part of the continent, and Sepal’s on the east side of it. Arjun’s on the south side, and Tiana’s on the west.’ He stared at her incredulously. ‘A thousand miles. and we only left Beresa a half an hour ago. Just how fast are we going?’

‘What difference does it make? We got here. That’s all that matters.’ The young woman holding his hand looked speculatively down at the miniature town on the lake-shore. ‘Dirgis is off to the west a little way, so we won’t want to go straight north.’ She shifted them around in mid-air until they were facing in a slightly northwesterly direction. ‘That should be fairly close. Don’t move your head, Sparhawk. Keep looking in that direction. We’ll go back up, and you pick out a star.’

They rose swiftly through the clouds, and Sparhawk saw the familiar constellation of the wolf lying above the misty horizon ahead. ‘There,’ he pointed. ‘The five stars clustered in the shape of a dog’s head.’

‘It doesn’t look like any dog I’ve ever seen.’

‘You have to use your imagination. How is it you’ve never thought of steering by the stars before?’

She shrugged. ‘Probably because I can see farther than you can. You see the sky as a surface—a kind of overturned bowl with the stars painted on it all at the same distance from you. That’s why you can see that cluster of stars as a dog’s head. I can’t, because I can see the difference in distances. Keep an eye on your dog, Sparhawk. Let me know if we start to drift off.’

The moon-bathed cloud beneath them began to flow smoothly back again, and they flew on in silence for a while.

‘This isn’t so bad,’ Sparhawk said. ‘At least not when you get used to it.’

‘It’s better than walking,’ the gauze-clad Goddess replied.

‘It made my hair stand on end right at first, though.’

‘Sephrenia’s never gotten past that stage. She starts gibbering in panic as soon as her feet come up off the ground.’

Sparhawk remembered something. ‘Wait a minute,’ he objected. ‘When we killed Ghwerig and stole the Bhelliom, you came floating up out of that chasm in his cave, and she walked out across the air to meet you. She wasn’t gibbering in panic then.’

‘No. It was probably the bravest thing she’s ever done. I was so proud of her that I almost burst.’

‘Was she conscious at all? When you found her, I mean?’

‘Off and on. She was able to tell us who’d attacked her. I managed to slow her heartbeat and take away the pain. She’s very calm now.’ Aphrael’s voice quavered. ‘She expects to die, Sparhawk. She can feel the wound in her heart, and she knows what that means. She was giving Xanetia a last message for Vanion when I left.’ The young Goddess choked back a sob.

‘Can we talk about something else?’

‘Of course.’ Sparhawk’s eyes flickered away from the constellation in the night sky. ‘There are mountains sticking up out of the clouds just ahead.’

‘We’re almost there, then. Dirgis is in the big basin lying beyond that first ridge.’

Their rapid flight began to slow. They passed over the snowy peaks of the southern-most expanse of the mountains of Atan, peaks that rose out of the clouds like frozen islands, and found that there was only thin cloud-cover over the basin lying beyond. They descended, drifting down like dandelion puffs toward the forest-covered hills and valleys of the basin, a landscape thaiply etched in the moonlight that leeched out all color. There was another cluster of lights some distance to the left—ruddy torches in narrow streets and golden candlelight in little windows.

‘That’s Dirgis,’ Aphrael said. ‘We’ll set down outside of town. I should probably change back before we go on in.’

‘Either that or put on some more clothes.’

‘That really bothers you, doesn’t it, Sparhawk? Am I ugly or something?’

‘Quite the opposite—and that bothers me all the more. I can’t think while you’re standing around naked, Aphrael.’

‘I’m not really a woman, Sparhawk—not in the sense that seems to bother you so much, anyway. Can’t you think of me as a mare—or a doe?’

‘No, I can’t. Just do whatever you have to do, Aphrael. I don’t really think we need to talk about how I think of you.’

‘Are you blushing, Sparhawk?’

‘Yes, as a matter of fact I am. Now can we drop it?’

‘That’s really rather sweet, you know.’

‘Will you stop?’

They came down in a secluded little glen about a half-mile from the outskirts of Dirgis, and Sparhawk turned his back while the Child Goddess once again assumed the more familiar form of the Styric waif they all knew as Flute. ‘Better?’ she asked when he turned around.

‘Much.’ He picked her up and started toward town, his long legs stretching out in a rapid stride. He concentrated on that. It seemed to help him avoid thinking.

They went directly into town, made one turn off the main street, and came to a large, two-story building.

‘This is it,’ Aphrael said. ‘We’ll just go in and up the stairs. I’ll make the innkeeper look the other way.’

Sparhawk pushed open the door, crossed the common-room on the main floor and went up the stairs. They found Xanetia all aglow and cradling Sephrenia in her arms. The two women were on a narrow bed in a small room with roughly squared-off log walls. It was one of those snug, comfortable rooms such as one finds in mountain inns the world over. It had a porcelain stove, a couple of chairs, and a nightstand beside each bed. A pair of candles cast a golden light on the pair on the bed. The front of Sephrenia’s robe was covered with blood, and her face was deathly pale, tinged slightly with that fatal grey.

Sparhawk looked at her, and his mind suddenly filled with flames. ‘I will cause hurt to Zalasta for this,’ he growled in Trollish.

Aphrael gave him a startled look. Then she also spoke in the guttural language of the Trolls. ‘Your thought is good, Anakha.’ she agreed fiercely. ‘Cause much hurt to him.’ The rending sound of the Trollish word for “hurt” seemed very satisfying to both of them. ‘His heart still belongs to me, though,’ she added.

‘Has there been any change?’ she asked Xanetia, lapsing into Elene.

‘No, Divine One,’ Xanetia replied in a voice near to exhaustion. ‘I am lending our dear sister of mine own strength to sustain her, but I am nearly spent. Soon both she and I will die.’

‘Nay, gentle Xanetia,’ Aphrael said. ‘I will not lose you. Fear not, however. Anakha hath come with Bhelliom to restore ye both.’

‘But that must not be,’ Xanetia protested. ‘To do so would put the life of Anakha’s Queen in peril. Better that thy sister and I both perish than that.’

‘Don’t be noble, Xanetia,’ Aphrael told her tartly. ‘It makes my hair hurt. Talk to Bhelliom, Sparhawk. Find out how we’re supposed to do this.’

‘Blue Rose,’ Sparhawk said, touching his fingers to the bulge under his smock.

‘I hear thee, Anakha.’ The voice in Sparhawk’s mind was a whisper.

‘We have come unto the place where Sephrenia lies stricken.’

‘Yes.’

‘What must we now do? I implore thee, Blue Rose, do not increase the peril of my mate.’

‘Thine admonition is unseemly, Anakha. It doth bespeak a lack of trust. Let us proceed. Surrender thy will to me. It is through thy lips that I must speak with Anarae Xanetia.’

A strange, detached lassitude came over Sparhawk, and he felt himself somehow separating, his awareness sliding away from his body.

‘Attend to me, Xanetia.’ It was Sparhawk’s altered voice, but he had no consciousness of having spoken.

‘Most closely, World-Maker,’ the Anarae replied in her exhausted voice.

‘Let the Child Goddess assume the burden of supporting her sister. I have need of thy hands.’

Aphrael slipped onto the bed and took Sephrenia from Xanetia’s arms and held her in a tender embrace.

‘Take forth the box, Anakha,’ Bhelliom instructed, ‘and surrender it up unto Xanetia.’

Sparhawk’s movements were jerky as he pulled the golden box out from under his tunic and lifted the thong upon which it hung suspended up over his head.

‘Gather about thee that serenity which the curse of Edaemus bestowed upon thee, Xanetia,’ Bhelliom instructed, ‘and enfold the box—and mine essence—in thy hands, letting thy peace infuse that which thou dost hold.’

Xanetia nodded and extended her glowing hands to take the box from Sparhawk’s grasp.

‘Very good. Now, take the Child Goddess in thine arms. Embrace her and deliver me up unto her.’

Xanetia clasped both Aphrael and Sephrenia in her arms.

‘Excellent. Thy mind is quick, Xanetia. This is even better. Aphrael, open thou the box and draw me forth.’ Bhelliom paused. ‘No tricks,’ it admonished her with uncharacteristic colloquialism. ‘Seek not to ensnare me with thy wiles and thy soft touch.’

‘Don’t be absurd, World-Maker.’

‘I know thee, Aphrael, and I know that thou art more dangerous than ever Azash was or Cyrgon could be. Let us both concentrate all our attention upon the cure of thy sister.’

The Child Goddess opened the lid of the box and lifted out the glowing Sapphire Rose. Sparhawk, all bemused, saw the steady white glow which emanated from Xanetia take on a faint bluish flush as Bhelliom’s radiance joined her own.

‘Apply me, poulticelike, to her wound that I may heal that injury which Zalasta hath inflicted.’

Sparhawk was a soldier and he knew a great deal about wounds. His stomach knotted when he saw the deep, seeping gash in the upper swell of Sephrenia’s left breast. Aphrael reached out with Bhelliom and gently touched it to the bleeding wound.

Sephrenia started to glow with an azure radiance. She half-raised her head. ‘No,’ she said weakly, trying to push Aphrael’s hand away.

Sparhawk took both her hands in his and held them. ‘It’s all right, little mother,’ he lied softly. ‘Everything’s been taken care of.’ The wound in Sephrenia’s breast had closed, leaving an ugly purple scar. Then, even as they watched, the Sapphire Rose continued its work. The scar shrank down to a thin white line that became fainter and fainter and finally disappeared entirely.

Sephrenia began to cough. It was a gurgling, liquid kind of cough such as a nearly drowned man might make.

‘Hand me that basin, Sparhawk,’ Aphrael instructed. ‘She has to clear the blood out of her lungs.’

Sparhawk reached out and took the large, shallow basin from the nightstand and handed it to her.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You can have this back now.’ She gave him back the gold box, took the basin, and held it under Sephrenia’s mouth. That’s right,’ she said encouragingly to her sister as the woman began coughing up chunks of clotted blood. ‘Get it all out.’

Sparhawk looked away. The procedure was not very pretty.

‘Put thy mind at rest, Anakha,’ Bhelliom’s voice told him softly. ‘Thine enemies are unaware of what hath come to pass.’ The jewel paused. ‘I have not given Edaemus his due, for he is very shrewd. Methinks none other could have perceived the true import of what he hath done. To curse his children as he hath was the only true way to conceal them. I shudder to imagine the pain it must have caused him.’

‘I do not understand,’ Sparhawk confessed.

‘A blessing rings and shimmers in the lucid air like bell-sound, Anakha, but a curse is dark and silent. Were the light which doth emanate from Anarae Xanetia a blessing, all the world would hear and feel its o’erwhelming love, but Edaemus hath made it a curse instead. Therein lay his wisdom. The accursed are cast out and hidden, and no one—man or God—can hear or feel their comings and goings up and down the land. When she did take the box in her hands, Anarae Xanetia did smother all sound and sense of my presence, and when she did embrace Aphrael and Sephrenia and enfold them in her luminous darkness, none living could detect me. Thy mate is safe—for now. Thine enemies have no knowledge of what hath come to pass.’

Sparhawk’s heart soared. ‘I do sorely repent my lack of trust, Blue Rose,’ he apologized.

‘Thou wert distraught, Anakha. I do freely forgive thee.’

‘Sparhawk.’ Sephrenia’s voice was little more than a whisper.

‘Yes, little mother?’ He went quickly to the side of the bed.

‘You shouldn’t have agreed to this. You’ve put Ehlana in terrible danger. I thought you were stronger.’

‘Everything’s all right, Sephrenia,’ he assured her. ‘Bhelliom just explained it to me. Nobody heard or felt a thing while you were being healed.’

‘How is that possible?’

‘It was Xanetia’s presence—and her touch. Bhelliom says she easily muffled what was going on. It has to do with the difference between a blessing and a curse, as I understand it. However it works, what just happened didn’t put Ehlana in any danger. How are you feeling?’

‘Like a half-drowned kitten, if you really want to know,’ she smiled weakly. Then she sighed. ‘I would never have believed that Zalasta could be capable of what he did.’

‘I’ll make him wish he’d never thought of it,’ Sparhawk said grimly. ‘I’m going to tear out his heart, roast it on a spit, and then serve it up to Aphrael on a silver plate.’

‘Isn’t he a nice boy?’ Aphrael said fondly.

‘No.’ Sephrenia’s voice was surprisingly firm. ‘I appreciate the thought, dear ones, but I don’t want either of you to do anything to Zalasta. I’m the one he stabbed, so I want to be the one who decides who gets him.’

‘I suppose that’s fair,’ Sparhawk conceded.

‘What have you got in mind, Sephrenia?’ Aphrael asked.

‘Vanion’s going to be dreadfully upset when he hears about this. I don’t want him raging and breaking up the furniture, so I’m going to give Zalasta to him—all tied up in a bright red ribbon.’

‘I still get his heart, though,’ Aphrael insisted.

13

The sky was overcast with sullen cloud, and a chill, arid wind eooiaiLd the empty floor of the Desert of Cynesga as Vanion and the army retreated eastward. Fully half of his armored knights had perished in the encounter with Klael’s soldiers, and very few of the survivors had escaped serious injury. Vanion had ridden out from Sama with an army. He was returning at the head of a column of groaning invalids, battered and dented, after what had really been no more than a skirmish.

Four Atans carried Engessa on a litter, and Queen Betuana walked along at his side, her face ravaged with grief. Vanion bed. Engessa was still breathing, but only barely.

The Preceptor straightened in his saddle, trying to shake off dioi and dismay and to think rationally. The fight with the warriors had decimated his force of Church Knights, and they had been central to the strategy of containment. Without the armored horsemen, the eastern frontier of Tamul Proper was no longer secure.

Vanion muttered a sour oath. The only thing he could really do was to warn the others about the change in the situation.

‘Sir Eadrik,’ he called to the old veteran riding some distance ahead. Eadrik came forward.

‘You take over here. I’ve got something to take care of.’

‘Keep them going east,’ Vanion instructed. ‘I’ll be back in a moment. He spurred his tired horse into a loping canter and on ahead.

When he was about a mile in front of the column, he recited the spell of summoning.

Nothing happened.

He cast it again, more urgently this time.

‘What?’ Aphrael’s voice in his ear was irritably impatient.

‘I’ve got some bad news, Divine One,’ he told her.

‘What else can go wrong? Hurry up, Vanion. I’m very busy right now.’

‘We ran into Klael out in the desert. He had an army of giants with him, and we got very badly mauled. Tell Sparhawk and the others that I probably won’t be able to hold Samar if the Cynesgans lay siege to it. I’ve lost half of the knights, and the ones I’ve got left aren’t in any condition for a fight. Tikume’s Peloi are brave men, but they don’t have any experience with’

‘When did this happen?’

‘About four hours ago. Can you find Abriel and the other preceptors? They should be in Zemoch or Western Astel by now. They have to be warned about Klael. Tell them that under no circumstances should they engage in any pitched battles with Klael’s troops. We’re no match for them. If the main body of the Church Knights gets waylaid and wiped out, we’ll lose this war.’

‘Who are these giants you’re talking about, Vanion?’

‘We didn’t have time for introductions. They’re bigger than the Atans, though—almost as big as Trolls. They wear very close-fitting armor and steel face-masks. Their weapons aren’t like anything I’ve ever seen, and they’ve got yellow blood.’

‘Yellow? That’s impossible!’

‘It’s yellow all the same. You can come here and look at my sword-blade, if you’d like. I managed to kill a couple of them while I was covering Betuana’s retreat.’

‘Retreat? Betuana?’

‘She was carrying Engessa.’

‘What’s wrong with Engessa?’

‘He was out front a little ways, and Klael’s soldiers attacked him. He fought well, but they swarmed him under. We charged into them, and Betuana cut her way through to Engessa. I ordered a retreat and covered Betuana while she carried Engessa to the rear. We’re taking him back to Sama, but I think it’s a waste of effort. The side of his head’s been bashed in, and I’m afraid we’re going to lose him.’

‘Don’t say that, Vanion. Don’t ever say that. There’s always hope.’

‘Not much this time, Divine One. When somebody breaks into a man’s brain, about all you can do for him is dig a grave.’

‘I’m not going to lose him, Vanion. How fast can you get him back to Sama?’

‘Two days, Aphrael. It took us two days to get here, and two days out means two days back.’

‘Can he hold on that long?’

‘I doubt it.’

She said a short, ugly word in Styric. ‘Where are you?’

‘Twenty leagues south of Sama and about five leagues out into the desert.’

‘Stay there. I’ll come and find you.’

‘Be a little careful when you approach Betuana. She’s behaving very strangely.’

‘Say what you mean, Vanion. I don’t have time for riddles.’

‘I’m not sure what I mean, Aphrael. Betuana’s a soldier, and she knows that people sometimes get killed in battle. Her reaction to what’s happened to Engessa is—well—excessive. She’s broken down completely.’

‘She’s an Atan, Vanion. They’re a very emotional people. Go back and halt your column. I’ll be there in a little while.’

Vanion nodded, although there was no one there to nod to, turned his horse and rode back to rejoin his knights. ‘Any change?’ he asked Queen Betuana.

She lifted her tear-streaked face. ‘He opened his eyes once, Vanion-Preceptor,’ she replied. ‘I don’t think he saw me, though.’ She was holding Engessa’s hand.

‘I talked with Aphrael,’ he advised her. ‘She’s coming here to have a look at him. Don’t give up hope yet, Betuana. Aphrael cured me, and I was closer to being dead than Engessa is.’

‘He is fairly strong,’ she said. ‘If the Child Goddess can heal his wound before it carries him off—’ Her voice caught with an odd little note.

‘He’ll be all right, your Majesty,’ he said, trying to sound more certain than he really was. ‘Can you get word to your husband? About Klael, I mean? He should know about those soldiers Klael hides under his wings.’

‘I’ll send a runner. Should I tell Androl to come to Sama instead of going to Toea? Klael is here now, and Scarpa’s army won’t reach Toea for quite some time—and that’s only if they can evade the Trolls.’

‘Let’s wait until I’ve had the chance to talk with the others first. Is King Androl already on the march?’

‘He should be. Androl always jumps when I suggest something. He’s a good man—and very, very brave.’ She said it almost as if defending her husband from some unspoken criticism, but Vanion noticed that she absently stroked Engessa’s ashen face even as she spoke.

‘He must have been in a hurry,’ Stragen said, still puzzling over Sparhawk’s terse note.

‘He’s never been very good at writing letters,’ Talen shrugged, ‘except for that one time when he spent days composing lies about what we were supposedly doing on the Isle of Tega.’

‘Maybe that took it all out of him.’ Stragen folded the note and looked closely at it. ‘Parchment,’ he said. ‘Where did he get his hands on parchment?’

‘Who knows? Maybe he’ll tell us when he comes back. Let’s go take a walk on the beach. I need some exercise.’

‘All right.’ Stragen picked up his cloak, and he and the younger thief went downstairs and out into the street.

The southern Tamul Sea was calm, and the moon-path across its dark surface was unbroken and very bright. ‘Pretty,’ Talen murmured when the two reached the damp sand at the edge of the water.

‘Yes,’ Stragen agreed.

‘I think I’ve come up with something,’ Talen said.

‘So have I,’ Stragen replied.

‘Go ahead.’

‘No, let’s hear yours first.’

‘All right. The Cynesgans are massing on the border, right?’

‘Yes.’

‘A good story could un-mass them.’

‘I don’t think there is such a word.’

‘Did we come here to discuss vocabulary? What will the Cynesgans do if they hear that the Church Knights are coming? Wouldn’t they almost have to send an army to meet them?’

‘I think Sparhawk and Vanion want to keep the fact that the knights are coming more or less a secret.’

‘Stragen, how are you going to keep a hundred thousand men a secret? Let’s say that I tell Valash that I’ve picked up a very reliable report that a fleet of ships flying Church banners has rounded the southern tip of Daconia bound for Kaftal. Wouldn’t that cause the other side some concern? Even if they know about the knights coming across Zemoch, they’d still have to send troops to meet that fleet. They couldn’t ignore the possibility that the knights are coming at them from two different directions.’

Stragen suddenly laughed.

‘What’s so funny?’

‘You and I have been running together for too long, Talen. We’re starting to think alike. I came up with the idea of telling Valash that the Atans are going to cross the steppes of eastern Astel and strike down into northern Cynesga toward the capital.’

‘Nice plan,’ Talen said.

‘So’s yours.’ Stragen squinted out across the moon-bathed water. ‘Either story’s strategically credible,’ he mused. ‘They’re exactly the kind of moves a military man would come up with. What we’re really planning is a simultaneous strike from the east and the west. If we can make Cyrgon believe that we’re going to hit him from the north and south instead, we’ll pull him so far out of position that he’ll never be able to get his armies back to meet our real attacks.’

‘Not to mention the fact that we’ll cut his army in two.’

‘We’ll have to be careful though,’ Stragen cautioned. ‘I don’t think even Valash is gullible enough to swallow these stories if we drop them both on him at the same time. We’ll have to spread them out and dribble them to him bit by bit. What I’d really like to do is let the fairy-tale about the Atans come from someone other than me.’

‘Sparhawk could probably get Aphrael to arrange that,’ Talen suggested.

‘If he ever comes back. His note was a little vague. We can get things rolling, though. Let’s modify your story a bit. Push your make-believe fleet back to Valesia. Give Cyrgon some time to worry about it before we pinpoint Kaftal as the final destination. I’ll plant a couple of ambiguous hints about the Atans massing up near their northwestern frontier. We’ll let things stand that way until Sparhawk comes back.’

Talen sighed.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘This is almost legal, isn’t it?’

‘I suppose you could say so, yes. Is there some problem with that?’

‘If it’s legal, why am I having so much fun?’

‘Nothing?’ Ulath asked, opening the neck of his red uniform jacket.

‘Not a peep,’ Tynian replied. ‘I cast the spell four times, and I still can’t raise her.’

‘Maybe she’s busy.’

‘It’s possible, I guess.’

Ulath rubbed at his cheek reflectively. ‘I definitely think I’ll shave off Sir Gerda’s beard,’ he muttered. ‘You know, it could be that it’s because we’re in No-Time. When we did this the first time—back in Pelosia—none of our spells worked.’

‘I think this spell’s different, Ulath. I’m not really trying to do anything. I just want to talk with Aphrael.’

‘Yes, but you’re mixing magic. You’re trying to use a Styric spell when you’re up to your ears in a Trollish one.’

‘Maybe that’s it. I’ll try again when we get to Arjun and go back into real time.’

Bhlokw came shambling back through the grey light of Ghnomb’s frozen moment, passing a flock of stationary birds hanging in the air. ‘There are some of the dens of the man-things in the next valley,’ he reported.

‘Many or few?’ Ulath asked him.

‘Many,’ Bhlokw replied. ‘Will the man-things have dogs there?’

‘There are always dogs near the dens of the man-things, Bhlokw.’

‘We should hurry then.’ The shaggy Troll paused. ‘What do the man-things call this place?’

‘It is the place Arjun—I think.’

‘That is the place where we want to go, is it not?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘The wicked ones have told the one called Berit to go there. It is our thought that we should go there in Ghnomb’s broken moment and listen to the bird-talk of the man-things. One of the man-things may say where the wicked ones will tell the one called Berit to go next. It may be that the next place will be the place where Anakha’s mate is. It would be good to know this.’

Bhlokw’s shaggy brow furrowed as he struggled his way through that. ‘Are the hunts of the man-things always so not-simple?’ he asked.

‘It is the nature of our kind to be not-simple.’

‘Does it not make your head hurt?’

Ulath smiled, being careful not to show his teeth. ‘Sometimes it does,’ he admitted.

