The Shining Ones

21

Sephrenia sat alone on the bed in her room. Her self-imposed isolation, she sadly concluded, would probably continue for the rest of her life. She had spoken in anger and haste, and this empty solitude was the consequence. She sighed. Sephrenia of Ylara. It was strange that both Xanetia and Codon had reached into the past for that archaic name, and stranger still that it should touch her heart so deeply. Ylara had not been much of a village, even by Styric standards. Styrics had long sought to divert the hostility of Elenes by posing as the poorest of the poor, living in hovels and wearing garments of the roughest home-spun. But Ylara, with its single muddy street and clay and wattle huts, had been home. Sephrenia’s childhood there had been filled with love, and that love had reached its culmination with the birth of her sister. At the moment of Aphrael’s birth, Sephrenia had found at once fulfilment and life-long purpose.

The memory of that small, rude village and of its warmth and all-encompassing love had sustained her through dark days. Ylara, glowing in her memories, had always been a refuge to which she could retreat when the world and all its ugliness pressed in around her.

But now it was gone. Zalasta’s treachery had forever fouled and profaned her most precious memories. Now, whenever she remembered Ylara, Zalasta’s face intruded itself; and the feigned affection that had seemed to mark it was a cruel lie. She now saw his face for what it truly was—a mask of deceit and lust and a vile hatred for the Child Goddess who was at the core of Sephrenia’s very being. Her memories had preserved Ylara, the revelation of Zalasta’s corrupt duplicity had forever destroyed it. Sephrenia buried her face in her hands and wept.

Sparhawk and Vanion found Princess Danae brooding alone in a large chair in a darkened room. ‘No,’ she replied emphatically to their urgent request, ‘I will not interfere.’

‘Aphrael,’ Vanion pleaded with tears standing in his eyes, ‘it’s killing her.’

‘Then she’ll just have to die. I can’t help her. She has to do this by herself. If I tamper in any way at all, it won’t mean anything to her, and I love her too much to coddle her and steal away the significance of what she’s suffering.’

‘You don’t mind if we try to help her, do you?’ Sparhawk asked her tartly.

‘You can try if you want—as long as you don’t use Bhelliom.’

‘You’re a very cruel little girl, did you know that? I didn’t really intend to raise a monster.’

‘You’re not going to change my mind by calling me names, Sparhawk—and don’t try to sneak around behind my back, either. You can hold her hand or give her flowers or kiss her into insensibility if you want, but leave the Bhelliom right where it is. Now go away and leave me alone. I’m not enjoying this.’ And she curled up in her chair with her arms tightly wrapped around the battered Rollo and a look of ancient pain in her dark, luminous eyes.

‘Zalasta’s been interfering with us for a long time, hasn’t he, Anarae?’ Bevier asked the following morning when they had gathered once again in the blue-draped sitting room. They all wore more casual clothing now, and the long table against the far wall was set with a breakfast buffet. Queen Ehlana had discovered a long time ago that meals did not necessarily have to interfere with important matters. Bevier’s blue doublet was open at the front, and he was sunk low in his chair with his legs stretched out in front of him.

‘If he’s been behind that shadow and the cloud, that would almost have to mean that he was involved in the Zemoch war, wouldn’t it?’

Xanetia nodded. ‘Zalasta’s scheming is centuries old, Sir Knight. His passion for Sephrenia dates back to his childhood, as doth his hatred for Aphrael, whose birth did dash all his hopes. Well he knew that should he confront the Child Goddess directly, she could will away his very existence with a single thought. He knew that his lust was unwholesome, and that no God would be inclined to aid him in his struggle with Aphrael. Long he pondered this, and he concluded that his design required aid from some source with power, but without conscience or will of its own.’

‘Bhelliom,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Or at least that’s how everyone saw it. We know differently now.’

‘Truly,’ she agreed. ‘Zalasta did share the common misperception of the jewel, thinking it to be a source of power only. He did believe that Bhelliom, untouched by morality, would obey him without question, and that it would destroy his mortal enemy and thus he could come to possess his heart’s lust—for mistake me not, Zalasta sought possession of Sephrenia, not her love.’