‘It is my thought that a simple hunt is better than a not-simple hunt. The hunts of the man-things are so not-simple that sometimes I forget why I am hunting. Trolls hunt things-to-eat. The man-things hunt thought.’

Ulath was a bit startled at the Troll’s perception. ‘It is my thought that your thought may be good,’ he admitted. ‘The man-things do hunt thought. We put much value on it.’

‘Thought is good, U-lat, but you can not eat it.’

‘We hunt thought after our bellies are full.’

‘That is how Trolls and the man-things are different, U-lat. I am a Troll. My belly is never full. Let us hurry. It is my thought that it will be good to know if the dogs of this place are as good-to-eat as the dogs of the other place.’ He paused. ‘I do not wish to cause you anger, U-lat, but it is my thought that the dogs of the man-things are more good-to-eat than the man-things themselves.’ He scratched at his cheek with one shaggy paw. ‘I would still eat a man-thing if my belly was empty, but I would like a dog better.’

‘Let us go find you a dog then.’

‘Your thought is good, U-lat.’ The huge beast reached out and affectionately patted Ulath on the head, nearly driving him to his knees.

The Child Goddess touched her fingertips lightly to the sides of Engessa’s broken head, and her eyes became distant.

‘Well?’ Vanion asked, his tone urgent.

‘Don’t rush me, Vanion. The brain is very complicated.’ She continued her gentle probing. ‘Impossible,’ she said finally, withdrawing her fingers.

Betuana groaned.

‘Please don’t do that, Betuana,’ Aphrael said. ‘All I meant was that I can’t do it here. I’ll have to take him someplace else to repair him.’

‘The island?’ Vanion guessed.

She nodded. ‘I can control things there. This is still Cynesga, Cyrgon’s place. I don’t think he’d give me permission no matter how sweetly I asked him. Can you pray here, Betuana?’

The Atan Queen shook her head. ‘Only in Atan itself.’

‘I’m going to talk to your God about that. It’s really very inconvenient.’

She bent again and put her hand on Engessa’s chest. The Atan general appeared to stop breathing, and his face and body were suddenly covered with frost.

‘You’ve killed him!’ Betuana shrieked at her.

‘Oh, hush. I just froze him to stop the bleeding until I can get him to the island. The injury itself isn’t so bad, but the bleeding’s tearing up the rest of his brain. The freezing slows it down to a trickle. That’s all I can do for right now, but it should be enough to keep his body from doing any more damage to itself while you’re taking him back to Sama.’

‘There’s no hope,’ Betuana said with a look of anguish.

‘What are you talking about? I can have him back on his feet in a day or two—but I have to take him to the island where I can control time. The brain is easy. It’s the heart that’s so—well, never mind that. Listen closely, Betuana. As soon as you and Vanion get him to Sama, I want you to go to the Atan border as fast as you can run. As soon as you get across that line, fall on your knees and start praying to your God. He’ll be stubborn—he always is—but keep after him. Make a pest of yourself until he gives in. I need his permission to take Engessa to my island. If nothing else works, promise him that I’ll do something nice for him someday. Don’t be too specific, though. Keep bearing down on the fact that I can save Engessa, and he can’t.’

‘I will do as you have commanded, Divine One,’ Betuana declared.

‘I didn’t command, Betuana. I only suggested. I don’t have the authority to command you.’ The Child Goddess turned to Vanion. ‘Let me see your sword,’ she said. ‘I want to have a look at this yellow blood.’

Vanion drew his sword and offered it to her hilt-first.

She shuddered. ‘You hold it, dear one. Steel makes me nauseous.’ She squinted at the stains on the blade. ‘Astonishing,’ she murmured. ‘That isn’t blood at all.’

‘It’s what came out of them when we cut them.’

‘Perhaps, but it’s still not blood. It’s some kind of bile. Klael’s going a little far afield for allies. Those giants you ran across don’t come from here, Vanion. They aren’t like any creatures on this world.’

‘We noticed that almost immediately, Divine One.’

‘I’m not talking about their size or shape, Vanion. They don’t even seem to have the same kind of internal organs as the humans and animals. I’d guess that they don’t even have lungs.’

‘Everything has lungs, Aphrael—except maybe fish.’

‘That’s here, dear one. If these creatures have bile in their veins instead of blood, then they’re relying on their livers for—’ she broke off, frowning. ‘I guess it is possible,’ she said a little dubiously. ‘I’d hate to smell the air on their world, though.’

‘You do know that I haven’t got the foggiest idea of what you’re talking about, don’t you?’

She smiled. ‘That’s all right, dear one. I love you anyway.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Don’t mention it.’

‘It could be good country, friend Tikume,’ Kring said, adjusting his black leather jerkin and looking around at the rocky desert. ‘It’s open and not too rugged. All it needs is water—and a few good people.’ The two of them rode at the front of their disorganized mob of Peloi.

Tikume grinned. ‘When you get right down to it, friend Kring, that’s all Hell really needs.’

Kring laughed. ‘How far is it to this Cynesgan camp?’ he asked.

‘Another five leagues. It’s easy fighting, Domi Kring. The Cynesgans ride horses and carry curved swords much like your sabers,. but their horses are scrubby and not very good, and the Cynesgans are too lazy to practice their swordsmanship. To make it even better, they wear flowing robes with big, floppy sleeves. Half the time they get tangled up in their own clothing.’

Kring’s grin was wolfish.

‘They run fairly well,’ Tikume added, ‘but they always come back.’

‘To the same camps?’ Kring asked incredulously.

Tikume nodded. ‘It makes it even easier. We don’t have to go looking for them.’

‘Incredible. Are they using rotten tree-stumps for leaders?’

‘From what I’ve heard, they’re getting their orders from Cyrgon.’ Tikume rubbed his shaved scalp. ‘Do you think it might be heresy to suggest that even a God can be stupid?’

‘As long as you don’t say it about our God, I think you’re safe.’

‘I wouldn’t want to get in trouble with the Church.’

‘Patriarch Emban’s a reasonable man, Domi Tikume. He won’t denounce you if you say unflattering things about our enemy.’

Kring raised up in his stirrups to peer across the brown, gravelstrewn expanse of the Desert of Cynesga. ‘I’m looking forward to this,’ he said. ‘I haven’t been in a real fight for a long time.’ He sank back into his saddle. ‘Oh, I almost forgot. I talked with friend Oscagne about the possibility of a bounty on Cynesgan ears. He said no.’

‘That’s a shame. Men fight better if they’ve got an incentive of some kind.’

‘It even gets to be a habit. We had a fight with the Trolls up in northern Atan, and I had a dead Troll’s ear half sawed-off before I remembered nobody was around to buy it from me.

‘That’s a funny-looking hill up there, isn’t it?’ He pointed ahead at an almost perfectly shaped dome rearing up out of the desert floor.

‘It is a little odd,’ Tikume agreed. ‘There aren’t any rocks on its sides—just dust.’

‘Probably some kind of dust-dune. They have sand-dunes down in Render that look like that. The wind whirls the sand around and leaves it in round hills.’

‘Would dust behave like sand?’

‘Evidently so. There’s the proof just up ahead.’

And then, even as they watched, the hill split down the middle and its sides fanned out. They stared at the triangular face of Klael as he rose ponderously to his feet, shedding great waterfalls of dust from his gleaming black wings.

Kring reined in sharply. ‘I knew something wasn’t right about that hill!’ he exclaimed, cursing his own inattention, as their men surged around them.

‘He didn’t come alone this time!’ Tikume shouted. ‘He had soldiers hidden under his wings. Cold!’

‘Big devils, aren’t they?’ Kring squinted at the armored warriors rushing toward them. ‘Big or little, though, they’re still infantry, and that’s all the advantage we need, isn’t it?’

‘Right!’ Tikume chortled. ‘This should be more fun than chasing Cynesgans.’

‘I wonder if they’ve got ears,’ Kring said, drawing his saber.

‘If they do, we might just want to gather them up. I haven’t given up on friend Oscagne yet.’

‘There’s one way to find out,’ Tikume said, hefting his javelin and leading the charge.

The standard Peloi tactics seemed to baffle Klael’s soldiers. The superb horses of the nomads were as swift as deer, and the eastern Peloi’s preference for the javelin over the saber was an additional advantage. The horsemen split up into small groups and began their attack. They slashed forward in long files, each group concentrating on one of the steel-masked monsters and each Peloi hurling his javelin into the huge bodies at close range and then swerving away to safety. After a few such attacks, the front ranks of the enemy warriors bristled like hedgehogs with the short spears protruding from their bodies.

The armored soldiers grew increasingly desperate, and they flailed ineffectually at their swift-charging tormentors with their brutal maces, savaging the unoffending air and almost never striking a solid blow.

‘Good fight!’ Kring panted to his friend after several charges. ‘They’re big, but they’re not quite fast enough.’

‘And not in very good condition either,’ Tikume added. ‘That last one I skewered was puffing and wheezing like a leaky bellows.’

‘They do seem to be having some trouble getting their breath, don’t they?’ Kring agreed. His eyes suddenly narrowed. ‘Wait a minute, let’s try something. Tell your children to just ride in and then wheel and ride out again. Don’t waste any more javelins.’

‘I don’t quite follow, Domi.’

‘Have you ever gone up into the high mountains?’

‘A few times. Why?’

‘Do you remember how hard it was to get your breath?’

‘Right at first, I suppose. I remember getting a little lightheaded.’

‘Exactly. I don’t know where Klael went to recruit these soldiers, but it wasn’t from around here. I think they’re used to thicker air. Let’s make them chase us. Why go to all the trouble of killing somebody if the air’s going to do the job for you?’

‘It’s worth a try.’ Tikume shrugged. ‘It takes a lot of the fun out of it, though.’

‘We can have fun with the Cynesgans later,’ Kring told him. ‘Let’s run Klael’s infantry to death first. Then we can go slaughter Cyrgon’s cavalry.’

‘Sort of follow my lead on this,’ Stragen told Talen as the two mounted the rickety stairs leading up to the loft. ‘I’ve gotten to know Valash fairly well, so I can gauge his reactions a little better than you can.’

‘All right,’ Talen shrugged. ‘He’s your fish. I’ll let you play him.’

Stragen opened the door to the stale-smelling loft, and the two of them threaded their way through the clutter to Valash’s corner. The bony Dacite in the brocade jacket was not alone. A gaunt Styric with open, seeping sores on his face slumped in a chair at the table. The Styric’s right arm hung limply at his side, the right side of his ulcerated face sagged, and his right eyelid drooped down to almost totally cover the eye. He was mumbling to himself, evidently completely unaware of his surroundings.

‘This isn’t a good time, Vymer,’ Valash said.

‘It’s quite important, Master Valash,’ Stragen said quickly.

‘All right, but don’t take too long.’

As they approached the table, Talen’s stomach suddenly churned. An overpowering odor of putrefying flesh emanated from the comatose Styric.

‘This is my master,’ Valash said shortly.

‘Ogerajin?’ Stragen asked.

‘How did you know his name?’

‘You mentioned it to me once, I think—or maybe it was one of your friends. Isn’t he a little sick to be out and about?’

‘That’s none of your concern, Vymer. What’s this important information you have for me?’

‘Not me, Master Valash. Reldin here picked up something.’

‘Speak up then, boy.’

‘Yes, Master Valash,’ Talen said, ducking his head in a sort of half-bow. ‘I went into a waterfront tavern earlier today, and I heard a couple of Edomish sailors talking. They seemed very excited about something, so I slipped a little closer to find out why they were so worked up. Well, you know how Edomishmen feel about the Church of Chyrellos.’

‘Get on with it, Reldin.’

‘Yes, sir. I was only trying to explain. Anyway, one of the sailors had just reached port, and he was telling the other one to get word to somebody in Edam—Rebal, I think his name is. It seems that the first sailor had just come in from Valesia, and when he’d been leaving port there, his ship passed a fleet coming into the harbor at Valesia.”

‘What’s so significant about that?’ Valash demanded.

‘I was just coming to that. What made the first sailor so excited was the fact that the ships he saw were all flying the banners of the Church of Chyrellos and the rails were lined with men wearing armor. He kept babbling something about Church Knights coming to impose heresies on the people of Tamuli.’

Valash was staring at him in open-mouthed horror.

‘As soon as I heard that part, I slipped away. Vymer here thought you might want to know about it, but I wasn’t so sure. What difference should it make to us that the Elenes are arguing about religion? It doesn’t involve us, does it?’

‘How many ships?’ Valash demanded in a half-strangled tone. His eyes were bulging.

‘The sailor wasn’t too specific, Master Valash.’ Talen smiled. I sort of got the impression that he ran out of the numbers that he knew the names of. I guess that fleet stretched from horizon to horizon. If those men in armor are Church Knights, I’d say that all of them are on board these ships. I’ve heard things about those people. I certainly wouldn’t want to be the one they’re coming after. How much would you say this information’s worth, Master Valash?’

Valash reached for his purse without any protest.

‘Have any messengers from those camps out in the woods gone by lately, Master Valash?’ Stragen asked suddenly.

‘That’s none of your concern, Vymer.’

‘Whatever you say, Master Valash. All I was getting at is that you ought to warn them about talking in public. I came across a couple of men who looked as if they’ve been living in the woods. One of them was telling the other that they couldn’t do anything until Scarpa got instructions from Cyrga.’

‘Who’s Cyrga? I’ve never heard of him.’

‘It’s not a who, Vymer,’ Talen said. ‘It’s a where. Cyrga’s a town over in Cynesga.’

‘Really?’ Stragen’s expression grew curious. ‘This is the first time I’ve ever heard the name. Where is it? What route would you take to get to Cyrga?’

‘The pathway lies close by the Well of Vigay,’ the diseased Ogerajin announced in a loud, declamatory voice.

Valash made a slightly strangled noise and ineffectually tried to wave his hands warningly in front of his master’s face, but Ogerajin brushed him aside. ‘Keep morning at thy back,’ the Styric continued.

‘Master Ogerajin,’ Valash protested in a squeaky tone.

‘Silence, knave,’ Ogerajin thundered at him. ‘I will answer this traveler’s question. If it is his intent to present himself and bow down to Cyrgon, he must know the way. Proceed, traveler, past the Well of Vigay and trek northwesterly into the desert. Thy destination shall be the Forbidden Mountains where none may go without Cyrgon’s leave except at their peril. When thou dost reach those black, forbidding heights, seek ye the Pillars of Cyrgon, for without them to guide thee, Cyrga will remain forever hidden.’

‘Please, Master.’ Valash was helplessly wringing his hands as he stared in chagrin at the raving old lunatic.

‘I have commanded thy silence, knave. Speak once more and thou shalt surely die.’ He turned back to fix Stragen with his single wild eye. ‘Be not dismayed, traveler, by the Plains of Salt which nomads fear to cross. Ride, boldly ride across the dead whiteness, empty of life save only where miscreants labor in the quarries to mine the precious salt.

‘From the verge of the Plains of Salt wilt thou behold low on the horizon before thee the dark shapes of the Forbidden Mountains, and, if it please Cyrgon, his fiery white pillars will guide thee to his Hidden City. Let not the Plain of Bones disquiet thee. The bones are those of the nameless slaves who toil until death for Cyrgon’s chosen, and, having served their purpose, are then given to the desert.

‘Beyond the Plain of Bones wilt thou come to the Gates of illusion behind which lies concealed the Hidden City of Cyrga. The eye of mortal man cannot perceive those gates. Stark they stand as a fractured wall at the verge of the Forbidden Mountains to bar thy way. Bend thine eye, however, upon Cyrgon’s two white pilars and direct thy steps toward the emptiness which doth lie between them. Trust not the evidence which thine eye doth present unto thee, for the solid-seeming wall is as mist and will not bar thy way. Pass through it and proceed along the dark coridor to the Glen of Heroes where lie the unnumbered regiments of Cyrgon in restless sleep, awaiting the trumpet call of his mighty voice summoning them forth once more to smite his enemies.’

Valash stepped back a pace and urgently beckoned to Talen to follow him. Curious, Talen followed the Dacite. ‘Don’t pay any attention to Master Ogerajin, boy,’ Valash said urgently. ‘He hasn’t been well lately, and he has these spells quite often.’

‘I’d already guessed that, Master Valash. Shouldn’t you get him to a physician? He’s really raving, you know.’

‘There’s nothing a physician could do for him,’ Valash shrugged. ‘Just make sure that Vymer understands that the old man doesn’t know what he’s talking about.’ Valash seemed unusually concerned about Ogerajin’s ravings.

‘He already knows, Master Valash. Any time somebody starts throwing the “thee’s” and “thou’s” around, you can be fairly sure that his saddle’s starting to slip.’

The diseased Styric was still raving in that hollow, declamatory voice. ‘Beyond the Glen of Heroes wilt thou see the Well of Cyrgon, sparkling in the sun and sustaining the Hidden City. close by the well in fields laced with channels thou wilt see black Cyrga rising like a mountain within its walls of night. Go boldly there and into the city of the Blessed Cyrgai. Mount the steep streets to the summit of that enclosed peak, and there at the Crown of the known world thou wilt find amid that blackness the white, where columns of chalk bear the lintels and roof of the Holy of Holies wherein Cyrgon burns eternal upon the sacred altar.

‘Fall upon thy face in that awful presence, crying “Vnnet, tyek Yalz Cyrgon!” and, should it please him, he will hear thee. And should it please him not, he will destroy thee. Thus, traveler, is the way to the Hidden City which lieth at the heart of Mighty Cyrgon, King and God of all that was, all that is, and all that shall ever be.’

Then the crazed Styric’s face contorted into a grotesque mask of eer and he began to cackle in a shrill, meaningless giggle.

14

‘All right, Sparhawk, you can turn round now.’

‘Are you dressed?’

She sighed. ‘Just a minute.’ There was a satiny rustle. ‘Will this do?’ she asked tartly.

He turned. The Goddess was wrapped in a shimmering white robe. ‘That’s a little better,’ he told her.

‘Prude. Give me your hand.’

He took her slender hand in his and they drifted upward, rising out of the forested hills just east of Dirgis. ‘Sarna’s somewhat to the west of due south,’ he told her.

‘I know where it is.’ Her tone was crisp.

‘I was just trying to be helpful.’

The ground beneath them began to flow back as they sped southwesterly.

‘Can people see us from the ground?’ he asked curiously.

‘Of course not. Why?’

‘Just wondering. It occurred to me that if they can it might explain a lot of the wild stories that crop up in folklore.’

‘You humans are very creative. You can invent wild stories without any help from us.’

‘You’re in a disagreeable frame of mind today. How long is it going to take us to get there?’

‘Just a few minutes.’

‘It’s an interesting way to travel.’

‘It’s overrated.’

They drifted on in silence for a while. ‘That’s Sama just ahead,’ Aphrael said.

‘Do you think Vanion’s reached here by now?’

‘I doubt it. Later today probably. We’re going down.’ They settled gently to earth in a clearing a mile or so from the northern edge of the city, and Aphrael returned to the more familiar form of Flute. ‘Carry me,’ she said, reaching up to him.

‘You know how to walk.’

‘I just carried you all the way from Dirgis. Fair is fair, Sparhawk.’

He smiled. ‘Only teasing, Aphrael.’ He lifted her into his arms and started through the forest toward town. ‘Where to?’ he asked her.

‘The Atan barracks. Vanion says that Itagne’s there.’ She frowned. ‘Oh, that’s really impossible!’ she burst out.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Sir Anosian’s hopelessly inept. I can’t make any sense out of what he’s saying.’

‘Where is he?’

‘At Samar. He’s trying to tell me about something Kring and Tikume just discovered, but I’m only getting about every third word. Why won’t the man concentrate on his studies?’

‘Anosian’s sort of—ah—’

‘The word you’re looking for is “lazy”, Sparhawk.’

‘He likes to conserve his energy,’ Sparhawk defended his fellow Pandion.

‘Of course he does.’ She frowned. ‘Stop a minute,’ she said.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘I just thought of something.’

‘What now?’

‘It just occurred to me that Tynian may have been a little unselective when he was gathering those knights he brought back from Chyrellos.’

‘He brought the best men he could lay his hands on.’

‘I think that’s the problem. I’ve been wondering why I haven’t been getting any reports from Komier. I don’t think Tynian left him a single Pandion who has any more skill than Anosian does. There aren’t all that many of you who can reach out more than a few leagues, and Tynian seems to have inadvertently commandeered them all.’

‘Could you make any sense at all about what Anosian was trying to tell you?’

‘It’s something about breathing. Somebody’s having problems with it. I’ll run on down there after we talk with Itagne. Maybe Anosian can be coherent if I’m in the same room with him.’

‘Be nice.’

They passed through the city gates and entered Sama. Sparhawk carried the Child Goddess through the narrow streets to the bleak stone fortress that housed the local Atan garrison. They found the red-mantled Itagne in a large conference room examining the map that covered one entire wall.

‘Ah, Itagne,’ Sparhawk said, ‘there you are.’ He set Flute down on her feet.

‘I’m afraid you have the advantage of me, Sir—?’

‘It’s me, Itagne—Sparhawk.’

‘I’ll never get used to that,’ Itagne said. ‘I thought you were in Beresa.’

‘I was—until yesterday.’

‘How did you get here so fast?’

Sparhawk laid his hand on Flute’s little shoulder. ‘Need you ask?’

‘Oh. What brings you to Sama?’

‘Vanion ran into trouble out in the desert. He’s coming back. He and Betuana are bringing Engessa in on a litter.’

‘Do you mean there’s somebody in this world big enough to hurt Engessa?’

‘Perhaps not in this world, Itagne,’ Aphrael told him. ‘Klael’s brought in an army from someplace else. They’re very strange. Vanion and Betuana should get here this afternoon. Then Betuana has to go to Atan. How far is that?’

Itagne looked at the map. ‘Fifteen leagues.’

‘Good. It shouldn’t take her long, then. She has to get her God’s permission for me to take Engessa to the island. The side of his head’s been bashed in, and I can’t fix that here.’

‘Good God!’ Itagne exclaimed.

‘How nice of you to notice.’

He smiled faintly. ‘What else is going on?’ he asked.

‘Quite a bit,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘Zalasta tried to kill Sephrenia.’

‘You’re not serious!’

‘I’m afraid so. We had to use Bhelliom to save her life.’

‘Sparhawk!’ Itagne’s eyes widened.

‘It’s all right, Itagne,’ Aphrael assured him, going across the room to him and holding out her hands.

‘Didn’t that endanger Queen Ehlana?’ he asked, lifting her into his lap.

Sparhawk shook his head. ‘Xanetia can muffle those telltale noises, I guess. Ehlana’s still safe—or so Bhelliom tells me.’ His face, however, was worried.

‘Thank God!’

‘You’re welcome,’ Aphrael said, ‘but it was really Bhelliom’s idea. We still have some problems, though. Vanion’s encounter with Klael’s army cost him about half of his knights.’

‘That’s disastrous! We won’t be able to hold Samar without those knights!’

‘Don’t be quite so sure, Itagne,’ she said. ‘I just received a garbled message from a Pandion named Anosian. He’s in Samar, and Kring and Tikume have discovered something about Klael’s soldiers. I’ll run down there and find out what’s going on.’

‘Ulath’s keeping an eye on Berit and Khalad,’ Sparhawk continued. ‘They saw him while they were crossing the Sea of Arjun.’ He rubbed at the side of his face. ‘Can you think of anything else, Aphrael?’

‘Lots of things,’ she replied, ‘but they don’t have anything to do with what we’re doing here.’ She kissed Itagne and slipped down out of his lap. ‘I shouldn’t be too long,’ she told them. ‘If Vanion gets here before I come back, break the news about Sephrenia to him gently and tell him that she’s all right now. Keep a grip on him, gentlemen. It’s wintertime, and you need the roof on this building.’ She went to the door, opened it, and vanished as she stepped through.

Tiara lay on the north shore of the large lake known as the Sea of Arjun. It was a bustling Tamul town with an extensive harbor. As soon as the scruffy lake-freighter docked, Berit and Khalad led their horses ashore and mounted. ‘What was the name of that inn again?’ Khalad asked.

‘The White Gull,’ Berit replied.

‘oehc,’ Khalad noted.

‘The other names had probably already been used up. You can only have so many lions and dragons and boars in one town before people start to get confused.’

‘Krager’s starting to give us more specific instructions in those notes,’ Khalad said. ‘When he sent us to Sepal, he just gave us the name of the town. Now he’s picking our accommodations for us. That might mean that we’re getting closer to the end of this little excursion.’

‘Sir Ulath said that they’re going to send us to Arjuna from here.’

‘If I’d known we were going to spend so much time wandering around this lake, I’d have brought a fishing line.’

‘I’m not really all that fond of fish, myself.’

‘Who is? It’s an excuse to get out of the house is about all. My brothers and I found that if we laid around the house too long, our mothers started finding things for us to do.’

‘You’ve got a strange family, Khalad. Most men only have one mother.’

‘It was Father’s idea. There’s the White Gull.’ Khalad pointed up the street.

The inn was surprisingly clean and substantial. It had a well-maintained stable, and the rooms were neat almost to the point of fussiness. The two young men saw to their horses, dropped their saddlebags off in their room, and took advantage of the bath-house adjoining the rear of the inn. Then, feeling much improved, they adjourned to the taproom to pass the time until supper. Khalad rose and closely examined the porcelain stove.

‘It’s an interesting idea,’ he told Berit. ‘I wonder if it’d catch on in Eosia.’

‘I sort of like looking at the fire myself,’ Berit replied.

‘You can stare at the candles, if that’s all you want. A fireplace isn’t very efficient, and it makes an awful mess. A stove’s a lot more practical—and you can cook on it. When we get home, I think I’ll build one for my mothers.’

Berit laughed. ‘If you start tearing up their kitchen, they’ll take their brooms to you.’

‘I don’t think so. The notion of a stew that doesn’t have cinders floating in it might appeal to them.’

The man who approached their table wore a hooded smock, and the hood partially concealed his face. ‘You don’t mind if I join you, do you?’ he asked, sitting down and pushing the hood back slightly. It was the same Styric they had last seen on the shore of the Gulf of Micae.

‘You made good time, neighbor,’ Berit said. ‘Of course, you knew where you were going, and we didn’t.’

‘How long did it take you to get dry?’ Khalad asked him.

‘Shall we skip the pleasantries?’ the Styric said coldly. ‘I have further instructions for you.’

‘You mean you didn’t stop by just to renew our acquaintance?’ Khalad said. ‘I’m crushed.’

‘Very funny.’ The Styric hesitated. ‘I’m going to reach into my pocket for the note, so don’t start drawing your knives.’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it, old boy,’ Khalad drawled.

‘This is for you, Sparhawk.’ The Styric handed Berit the sealed parchment.

Berit took the parchment and broke the seal. He carefully lifted out the identifying lock of the Queen’s hair and read aloud, ‘Sparhawk. Go overland to Arjun. You’ll receive further instructions there. Krager.’

‘He must have been drunker than usual,’ Khalad observed. ‘He didn’t bother with all the snide little comments this time.

‘Just out of curiosity, friend, why didn’t he send us straight on to Arjun from Sepal? He could have saved everybody a great deal of time.’

‘That’s really none of your business, Elene. Just do as you’re told.’

‘I’m a peasant, Styric, so I’m used to doing that. Prince Sparhawk here might get a little impatient, though, and that makes him bad-tempered.’ Khalad squinted at the lumpy-faced messenger. ‘Since the subject’s come up anyway, I’ve got a word of friendly advice for you, old boy. It’s about twenty days on horseback from here to Arjun. He’s going to be very unpleasant by the time he gets there. If you should happen to be the one who delivers the next message, I wouldn’t get too close to him.’

‘I think we can come up with a way for him to work off his bad temper,’ the Styric sneered. ‘You don’t have twenty days to get to Arjun. You have fourteen.’ He stood up. ‘Don’t be late.’

He turned and started toward the door.

‘Let’s go,’ Khalad said.

‘Where?’

‘After him.’

‘What for?’’

Khalad sighed. ‘To shake him down, Berit,’ he explained with exaggerated patience. ‘I want to strip him and go through his clothes. He might just have the next message on him.’

‘Are you mad? They’ll kill the Queen if we do that.’

‘Just because we rough up their messenger-boy? Don’t be silly. They want the Bhelliom, and the Queen’s the only thing they’ve got to trade for it. We could routinely kill every single one of their messengers, and they wouldn’t do a thing to her. Let’s go shake that Styric up a little bit and go through his pockets. If we can get hold of the next message, we might be able to get the jump on them.’

‘You know, I think you’re right. They won’t do anything to the Queen, will they?’

‘Not a chance, my Lord. Let’s go teach that Styric some manners. It’s exactly the sort of thing Sparhawk would do.’

‘He would, wouldn’t he?’ Berit looked closely at his friend ‘That fellow really irritates you, doesn’t he?’

‘Yes, as a matter of fact, he does. I don’t like his attitude.’

‘Well, let’s go change it, then.’

‘I’m not going to do anything foolish,’ Kalten said. ‘I just want to have a look around.’ The three of them were sitting under their tree in Narstil’s cluttered jungle camp. They had a fire going, and three stolen chickens were spitted over it, dripping grease into the flames.

‘It won’t hurt,’ Caalador said to Bevier. ‘If the time ever comes when we have to go in there, we should probably know the lay of the land.’

‘Are you sure you can keep a handle on your temper?’ Bevier asked Kalten. ‘You’ll be all alone there, you know.’

‘I’m all grown up now, Bevier,’ Kalten assured him. ‘I’m not going to do anything noisy until after things are back the way they should be. We may not get a chance like this again. Senga’s invited me to go along to help him sell beer. It’s the most natural thing in the world, and nobody’s going to recognize me. I can pick up some very valuable information in Natayos, and if I happen to see somebody I recognize standing in a window or something, we’ll know for sure exactly where those two friends of ours are located. Then the fellow with the broken nose can have a word with his blue friend and they can lift them out before anybody even has time to blink. Then we can all go down there and explain just how unhappy we are to certain people.’

‘I’m in favor of it, myself,’ Caalador said to Bevier.

‘It’s tactically sound,’ Bevier admitted, ‘but—uh—Col here doesn’t have any way to call for help if he gets in trouble.’

‘I won’t need any help, because I’m not going to do anything out of the ordinary. I’m going anyway, Shallag, so don’t waste your breath trying to talk me out of it.’

Senga came across the littered camp. ‘The cart’s all loaded, Col,’ he called. ‘Are you about ready?’

Kalten stood up. ‘Any time you are, Senga,’ he replied, pulling his half-cooked chicken off the spit and going to join his newfound friend. ‘I’m getting bored just sitting here counting trees.’

It took the two of them about three hours to reach Natayos, since there is no real way to hurry an ox. The trail was fairly well traveled, and it wound around through the jungle, following the course of least resistance.

‘There it is,’ Senga said as the cart jolted through a ford that crossed a narrow stream. He pointed across the stump-dotted clearing at an ancient city, a ruin so old that the passage of centuries had rounded down the very stones. ‘Stay close to me when we get there, Col. There are a couple of places we have to keep away from. There’s one building right near the gate that they really don’t want anybody to go near.’

‘Oh?’ Kalten said, squinting at the mossy ruin ahead. ‘What’s inside that makes them so touchy?’

‘I haven’t the faintest idea, and I’m not curious enough to risk my health by asking.’

‘Maybe the building’s their treasure house,’ Kalten speculated. ‘If this army’s as big as you say, they’ve probably picked up quite a bit of loot.’

Senga shrugged. ‘It could be, I suppose, but I’m not going to fight all those guards just to find out. We’re here to sell beer, Col. We’ll get a goodly share of their treasure that way, and it’s not as risky.’

‘But it’s so honest,’ Kalten objected, grinning. ‘Isn’t honest work immoral for people like us?’

Senga laughed and tapped the ox’s rump with the long, slender stick he carried. The creaking cart jolted over the uneven ground toward the moldering walls.

‘Nor Senga!’ one of the slovenly guards at the gate greeted Kalten’s friend. ‘What kept you? It’s been as dry as a plate of sand since the last time you left.’

‘You fellows are overworking my brewer,’ Senga replied. ‘He canm’t keep up with the demand. We have to let the beer age a little while before you drink it. Green beer does funny things to a man’s guts.”

‘You haven’t raised your prices again, have you?’

‘No. Same price as before.’

‘Ten times what you paid for the beer in the first place, I’ll wager.’

‘Oh, not quite that much. Where do you want me to set up?’

‘Same place as last time. I’ll pass the word, and they’ll start lining up.’

‘I want some guards this time, Mondra,’ Senga told him. ‘I don’t want another riot when the last cask runs dry the way there was last week.’

‘I’ll see to it. Save some for me.’

The ox-cart clattered through the gate and into a wide street where most of the moss had been worn off the coblestones. A great deal of work had clearly taken place here in Natayos in the past few years. The squared-off stones of the broken walls had been rather carelessly re-stacked and then shored up with peeled log braces. Long-vanished roofs had been replaced with crude thatching made of tree-limbs, providing nesting sites for raucous tropical birds, and here and there blackened piles of half-burned trees and bushes marked the places where indifferent workmen had attempted to dispose of the mountains of brush that had been cleared from the streets and houses. The men living here lounged idly in the streets. There were Elenes from Astel, Edam, and Daconia, as well as Arjuni and Cynesgans. They were a roughly dressed, unshaven lot who showed no signs that they even knew the meaning of the word ‘discipline’.

‘What price are you getting for this?’ Kalten asked, patting one of the beer barrels in the cart.

‘A penny a gill,’ Senga replied.

‘That’s outrageous!’

‘They don’t have to buy it,’ Senga shrugged. ‘Get the money before you start to pour. Don’t take promises.’

‘You’ve put my moral qualms to rest, Senga,’ Kalten laughed. ‘At that price, this is hardly honest.’

‘There’s that building I was telling you about.’

Kalten tried to look casual as he turned to stare at the substantial-looking ruin. ‘They really don’t want anybody to look into that place,’ he said. ‘Those bars on the windows make it look like a jail.’

‘Not quite, Col. Those bars are there to keep people out, not in.’

Kalten grunted, still staring intently at the building. The barred windows had panes of glass in them, cheap, cloudy glass that had been poorly installed. Drapes on the inside cut off any possibility of seeing anything or anyone who might be in there. There were guards at the door and other guards stationed at every corner. Kalten wanted to howl with frustration. The gentle girl who had become the center of his life was possibly no more than twenty yards away, but she might as well have been on the other side of the moon, and even if she were to look out through that clouded glass she would not recognize his altered features.

Senga paid the guards in the square with beer, and then he and his friend got down to work. Scarpa’s rebels were rowdy, shouting and laughing, but they were generally in a good humor. They lined up in an orderly fashion and came to the rear of the cart two by two, where Senga and Kalten filled their containers with the amber beer. There were a few arguments about the capacity of the assorted tankards, jugs, and pails, but Senga’s word on the subject was final, and anyone who objected too loudly was sent back to the end of the line to think things over for an hour or so while he worked his way back to the front again.

It was after the two entrepreneurs had drained the last barrel and sent the disappointed late-comers away that Kalten saw a familiar figure come weaving across the mossy square toward the ox-cart. Krager was not wearing well. His head was shaved and as pale as a fish-belly, and his dissipated face was eroded by decades of hard drinking. His clothing, though obviously expensive, was wrinkled and filthy. He shook continually with a palsied tremor that ran through him in waves.

‘I don’t suppose you brought any wine,’ he asked Senga hopefully.

‘Not much call for it,’ Senga told him, re-fastening the tail-gate of the cart. ‘Most of these fellows want beer.’

‘Do you know any place where you can get wine?’

‘I can ask around. What’s your preference?’

‘Arcian red, if you can find any.’

Senga whistled. ‘That will cost you, my friend. I could probably chase down some of the local reds for you, but the imported stuff—that’s going to take a big bite out of your purse.’

Krager smirked at him. ‘It’s no problem,’ he said in his slurred voice. ‘I’m what you might call independently wealthy at the moment. These local reds taste like pig-swill. I want real wine.’

‘It might take a while,’ Senga told him dubiously. ‘I’ve got contacts in Delo that might be able to find some for you, but Delo’s a long way off.’

‘When are you coming back?’

‘A couple of days. The brewery where I buy this slop’s running day and night, but I still can’t keep up.’

‘Bring me a couple of barrels of the local pig-swill then enough to tide me over until you can find me some Arcian red.’

‘You can count on me,’ Senga assured him. He gave Krager a hard look. ‘I’ll need something in advance, though. I’ll have to buy the Arcian red before I can sell it to you. I’m doing fairly well, but I’m not that rich yet.’

Krager fumbled for his purse.

Kalten was suddenly gripped by an almost intolerable impatience. He was sure now that Alcan was here. Krager’s presence virtually confirmed it. The prisoners were most likely being held in the building with barred windows. He absolutely had to get back to Narstil’s camp so that Bevier could pass the word on to Aphrael. If Xanetia could enter Natayos unseen, she could either penetrate the prison walls or reach into Krager’s wine-sodden mind to verify what was almost a certainty now. If all went well, it would be no more than a few days until he and Sparhawk were reunited with the women they loved. Then they could all come here and do unpleasant things to the people responsible.

Vanion and Betuana reached Sama late that afternoon, and the Atan Queen scarcely paused before setting out for the border.

‘It was ghastly, Sparhawk,’ Vanion said, leaning wearily back in his chair and putting his visored helmet on the table. ‘They’re like no soldiers I’ve ever seen before. They’re big, and they’re fast, and their hides are so tough that most of the time my sword just bounced off them. I don’t know where Klael found them, but they’ve got yellow blood, and they made mincemeat out of my knights.’

‘Kring and Tikume ran into them as well, I guess,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘Anosian was trying to pass the word to Aphrael, but he garbled the spell so badly that she couldn’t make any sense out of it. She’s a little unhappy with Tynian. When he was gathering up the knights he brought back to Matherion, he accidentally picked every Pandion who has the least bit of skill with the spells. That’s why she can’t get any reports from Komier.’

‘We might have to send somebody to join him and handle communications—except that it’d take weeks for him to get there.’

‘Not if Aphrael takes him, it won’t,’ Sparhawk disagreed. ‘She carried me from Beresa to Sepal—almost a thousand miles—in about a half an hour.’

‘You’re not serious!’

‘You’ll love flying, Vanion.’

‘You’re carrying tales, Sparhawk.’

They turned quickly. The Child Goddess was sitting in a chair at the far end of the room with her grass-stained little feet up on the table.

‘I wish you wouldn’t do that,’ Sparhawk told her.

‘Would you prefer some kind of announcement, Sparhawk? Multitudes of spirits bawling hymns of praise to introduce me? It’s a little ostentatious, but I can arrange it.’

‘Just forget I said anything.’

‘I’ll do that. I had a chat with Anosian. He’s practicing now—very hard. Kring and Tikume ran across Klael and his soldiers out in the desert, and they discovered something you gentlemen should know. I was right, Vanion. Klael’s soldiers have bile in their veins instead of blood because they breathe with their livers, and that means that the air where they come from isn’t anything like the air here—probably something like marsh-gas. There’s something in it that they need, and they can’t get it out of our air. The Peloi used their standard cut-and-run tactics, and after a little while those monsters started to collapse. Next time you come up against them, just turn around and run away. If they try to chase you, they’ll choke to death. Did Betuana leave?’

‘Yes, Divine One,’ Itagne replied.

‘Good. The quicker I can get Engessa to my island, the quicker I’ll have him back on his feet.’

‘I’ve been meaning to ask you about that,’ Sparhawk said. ‘You said that his brain’s been injured.’

‘Yes.’

‘The brain’s very complicated, isn’t it?’

‘Yours aren’t quite as complex as ours, but they aren’t simple, by any means.’

‘And you can heal Engessa’s brain on your island?’

‘Of course.’

‘If you can fix a brain, you should be able to fix somebody’s heart. Why didn’t you just take Sephrenia to your island and heal her there? Why did you come to Beresa and try to steal Bhelliom?’

‘What’s this?’ Vanion exclaimed, coming to his feet.

‘Wonderful, Sparhawk,’ Aphrael said dryly. ‘I’m awed by your subtlety. She’s all right, Vanion. Bhelliom brought her back.’

Vanion smashed his fist down on the table and then controlled himself with an obvious effort. ‘Would it inconvenience anybody to tell me what happened?’ he asked them in an try voice.

‘We were in Dirgis,’ Aphrael shrugged. ‘Sephrenia was alone in the room, and Zalasta came in and stabbed her in the heart.’

‘Good God!’

‘She’s fine, Vanion. Bhelliom took care of it. She’s coming along very well. Xanetia’s with her.’

Vanion started toward the door.

‘Oh, come back here,’ the Child Goddess told him. ‘As soon as I get Engessa to the island and deal with his injury, I’ll take you to Dirgis. She’s asleep now anyway, and you’ve seen her sleep before—lots of times.’

Vanion flushed slightly and then looked a bit sheepish.

‘You still haven’t answered my question,’ Sparhawk said. ‘If you can fix a brain, why can’t you fix a heart?”

‘Because I can shut a brain down to work on it, Sparhawk,’ she replied in a long-suffering tone. ‘The heart has to keep on beating, and I can’t work on it while it’s jumping around like that.’

‘Oh, I guess that makes sense.’

‘Do you happen to know where I could find Zalasta?’ Vanion asked in a dreadful voice.

‘He’s probably gone back to Natayos,’ Aphrael replied.

‘After I visit Sephrenia, do you suppose you could take me there? I’d really like to have a talk with him.’

‘I get his heart,’ the Child Goddess said.

Vanion gave her a strange look.

‘It’s an on-going joke,’ Sparhawk told him.

‘I’m not joking, Sparhawk,’ Aphrael said bleakly.

‘We can’t go to Natayos,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Ehlana might be there, and Scarpa will kill her if we come pounding on the gate. Besides, I think you’ll have to talk with Khwaj before you do anything to Zalasta.’

‘Khwaj?’ Vanion asked.

‘Tynian told Aphrael that Khwaj has his own plans for our Styric friend. He wants to set him on fire.’

‘I’ve got some more interesting ideas,’ Vanion said grimly.

‘I wouldn’t be so sure, my Lord. Khwaj wants to set Zalasta on fire, but he doesn’t want to burn him to death. He’s talking about an eternal flame—with Zalasta screaming in the middle of it—forever.’

Vanion considered that. ‘What a merry idea,’ he said finally.

‘My lady,’ Alcan whispered urgently, ‘come quickly. Zalasta’s returned.’

Ehlana drew the linen head-cloth down over her forehead and joined her maid at the defective window. The wimple had been Alcan’s idea. It fit snugly over the Queen’s ravaged scalp, and covered her throat and the underside of her chin as well. It was uncomfortable, but it concealed the horror Krager’s knife had made of her hair. She bent and looked out through the small triangular opening in the window.

Zalasta’s gaunt face was twisted with grief, and his eyes were dead. Scarpa came hurrying up, his face eager. ‘Well?’ he demanded.

‘Go away, Scarpa,’ Zalasta told him.

‘I only wanted to be sure you were all right, Father,’ Scarpa replied with obvious insincerity. Scarpa had fashioned a crude crown for himself out of a serving-bowl made of hammered gold. He was evidently unaware of how absurd he looked with the lop-sided adornment perched on his shaved head.

‘Leave me!’ Zalasta thundered. ‘Get out of my sight!’

‘Is she dead?’ Scarpa ignored the dreadful threat implicit in his father’s voice.

Zalasta’s face hardened. ‘Yes,’ he replied in a strangely neutral tone. ‘I drove my knife straight into her heart. I’m deciding right now whether or not I can live with what I’ve done. Please stay, Scarpa, by all means. This was your idea, after all. It was such a marvelous notion that I may want to reward you for it.’

Scarpa backed away, his suddenly rational eyes now filled with fear. Zalasta barked two words in Styric and reached out his hand, his fingers curved like hooks. Scarpa clutched at his belly and screeched. His makeshift crown fell unnoticed as Zalasta implacably dragged him back.

‘You’re pathetically obvious, Scarpa,’ Zalasta grated, his face only inches from his son’s, ‘but your plan had one minor flaw. I may very well kill myself for what I did to Sephrenia, but I’ll kill you first—just as unpleasantly as I possibly can. I may just kill you anyway. I don’t really like you, Scarpa. I felt a certain responsibility for you, but that’s a word you wouldn’t understand.’

His eyes suddenly burned. ‘Your madness must be contagious, my son. I’m starting to lose my grip on sanity myself. You talked me into killing Sephrenia, and I loved her far more than I could ever love you.’ He unhooked his fingers. ‘Run away, Scarpa. Pick up your cheap toy crown and run. I’ll be able to find you when I decide to kill you.’

Scarpa fled, but Ehlana did not see him leave. Her eyes were filled with tears, and she turned from the window with a grief-stricken wail.

15

It was snowing in Sama when Sparhawk woke the following morning, a thick, heavy snow that swirled and danced in the driving wind coming down out of the Atan mountains lying to the north. Sparhawk gazed sourly out of the window of his room in the barracks, then pulled on his clothes and went looking for the others.

He found Itagne sitting by the stove in the war-room with a sheaf of documents in his lap. ‘Something important?’ he asked as he entered.

‘Hardly,’ Itagne replied. He made a face and put the papers away. ‘I made a serious blunder last spring before Oscagne uprooted me and sent me to Cynestra. I was teaching a class in foreign relations at the University, and I slipped and said the fatal words, “write a paper”. Now I’ve got a bale of these things to plough through.’ He shuddered.

‘Bad?’

‘Unbelievably so. Undergraduates should never be allowed to touch a quill-pen. So far I’ve encountered fifteen different versions of my own lecture notes—all couched in graceless, semi-literate prose.’

‘Where’s Vanion?’

‘He’s checking on his wounded. Have you seen Aphrael yet this morning?’

Sparhawk shook his head. ‘She could be anywhere.’

‘Did she actually fly you here from Dirgis?’

‘Oh, yes—and up from Beresa before that. It’s an unusual experience, and it always starts with the same argument.’

Itagne gave him a questioning look.

‘She has to revert to her real form when she does it.’

‘Blazing light? Trailing clouds of glory, and all that?’

‘No, nothing like that. She always poses as a little girl. that’s a subterfuge. Actually, she’s a young woman.’

‘What do you argue with her about?’

‘Whether or not she’s going to wear clothes. The Gods evidently don’t need them, and they haven’t quite grasped the concept of modesty yet. She’s a bit distracting when she first appears.’

‘I can imagine.’

The door opened, and Vanion came in, brushing the snow off the shoulders of his cloak.

‘How are the men?’ Sparhawk asked him.

‘Not good,’ the Preceptor replied. ‘I wish we’d known more about Klael’s soldiers before we closed with them. I lost a lot of very good knights needlessly during that skirmish. If I’d had my wits about me, I’d have suspected something when they didn’t pursue us after we broke off our attack.’

‘How long were you engaged?’

‘It seemed like hours, but it was probably no longer than ten minutes.’