‘That’s vile,’ Baroness Melidere said with a shudder.

Xanetia nodded her agreement. ‘Zalasta knew that he must needs have the rings to command the Sapphire Rose,’ she went on, ‘but all of Styricum knew that the nimble Child Goddess herself had purloined the rings from Ghwerig the Troll-dwarf to prevent the misshapen creature from raising Bhelliom against the Styrics. Thus did Zalasta feign continuing friendship for Sephrenia and her sister, hoping to gain knowledge of the location of the rings and thus the keys to Bhelliom. Now the Gods had known, and some few humans as well, that one day Bhelliom’s creature Anakha would appear, and by diverse signs and auguries did they divine that he would be born of the house of Sparhawk.

‘Aphrael was wary, for she knew that the house of Sparhawk was Elene, and Elenes are not kindly disposed toward Styricum. She knew, however, that one day Anakha would come, and that he would raise Bhelliom from the place where it had lain hidden and wield it to his own purposes—and to the purposes of Bhelliom itself. She was troubled by this, for should Anakha share the common Elene despite of Styricum, might he raise the jewel against her worshipers. She sought to diminish that peril by separating the rings, placing one in the hands of Anakha’s ancestor and the other elsewhere, so that when the one ring descended to Anakha, she might examine his heart and mind to determine whether it be safe to place both rings in his possession.’

‘Stories are more exciting when you know the people involved, aren’t they?’ Talen noted, filling his plate for the third time. Talen was growing again, and he ate almost constantly. He did, however, remember his manners well enough to take a plate of sliced fruit and a glass of milk to Xanetia before he sat down to gorge himself.

Sparhawk phrased his question carefully. ‘I seem to remember that you once told me that you can’t hear the thoughts of the Gods, Anarae. How is it that you know what Aphrael was thinking?’

‘It is true that the thoughts of the Gods are veiled from me, Anakha, but Aphrael hath few secrets from her sister, and it is from Sephrenia’s memories that I have gleaned what I have told ye.

‘Now,’ she went on with her account, ‘Anakha’s ancestor was a Pandion Knight dwelling with his brethren in the motherhouse of his order in the city of Demos in Elenia, and joined he in the war of the rash young king Antor against certain rebellious barons. And it came to pass that the knight and the king, separated from their companions, lay sorely wounded on the bloody field of battle. As darkness fell upon that field, did Sephrenia of Ylara, commanded by her sister, come reluctantly to bind their wounds and to deliver up the rings—one to each of them. She did conceal the true import of the rings, advising them that they were but tokens of their friendship, and by means of a Styric spell did she stain the rings with the mingled blood of the wounded pair to conceal their true nature and import. Thus did she bind the two houses together, which binding did prepare the way for the union of Anakha and his queen.’

Ehlana beamed smugly at her husband. ‘I told you so,’ she said.

‘I didn’t quite follow that.’

‘I told you that we were destined to marry. Why did you keep arguing with me?’

‘It seemed like the thing to do. I was fairly sure you could have done better.’ It was a slightly flippant reply, and it concealed his shocked surprise. Aphrael was absolutely ruthless in her manipulation of people’s lives. Anakha was Bhelliom’s creature, and the Child Goddess, not certain she could trust him, had deliberately arranged to be born as his daughter so that she could in some measure control him.

‘Now Zalasta, perceiving the intent of Aphrael, was troubled,’ Xanetia went on. ‘He had hoped to wrest Bhelliom from Anakha before Anakha could come to know the full import of his union with the stone, but Aphrael had once again blocked his design. By virtue of the rings and the mastery of Bhelliom which they conferred, had Anakha been made invincible.’

‘All right, then,’ Ulath rumbled. ‘Zalasta was blocked. What did he do then?’