‘When you get to Samar, you might want to talk with Kring and Tikume. We should try to get some idea of just how long those soldiers can function in our air before they start to collapse.’

Vanion nodded.

There was really nothing for them to do, and the morning dragged sluggishly by. It was shortly before noon when Betuana, clad in close-fitting otterskin clothing, came running effortlessly out of the swirling snow. Her almost inhuman stamina was somehow unnerving. She seemed hardly winded and not even flushed as she entered the room where they waited.

‘Invigorating,’ she noted absently as she peeled off her outer garment. She took one lock of her night-dark hair and stretched it out to look critically at its sodden length. ‘Does anyone have a comb?’ she asked.

They all started at the sound of a blaring trumpet fanfare from the other end of the room. They spun around and saw the Child Goddess. She was surrounded by a nimbus of pure light, she floated sedately in mid-air, and she was smiling sweetly at Sparhawk.

‘Is that sort of what you had in mind?’ she asked him.

He cast his eyes upward. ‘Why me?’ he groaned. Then he looked at her smiling little face. ‘I give up, Aphrael,’ he said. ‘You win.’

‘Of course. I always win.’ She gently settled to the floor, and her light dimmed. ‘Come here, Betuana. Let me comb that out for you.’ She held out her hands, and a comb appeared in one and a brush in the other. The Queen of the Atans went to her and sat in a chair.

‘What did he say?’ Aphrael asked as she began to slowly pull the comb through Betuana’s dripping hair.

‘He said “no” right at first,’ the Queen replied, ‘and “no”, the second and third times as well. He started to weaken about the twelfth time, as I remember it.’

‘I knew it would work.’ Aphrael smiled.

‘Are we missing something?’ Vanion asked her.

‘The Atans don’t call on their God very often, so he almost has to respond when they do. He was probably concentrating on something else, and each time Betuana called him, he had to put it down and go see what she wanted.’

‘I was very polite.’ Betuana smiled. ‘But I did keep asking. He’s very much afraid of you, Divine One.’

‘I know.’ Aphrael laid down her comb and picked up the brush. ‘He thinks I’m going to steal his soul or something. He won’t come anywhere near me.’

‘I let him know that I was going to keep on calling him until he gave me permission,’ Betuana went on, ‘and he finally gave in.’

‘They always do,’ Aphrael shrugged. ‘You’ll get what you want eventually if you just keep asking.’

‘It’s called “nagging”, Divine One,’ Sparhawk told her.

‘How would you like to listen to a few days of trumpet fanfares, Sparhawk?’ she asked.

‘No, thanks. It was good of you to ask, though.’

‘He definitely gave his permission?’ Aphrael asked the Queen.

Betuana smiled. ‘Very definitely. He said, “Tell her she can do anything she wants. just leave me alone!”’

‘Good. I’ll take Engessa to the island then.’ Aphrael pursed her lips. ‘Maybe you’d better send a runner to your husband, telling him about Klael’s soldiers. I know your husband, so you’ll have to order him not to attack them. I’ve never known anyone so totally incapable of turning around as he is.’

‘I’ll try to explain it to him,’ Betuana said a little dubiously.

‘Good luck. Here.’ Aphrael handed over the comb and brush. ‘I’ll take Engessa to the island, thaw him out, and get started.’

Ulath called a halt on the outskirts of town, and Bhlokw summoned Ghnomb. The God of Eat appeared holding the half-eaten hind-quarter of some large animal in one huge paw.

‘We have reached the place where the one called Berit has been told to come,’ Ulath told the huge Troll-God. ‘It would be well now if we come out of No-Time and go into the time of broken moments.’

Ghnomb gave him a baffled look, clearly not understanding what they were doing.

‘U-lat and Tin-in hunt thought,’ Bhlokw explained. ‘The man-things have bellies in their minds as well as the bellies in their bellies. They have to fill both bellies. Their belly-bellies are full now. That is why they ask this. It is their wish to now fill their mind-bellies.’

A slow look of comprehension began to dawn on Ghnomb’s brutish face. ‘Why did you not say this before, Ulath-from-Thalesia?’

Ulath groped for an answer.

‘It was Bhlokw who found that we have mind-bellies,’ Tynian stepped in. ‘We did not know this. We only knew that our minds were hungry. It is good that Ghworg sent Bhlokw to hunt with us. Bhlokw is a very good hunter.’

Bhlokw beamed.

Ulath quickly expanded the metaphor. ‘Our mind-bellies hunger for thoughts about the wicked ones,’ he explained. ‘We can track those thoughts in the bird-noises the man-things make when they speak. We will stand on one side of the broken moment where they can not see us, and listen to the bird-noises they are making. We will follow those tracks to the ones we hunt, and they will not know we are there. Then we will listen to the bird-noises they make and learn where they have hidden Anakha’s mate.’

‘You hunt well,’ Ghnomb approved. ‘I had not thought of this kind of hunting before. It is almost as good as hunting things-to-eat. I will help you in your hunt.’

‘It makes us glad that you will,’ Tynian thanked him.

Arjun was the capital of the Kingdom of Arjuna, a substantial city on the south shore of the lake. The royal palace and the stately homes of the noble families of the kingdom lay in the hills on the southern edge of town, and the commercial center was near the lake-front.

Ulath and Tynian concealed their horses and proceeded on foot through the grey half-light of Ghnomb’s broken moments into the city itself. Then they split up and began to search for the food their mind-bellies craved, while Bhlokw went looking for dogs.

It was almost evening when Ulath came out of another of the seedy taverns near the docks on the east side of town. ‘This is going to take all month,’ he muttered to himself. The name Scarpa had cropped up in a few of the conversations he had overheard, and each time he heard it, he had eagerly drawn closer to listen. Unfortunately, however, Scarpa and his army were general topics of conversation here, and Ulath had not been able to pick up anything that was at all useful.

‘Get out of my way.’ the voice was harsh, peremptory. Ulath turned to see who was being so offensive.

The man was a richly dressed Dacite. He was riding a spirited black horse, and his face bore the marks of habitual dissipation. Though he had never seen the fellow before, Ulath recognized him immediately. Talen’s pencil had captured that face almost perfectly. Ulath smiled. ‘Well, now,’ he murmured, ‘that’s a little better.’ He stepped out into the street and followed the prancing black horse.

Their destination was one of the grand houses near the royal palace. A liveried servant rushed from the house to greet the sneering Elene. ‘We’ve been eagerly awaiting your arrival, my Lord,’ he declared, bowing obsequiously.

‘Get somebody to take care of my horse,’ the Elene snapped as he dismounted. ‘Is everybody here?’

‘Yes, Baron Parok.’

‘Astonishing. Don’t just stand there, fool. Take me to them at once.’

‘Yes, my Lord Baron.’

Ulath smiled again and followed them into the house. The room to which the servant led them appeared to be a study of some kind. The walls were lined with book-cases, though the books shelved there showed no signs of ever having been opened. There were about a dozen men in the room: some Elene, some Arjuni, and even one Styric.

‘Let’s get down to business,’ Baron Parok told them, negligently tossing his plumed hat and his gloves down on the table. ‘What have you to report?’

‘Prince Sparhawk has reached Tiara, Baron Parok,’ the lone Styric told him.

‘We expected that.’

‘We did not, however, expect his treatment of my kinsman. He and that brute he calls his squire followed our messenger and assaulted him. They tore off all his clothes and turned all his pockets inside out.’

Parok laughed harshly. ‘I’ve met your cousin, Zorek,’ he said. ‘I’m sure he richly deserved it. What did he say to the Prince to merit such treatment?’

‘He gave them the note, my Lord, and that ruffian of a squire made some insulting remark about a twenty-day journey on horseback. My cousin took offense at that and told them that they only had fourteen days to make the journey.’

‘That was not in the instructions,’ Parok snapped. ‘Did Sparhawk kill him?’

‘No, my lord.’ Zorek’s tone was sullen.

‘Pity,’ Parok said darkly. ‘Now I’ll have to attend to it myself. You Styrics get above yourselves at times. When I have leisure, I’m going to run your cousin down and hang his guts on a fence as an example to the rest of you. You’re being paid to do as you’re told, not to get creative.’ He looked around. ‘Who’s got the next note?’ he asked.

‘I have, my Lord,’ a rather prosperous-looking Edomishman replied. ‘You’d better hold off on delivering it. Zorek’s cousin upset our timetable with his excursion into constructive creativity. Let Sparhawk cool his heels here for a week or so. Then give him the note that tells him to go on to Verel. Lord Scarpa wants his army to start moving north before we give Sparhawk that last message—the one that tells him to go on to Natayos for the exc.’

‘Bhaarnogne Parok,’ a baggy-eyed Arjuni in a brocade doublet said arrogantly, ‘this delay—particularly here in the capital—poses some threat to my king. This Sparhawk person is notoriously irrational, and he does still have the jewel of power in his possession. His Majesty does not want that Elene barbarian lingering here in Arjun with spare time on his hands. Send him on to Verel immediately. If he’s going to destroy some place, let it be Verel instead of Arjun.’

‘You have amazingly sharp ears, Duke Milanis,’ Parok said sardonically. ‘Can you really hear what King Rakya is saying when you’re a mile from the palace?’

‘I’m here to protect His Majesty’s interests, Baron. I have full authority to speak for him. His Majesty’s alliance with Lord Scarpa is not etched on a diamond. Keep Prince Sparhawk moving. We don’t want him here in Arjun.’

‘And if I don’t?’

Milanis shrugged. ‘His Majesty will abrogate the alliance and make a full report of what you people have been doing—and what you’re planning to do—to the Tamul Ambassador.’

‘I see that the old saw about the stupidity of trusting an Arjuni still holds true.’

‘Just do as you’re told, Parok,’ Milanis snapped. ‘Don’t bore me with all these tedious protests and racial slurs. Don’t make any blunders here, old boy. His Majesty’s report to the ambassador has already been written. All he requires is an excuse to send it across town.’

A servant entered with a flagon and a tray of wine-glasses, and Ulath took advantage of the open door to slip from the room. It was going to take a while to round up Tynian and Blokw, and then they were going to have to compose a fairly extensive message to Aphrael.

After he had slipped out of the house, however, Sir Ulath very briefly indulged himself. He leapt high into the air with a triumphant bellow, smacking his hands together with glee. Then he composed himself and went looking for his friends.

The black-armored Sir Heldin returned to rejoin Patriarch Bergsten at the head of the column.

‘Any luck?’ Bergsten asked him.

Heldin shook his head. ‘Sir Tynian was very thorough,’ he rumbled in his deep bass. ‘He winnowed through the ranks of the Pandion Order like a man panning for gold. I think he took just about everybody who can even pronounce the Styric Spells.’

‘You know the spells.’

‘Yes, but Aphrael can’t hear me. My voice is pitched too low for her ears.’

‘That raises some very interesting theological points,’ Bergsten mused.

‘Could we ponder them some other time, your Grace? Right now we have to get word of what happened in Zemoch to Sparhawk and Vanion. The war could be over by the time Ambassador Fontan’s messengers reach them.’

‘Talk with the other orders, Heldin,’ Bergsten suggested.

‘I don’t think it would work, your Grace. Each order works through the personal God of the Styric who taught them the secrets. We have to get word to Aphrael. She’s the one who’s perched on Sparhawk’s shoulder.’

‘Heldin, you spent too much time practicing with your weapons during your novitiate. Theology does have a purpose, you know.’

‘Yes, your Grace,’ Heldin sighed, rolling his eyes upward and bracing himself for a sermon.

‘Don’t do that,’ Bergsten told him. ‘I’m not talking about Elene theology. I’m talking about the misguided beliefs of the Styrics. How many Styric Gods are there?’

‘A thousand, your Grace,’ Heldin replied promptly. ‘Sephrenia always made some issue of that.’

‘Do these thousand Younger Gods exist independently of each other?’

‘As I understand it, they’re all related—sort of like a family.’

‘Amazing. You did listen when Sephrenia was talking to you. You Pandions all worship Aphrael, right?’

‘“Worship” might be too strong a term, your Grace.’

‘I’ve heard stories about Aphrael, Heldin,’ Bergsten smiled. ‘She has a private agenda. She’s trying to steal the whole of human-kind. Now then, I’m a member of the Genidian Order.’ He paused. ‘I was,’ he corrected himself. ‘We make our appeals to Hanks, the Cyrinics work through Romalic, and the Alciones deal with Setras. Do you imagine that in their misty heaven somewhere above the clouds these Styric Gods might now and then talk with each other?’

‘Please don’t beat me over the head, Bergsten. I overlooked something, that’s all. I’m not stupid.’

‘Never said you were, old boy.’ Bergsten smiled. ‘You just needed spiritual guidance, that’s all. That’s the purpose of our Holy Mother. Come to me with your spiritual problems, my son. I will gently guide you—and if guidance doesn’t work, I’ll take my axe and drive you.’

‘I see that your Grace adheres to the notion of the Church Muscular,’ Heldin said sourly.

‘That’s my spiritual problem, my son, not yours. Now go find an Alcione. Legend has it that Aphrael and Setras are particularly close. I think we can count on Setras to pass things along to his thieving little cousin.’

‘Your Grace!’ Heldin protested.

‘The Church has had her eye on Aphrael for centuries, Heldin. We know all about your precious little Child Goddess and her tricks. Don’t let her kiss you, my friend. If you do, she’ll pinch your soul while you’re not looking.’

There were a dozen wobbly ox-carts this time, all heavily laden with beer barrels, and Senga had recruited several dozen of Narstil’s shabby outlaws to assist him in guarding and dispensing his product. Kalten had rather smoothly insinuated Caalador and Bevier into the company.

‘I still think you’re making a mistake, Senga,’ Kalten told his good-natured employer as their rickety cart jolted along the rough jungle path toward Natayos. ‘You’ve got a complete lock on the market. Why lower your prices?’

‘Because I’ll make more money if I do.’

‘That doesn’t make sense.’

‘Look, Col,’ Senga explained patiently, ‘when I came here before, I only had one cart-load of beer. I could get any price I asked, because my beer was so scarce.’

‘I guess that makes sense.’

‘I’ve got an almost unlimited supply now, though, so I’m making my profit on volume instead of price.’

‘That’s what doesn’t make sense.’

‘Let me put it this way. Which would you rather do—steal ten crowns from one man or a penny from each of ten thousand men?’

Kalten did some quick counting on his fingers. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Now I see what you’re driving at. Very shrewd, Senga.’

Senga puffed himself up a little. ‘It never hurts to think long-range, Col. My real concern is the fact that it’s not really all that hard to make beer. If some clever fellow’s got a recipe, he could set up his own brewery right here. I don’t want to get involved in a price war just when things are starting to go well for me.’

They had left Narstil’s camp at daybreak, and so it was midmorning when they reached Natayos. They passed unchallenged through the gates, rumbled by the house with barred windows, and set up shop again in the same square as before.

As Senga’s closest associate, Kalten had been promoted to the position of Chief of Security. The reputation for unpleasantness he had established early on in Narstil’s camp ensured that none of the outlaws would question his orders, and the presence of Bevier, patch-eyed, lochaber-armed, and obviously homicidal, added to his authority.

‘We ain’t likely t’ accomplish too much here, Col,’ Caalador muttered to Kalten as the two of them stood guard near one of the busy beer-carts. ‘Ol’ Senga’s so worried ’bout some feller slippin’ by ’thout payin’ that me’n you is tied down tighter’n a couple o’ dawgs on short leashes.’

‘Wait until later, Ezek,’ Kalten advised. ‘We’ll be able to move around a little more freely after everybody gets drunk.’

Bevier slouched over to join them, his short-handled lochaber in his fist. People automatically got out of his way for some reason. ‘I just had a thought,’ he said.

‘You want to kill somebody?’ Kalten suggested.

‘Be serious, Col. Why don’t you take your friend Senga aside and suggest that he set up a permanent establishment here in Natayos? It’s the logical thing to do, and it’d give the three of us an excuse to stay here. If we cleaned out one of these ruined buildings and opened a tavern, we could stay here and run it. It makes more sense than selling beer off the tail-gate of an ox-cart.’

‘He’s got hisself a point there, Col,’ Caalador said. ‘Ol’ Shallag here, he looks like he drinks blood for breakfast, but his head’s still a-workin’ in back o’ that there eye-patch.’

Kalten thought about it. ‘It would set us up right here in Natayos, wouldn’t it? We’d be able to keep an eye on things.’ He looked around. ‘Senga’s a little worried that somebody here might start his own brewery,’ he said for the benefit of nearby soldiers. ‘If the three of us are right here, we could probably persuade anybody who does that to take up another hobby. I’ll go talk with Senga and see what he thinks of the notion.’

He found his good-natured friend sitting at a makeshift table behind one of the ox-carts. The outlaw was counting money with an almost dreamy expression on his face. ‘Oh, this is just fine, Col,’ he almost crooned.

‘They’re only pennies.’

‘I know, but there are so many of them.’

‘Shallag came up with an idea.’

‘He wants to thin out the crowd by hacking the head off every third man in line?’

‘Shallag’s not really that bad.’

‘Oh, really? Every man in camp has nightmares about him.’

‘He hasn’t killed a single man since he came to Arjuna.’

‘He’s saving up. He’s just biding his time until he can gather up a few thousand of us all together and kill all of us at once.’

‘Do you want to listen to his idea or haven’t you finished making bad jokes yet?’

‘Sorry. Go ahead.’

‘He thinks we ought to clean out one of these empty ruins and set up a permanent tavern.’

‘You mean like a real business? With a counter and tables and chairs and all that?’

‘Why not? Now that your brewer’s working full time, you’ve got access to a steady supply, and this is where your customers are. If you set up shop here, you can sell beer all day every day instead of just coming here once a week. Then your customers would come to you in manageable numbers instead of by the regiment.’

‘I never thought of it,’ Senga admitted. ‘I just thought I’d make a quick profit and then run for the border. I could set up a real tavern here, Col—a real, honest-to-God legitimate business. I wouldn’t have to steal any more.’

‘I’ve seen your price-list, Senga. Don’t worry. You’re still stealing.’

Senga ignored him. ‘Maybe I could call it “Senga’s Palace”,’ he said in a dreamy tone of voice. He frowned. ‘No,’ he decided. ‘That’s a little too flashy for a beer-tavern. I think I’ll just call it “Senga’s”. That’d definitely be a more lasting memorial than just a grave marker with the date when I got hung carved on it.’ Then he shook his head and sighed. ‘No, Col,’ he said regretfully. ‘It wouldn’t work. If I took you and my other guards out of here, Scarpa’s soldiers would just march in and drink up all my beer without paying.’

‘Why take us out, then? We can stay right here and make sure they pay.’

‘I’m not sure Narstil would like it if we didn’t go back to camp at night.’

‘Senga,’ Kalten said gently, ‘do you really need Narstil any more? You’re an honest businessman now. You shouldn’t be associating with bandits.’

Senga laughed. ‘You’re coming at me a little too fast, Col. Give me some time to adjust my thinking.’ Then he suddenly swore.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘It’s a beautiful idea, Col, but it won’t work.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I’ll need Scarpa’s permission to set up shop here, and I’m not going to go anywhere near him to ask for it.’

‘I don’t think you’ll have to, my friend. I went rummaging around through those heaps of trash in Narstil’s camp yesterday, and guess what I found?’

‘What?’

‘A very fancy, silver-mounted cask of Arcian red. It’s even equipped with a silver spigot. The fellow who stole it didn’t know how much it was worth—he’s a beer man. I got it off him for half a crown. I’ll sell it to you, and you can make a present of it to that Krager fellow. Why don’t we let him persuade Scarpa to give you permission to go into business here?’

‘Col, you’re a genius. What’ll you take for that cask of Arcian red?’

‘Oh—five crowns, I guess.’

‘Five crowns? Ten times what you paid for it? That’s robbery.’

‘You ought to know, Senga. You’re my friend, but business is business, after all.’

They found the bleary-eyed Krager sitting on a broken wall watching the crowd of thirsty soldiers in the square without much interest. He held a tankard in one hand, and he drank from it occasionally with obvious distaste.

‘Ah, there you are, Master Krager,’ Senga said jovially. ‘Why don’t you dump out that slop and try a sup of this?’ He patted the ornate wine cask he was carrying under one arm.

‘More local swill?’ Krager asked.

‘Try it and see what you think,’ Senga suggested.

Krager emptied his wine out on the ground and held out his pewter tankard. Senga turned the handle of the silver spigot and dribbled about a half a cupful of Arcian red into it. Krager squinted into his mug and sniffed at it suspiciously. Then his eyes rolled up ecstatically. ‘Oh, dearie, dearie me.’ he breathed in a reverent tone of voice. He took a small sip and actually seemed to quiver with delight.

‘I thought you might like it,’ Senga said. ‘Now that I’ve got your attention, I’ve got a business proposition for you. I’d like to set up a permanent tavern here in Natayos, but I’ll need permission to do that. I’d take it as a real favor if you could see your way clear to put in a good word for me with Lord Scarpa. I’d be very grateful to you if you can get his approval.’

‘How grateful?’ Krager asked quickly.

‘Probably about this grateful.’ Senga patted the silver-mounted cask again. ‘Tell Lord Scarpa that I won’t cause any problems. I’ll pick one of these empty buildings a little way off from his main camp and clean it out and fix the roof my very own self. I’ll provide my own security and make sure that none of his soldiers gets too drunk.’

‘Go ahead and get started, Master Senga,’ Krager said, eyeing the cask. ‘You’ve got my personal guarantee that Lord Scarpa will agree.’ He reached out for the wine.

Senga stepped back. ‘After, Master Krager,’ he said firmly. ‘At the moment, I’m filled with appreciation. The gratitude comes after Scarpa gives his permission.’

Then Elron came hurrying across the crowded square. ‘Krager!’ he said in a shrill voice. ‘Come at once! Lord Scarpa’s in a rage. He’s commanded us all to meet him at headquarters immediately!’

‘What’s the matter?’ Krager rose to his feet.

‘Cyzada just came in from Cynesga. He told Zalasta and Lord Scarpa that Klael went to have a look at the fellow we’ve been following all this time! It’s not Sparhawk, Krager! Whoever it is looks like Sparhawk, but Klael knew immediately that it’s somebody else!’

16

‘I know it’s him, my Lady,’ Alcan insisted.

‘Alcan, dear,’ Ehlana said gently, ‘he doesn’t look the least bit like Sir Kalten.’

‘I don’t know how they’ve done it, but that’s Kalten out there in the street,’ the girl replied. ‘My heart sings every time he walks by.’

Ehlana peered through the little opening in the window. The man looked like an Elene, there was no question about that, and Sephrenia was a magician, after all.

The thought of Sephrenia filled the Queen’s eyes with tears again. She straightened, quickly wiping her eyes. ‘He’s gone by,’ she said. ‘What makes you so sure, dear?’

‘A thousand things, my Lady—little things. It’s the way he holds his head, that funny way he rolls his shoulders when he walks, his laugh, the way he hitches up his sword-belt. They’ve changed his face somehow, but I know it’s him.’

‘You could be right, Alcan,’ Ehlana concluded a bit dubiously. ‘I could probably pick Sparhawk out of a crowd no matter whose face he happened to be wearing.’

‘Exactly, my Lady. Our hearts know the men we love.’

Ehlana began to pace the floor, her fingers absently adjusting the wimple that covered her head. ‘It’s not impossible,’ she conceded. ‘Sparhawk’s told me about all the times he disguised himself when he was in Render, and Styric magic might very well be able to change people’s faces. And of course, if Sephrenia hadn’t been able to do it, Bhelliom certainly could have. Let’s trust your heart and say that it is Sir Kalten out there.’

‘I know it is, my Lady.’

‘It does stand to reason,’ Ehlana mused. ‘If Sparhawk’s somehow found out that we’re here, he’d most definitely want to have some of our friends close by when the rest of them come to rescue us.’ She frowned as a thought came to her. ‘Maybe he doesn’t know for sure, though. Kalten might just be here to look around. We have to come up with some way to let him know that we’re here before he gives up and moves on.’

‘But we’re imprisoned, my Lady,’ the girl with the huge eyes protested. ‘If we try to call out to him, we’ll put him in terrible danger.’ She bent and looked out at the street again. ‘He’s coming back,’ she said.

‘Sing, Alcan!’ Ehlana exclaimed suddenly.

‘What?’

‘Sing! ‘If anyone in the whole world would recognize your voice, Kalten would!’

Alcan’s eyes suddenly widened. ‘He would!’ she exclaimed.

‘Here. Let me watch his face. Sing your soul out, Alcan! Break his heart!’

Alcan’s voice throbbed as her clear soprano reached effortlessly up in aching song. She sang ‘My Bonnie Blue-Eyed Boy’, a very old ballad which Ehlana knew held special significance for her maid and the blond Pandion. The Queen looked out the window again. The roughly dressed man in the street was standing stock-still, frozen in place by Alcan’s soaring voice.

All doubt vanished from Ehlana’s mind. It was Kalten. His eyes streamed tears, and his expression had become exalted, adoring. And then he did something so unexpected that Ehlana was forced to revise her long-held opinion about his intelligence. He sat down on the mossy cobblestones, removed one shoe, and began to whistle an accompaniment to Alcan’s song. He knew. And he was whistling to let them know that he knew! Not even Sparhawk could have responded so quickly, or come up with so perfect a way to convey his understanding of the situation.

‘That’s enough, Alcan.’ Ehlana hissed. ‘He got our message.’

Alcan stopped singing.

‘What are you doing there?’ one of the Arjunis who guarded the door demanded, coming into view.

‘Stone in my shoe,’ Kalten explained, shaking the shoe he’d just removed. ‘It felt like a boulder.’

‘All right, move on.’

Kalten’s altered features took on a truculent look. He pulled his shoe back on and stood up. ‘Friend,’ he said in a pointed sort of way, ‘you’ll be getting off guard-duty before very long, and you might just decide to stop by Senga’s tavern for a few tankards of beer. I’m in charge of security there, and if you start pushing me around here, I might just decide that you’re too rowdy to be served when you get there. Understand?’

‘I’m supposed to keep people away from this building,’ the guard explained, quickly modifying his tone.

‘But politely, friend, politely. Every man in this whole place is armed to the teeth, so we all have to be polite to each other.’ Kalten threw a guarded glance at the barred window from which Ehlana watched. ‘I learned politeness when I took up with Shallag—you know him, don’t you? The one-eyed fellow with the lochaber axe?’

The guard shuddered. ‘Is he as bad as he looks?’ he asked.

‘Worse. He’ll hack your head off if you even sneeze on him.’ Kalten squared his shoulders. ‘Well, I guess I’d better be getting back to the tavern. As my friend Ezek says, “’Tain’t hardly likely that I’ll make no profit lollygaggin’ around in the street.” Come on by the tavern when you get off work, friend. I’ll buy you a tankard of beer.’ And he went off down the street, still whistling ‘My Bonnie Blue-Eyed Boy’.

‘Treasure him, Alcan,’ Ehlana said, her heart still soaring, ‘and don’t let that face deceive you. He gave me more information in two minutes than Sparhawk could have in an hour.’

‘My Lady?’ Alcan looked baffled.

‘He knows that we’re here. He started to whistle along while you were singing. He also told me that Sir Bevier and Caalador are here with him.’

‘How did he do that?’

‘He was talking with the guard. Bevier’s probably the only man in Daresia right now with a lochaber axe, and his other friend sounds just like Caalador. They know we’re here, Alcan, and if they know, Sparhawk knows. We might as well start packing. We’ll be leaving here shortly and going back to Matherion.’ She laughed delightedly and threw her arms round her maid.

Kalten tried very hard to keep his face expressionless as he walked back along the moss-covered streets toward Senga’s tavern, but the excitement kept bubbling up in him, and it was very difficult to keep from laughing out loud.

Scarpa’s army had cleared the northern quarters of Natayos and restored the buildings there to some degree of habitability when they had first arrived, but most of the city was still a vine-choked ruin. Senga had considered several possible sites for his tavern and had rather shrewdly decided to set up operations some distance deeper into the old city to avoid interference from officious sergeants or junior Elene officers with deep convictions and not much sense. He had chosen a low, squat building with thick walls but no roof, a deficiency easily overcome with tent-canvas.

He had considered hiring off-duty soldiers to clear the brush out of the street leading from Scarpa’s main camp to the tavern door, but Caalador had persuaded him to save his money. ‘Then ain’t no need, Senga,’ the disguised Cammorian had told the harried businessman, reverting to his dialect. ‘Them thirsty soldiers’ll clear the street fer us then very own-selfs ’thout no money changin’ hands a-tall.’

The tavern crouched in the ruins, indistinguishable from nearby buildings except for its canvas roof and the crudely lettered sign reading ‘Senga’s’ out front. Kalten entered the tavern through the side door and paused to let his eyes adjust to the dimmer light. The place was moderately crowded, even at midday, and the six aproned outlaws from Narstil’s camp hustled back and forth behind a rough plank counter, drawing foamy beer and collecting money.

Kalten pushed through the noisy crowd, looking for Bevier and Caalador. He found them sitting at a table on the near side of the room. Bevier’s sawed-off lochaber and Caalador’s stout cudgel lay in plain sight on the table as a sort of constant reminder to the assembled revelers that while having a good time was encouraged, there were strictly enforced limits.

Kalten carefully lowered himself onto the bench, keeping his exuberance tightly bottled in. He leaned forward, motioning his friends closer. ‘They’re here,’ he said quietly.

Caalador looked around the tavern. ‘Wal,’ he drawled, ‘not quite all of ’em, but most likely ever’body who’s off-duty.’

‘I’m not talking about this crowd, Ezek. I’m talking about the house with the barred windows. The people we’ve been looking for are definitely inside that house.’

‘How do you know?’ Bevier demanded in an intense whisper. ‘Did you see them?’

‘I didn’t have to. One of them is a very special friend of mine, and this friend recognized me—even with this face. Don’t ask me how.’

‘Are you sure?’ Bevier pressed.

‘Oh, yes. This friend started to sing in a voice I’d recognize in the middle of a thunderstorm. It was a very old song that has a personal meaning for the two of us. Our friends inside recognized me, there’s no question about it. This friend I was just talking about only sings that song for me.’

‘I don’t suppose there was any way you could let them know that you’d received their message?’ Caalador asked. ‘Short of tearing down the door, I mean?’

‘No, I didn’t have to tear down the door. I whistled along. I’ve done that before, so my friend knew what I was trying to say. Then I struck up a conversation with one of the guards, and I slipped in enough hints to let our friends inside know the things they ought to be aware of.’

Caalador leaned back in his chair. ‘Yer idee ’bout this yore tavern’s workin’ out real good, Shallag. We bin a-pickin’ up all sorts o’ useful information since we settled in.’

Kalten looked around the tavern. ‘Things are quiet right now,’ he said quietly. ‘The fights probably won’t start until after the sun goes down. Why don’t we take a stroll back into the ruins? I think we’d better have another chat with that certain little girl. This time we’ve got some good news for her.’

‘Let’s get at it,’ Caalador said, rising to his feet. He pushed his way through to the counter, spoke briefly with one of the foam-soaked outlaws and then led the way outside. They went around behind the tavern and pushed their way along a vine-choked side-street that ran on past some fallen buildings where bright-colored birds perched, squawking raucously. They went into a partially collapsed ruin, and Kalten and Caalador stood watch while Bevier cast the spell.

The Cyrinic was grinning when he came out. ‘You’d better brace yourself, Kalten,’ he said.

‘What for?’

‘Aphrael plans to kiss you into insensibility the next time she sees you.’

‘I suppose I can live with that. I gather she was pleased?’

‘She almost ruptured my eardrums.’

‘Well, as she always says, “We only live to please those we love.”’

Scarpa was screaming even before he came through the door. His voice was high and shrill, his eyes bulged, and his makeshift crown was askew. He was clearly in the throes of hysterical rage. His lips and beard were flecked with foam as he burst into the room. ‘Your husband has betrayed you, woman!’ he shrieked at Ehlana. ‘You will pay for his perfidy! I will have your life for this!’ He started toward her, his hands extended like claws.

Then Zalasta was in the doorway. ‘No!’ he barked in an icy tone.

Scarpa spun on his father. ‘Stay out of this!’ he shrieked. ‘She is my prisoner. I will punish her for Sparhawk’s treachery!’

‘No, actually you won’t. You’ll do as I tell you to do.’ Zalasta spoke in Elenic, and all traces of his accent were gone now.

‘He disobeyed my orders. I will make him pay!’

‘Are you so stupid that you didn’t expect this? I told you how devious the man was, but your mind’s so clogged with cobwebs that you wouldn’t listen.’

‘I gave him an order!’ Scarpa’s voice had risen to a squeal. He stamped his foot. Then he stamped the other. Then he began jumping up and down on the floor, quite literally dancing with rage. ‘I am the emperor! He must obey me!’

Zalasta did not even bother to use magic this time. He simply swung his staff and knocked his hysterical son to the floor, sending his crown rolling. ‘You sicken me,’ he said in a voice loaded with contempt. ‘I have no patience with these temper tantrums. You are not the emperor. When you’re in this condition, you’re not even meaningful.’ His face was unemotional, and his eyes were remote. ‘Have a care, Scarpa,’ he said in a dreadful voice. ‘There’s nothing in this world that I love now. You have freed me from all human attachments. If you annoy me, I’ll squash you like a bug.’

Scarpa scrambled away from the terrible old man, his eyes suddenly rational and filled with fear.

‘What’s happened?’ Ehlana asked anxiously.

‘One of my associates—Cyzada of Esos—just arrived from Cynesga,’ Zalasta replied calmly. ‘He brought us some news that we probably should have expected. Your husband’s a devious man, Ehlana. We thought that we had him, but he managed to wriggle free.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘We left him instructions when we abducted you. He was supposed to take his squire and set out on horseback for the town of Beresa in southern Arjuna. We had people watching, and he seemed to be obeying. He was not, however. Evidently he’s not as fond of you as we’d thought he was.’

‘He was simply following my orders, Zalasta. I told him that under no circumstances was he to give up the Bhelliom.’

‘How did you manage that?’ Zalasta seemed actually startled.

‘Your lunatic son here told Elron to kill Baroness Melidere. Elron’s a hopeless incompetent, so Melidere was able to deflect his sword-thrust. I have some remarkable people working for me, Zalasta. Melidere was able to play dead very convincingly. I feigned hysteria and managed to whisper instructions to her while I covered her with a blanket.’ She gave him a rather malicious sidelong glance. ‘Your mind must be slipping, Zalasta. You didn’t even notice that I no longer had my ring. I left that with Melidere as well.’

‘Very resourceful, Ehlana,’ he murmured. ‘You and your husband are stimulating opponents.’

‘I’m so glad you approve. How did Sparhawk trick you?’

‘We’re not entirely sure. We had people watching him from the moment he left the imperial compound in Matherion, and he followed our orders to the letter. We even diverted him a couple of times to prevent any tricks. Then Klael escaped again and went looking for Bhelliom. The man we thought was Sparhawk was on a ship crossing the Sea of Arjun with his squire, Khalad. Klael took one look and instantly knew that the man who appeared to be your husband was not Anakha. That’s the news that Cyzada just brought to us.’

She smiled almost beatifically at him. ‘And so now Sparhawk’s out there somewhere—with Bhelliom in his fist and murder in his heart—and you haven’t the faintest idea of where he might be, and quite probably not even what he looks like. You’ve got a big problem, Zalasta.’

‘You’re very quick, your Majesty. You think even faster than my colleagues.’

‘That isn’t very difficult. You’re surrounded with defectives. Which particular stroke of my genius is it that you admire?’

He smiled faintly. ‘I rather like you, Ehlana,’ he told her. ‘You have spirit. My assorted defectives haven’t yet fully grasped the implications of your husband’s ploy. If he’s somehow managed to make someone resemble him, he’s surely able to alter his own features as well.’

‘He does it all the time, Zalasta. He had a great deal of experience with disguises when he was in Render. It’s all falling apart on you, isn’t it? I’d suggest that you start running immediately.’

‘I’ll be leaving shortly, right enough, but you’ll be going with me. Tell your maid to start making preparations for a journey.’

‘What are you saying?’ Scarpa scrambled to his feet. ‘She can’t leave here!’ he shrieked. ‘We’re going to make the exchange here!’

‘You imbecile,’ Zalasta sneered. ‘You didn’t really think I was going to let you go through with that, did you? I never had any intention of letting you get within five miles of Bhelliom.’

Scarpa gaped at him.

‘It was a misguided attempt to save your life, idiot. Bhelliom would have destroyed you in the instant that you touched it.’

‘Not if I had the rings. They would have protected me.’ Scarpa’s eyes were wild again.

‘The rings are a fraud,’ Zalasta sneered. ‘They have no power over Bhelliom whatsoever.’

‘You’re lying!’

‘You desperately want to believe that, don’t you, Scarpa? You thought that all you had to do to gain control of the most powerful force in the universe was to put on a pair of rings. Ghwerig the Troll-Dwarf made the rings at Bhelliom’s instruction. They were designed to deceive a Troll into thinking he had some power over the jewel. Bhelliom induced Ghwerig to make the rings, and then it tricked Aphrael into stealing them. Everyone’s attention was so fixed on the rings that we didn’t even bother trying to steal Bhelliom from the royal crown of Thalesia.’

Scarpa suddenly sneered. ‘You just out-smarted yourself, old boy. If Bhelliom’s so deadly, how is it that the kings of Thalesia could touch it and not die?’

‘Because Bhelliom’s alive, you dolt. It has an awareness. It kills only those it wants to kill—and that would certainly include you. You’re my son, and even I want to kill you most of the time. You had some deranged, half-formed notion that you could just pick up Bhelliom and start giving it commands, didn’t you?’

Scarpa flushed guiltily.

‘Can’t you get it through your sick head that only a God—or Anakha—can safely take up Bhelliom and start giving it orders? I realized that over a century ago. Why do you think I made an alliance with Azash—or with Cyrgon? Did you think I was having religious yearnings?’ He smiled a cruel smile. ‘Did you really think Bhelliom would have made you a match for me, Scarpa? You were going to put on the rings, snatch up the Bhelliom, and order it to kill me, weren’t you? I almost wish the situation were different. I’d have loved to see the expression on your face as Bhelliom slowly turned you to stone.’

Zalasta straightened. ‘Enough of this,’ he said. He went to the door. ‘Come in here,’ he barked, ‘all of you.’

The men who entered were fearful and hesitant as they sidled through the door. Krager appeared to have been frightened to the point that he was sober, and Elron was actually cringing. The third man was a stringy-looking Styric with a long beard, shaggy eyebrows, and sunken, burning eyes.

‘All right, gentlemen,’ Zalasta said, ‘this new development calls for a change of plans. My son and I have discussed the matter, and he’s evidently decided that he wants to go on living, because he’s agreed to follow my instructions. I’m going to take the Queen and her maid to a safe place. Natayos is no longer secure. Sparhawk could literally be anywhere. For all I know, he’s already here. I want you three to stay here with Scarpa. Keep sending those letters of instruction to this counterfeit Sparhawk. Don’t let our enemies know that we’re on to them. Give me a couple of days and then send instructions to Panem-Doa. Tell them to prepare suitable quarters for two very important ladies. Then wait two more days and send a closed carriage down there. Security’s an alien concept to those cretins at Panem-Doa, so word of your message will be all over southern Arjuna almost before your messenger arrives. Cyzada, I want you to keep a close watch over my deranged son here. If he doesn’t follow my instructions to the letter, I want you to summon one of the servants of Azash from the nether world to kill him. Be creative, old boy. Pick the cruelest and most hideous demon you can find. If Scarpa disobeys me again, I want him to take a long, long time to die, and I want them to be able to hear him screaming all the way from here to Matherion.’

Cyzada’s dead eyes came alight with a sudden cruel anticipation. He fixed a ghastly smile on the now totally rational Scarpa. ‘I’ll see to it, Zalasta,’ he promised in a hollow voice. ‘I know just the one to call on.’

Scarpa shrank back fearfully.

‘Where are you going to take the prisoners, Lord Zalasta?’ Elron quavered. ‘Where can you be safe from that vengeful monster they call Anakha?’

‘You don’t need to know that, Elron,’ Zalasta replied. ‘The Pandions have a reputation for severity when they interrogate prisoners. You won’t be able to tell them what you don’t know—even when they start to torture you.’

‘Torture?’ Elron’s eyes widened, and his voice came out in a terrified squeak.

‘This is the real world, Elron, not some romanticized daydream. The posturing and play-acting are over now, but I’m sure we’ll all be impressed by how heroically you endure the agonies they’ll surely inflict on you when they catch you.’

Elron fell back in a near faint.

17

Her Royal Highness, Crown Princess Danae of Elenia, sat pensively on an out-of-the-way window-seat on one of the upper floors of her mother’s castle. The weather outside was unsettled, and a blustery wind skipped the dead leaves across the lawns below like scurrying brown mice. Danae absently stroked her purring cat as she considered options, alternatives, and possibilities.

Mirtai, grim, implacable, and wearing an Atan breastplate of polished steel and black leather, stood several yards down the corridor, her face set in an expression of sullen obedience and her hand on her sword-hilt.

‘You’re still angry with me, aren’t you?’ Danae asked the golden giantess, not even bothering to turn around.

‘It’s not my place to either approve or disapprove of my owner.’ Mirtai was being stubborn about it.

‘Oh, stop that. Come here.’

Mirtai marched up the hall to where her capricious little owner was sitting. ‘Yes?’

‘I’m going to try again. Please listen to me this time.’

‘As your Majesty commands.’

‘That’s getting very tiresome, you know. We love you, Mirtai.’

‘Is your Majesty speaking in the royal plural?’

‘You’re starting to make me cross. I’ve got a name, and you know what it is. We all love you, and it would have broken our hearts if you’d decided to kill yourself. I spoke to you the way I did to bring you to your senses, you ninny.’

‘I know why you did it, Danae, but did you have to humiliate me in front of the others?’

‘I apologize.’

‘You can’t do that. You’re a queen, and queens can’t appologize.”

‘I can if I want.’ Danae paused. ‘So there,’ she added.

Mirtai laughed and suddenly embraced the little girl. ‘You’re never going to learn how to be a queen, Danae.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Being the queen just means that you get what you want. I do that all the time anyway. I don’t need a crown or an army for something as simple as that.’

‘You’re a very spoiled little girl, your Majesty.’

‘I know, and I love every minute of it.’

Then the Princess heard a faint, far-away murmur, a murmur that Mirtai could not, of course, even sense. ‘Why don’t you go find Melidere?’ she suggested. She sighed and rolled her eyes upward. ‘I’m sure she’s looking for me anyway. It’s probably time for another one of those girl lessons.’

‘She’s giving you instruction in courtly manners and traditional courtesies, Danae,’ Mirtai reproved her. ‘If you’re going to be a queen, you’ll need to know those things.’

‘I think it’s silly, myself. Go on ahead, Mirtai. I’ll be along in a minute.’

The giantess went off down the hall, and Princess Danae spoke very quietly. ‘What is it, Setras?’ she asked her cousin.

‘You already know the courtesies, Aphrael,’ her curly-haired cousin said, appearing suddenly beside her. ‘Why are you taking lessons?’

‘It gives Melidere something to occupy her mind and keeps her out of mischief. I spent a great deal of time and effort getting her and Stragen together. I don’t want her to spoil it by getting bored and starting to look for outside entertainment.’

‘That’s very important to you, isn’t it?’ Setras sounded a little puzzled. ‘Why should the things they do to perpetuate themselves interest you at all?’

‘You probably wouldn’t understand, Setras You’re too young.’

‘I’m as old as you are.

‘Yes, but you don’t pay any attention to what your worshippers are doing when they’re alone together.’

‘I know what they’re doing. It’s ridiculous.’

‘They seem to like it.’

‘Flowers are much more dignified about it,’ he sniffed.

‘Is this what you wanted to talk to me about?’

‘Oh, I almost forgot. I have a message for you. There’s an Alcione Knight—one of the ones who serve me. I think you know him. He’s a moon-faced fellow named Tynian.’

‘Yes.’

‘He went back to Chyrellos to pick up some help, and it seems that he inadvertently chose every Pandion skilled enough to pass messages on to you and brought them all to this part of the world, so there wasn’t anybody with the Church Knights to tell you what happened in Zemoch.’

‘Yes, I already know about that. Anakha’s going to talk with Tynian about that. What happened in Zemoch?’

‘The Church Knights had an encounter with Klael. A third of them were killed.’

Aphrael unleashed a blistering string of curses.

‘Aphrael!’ he gasped. ‘You’re not supposed to talk that way.’

‘Oh, go bury it, Setras! Why didn’t you tell me about this as soon as you got here?’

‘I was curious about the other thing,’ he confessed. ‘It’s not as if they all got killed, Aphrael. There are still plenty of them left. In a little while there’ll be as many as before. They’re ferociously prolific.’

‘I love them all, you dolt. I don’t want to lose any of them.’

‘You’re greedy. That’s one of your shortcomings, cousin. You can’t keep all of them, you know.’

‘Don’t make any wagers on that, Setras. I’m only just getting started.’ She threw her hands in the air. ‘This is impossible. You don’t even understand the message you’re trying to give me. Where are the Church Knights now?’

‘They’re coming across the steppes of Central Astel to invade Cynesga. They’ll probably run into Klael again when they get there. I hope they don’t all get killed.’

‘Who’s in command?’

‘One of Romalic’s servants—an old man called Abriel—was in charge when they left Chyrellos, but he got killed in Zemoch, so one of the high priests of the Church of the Elene God—a Thalesian named Bergsten—is giving orders now.’

‘I should have guessed,’ she said. ‘I have a few things to take care of first. Then I’ll go find Bergsten and get a true account of what happened.’

‘I was only trying to help.’ Setras sounded a little injured.

‘You did just fine, cousin,’ Aphrael forgave him. ‘It’s not your fault that you haven’t been keeping abreast of things here.’

‘I have important things on my mind, Aphrael,’ he said defensively. ‘Come by my studio some time,’ he added brightly. I made a sunset the other day that’s probably one of the best pieces I’ve ever done. It’s so lovely that I’ve decided to keep it.’

‘Setras. you can’t just stop the sun that way!’

‘There’s nobody living there, Aphrael. They won’t notice.’

‘Oh, dear!’ She buried her face in her hands.

‘You’re disappointed in me, aren’t you?’ His lower lip trembled slightly, and his large, luminous eyes filled with sudden tears. ‘And I try so hard to make you and the others proud of me.’

‘No, Setras,’ she said. ‘I still love you.’

He brightened. ‘Everything’s all right then, isn’t it?’

‘You’re a dear, Setras.’ She kissed him. ‘Run along now. I have to talk with these others.’

‘You will come and look at my sunset, won’t you?’

‘Of course, cousin. Go along now.’ She lifted her drowsing cat and blew into the furry creature’s ear. ‘Wake up, Mmrr,’ she said.

The yellow eyes opened.

‘Go back to the place where we nest,’ the little Princess said, speaking in cat. ‘I have to do something.’ She set Mmrr down on the floor, and the cat arched her back, hooking her tail into a sinuous question-mark, and yawned. Then she padded off down the corridor.

Danae looked around, probing with eyes and mind to make sure she was alone. There were human males knocking around in the halls of this castle, and the appearance of a naked Goddess always excited them. It was flattering, of course, but it was also a little confusing for a being with a total lack of any reproductive urges. No matter how hard she tried, Aphrael had never been able to understand how the mating impulse of human males could be so indiscriminate.

The Child Goddess briefly resumed her true person and then divided, becoming both little girls.

‘You’re starting to get older, Danae,’ Flute noted.

‘Does it show? Already?’

‘It’s noticeable. You still have a way to go before you’re fully mature, though. Are you really sure you want to go through with this?’

‘It might help us all to understand them a little better. I don’t think Setras even knows that it takes a male and a female to well, you know.’ Danae blushed.

‘Setras isn’t overly bright. Can I borrow Mirtai?’ Flute asked.

‘What for?’

‘You don’t really need her here, and after what happened in Dirgis, I’d like to have somebody I trust to stand guard over Sephrenia.’

‘Good idea. Let’s go talk with Sarabian and the others. They’ll be able to send messengers to people we don’t have any contacts with.’

Flute nodded. ‘It would be so much more convenient if they were all ours.’

Danae laughed. ‘I think Setras was right. We are greedy, aren’t we?’

‘We love them all, Danae. I don’t see any reason why they can’t love us.’

The two little girls started off down the corridor hand in hand.

‘Danae,’ Flute said, ‘do you think Mirtai might be afraid of heights?’

‘He does look a lot like that picture Talen drew, doesn’t he?’ Tynian murmured to Ulath.

‘Very close,’ Ulath agreed. ‘That boy has a tremendous talent.’

‘Yes. He draws well, too.’

Ulath laughed shortly. Then he looked at the men clustered around Parok and drew Tynian a little further away from them.

‘Parok’s giving all the orders,’ he whispered, ‘but the Arjuni in the flamboyant doublet speaks for King Rakya.’

‘Sarabian’s going to be very put out with the King of Arjuna.’

Ulath nodded. ‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised to see a new king on the throne before long.’

‘What exactly did Parok say about Natayos? You couldn’t have mistaken his meaning, could you?’

‘Not a chance, Tynian. Just before he got into the argument with Duke Milanis, Parok said that Scarpa wanted to move his army out of Natayos before they gave Sparhawk the last note. I almost started cheering when he said that they were going to tell Sparhawk to go to Natayos for the exchange.’

‘We’ll have to be careful, though. They could be holding Ehlana someplace else. They may not take her to Natayos until the last minute.’

‘We’ll find out for sure once Xanetia goes there,’ Ulath shrugged.

The door to the book-lined room opened, and a liveried servant hurried in. ‘An important message has arrived from Natayos, Baron,’ he told Parok. ‘The messenger rode his horse half to death.’

‘Horses are cheap. Send the fellow in.’

‘I could learn to dislike that man,’ Tynian murmured.

‘I already do,’ Ulath replied. He looked up speculatively. ‘We’re sort of invisible, aren’t we?’ he asked.

‘That’s what Ghnomb says.’

‘Can you imagine the expression Parok would get on his face if he suddenly got ripped up the front with an invisible knife?’

‘Slowly,’ Tynian added. ‘Very, very slowly.’

The messenger from Natayos was a shabbily dressed Dacite, and he was reeling with exhaustion as he staggered into the room. ‘Baron,’ he gasped. ‘Thank God I found you.’

‘Speak up, man!’

‘Could I have a drink of water?’

‘Talk first. Then you can drink anything you want.’

‘Lord Scarpa ordered me to tell you that the man you’ve been watching isn’t Sparhawk.’

‘I see that Scarpa’s finally gone completely mad.’

‘No, Baron. Zalasta confirmed it. Somebody they call Klael went and had a look at this man you’ve been giving the notes to. They seemed to think you’d know who this Klael fellow is. Anyway, he sent word that the man with the broken nose looks like Sparhawk, but it’s not really him. This Klael must have some way to know for sure.’

Parok began to swear sulphurously.

‘That tears it,’ Tynian growled. ‘I’ll pass this on to Aphrael. We’d better get Berit and Khalad to safety.’

‘Did Scarpa kill Sparhawk’s wife?’ Baron Parok asked the messenger.

‘No, my Lord Baron. He was going to, but Zalasta stopped him. I’m supposed to tell you not to do anything to let the imposter know that we’re on to him. Zalasta needs some time to move the prisoners to someplace that’s safe. He wants you to continue as if nothing had happened. After he has those two women clear, he’ll get word to you that it’s all right to kill the man who’s posing as Sparhawk.’

‘Zalasta’s in full command then?’

‘Yes, Baron Parok. Lord Scarpa’s a bit—ah—distraught, I suppose you might say.’

‘You might say crazy, too. That’d be more accurate.’ Parok started to pace the floor. ‘I wondered how much it would take to push Scarpa over the edge,’ he muttered. ‘It’s probably better this way anyhow. Zalasta’s a Styric, but at least his head’s on straight. Go back and tell him that I’ve received his message and that I won’t do anything to upset his plans. Let him know that I have no real fondness for Scarpa and that I’ll be completely loyal to him.’

‘I will, my Lord Baron.’

Duke Milanis rose and crossed the room to close the window.

‘What in God’s name is that awful smell?’ he exclaimed.

Tynian turned and saw the hulking Troll standing just behind them. ‘Bhlokw,’ he said, ‘It is not good that you come into the dens of the man-things this way.’

‘I was sent by Khwaj, Tin-in,’ Bhlokw explained. ‘Khwaj grows tired of waiting. He wants to burn the wicked ones always.’

Then their dim half-moment suddenly filled with smoke, and the enormous presence of the Fire-God was there. ‘Your hunt takes too long, Ulath-from-Thalesia. Have you found any of the wicked ones yet? If you have, point out which one it is. I will make it burn forever.’

Tynian and Ulath exchanged a long look. Then Tynian grinned wolfishly. ‘Let’s,’ he said.

‘Why don’t we?’ Ulath agreed. He looked at the flickering God of Fire. ‘Our hunt has been successful, Khwaj,’ he declared. ‘We have found one of the ones who stole Anakha’s mate. You can make it burn forever now.’ He paused. ‘There are others we also hunt, though,’ he added. ‘We do not want to frighten them away so that they will be harder to hunt. Can Ghnomb put the one we have found into No-Time? You can burn it always there. When it burns in No-Time, the others of its herd will not smell the smoke or hear the crying out with hurt, and so they will not run away.’

‘Your thought is good, Ulath-from-Thalesia,’ Khwaj agreed. ‘I will talk with Ghnomb about this. He will make it so that the one who burns always burns in the time which does not move. Which one of these should I burn?’

‘That one,’ Ulath replied, pointing at Baron Parok.

Duke Milanis was turning from the window when he suddenly stopped, becoming a statue in mid-stride. Baron Parok continued his restless pacing. ‘We’re going to have to start taking extra precautions,’ he said, not yet realizing that the men around him were no longer moving. Then he turned and almost bumped into the exhausted messenger from Natayos. ‘Get out of my way, idiot!’ he snapped.

The man did not move.

‘I told you to take a message to Zalasta, ‘ Parok raged. ‘Why are you still here?’ He struck the messenger across the face and cried out in pain as his hand hit something harder than stone.

He looked around wildly. ‘What’s the matter with all of you?’ he demanded in a shrill voice.

‘What did it say?’ Khwaj’s voice was dreadful.

Parok gaped at the vast Troll-God, shrieked, and ran for the door.

‘It does not understand that it is now in No-Time,’ Ulath replied in Trollish.

‘It should know why it is being punished,’ Khwaj decided. ‘Will it understand if you talk to it in the bird-noises of the man-things?’

‘I’ll make it understand,’ Ulath promised.

‘It is good that you will. Speak to it.’

Parok was hammering futilely on the immovable door.

‘That won’t do you any good, old boy,’ Ulath urbanely advised the terrified Dacite nobleman. ‘Things have definitely taken a turn for the worse for you, Baron. This large fellow with the smoke coming out of his ears is the Troll-God Khwaj. He disapproves of your abduction of Queen Ehlana.’

‘Who are you?’ Parok half-screamed. ‘What’s going on here?’

‘You’ve been brought to the palace of punishment, Baron,” Tynian advised him. ‘As my friend here just explained, Khwaj is quite put out with you. Trolls are a very moralistic sort. Things that we’ve come to take in stride—abductions, poisonings, and holding people for ransom—upset them enormously. There is a small advantage, though. You’re going to live forever, Baron. You’ll never, ever die.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘You’ll see.’

‘Does it understand now?’ Khwaj demanded impatiently.

‘It is our thought that it does,’ Ulath replied in Trollish.

‘Good.’ Khwaj implacably advanced on the cringing Dacite, extending one vast paw. Then he clapped it down on top of Parok’s head. ‘Burn!’ he growled.

Baron Parok shrieked.

Then his face seemed to split, and incandescent fire came spurting out through his skin. His doublet smoked for an instant and then flashed into ashes. He shrieked again. His form was still the form of a man, but it was a form etched in flame. The Baron burned, unconsumed, and he danced and howled in agony. Khwaj struck the immovable door with one huge paw, and the door burst outward in flaming chunks. ‘Go!’ he roared. ‘Run. Run forever, and burn always!’

The flaming Dacite fled shrieking. The town of Arjun stood frozen in that eternal instant of perpetual now. The citizens, like statues, stood frozen stock-still, unaware of the burning wraith that ran through their silent streets. They did not hear its agonized screams. They did not see it flee toward the lake-shore.

Baron Parok, all ablaze, ran, trailing greasy smoke. He reached the docks and fled in flames out a long pier stretching into the dark waters of the Sea of Arjun. He did not pause when he reached the end of the pier, but plunged off, yearning toward the quenching water. But, like the moment itself, the surface of the lake was unyielding and as hard as diamond. The wraith of flame howled in frustration, kneeling on the glittering surface and hammering on it, pleading to be let in, begging to drown in the blessed coolness just beyond reach. Then Parok leaped to his feet, driven by the Troll-God’s awful command. Shrieking still in agony and unutterable loneliness, the man-shape of eternal flame ran out across the dark crystal surface, receding incandescent until it was no more than a single bright spark far out on the night-darkened lake. And its lost wail of pain and endless solitude came echoing back to the incurious shore.

‘I wish Sparhawk would find his way home again,’ Talen nuttered as he and Stragen once again climbed the rickety stairs to the loft. ‘We’ve got some fairly important information, and there’s no way to pass it on to the others.’

‘There’s nothing we can do about it right now,’ Stragen told him. ‘Let’s see how Valash reacts to this story you cooked up. Keep it sort of vague until we see which way he jumps.’

‘And then will you teach me how to pick a pocket?’ Talen asked with overly-feigned enthusiasm.

‘All right,’ Stragen sighed. ‘I apologize. I’ll concede that you know what you’re doing.’

‘Oh, thank you, Vymer!’ Talen gushed. ‘Thank you, thank you!’

‘You’ve been spending too much time with Princess Danae,’ Stragen muttered sourly. ‘I hope she does marry you. You deserve it.’

‘Bite your tongue, Stragen. I can still run faster than she can.’

‘Running doesn’t always help, Reldin. I thought I could run, too, but Melidere cut my legs out from under me with a single word.’

‘Oh? Which word was that?’

‘Profit, my young friend. She waved unlimited amounts of gold in front of my face.’

‘You sold out, Stragen,’ Talen accused. ‘You betrayed every bachelor in the world for money.’

‘Wouldn’t you have? We’re not talking about a few farthings here.’

‘It’s the principle of the thing,’ Talen replied loftily. ‘I wouldn’t sell out for money.’

‘I don’t think it’ll be money that Danae’s going to offer you, my innocent young friend. If you start running right now, you might escape, but I sort of doubt it. I knew your father, and there’s a certain weakness in your family. Danae’s going to get you, Talen. You don’t have a chance.’

‘Could we talk about something else? This is a very distressing sort of subject.’

Stragen laughed, and they went through the patched door at the top of the stairs. Valash sat in the faint light of his single candle listening with a look of pained resignation on his face as Ogerajin babbled and drooled a long, strung-out series of disconnected phrases.

‘He doesn’t seem to be getting any better,’ Stragen observed quietly when he and Talon joined the two at the table.

‘He won’t get better, Vymer,’ Valash sighed. ‘I’ve seen this particular disease run its course before. Don’t get too close to him. He’s virulently infectious at this stage.’

‘I certainly wouldn’t want to catch what he’s got,’ Talen shuddered.

‘Do you have something for me?’ Valash asked.

‘I’m not going to swear to this, Master Valash,’ Talen said cautiously. ‘The fellows I picked it up from weren’t any too reliable. You might want to pass it on to Panem-Doa, though. It concerns them rather directly, so they might want to take a few extra precautions.’

‘Go on,’ Valash said.

‘Well, I overheard a couple of Arjuni soldiers talking in a tavern down by the waterfront—real Arjuni soldiers, I mean, not the ones Lord Scarpa’s recruited. They were talking about some orders that just came in from the capital at Arjuna. From what I was able to gather, they’ve been ordered to prepare for an extended campaign out in the jungle. They think they’re going to be mounting an attack on Lord Scarpa’s camp at Panem-Doa.’

‘Impossible!’ Valash snorted.

‘They were saying that the orders came from King Rakya himself. The message had been sent to their officers, of course, so they probably garbled it, but they’re absolutely convinced that the Arjuni army’s going to attack Scarpa’s forces. I just thought you ought to know.’

‘Those soldiers were drunk, Reldin. King Rakya is our ally.’

‘Really? What an amazing thing. He ought to let his troops know about it, then. The two I was listening to were positively drooling about all the loot they thought they were going to carry out of Panem-Doa.’

‘The queen is coming to Panem-Doa,’ Ogerajin suddenly sang in a wheezy voice to the tune of an old nursery song, ‘the queen is coming to Panem-Doa.’ Then he began to cackle in a highpitched laugh.

A look of sudden chagrin crossed Valash’s face. ‘Calm yourself, Master Ogerajin,’ He said, giving Stragen and Talen a worried look.

‘The queen is coming to Panem-Doe riding in a carriage,’ Ogerajin sang in his cracked voice.

‘Don’t pay any attention to him,’ Valash said rather too quickly. ‘He’s only babbling.’

‘His mind really is slipping, isn’t it?’ Stragen noted.

‘Six white horses and silver wheels—’ Ogerajin sang on.

‘Have you ever heard such gibberish?’ Valash asked with a weak laugh.

‘Our presence must be disturbing him,’ Stragen said. ‘Does he generally drift off to sleep later in the evening?’

‘Usually.’

‘Good. From now on, Reldin and I’ll come by after midnight when he’s asleep.’

‘I’d appreciate it, Vymer.’ Valash looked at them, his face still worried. ‘He wasn’t always like this, you know. It’s the disease.’

‘I’m sure of it. He’s probably not even aware of what he’s saying.’

‘Exactly, exactly. He’s completely out of his head. Why don’t you two just forget his crazy singing?’ Valash snatched his purse from his belt and dug out several coins. ‘Here. Come by again after he’s gone to sleep.’

The two thieves bowed and quietly left.

‘Nervous, wasn’t he?’ Talen said as they went back down the stairs.

‘You noticed. He even forgot himself and opened his purse.’

They reached the bottom of the stairs. ‘Where to!’ Talen asked.

‘No place for the moment. Keep this to yourself, Talen.’

‘Keep what?’

But Stragen was already speaking in sonorous Styric, weaving his fingers intricately in the air in front of him. Talen stared as Stragen opened his hands palm up and made a sort of tossing gesture rather like a man releasing a pigeon. His eyes became distant, and his lips moved silently for a time Then he smiled. ‘Surprised her,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’

‘What’s going on here?’ Talen demanded.

‘I passed the things we just discovered along to Aphrael,’ Stragen shrugged.

‘When did you learn Styric magic?’

‘It’s not really all that difficult, Talen,’ Stragen grinned. ‘I’ve seen Sparhawk do it often enough, and I do speak Styric, after all. The gestures were a little tricky, but Aphrael gave me some instructions. I’ll do it better next time.’

‘How did you know it would work?’

‘I didn’t. I thought it was time I gave it a try, though. Aphrael’s very pleased with me.’

‘You do know that you just volunteered to serve her, don’t you? I know that much about her. You’re her slave now, Stragen. She’s got you.’

‘Oh, well.’ Stragen shrugged. ‘I suppose a man could do worse. Aphrael’s a thief herself, so I’m sure we’ll get along.’ He squared his shoulders. ‘Shall we go?’ he suggested.

18

‘You’re absolutely certain?’ Sparhawk eagerly asked the Child Goddess.

‘Kalten is,’ she replied. ‘He was walking past the building, and Alcan started to sing. He’d recognize her voice, wouldn’t he?’

Sparhawk nodded. ‘She could raise him from the dead by singing to him. How fast can you get me to Natayos?’

‘Let’s take the others to Dirgis first. I want to fill Xanetia and Sephrenia in on what’s been happening.’

‘I already know about all that. I need to get to Natayos, Aphrael.’

‘All in good time, Sparhawk. It’s not going to take us all that long to get to Dirgis, and the others might have some useful ideas.’

‘Aphrael—’ he began to protest.

‘We’ll do it my way, Sparhawk,’ she told him firmly. ‘It won’t hike all that long, and it might give you enough time to get your temper under control. The others are waiting in the room with the map on the wall. Let’s get them and go to Dirgis.’

There was one brief argument before they started. ‘I have no need of a horse,’ Betuana insisted, tightening the lace on one of her half-boots.

Aphrael sighed. ‘Please do it my way, Betuana,’ she said.

‘I can run faster than a horse. Why burden myself with—’

‘Because you know how far it is from here to Dirgis, and the horse doesn’t. It’s easier for me that way. Please, Betuana, just for me.’ The Child Goddess looked appealingly at the armored Atan Queen. Betuana laughed and gave in.

And so they went out into the snowy courtyard, mounted, and rode on out into the streets of Sama. The sky was heavy with clouds that obscured the surrounding mountains, and it was spitting snow. They left town by way of the east gate and slogged their way up the steep slope to the top of the gorge.

Sparhawk, Itagne, and Vanion rode in the lead, breaking trail for the Queen of Atan, who rode wrapped in her heavy cloak and with the Child Goddess nestled in her arms. There was a strange dichotomy in the personality of the little divinity that troubled Sparhawk. He knew that she was wise beyond his ability to comprehend it, and yet she was still in most ways a little girl. Then he remembered the naked reality of the true Goddess, and all hope of ever understanding her vanished.

‘Can’t we go any faster?’ Vanion demanded.

Sparhawk’s friend had been in an agony of impatience ever since he had learned of the attack on Sephrenia, and Sparhawk had at times feared that he might have to physically restrain him. ‘Fast or slow doesn’t matter, Vanion,’ he said. ‘We can run or crawl, and we’ll still get there at just about the same time.’

‘How can you be so calm?’

‘You get numb after awhile,’ Sparhawk laughed wryly.

It was perhaps a quarter of an hour later when they crested the top of that long hill and looked down at the town of Dirgis where the sun was shining brightly.

‘That’s incredible.’ Itagne exclaimed. Then he turned to look back down the trail they had just climbed, and his eyes suddenly went very wide.

‘I asked you not to do that, Itagne,’ Aphrael reminded him.

‘It’s still snowing there,’ he choked, ‘but—’ He stared at the sun-drenched snow-field just ahead again.

‘Why do people always want to stop right there?’ the little girl said irritably. ‘Just move along, Itagne. Once you’ve passed the crossover between the two places, it won’t bother you any more.’

Itagne resolutely set his face forward and rode on into the bright sunlight. ‘Did you understand that, Sparhawk?’ he asked in a strained voice.

‘Sort of. Do you really want to hear about what happens to you when you step through the place where two hundred miles have just been abolished?’

Itagne shuddered.

They rode on down the hill and entered the city.

‘How much further?’ Vanion demanded.

‘Just a little ways,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘It’s not all that big a town.’

They rode through the narrow streets where the snow lay thickly piled against the sides of the buildings. They reached the inn, rode into the courtyard just behind it, and dismounted.

‘Everything’s been fixed now, Betuana,’ Aphrael was assuring the Atan Queen. ‘I’m keeping him in a deep sleep so that everything has a chance to knit back together again.’

‘Who’s watching over him? Perhaps I should go there.’

‘No, Betuana,’ Aphrael said firmly. ‘I don’t have permission to take you there—yet.’

‘But he’s alone.’

‘Of course he’s not alone. I’m right there beside him.’

‘But—’ Betuana stared at the little girl.

‘Try not to think about it.’ The Child Goddess pursed her lips thoughtfully. ‘Engessa-Atan’s a deceptive man, you know—probably because he’s so quiet. I didn’t realize how remarkable he really is until I got into his mind.’

‘I have always known,’ Betuana said. ‘How long will it be necessary to keep him away from me—us?’

Aphrael let the Queen’s slip pass without comment. ‘A few weeks. I want to be sure that everything’s healed. Let’s go on inside before Vanion has apoplexy.’

Sparhawk led them into the inn, where the innkeeper seemed to be so engrossed in wiping off a table that he was totally oblivious to anything else. They went up the stairs, and Sparhawk was startled to see Mirtai standing guard at Sephrenia’s door. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked her. ‘I thought you were back in Matherion.’

‘I’ve been lent out,’ she replied, ‘like an old cloak.’

‘You know that’s not true, Mirtai,’ Aphrael said. ‘Danae’s perfectly safe where she is, but I needed someone I could count on to guard Sephrenia. Let’s go inside.’

Sephrenia was sitting up in bed when they entered, and Xanetia was hovering protectively over her. The room was filled with sunlight. Vanion went directly to the woman he loved, knelt at her bedside, and gently put his arms around her. ‘I’m never going to let you out of my sight again,’ he told her in a thick voice. Sephrenia took his face between her hands and kissed him. ‘You’ll hurt yourself.’

‘Hush Vanion,’ she told him, embracing his head and holding his face fiercely against her body.

Aphrael’s huge eyes were luminous with tears. Then she seemed to shake off the sudden emotion. ‘Let’s get started,’ she said crisply. ‘A great deal has happened since the last time we were all together like this.’

‘And all of it bad,’ Itagne added in a gloomy voice.

‘Not entirely,’ she said. ‘The worst of it is that Klael ambushed the Church Knights in the mountains of Zemoch. He had those strange soldiers with him, and our friends lost almost half their number in killed and wounded.’

‘Good God.’ Itagne groaned.

Since Sparhawk already knew the details of recent events, he decided to clear up the mystery of Klael’s soldiers once and for all. He touched his fingertips to the bulge under his tunic. ‘Blue Rose,’ he said in the silence of his mind.

‘I hear thee, Anakha.’

‘Our friends have encountered Klael again. He hath brought warriors here from some other place.’

‘It was not unexpected. Klael is unsuited to direct engagement with humans by reason of his size.’

‘We are like mice in his eyes?’ Sparhawk surmised.

‘Thou dost wrong thyself, Anakha.’

‘Perhaps. These soldiers are not of this world, methinks. Their blood is yellow and their faces are much like Klael’s face.’

‘Ah,’ the voice said. ‘Thou wilt recall that I once told thee that it is customary for Klael and me to contest with each other for possession of the various worlds I have caused to be?’

‘Yes.’

‘It pains me to admit this, Anakha, but I have not always prevailed in these contests. Klael hath wrested some of my worlds from me. It is from one of those worlds—Arcera would be my surmise—that he hath brought these creatures which thou and thy companions have met.’

‘They are fearsome, Blue Rose, but not invincible. We have noted some evidence of distress in them during prolonged sojourns here.’

‘I would be surprised hadst thou not. The air of Arcera would sear thy lungs shouldst thou take but one breath of it. The air of this world is so sweet and wholesome that it may be most simply assimilated by thy kind and other creatures here. The creatures of Arcera are not so fortunate. Their means of assimilating the noxious miasmas of their home are far more complex than thy simple means of suspiration. Moreover, that which would be lethal to thee hath become necessary for them. I am certain that they find thine air thin and unsatisfying by comparison.’

‘And deadly?’ Sparhawk pressed.

‘In time, most certainly.’

‘Wouldst thou venture a surmise as to how much time it might take our air to kill them?’

‘Thou art savage, Anakha.’

‘I am outnumbered, Blue Rose. The warriors of Klael put our cause in direst peril. We must know how long they can survive here.’

‘That will vary from warrior to warrior. No more than a day, certainly, and exertion will hasten the process.’

‘I thank thee, Blue Rose. My companions and I will devise tactics to use this information to best advantage.’

‘Pay attention, Sparhawk,’ Aphrael told him.

‘Sorry,’ he apologized. ‘I was conferring with our friend.’ He patted the bulge at his front. He looked at Vanion. ‘I picked up some more information about the weakness of Klael’s soldiers,’ he said. ‘You and I need to work out some tactics.’

Vanion nodded.

‘Are you sure Berit and Khalad are all right?’ Sephrenia asked the little girl.

Aphrael nodded. ‘Zalasta doesn’t want us to know that he’s found out that we were deceiving him. He’s given orders to everyone to behave as if nothing’s happened.’ She thought a moment. ‘I guess that’s about all,’ she said. ‘Bergsten’s coming across the steppes, Kalten, Bevier, and Caalador are already in Natayos, and Ulath, Tynian and their pet Troll will be there before long.’

‘Can you get word to the Emperor?’ Itagne asked her. ‘He should know that the King of Arjuna’s in league with Scarpa.’

‘I’ll take care of it,’ she promised. Then she frowned slightly ‘Sephrenia,’ she said, ‘have you been giving Stragen instruction in the secrets?’

‘No, why?’

‘He cast the spell of the secret summoning. He didn’t do it very well, but he got my attention.’

‘How in God’s name did he learn that?’ Vanion exclaimed, still holding Sephrenia in his arms.

‘Probably from watching the rest of you. Stragen’s very quick, and he does speak Styric. Stealing secrets is almost the same as picking pockets, I guess. Anyway, it was Stragen who told me about Scarpa’s other forts. He and Talen are planting false stories with that Dacite in order to confuse the other side.’

‘Methinks it is time for me to go to Natayos,’ Xanetia said.

‘We must verify the presence there of Anakha’s Queen and make preparations for her rescue.’

‘Before Zalasta tries to move her,’ Sparhawk added. ‘I’d better go along as well. The others are there already, and Kalten might need a firm hand to keep him from doing anything rash. Besides, if Ehlana and Alcan are there, we might just as well pull them out of danger. Then I’ll disperse Scarpa’s army and we’ll go have a talk with Cyrgon.’

‘And Zalasta,’ Vanion added bleakly.

‘Oh, by the way,’ Aphrael said, ‘Is anybody keeping a list of the people we want to do things about? If you are, you can scratch off Baron Parok’s name.’

‘Did Ulath kill him?’ Sparhawk guessed.

‘He isn’t dead, Sparhawk. As a matter of fact, he’s going to live forever. You’ll never find him, though. Khwaj was getting impatient, and he started pushing Ulath and Tynian for information about the people who’d abducted Ehlana. They gave him Parok.’

‘What happened?’ Itagne asked.

‘Ghnomb froze time.’ She shrugged. ‘Then Khwaj set fire to Parok. He’s completely engulfed in flame. He’s still running, and he’ll run—and burn—in that empty, unmoving instant for all eternity.’

‘Dear God!’ Itagne choked in horror.

‘I’ll pass that on to Khwaj, Itagne,’ the Child Goddess promised. ‘I’m sure he’ll be pleased that you approve.’

It was cool and dry and the sky was peculiarly grey. Tynian and Ulath rode out of Arjun in frozen time with Bhlokw shambling between their horses.

‘How long would you say it’s going to take us to reach Natayos?’ Tynian asked.

‘I don’t know—couple of seconds, Ulath replied.

‘Very funny.’

‘I rather liked it.’ Ulath looked up at the flock of birds hanging in mid-air overhead. ‘I wonder if a man ages at all when he’s walking around in this No-Time.’

‘I don’t know. You could go ask Baron Parok, I suppose.’

‘I doubt that he’d be very coherent.’ Ulath scratched at one bearded cheek. ‘I’m definitely going to shave this thing off, and if Gerda doesn’t like it, that’s just too bad.’ Then he thought of something he had been meaning to ask their shaggy friend.

‘Bhlokw,’ he said.

‘Yes, U-lat?’

‘It makes us sad that our hunt takes us to the lands of the sun where the heat causes hurt to you.’

‘It causes no hurt to me, U-lat. There is no heat or cold in No-Time.’

Ulath stared at him. ‘You are sure?’ he asked incredulously.

‘Do you feel heat?’ Bhlokw asked simply.

‘No,’ Ulath admitted, ‘I do not. It had been my thought—’ He broke off, frowning and trying to frame his next question in coherent Trollish. ‘We were far to the north when you and your pack-mates ate the children of Cyrgon who were both dead and not dead.’

‘Yes. It was north from where we are now.’

‘Then Ghnomb took you and your pack-mates into No-Time.’

‘Yes.’

‘Then Ghworg led you to the land of the sun.’

‘Yes.’

‘There was no hurt caused to you when he did this?’

‘No. The hurt was caused by the things that were not how they should be.’

‘Which things were not how they should be?’

‘All of the Trolls were one pack. This is not how it should be. Troll-packs do not have so many. It is not a good way to hunt.’ Bloque rubbed at his shaggy fare with one massive paw. ‘We did not hunt this way when we were in the Troll-range where we are supposed to be. My thought was that Ghworg’s mind was sick when he came to us and told us to cross the ice-which-never-melts to come to this place. It was not Ghworg who did this. It was Cyrgon. Cyrgon had made himself to look like Ghworg and spoke in Ghworg’s voice. It was my mind which was sick. My thought should have told me that it was not Ghworg.’

‘Does it cause hurt to you that the Trolls are all one pack?’

‘Much hurt, U-lat. I do not like it when things are not how they should be. I have known Grek for many snows. His pack hunts near my pack in the Troll-range. I do not like Grek. It has been in my thought for the past two snows to kill him. Ghworg will not let me kill him. This causes hurt to me.’

‘It will not be this way always, Bhlokw,’ Ulath said consolingly. ‘After we have killed all of Cyrgon’s children, the Gods will take the Trolls back to the Troll-range. Then things will be how they should be again.’

‘It will make me glad when they are. I would really like to kill Grek.’ Bhlokw shambled away mournfully.

‘What was that all about?’ Tynian asked.

‘I’m not sure,’ Ulath admitted. ‘I’m groping around the edges of something here. I know it’s right in front of me, but I can’t put my finger on it.’

‘For the moment, let’s just hope that the Troll-Gods can control the homicidal impulses of their children,’ Tynian said fervently.

‘Trollicidal,’ Ulath corrected.

‘What?’

‘You said “homicidal”. Bhlokw wants to kill Grek. Grek’s a Troll. The right word would be “Trollicidal”.’

‘That’s petty quibbling, Ulath.’

‘Right is right, Tynian,’ Ulath replied in a faintly injured tone.

It was still quite early the next morning when Aphrael returned from Sama. The sky to the east was lit with the pale approach of day, even though the moon still held sway above the western horizon. Sparhawk and Xanetia had been waiting for no more than half an hour when they heard the familiar trill of Flute’s pipes coming from back in the dark forest.

‘That was quick,’ Sparhawk said as the Child Goddess joined them.

‘It’s not as if Sama were on the other side of the continent, Sparhawk,’ she replied. ‘I got them all settled in.’ She smiled. ‘Vanion’s being a pest. He was trying to make Sephrenia go to bed when I left.’

‘She has been very ill, Aphrael,’ he reminded her.

‘But she isn’t now. She needs to be up and moving about. Turn your backs.’

Xanetia looked puzzled.

‘It’s one of her quirks,’ Sparhawk explained. ‘She doesn’t want people watching while she changes.’ He looked at the Child Goddess. ‘Don’t forget the clothes this time, Aphrael,’ he told her. ‘Let’s not offend the Anarae.’

‘You’re so tiresome about that, Sparhawk. Now please turn around.’

It only took a few moments. ‘All right,’ Aphrael said. They turned. Sparhawk noted the Goddess was once again garbed in that satiny white robe.

‘Thou art fair beyond description, Divine One,’ Xanetia said.

Aphrael shrugged. ‘I cheat a lot. Do you trust me, Anarae?’

‘With my life, Divine Aphrael.’

‘I hope you’re taking notes, Sparhawk.’

‘Have you arranged for some noise to hide what you’re doing from Zalasta?’

‘I don’t have to. Xanetia’s coming along, and her presence will conceal everything.’

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

‘Now then, Anarae,’ Aphrael explained, ‘we’re all going to hold hands. Then we’ll rise up into the air. It’s really better if you don’t look down. As soon as we get above the tops of these mountains, we’ll start moving. You won’t feel any wind or sense of movement. Just hold onto my hand and try to think of something else. It won’t take very long.’ She squinted toward the eastern horizon. ‘We’d better get started. I’d like to get us to Natayos and into a good hiding place before Scarpa’s soldiers start stirring around.’

She held out her hands, and Sparhawk and Xanetia took them. Sparhawk steeled himself and watched the ground rapidly receding as they rose swiftly toward the dawn sky.

‘You’re squeezing, Sparhawk,’ Aphrael told him.

He looked at Xanetia. ‘Sorry. I’m still not entirely used to this.”

The Anarae, all aglow, was a picture of absolute serenity as they rose higher and higher. ‘The world is fair,’ she said softly with a note of wonder in her voice.

‘If you get high so that you can’t see the ugliness.’ Aphrael smiled. ‘I come up here to think now and then. It’s one place where I can be fairly sure I won’t be interrupted.’ She took a bearing on the newly risen sun, which had seemed almost to rush up into the sky as they rose, set her face resolutely toward the southeast and gave a peculiar little nod. The earth beneath began to flow smoothly, rushing toward them from the front and receding just as rapidly behind.

‘It seemeth me a merry way to travel,’ Xanetia observed.

‘I’ve always rather liked it,’ Aphrael agreed. ‘It’s certainly faster than plodding along on horseback.’

They fled southeasterly with an eerie kind of silence around them. ‘The Sea of Arjun,’ Sparhawk said, pointing toward a large body of water off to the right.

‘So small?’ Xanetia said. ‘I had thought it larger.’

‘We’re up quite a ways,’ Aphrael explained. ‘Everything looks small from a distance.’

They sped on and were soon over the dense green jungle that covered the southeastern coast of the continent.

‘We’ll go down a bit now,’ Aphrael warned. ‘I’ll take a bearing on Delo, and then we’ll swerve toward the southwest to reach Natayos.’

‘Will we not be seen from the ground?’ Xanetia asked.

‘No—although it’s an interesting idea. Your light would definitely startle people. Whole new religions could be born if people on the ground started seeing angels flying over their heads. There’s Delo.’

The port city looked like a child’s toy carelessly left on the shore of the deep blue Tamul Sea. They veered to the southwest, following the coastline and gradually descending. Aphrael was peering intently down at the jungle rushing back beneath them. ‘There,’ she said triumphantly.

The ruin might have been more difficult to find had not the northern quarter been cleared of the brush and trees which covered the rest of the ancient city. The tumbled grey stones of the half-fallen buildings stood out sharply in the light of the sunrise, and the newly cleared road stretching toward the north was a yellow scar cut deeply into the face of the dark green of the jungle.

They settled gently to earth on the road about a quarter of a mile north of the ruins, and Sparhawk immediately led them back a hundred paces into the thick undergrowth. He was tense with excitement. If Kalten was right, he was less than a mile from the place where Ehlana was being held captive.

‘Go ahead, Xanetia,’ Aphrael suggested. ‘I want to look you over before you go into the city. This is important, but I don’t want to put you in any danger. Let’s be sure nobody can see you.’

‘Thou art overly concerned, Divine One. Over the centuries, we of the Delphae have perfected this particular subterfuge.’

She straightened, and her face assumed an expression of almost unnatural calm. Her form seemed to shimmer, and little rainbow flickers of light seethed beneath her plain homespun robe. She blurred and wavered, her form becoming indistinct. Then she was only an outline, and Sparhawk could clearly see the trunk of the tree behind her.

‘How do you make the things on the other side of you visible?’ Aphrael asked curiously.

‘We bend the light, Divine One. That is at the core of this deception. The light flows around us like a swift-moving stream, carrying with it the images of such objects as our bodies would normally obscure.’

‘Very interesting,’ Aphrael mused. ‘I hadn’t even thought of that possibility.’

‘We must be wary, however,’ Xanetia told the Goddess. ‘Our shadows, like telltale ghosts, can betray us.’

‘That’s simple. Stay out of the sunlight.’

Sparhawk concealed a faint smile. Even a Goddess could give blatantly obvious instructions sometimes.

‘I shall most carefully adhere to thine advice, Divine One,’ Xanetia replied with an absolutely straight face.

‘You’re making fun of me, aren’t you, Xanetia?’

‘Of course not, Divine Aphrael.’ Even the outline was gone now, and Xanetia’s voice seemed to come out of nowhere. ‘To work, withal,’ she said, her sourceless voice receding in the direction of the road. ‘I shall return anon.’

‘I’ll have to compliment Edaemus,’ Aphrael said. ‘That’s a very clever means of concealment. Turn around, Sparhawk. I’m going to change back.’

After the Child Goddess had resumed the familiar form of Flute, she and Sparhawk made themselves comfortable and waited as the sun gradually rose. The jungle steamed, and the air was alive with the chattering of birds and the buzzing of insects. The moments seemed to drag. They were so close to Ehlana that Sparhawk almost imagined that he could smell her familiar fragrance.

‘Are Ulath and Tynian here yet?’ he asked, more to get his mind away from his anxious concern than out of any real curiosity.

‘Probably,’ Flute replied. ‘They set out from Arjun yesterday morning. It might have seemed like three weeks to them, but it was no more than a heartbeat for everybody else.’

‘I wonder if they stayed in No-Time or just merged into Scarpa’s army.’

‘It’s hard to say. Maybe I should have checked before Xanetia left.’ Then they heard several men talking on the road. Sparhawk crept closer, with Aphrael just behind him.

‘Because I don’t trust these soldiers, Col,’ a rough-looking fellow was saying to a blond Elene.

‘It’s daytime, Senga. Nobody’s going to ambush your beer wagons in broad daylight.’

‘You can’t be too careful. Money’s running short here in Natayos, and that beer’s the life-blood of my business. A thirsty man who’s running short of money might do anything.’

‘Have you considered lowering your prices?’ an evil-looking fellow with a black eye-patch asked.

‘Bite your tongue, Shallag,’ Senga replied.

‘Just a suggestion,’ the patch-eyed man shrugged.

The dozen or so heavily armed men moved on out of earshot.

‘You recognized them, of course,’ Aphrael murmured to Sparhawk.

‘Kalten and Bevier, yes. I didn’t see Caalador, though.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Will you be all right here? Alone, I mean?’

‘Well, it’s awfully dangerous, Sparhawk—lions and tigers and bears, you know.’

‘It was a silly question, wasn’t it?’

‘I’d say so, yes. What have you got in mind?’

‘Kalten and Bevier are obviously working for that fellow they called Senga. I think I can get them to vouch for me. They seem to have the run of Natayos, so hiring on as a beer-guard would give me a way to get into the city without attracting attention.’

‘Will you be able to restrain yourself when you’re that close to Mother?’

‘I’m not going to do anything foolish, Aphrael.’

‘Well, I suppose it’s all right. You have my permission.’

‘Oh, thank you, Divine Aphrael,’ he said. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you.’

‘You have a very clever mouth, Sparhawk,’ she said tartly.

‘It’s probably the clever company I’ve been keeping lately,’ he shrugged.

‘I have to run back to Sama for a little while,’ Aphrael told him. ‘Try to stay out of trouble when you get into the city.’

‘I’ll miss you desperately.’ He grinned.

‘You’re in an odd humor today.’

‘I feel good. If all goes well, I’ll have your mother out of there before the sun goes down.’

‘We’ll see.’

They waited as the sun crept further up in the eastern sky. Then from off to the north they heard the approach of several heavily laden wagons. ‘I’ll keep you posted,’ Sparhawk promised, and he stepped out of the bushes to stand at the side of the muddy road.

The first wagon, drawn by four patient oxen, came creaking around a bend. The wagon-bed was piled high with barrels, and the one known as Senga sat on the seat beside the villainous-looking driver. Kalten, his expression oddly familiar on his altered face, was perched on top of the barrels.

‘Nor Col,’ Sparhawk called from the roadside. ‘I thought I recognized your voice when you passed here a little while ago.’

‘Well, strike me blind if it isn’t From!’ Kalten exclaimed with a broad grin. Sparhawk suddenly wondered what might have happened if Kalten hadn’t recognized him. Kalten was laughing now with genuine delight. ‘We all thought you’d run away to sea when things came apart on us back in Matherion.’

‘It didn’t work out,’ Sparhawk shrugged. ‘There was a bo’sun on board who was a little too free with his whip. He decided to swim for shore one dark night. I can’t imagine what came over him. We were twenty leagues out to sea when I helped him over the side.’

‘People do strange things sometimes. What are you doing here?’

‘I heard about this army, and I thought it might be a good place to hide. Word’s going about that this Scarpa fellow plans to attack Matherion. I’ve got a few old scores to settle there, so I decided to tag along for fun and profit.’

‘I think we can find a better spot for you than back in the rear ranks of Scarpa’s army.’ Kalten nudged Senga’s shoulder with his foot. ‘The fellow standing ankle-deep in the mud there is an old friend of ours from Matherion,’ he told the tavern-keeper. ‘His name’s From, and he’s a very good man in a fight. When the police jumped on us back in Matherion, he stood shoulder to shoulder with Shallag, holding them off while the rest of us got away. Do you think there might be a spot for him in your operation here in Natayos?’

‘Do you vouch for him, Col?’ Senga asked.

‘I couldn’t ask for better help if trouble crops up.’

‘You’re in charge of security,’ Senga shrugged. ‘Hire anybody you want.’

‘I was hoping you’d see it that way.’ Kalten beckoned to Sparhawk. ‘Climb on up, From,’ he said. ‘I’ll show you the wonders of Natayos.’

‘From the top of a beer wagon?’

‘Can you think of a better place?’

19

Kring arrived in Sama late in the afternoon of the same day in which Aphrael had transported Sephrenia and the others there from Dirgis. Mirtai calmly went down into the courtyard of the Atan garrison to meet her bandy-legged betrothed. The two of them embraced rather formally and then came into the building.

‘She seems very restrained,’ Vanion observed quietly to Betuana as the two watched from the window of the conference room.

‘It is not seemly to openly display affection in public, Vanion-Preceptor,’ the Queen replied. ‘Decorum must be maintained, even though the heart might prefer it otherwise.’

‘Ahho, friend Vanion!’ Kring said as he and his tall beloved entered. ‘You’re just the man I was looking for.’

‘It’s good to see you, too, friend Kring. How are things going in Samar?’

‘It’s quiet. The Cynesgans have pulled back from the border. Is there something going on to the south that I haven’t been told about?’

‘Not that I know of. Why do you ask?’

‘The Cynesgans were massing just across the border, and we were expecting them to come across to lay siege to Samar almost any time. Then several days ago they pulled back and left only a few units in place. The rest of their army marched south.’

‘Why would they do that?’ Vanion asked, frowning.

‘Probably to meet the Church Knights,’ Aphrael replied.

Vanion turned to see the Child Goddess calmly sitting in her usual place on Sephrenia’s lap. She had not been there a moment before. There was no point to making an issue of it. Aphrael would never change. ‘The Church Knights aren’t coming from that direction, Divine One,’ he said.

‘We know that, Vanion,’ she replied, ‘but Stragen and Talen have been busy in Beresa. They’ve managed to convince the Dacite spy that there’s a huge fleet of ships flying Church flags knocking about in the Gulf of Daconia. Evidently the Dacite passed the word on, and the Cynesgan High Command took it seriously enough to send their main force south to defend southern Cynesga.’

‘But they know that the Church Knights are coming overland through Astel.’

‘They know about that force, Lord Vanion,’ Itagne said, ‘but they must have been convinced that there’s another coming by sea.’

‘There aren’t that many of us, Itagne.’

‘You and I know that, Lord Vanion, but it’s generally believed here in Tamuli that there are at least a million of you fellows. The term “Church Knights” conjures up visions of armies stretching from horizon to horizon.’

Vanion frowned. ‘Oh,’ he said finally. ‘I think I understand. During the Zemoch wars, we joined forces with the armies of the kings of Eosia. The Tamul observers must have thought that everyone in armor was a Church Knight.’

‘I think I’ll have a talk with the Emperor,’ Itagne mused. ‘Titles of nobility might be in order for your pair of thieves. This imaginary fleet of theirs seems to have pulled half the Cynesgan army off the border and most likely pinned down the Arjunis as well.’

‘It’s a great little fleet,’ Vanion grinned, ‘and you don’t even have to feed the sailors. Let’s keep the stories alive.’ He looked at Aphrael. ‘Could you arrange some illusions, Divine One?’

‘Dragons? Flights of angels?’

‘How about a thousand ships hull-down on the horizon instead?’

‘What do I get in return?’

‘Stop teasing,’ Sephrenia told her with a gentle smile.

‘Where would you like your make-believe boats, Vanion?’

He thought about it. ‘Why don’t you just bounce them up and down the coastline of Daconia and western Arjuna?’ he suggested. ‘Let’s run the Cynesgans and Arjunis ragged trying to position themselves to defend against landings.’

‘I’ll go take care of it right now,’ she said, slipping down from her sister’s lap, ‘before I forget.’

‘When did you ever forget anything?’ Sephrenia smiled.

‘I don’t know. I must have at some time, though. I’ve probably forgotten exactly when.’ She gave them all an impish little smile, and then she vanished.

Kring was sitting at Mirtai’s side, and he had been squinting speculatively at the ceiling, absently running one hand over his stubbled scalp. He was not free to use the other, since Mirtai had taken possession of it. Her contented, almost placid, expression clearly said that she did not intend to release his hand in the foreseeable future.

‘If Divine Aphrael can keep those Cynesgan troops more or less permanently distracted, Tikume and I’ll be able to hold Samar without any help,’ the Domi said, ‘particularly now that we know how to deal with Klael’s soldiers.’ He rubbed even more briskly at his scalp.

‘Quit worrying at it,’ Mirtai told him. ‘I’ll shave you just as soon as we finish here.’

‘Yes, love,’ he agreed immediately.

‘Oh, that reminds me,’ Vanion said. ‘Sparhawk had a talk with Bhelliom. Klael’s soldiers can only breathe our air for about a day.’ Kring nodded.

A tall Atan came in and murmured something to Itagne.

‘I’m really awfully busy right now, old boy,’ Itagne objected.

‘He’s most insistent, Itagne-Ambassador.’

‘Oh, very well.’ Itagne rose to his feet. ‘I’ll be right back, Lord Vanion,’ he said and followed the Atan from the room.

‘Did Sparhawk find out what country Klael’s soldiers come from, friend Vanion?’ Kring asked. ‘I’d sort of like to avoid that country.”

‘I don’t think you need to worry, Domi Kring.’ Sephrenia said. ‘Klael’s soldiers were brought here from someplace beyond the stars.’

Kring frowned. ‘You might want to have a talk with Sparhawk, friend Vanion,’ he said. ‘I enjoy a good fight as much as the next man, but if he’s going to declare war on the whole universe, he ought to let the rest of us in on his plans.’

‘I’ll definitely speak with him about it, Domi Kring,’ Vanion said. Then he sighed. ‘I wish we’d known more about Klael’s soldiers earlier. The Church Knights encountered them in the mountains of Zemoch and lost half their number in killed and wounded.’

‘I’m sorry, friend Vanion. Did you lose many old comrades?’

‘Many, Domi Kring,’ Vanion replied sadly, ‘many.’

‘How’s friend Engessa coming along?’ Kring asked Betuana.

‘Aphrael says that he’s recovering, Domi,’ she replied. ‘I’d like to see that for myself, though.’

Itagne returned, accompanied by a Tamul wearing slightly out-of-date clothing. ‘Would you please see to it that we’re not disturbed?’ he said to the Atan guard in the hall. Then he closed and bolted the door. ‘I have some good news for a change,’ he said then. He put his hand on the stranger’s shoulder. ‘This is my very dear—though new-found friend, Ekrasios,’ he said.

Betuana frowned. ‘That is not a Tamul name,’ she said.

‘No, your Majesty,’ Itagne agreed, ‘It’s not. Actually, it’s Delphaeic. The Delphae are such a musical people. It probably derives from the fact that they still speak classical Tamul. My friend here just stopped by to advise us that the Delphae have decided to come out of their splendid seclusion. Ekrasios, this is Preceptor Vanion, the close friend of Anakha. The regal lady is Betuana, Queen of the Atans. The short fellow is Domi Kring of the western Peloi. The tall, pretty girl with the death-grip on his hand is Mirtai, his betrothed, and the exquisite Styric lady is Sephrenia, High Priestess of the Goddess Aphrael.’

‘Nobles all,’ Ekrasios greeted them with a formal bow. ‘I bring greetings from Beloved Edaemus. Divine Aphrael hath persuaded him that we have common cause in the current situation, and he hath thus relaxed his centuries-old prohibition upon us. I am sent to thee, Lord Vanion, to advise thee that I and diverse companions are at thine immediate disposal. Where might we best be deployed to further our cause?’

‘If I may, Lord Vanion?’ Itagne interposed. ‘It just occurred to me that the Delphae might be best suited to empty those ruins in the Arjuni jungles. If Ekrasios and his friends were to appear in all their glowing splendor at the gates of Scarpa’s down there, the rebels would probably go back home and peaceful pursuits, just as fast as they possibly could.’

‘Well said,’ Mirtai murmured her agreement.

‘He certainly moves around, doesn’t he?’ Ulath said to Tynian as the beer wagon with Sparhawk and Kalten perched atop the barrels rumbled past on the ancient street. ‘Last I heard, he was in Dirgis.’

‘The natcherl rules don’t seem t’ apply t’ ol’ Sporhawk,’ Tynian replied in a bad imitation of Caalador’s dialect. ‘What do you think? Should we slip back into real time? Or should we stay where we are?’

‘I think we’ll be more useful if we stay out of sight,’ Ulath replied.

‘That’s fine with me, but how are we going to get word to Sparhawk and the others that we’re here?’

‘I’ll slip a note in his pocket—or blow in his ear.’

‘That ought to get his attention.’

Bllokw came shambling back up the street with a mournful expression on his ape-like face. ‘There are no dogs here,’ he reported in Trollish.

‘Soldiers don’t usually keep dogs, Bhlokw,’ Tynian explained.

‘I have hunger, Tin-in. Would the man-things here miss one of their herd—a small one?’

‘We might have a problem here,’ Tynian muttered to Ulath. ‘It’s definitely in our best interests to keep our friend here well-fed.’

Ulath scratched at his now clean-shaven cheek. ‘We can’t just turn him loose,’ he noted. ‘He’ll attract attention if he starts stabbing people and jerking them into these broken moments.’

‘He’s invisible, Ulath.’

‘Yes, but if some Arjuni suddenly vanishes and his bones start getting tossed back out of nowhere, it’s bound to attract attention.’ He turned back to the Troll. ‘It is our thought that it would not be good for you to kill and eat the man-things here, Blokw. We hunt thought here, and if you kill and eat the man-things you will frighten the thought away.’

‘I do not like this hunting of thought, U-lat,’ Bhlokw complained. ‘It makes things not-simple.’

‘The forest is near, Bhlokw,’ Tynian said. ‘There must be many oLat things there.’

‘I am not an Ogre, Tin-in,’ Bhlokw protested in a slightly offended tone. ‘I do not eat trees.’

‘There should be creatures that are good-to-eat among the trees, Bhlokw,’ Ulath said. ‘That is what Tin-in was trying to say. It was not his thought to insult you.’

Bhlokw glowered at Tynian for a moment. ‘I will go hunt now,’ he said abruptly. Then he turned and shambled off.

‘You have to be careful, Tynian,’ Ulath warned his friend. ‘If you want to get into a fight almost immediately, all you have to do is suggest to a Troll that he might be an Ogre.’

‘They’re actually prejudiced?’ Tynian asked in amazement.

‘You wouldn’t believe how prejudiced,’ Ulath replied. ‘Trolls and Ogres have hated each other since the beginning of time.’

‘I thought that prejudice was a human failing.’

‘Some things are just too good to stay private, I guess. Let’s follow Sparhawk and let him know that we’re here. He might have something for us to do.’

They trailed along behind the beer caravan winding through the cleared streets toward that part of Natayos that was still choked in brush and vines. The wagons trundled along a recently cleared street and then went around behind a canvas-roofed building identified by a crudely lettered sign that read ‘Senga’s.

‘Trust Kalten to get close to the beer,’ Tynian said.

‘Truly,’ Ulath agreed. ‘Wait here. I’ll go let Sparhawk know that we’re in Natayos.’ He walked over to where Sparhawk, Kalten, and Bevier, looking strange with their altered features, stood off to one side while Senga supervised the unloading of the barrels. ‘Ramshorn,’ he said quietly. ‘Don’t get excited and start looking around,’ he added. ‘You won’t be able to see me.’

‘Ulath?’ Kalten asked incredulously.

‘Right. Tynian, Bhlokw and I got here yesterday. We’ve been nosing around.’

‘How have you managed to become invisible?’ the patch-eyed Bevier asked.

‘We aren’t, actually. Ghnomb’s breaking the seconds into two pieces. We’re only present during the smaller piece. That’s why you can’t see us.’

‘But you can see us?’

‘Yes.’

‘Ulath, that’s logically inconsistent.’

‘I know, but Ghnomb believes that it works, and I guess his belief is strong enough to override logic. Tynian and I are here, and nobody can see us. Is there anything you want us to do?’

‘Can you get into that building near the gate?’ Sparhawk asked quickly. ‘The one with the barred windows?’

‘Not a chance. We already looked into the possibility. Too many guards on the doors. Bhlokw even tried going in through the roof, but it’s all sealed up.’

‘That’s my wife in there, Ulath!’ Sparhawk exclaimed. ‘Are you saying that you tried to send a Troll into the same building with her?’

‘Bhlokw wouldn’t have hurt her, Sparhawk—frightened her a little, maybe, but he wouldn’t have hurt her. We sort of thought he might be able to go in through the roof, pick Ehlana and Alcan up, and carry them out.’ Ulath paused. ‘It wasn’t really our idea, Sparhawk. Bhlokw volunteered—well, actually he didn’t even volunteer. He just started climbing up the wall before we could stop him. He said, “I will go get them. I will bring Anakha’s mate and her friend out so that we can kill all these children of Cyrgon and eat them.” Bhlokw’s a little elemental, but his heart’s in the right place. I hate to admit it, but I’m actually starting to like him.’

Kalten looked around nervously. ‘Where is he now?’ he asked.

‘He’s out hunting. When we were knocking around those cities by the lake, we persuaded him not to eat people. We got him started on dogs instead. He really likes them, but there aren’t any dogs here in Natayos, so he’s out in the woods probably chasing elephants or something.’ Then something flickered at the corner of Ulath’s eye. ‘What in God’s name is that?’ he exclaimed.

‘What?’ Kalten asked, looking around in bafflement.

‘There’s somebody made out of rainbows coming around the side of the building!’ Ulath gaped at the clearly defined shape approaching. The many-colored light was dazzling.

‘That’s Xanetia,’ Sparhawk explained. ‘Can you actually see her?’

‘Are you saying that you can’t?’

‘She’s invisible, Ulath.’

‘Not to me, she isn’t.’

‘It must have something to do with the peculiar time you’re in, my friend,’ Bevier suggested. ‘You’d better let her know that you can see her. It might be important some day.’

The shimmering rainbow stopped a few paces away.

‘Anakha,’ Xanetia said softly.

‘I hear thee, Anarae,’ Sparhawk replied.

‘It pains me to tell thee that I have failed,’ she confessed. ‘The mind of Scarpa is so twisted that I cannot wring coherence from his thought. I did gently probe the minds of some of his followers, however, and I must sadly advise thee that thy Queen is no longer here in Natayos. When our enemies did discover the subterfuge involving young Sir Berit, Zalasta did spirit thy wife and her handmaiden away under cover of darkness. I shall endeavor to glean their destination from the thoughts of others here, an it please thee.’

Ulath’s heart twisted with sympathy at the look of sudden despair that came over Sparhawk’s face.

They ran easily in their endless regiments, tall and lightly armored, with their bronze limbs glowing in the cool grey light. The towering King Androl ran smoothly at the front of his army. It was good to be on the move again, and the prospect of battle was exhilarating. Battle was meaningful, and one could actually see results. The absence of his wife had thrust a thousand petty administrative chores on Androl’s unprepared shoulders. It was so frustrating to make decisions about things he didn’t really understand and not to see any immediate results that would have told him whether or not his decisions had been correct.

Once again the King of Atan thanked his God for giving him Betuana for his wife. They made a good team, actually. The Queen was very skilled with details. Her mind was quick, and she could pick out subtleties and nuances that frequently escaped her husband. Androl, on the other hand, was made for action. He gladly let his wife make all the tiresome decisions, and then, when it was all settled and they knew what they were going to do, he took charge of carrying her decisions out. It was better that way, actually. The King of Atan was fully aware of his limitations, and he knew that his wife forgave him when he occasionally overlooked something. He hoped that he didn’t disappoint her too much.

Her suggestion—she never gave him orders—that he take the bulk of their people to the south end of Lake Sama in preparation for a grand battle at Toea was exactly the sort of thing Androl truly loved. Here was action, simple and uncomplicated. The troublesome decisions had all been made, the enemy had been identified, and all the boring details had been swept out of the way. He smiled as he led his army into the last outcropping of mountains some fifty leagues to the southeast of Tualas. Betuana’s message had hinted that the battle at Toea would be a titanic one, a grand clash at arms with struggling armies stretching for miles and the ring of sword against sword reaching to the skies. He would make her proud of him.

The route through the outcropping mountains led up a long ridge-line, through a narrow notch and then down into the deep gorge of a turbulent stream that had gnawed at the rock for eons. King Androl was breathing a bit heavily when he crested the ridge-line and led his forces through the notch. The wasted hours spent conferring with Ambassador Norkan had taken off Androl’s edge. A warrior should never permit himself to be lured away from the practice-field or the exercise yard. He picked up the pace as he led his army down into the narrow gorge, running smoothly along the south bank of the rushing mountain river. If he was out of shape, his soldiers probably were as well. He hoped that he could find a suitable place for an encampment at Lake Sama, a proper encampment with enough space for training and practice and those necessary calisthenics that honed warriors to the peak of fitness. Androl was sublimely confident that any opposing force could be overcome if only his army were fully trained and fit.

‘Androl-King!’ General Pemaas shouted over the sound of the turbulent stream. ‘Look!’

‘Where?’ Androl demanded, half-turning and reaching for his sword.

‘At the top of the gorge—on the right!’

The Atan King craned his neck to peer up the sheer cliff-face to the rocky brink high above. The King of Atan had seen many things in his life, but nothing to compare with the vast, monstrous form rearing suddenly above them on the rim of the gorge. The thing was glossy black, like polished leather, and it had enormously out-spreading wings, jointed and batlike. Its wedge-shaped head was accentuated by blazing eye-slits and a gaping mouth that dripped flame.

King Androl considered it. The problem, of course, was the fact that the towering creature was at the top of the gorge while he stood at the bottom. He could turn and retrace his steps, running back up the gorge to the notch and scrambling around the rocks to reach the rim; but that would give the thing plenty of opportunity to run away, and then he would have to chase it down in order to kill it. In his present less-than-perfect condition, that would be very tedious. He could always climb up the cliff, but that would still take time, and the creature might very well see him coming and try to flee.

Then, amazingly, the large being at the top of the gorge provided the solution. It raised its enormous arms and began to slash at the top of the cliff with what appeared to be fire of some kind. Androl smiled as the cliff-face began to topple outward, tumbling and roaring down into the gorge. The silly beast was accommodatingly providing the means for its own destruction, How could it be so stupid?

King Androl adroitly dodged a tumbling, house-sized boulder, carefully assessing the rapidly growing slope of rubble piling up at the base of the cliff. The beast actually intended to attack. Androl laughed with delight. The creature was stupid beyond imagining, but he did have to give it credit for courage—foolish courage, of course, but courage nonetheless. All the universe knew that Androl of Atan was invincible, and yet this poor dumb brute meant to pit its puny strength against the greatest warrior since the beginning of time. Androl looked speculatively at the steep, growing slope of rubble, ignoring the cries of those of his soldiers not nimble enough to avoid being crushed in the avalanche rumbling down upon them. Almost high enough now. Just a few more feet.

And then he judged that the steep slope had grown high enough to give him access to the stupid creature roaring and flapping its wings high above. He dodged another boulder and began his rush, scrambling, dodging, leaping, as he swiftly mounted toward the doomed beast above him. When he was almost to the top, he paused, drew his sword, and set himself. And then with a savage war-cry he rushed up the remaining slope, ignoring the momentary flicker of sympathy he felt for the brave, misguided creature he was about to kill.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’ a burly Dacite wearing a shabby uniform tunic and holding a long pike demanded as Sparhawk and Kalten pulled the wobbly cart with two large barrels in it around the corner of the building.

‘We’ve got a delivery from Senga for Master Krager,’ Kalten said.

‘Anybody could say that.’

‘Go ask him,’ Kalten suggested.

‘I wouldn’t want to disturb him.’

‘Then you’d better let us past. He’s been waiting for this wine for quite some time now. If you keep us from delivering it, he’ll really be disturbed. He might even be disturbed enough to take the matter to Lord Scarpa.’

The guard’s face grew apprehensive. ‘Wait here,’ he said, then turned and went along the back of the building to the heavy door.

‘I’ll stay in the background when we get inside,’ Sparhawk quietly told his friend. ‘If he asks, just tell him that I’m a strong back you commandeered to help pull the cart.’

Kalten nodded.

‘Are you here, Anarae?’ Sparhawk asked, looking around in spite of the fact that he knew he wouldn’t be able to see her.

‘Right at thy side, Anakha,’ her voice replied softly.

‘We’ll keep him talking for as long as we can. He’ll probably be a little drunk. Will that make it difficult for you?’

‘I have shared the thoughts of this Krager before,’ she told him. ‘He is coherent unless he is far gone with drink. If it be convenient, direct his attention toward the house where thy Queen was late held captive. That may prod his mind toward thoughts of interest to us.’

‘I’ll see what I can do, Anarae,’ Kalten promised.

The Dacite guard came back. ‘He’ll receive you,’ he announced.

‘Somehow I was almost sure he would,’ Kalten smirked. ‘Master Krager’s very fond of this particular wine.’

He and Sparhawk lifted the shafts of the cart and pulled it along over the rough, littered ground at the back of the semi-restored ruin that appeared to be Scarpa’s main headquarters. Krager was eagerly waiting in the doorway. His head was shaved, but he still looked much the same. He was dishevelled and unshaven, his near-sighted, watery eyes were bloodshot, and his hands were visibly shaking. ‘Bring it inside,’ he ordered in his familiar, rusty-sounding voice.

Kalten and Sparhawk set the shafts of the cart down, untied the ropes that had held the two barrels in place, and carefully eased one of them out onto the ground. Kalten measured the height of the barrel with a length of the rope and then checked the width of the doorway. ‘Just barely,’ he said. ‘Tip it over, From. We’ll be able to roll it in.’

Sparhawk heaved the barrel over onto its side, and he and his friend rolled it through the doorway into the cluttered room beyond. There was an unmade bed against one wall, and clothes littered the floor. The place was permeated with the acrid smell of Krager’s unwashed, wine-sodden body, and there was a heap of empty casks and broken earthenware bottles in one corner. ‘Where did you want these, Master Krager?’ Kalten asked.

‘Anyplace,’ Krager said impatiently.

‘That’s not thinking ahead,’ Kalten said critically. ‘They’re too heavy for you to move by yourself. Pick a spot that’ll be convenient.’

‘You might be right.’ Krager squinted around the room. Then he went to a place near the head of the bed and kicked some clothes out of the way. ‘Put them right here,’ he instructed.

‘Ah—before we go any further, why don’t we settle up? These are very expensive, Master Krager.’

‘How much?’

‘Senga told me that he had to have fifty crowns a barrel. Arcian red’s very hard to come by this far away from Arcium.’

‘Fifty crowns?’ Krager exclaimed.

‘Each,’ Kalten insisted. ‘He told me to open the barrels for you, too.’

‘I know how to open a wine barrel, Col.’

‘I’m sure of it, but Senga’s an honest businessman, and he wants me to make sure you’re satisfied before I take your money.’ He rolled the barrel over against the wall. ‘Help me set it up, From,’ he told Sparhawk. They righted the barrel, and Kalten took a pry-bar out from under his belt. ‘Beer’s a lot easier,” he noted. ‘Somebody ought to tell those Arcian’s about the advantages of putting a bung-hole in the side.’

He carefully pried up the lid as Krager, cup in hand, stood at his elbow.

‘Master Krager,’ Kalten said then, lifting off the lid stepped aside.

Krager dipped his cup into the deep red liquid, lifted it with a trembling hand, and drank deeply. ‘Marvelous!’ he sighed happily. fir laughed.

‘You wouldn’t expect it of a highway robber, but I’ll tell Senga that it meets with your approval,’ Kalten said. ‘Senga’s very concerned about satisfying his customers. Would you believe that he even had us pour out a barrel of beer that had gone sour? Come on, From, let’s get the other barrel. We’ll have Master Krager test that one and then we’ll settle accounts.’

The two of them went back outside and manhandled the second barrel out of the cart.

‘Ask him why they’ve taken the guards off the doors of the house where they were holding Ehlana and Alcan,’ Sparhawk murmured.

‘Right,’ Kalten grunted as they lowered the wine barrel to the ground. They put the second barrel beside the first, Kalten pried open the lid, and Krager sampled it.

‘Satisfactory?’ Kalten asked.

‘Just fine,’ Krager said. He dipped out another cup and sank back happily on his bed. ‘Absolutely splendid.’

‘That’ll be a hundred crowns then.’

Krager pulled a heavy purse out from under his belt and negligently tossed it to Kalten. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘Count it out yourself. and don’t steal too much.’

‘This is business, Master Krager,’ Kalten told him. ‘If I was robbing you, I’d have my knife against your throat.’ He swept clothing and a few dried crusts of bread off the top of a table with his forearm, opened the purse, and started counting money.

‘We noticed that all the guards have been pulled away from the house with the bars on the windows,’ he said. ‘A couple of days ago a man couldn’t get within twenty paces of the place, but this morning From and I wheeled that cart right past the front door and nobody paid any attention to us. Has Scarpa moved whatever was so valuable out of there?’

Krager’s puffy face became suddenly alert. ‘That’s none of your business, Col.’

‘I didn’t say it was. You might just make a suggestion to Lord Scarpa, though. If he doesn’t want people to notice things like that, he shouldn’t change anything. He should have kept all the guards right where they were. Senga and the rest of us are all robbers, you know, and we all more or less believed that Lord Scarpa was keeping his treasure in that house. The word “treasure” makes men like us prick up our ears.’

Krager stared at him and then he began to laugh.

‘What’s so funny?’ Kalten looked up from his counting.

‘It was a treasure all right, Col,’ Krager smirked, ‘but not the kind you can count.’

‘Like you say, it’s none of my business, but every man who works in Senga’s tavern knows that it’s been moved. I’m sure they’ll all be poking around in these ruins looking for the new storehouse.’

‘Let them look,’ Krager shrugged. ‘The treasure’s a long, long way from here by now.’

‘I hope you’ve still got guards on it. Those woods out there are crawling with fellows like From and me. Would you come here and check my count?’

‘I trust you, Col.’

‘You’re a fool, then.’

‘Take another ten crowns for yourself and your man,’ Krager said expansively, ‘and then if you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone with my two new friends here.’

‘You’re very generous, Master Krager.’ Kalten took some more coins from the purse, scooped up all the ones he had previously counted out, and dumped them into the side pocket of his smock. ‘Let’s go, From,’ he said to Sparhawk. ‘Master Krager wants to be alone.’

‘Tell Senga that I’m grateful to him,’ Krager said, dipping out more wine, ‘and tell him to keep his eye out for more of this excellent vintage. I’ll buy all he can find.’

‘I’ll tell him, Master Krager. Enjoy yourself.’ And Kalten led the way out of the reeking room.

Sparhawk closed the door and held out his hand.

‘What?’ Kalten asked.

‘My five crowns, if you don’t mind,’ Sparhawk said firmly. ‘Let’s keep accounts current, shall we?’

‘Thou art shrewd, Sir Kalten,’ Xanetia’s whispered voice came ‘Thou didst most skillfully guide his thought in precisely the direction most useful to us.’

Kalten made some show of counting coins into Sparhawk’s hand. ‘What did you find out, Anarae?’ he asked in a tense whisper.

‘A day or two ago a closed carriage did depart from this place after making some show of stopping—under heavy guard—at the door to the house upon which all our attention hath been fixed. The carriage, which was but a ploy, is bound for Panem-Doa. Those we seek are not inside, however. They had long since departed from Natayos with Zalasta.’

‘Did Krager know where Zalasta was taking them?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘It was evidently in Zalasta’s mind that none here should know,’ Xanetia replied, ‘but Krager, ever alert to the main chance, was well aware that news of Zalasta’s destination might well save his life should things go awry, and he did strive most assiduously to learn the Styric’s plans. By feigning drunken stupor, he was able to be present when Zalasta did speak with his comrade, Cyzada. The twain spake in Styric, but Krager, unbeknownst to us all, hath a smattering of that tongue, and he was thus able to glean from their hurried conversation the very information which he—and we—are most curious about.’

‘That’s a surprise,’ Kalten muttered. ‘Drunk or sober, Krager’s a shrewd one, all right. Where’s Zalasta taking the ladies, Anarae?’

Xanetia sighed. ‘The information is melancholy, Sir Kalten,’ she told him. ‘I do fear me that it is Zalasta’s intent to take the queen and her handmaiden to the hidden city of Cyrga, where Cyrgon himself doth hold sway, and by his power there can deny us all access to those we love.’