‘There are some in Styricum—and have ever been—who, like the Elder Gods themselves, have used the power of the spells their race has learned to satisfy unwholesome personal desires. The Younger Gods are as children in this regard, and they cannot know the depths to which such as these will willingly sink. They are outraged by this coarser side of the nature of man, and such Styrics as display it are cast out and accursed. These unfortunates dwell alone and sorrowing in wilderness and waste, or, all unrepentant, seek they their vile pleasure in the festering stews of the cities of this world. It was to these that Zalasta in desperation turned, and in Verel, foulest of the cities of southern Daconia, found he such a one as he sought.’

‘I’ve lived in Verel,’ Mirtai said. ‘That would be the place to look for degenerates, all right.’

Xanetia nodded. ‘There in that sink of iniquity Zalasta did happen quite by chance upon one Ogerajin, a corrupt and ancient voluptuary, who, sated by centuries of excess, sinned more for the sake of the offense it gave the Younger Gods than from any real appetite. Now this Ogerajin was double-dipt in vileness, and by means of certain forbidden spells and enchantments had he reached into the darkness—yea, even into that ultimate corruption that lieth in the hearts of the Elder Gods. And Ogerajin, perceiving that Zalasta’s lust was like his own and that they were therefore kindred, counseled him to seek out Otha of Zemoch.’

Bevier gasped.

‘Truly,’ Xanetia agreed. ‘And so did Zalasta journey even unto the city of Zemoch to make alliance with Otha.’

‘Hold it,’ Kalten said. ‘Didn’t you tell us that Zalasta was trying to keep us all away from Otha and Azash?’

She nodded. ‘Zalasta doth conclude alliances to further his own ends, not those of his allies. With Otha’s aid he found other outcast Styrics in Eosia to aid him in keeping watch on the family of the Sparhawks, instructing them to seek out weaknesses which might be to his advantage when Anakha was born.

‘As well ye might guess, Aphrael also set a watcher on those who would precede Sparhawk, and despite her sister’s protests, the Child Goddess sent Sephrenia to Demos to instruct the Elene Pandions in the secrets of Styricum.’

‘Our charming little Aphrael has a heartless streak, I see,’ Stragen noted. ‘Considering what the Elene serfs in Astel did to Sephrenia’s parents, sending her to Demos smacks of a certain lack of consideration.’

‘Who can know the mind of a God?’ Xanetia sighed. She passed a weary hand across her eyes.

‘Aren’t you feeling well?’ Kalten asked, his voice mirroring his concern.

‘Some slight fatigue, Sir Kalten,” she confessed. ‘The mind of Sephrenia was in great turmoil when I did gather in her memories, and it is with no small difficulty that I wring some consistency from them.’

‘Is that the way it works, Anarae?’ Sarabian asked curiously, ‘You just reach in and swallow somebody else’s mind whole?’

‘Thy metaphor is inexact, Sarabian of Tamuli,’ she said in a slightly reproving tone.

‘Forgive me, Anarae,’ he apologized. ‘I plucked it out of the air. What I meant to ask was whether you absorb the entire contents of another’s awareness and memories with a single touch.’

‘Approximately, yes.’

‘How many minds have you got stored away?’ Talen asked her. ‘Other people’s minds, I mean?’

‘Close on to a thousand’, young master,’ she shrugged.

‘Where do you find room?’ He paused, looking just a little embarrassed. ‘I didn’t say that very well, did I? What I was trying to ask was doesn’t it get awfully crowded in there?’

‘The mind is limitless, young master.’

‘Yours might be, Anarae,’ Kalten smiled. ‘I’ve found plenty of limits to mine, though.’

‘Is Sephrenia all right?’ Vanion asked her with a worried frown.

‘She is in great agony,’ Xanetia sighed. ‘Zalasta’s treachery hath wounded her to the heart, and her mistaken belief that all of ye have forsaken her hath crushed her spirit.’

‘I’ll go to her,’ Vanion said, rising quickly to his feet.

‘No, my Lord,’ Kalten told him. ‘That wouldn’t be a good idea. You’re too close to her, and if you went, you’d only make her feel worse. Why don’t you let me go instead?’

‘It’s my place to go, Kalten.’

‘Not if it’s going to make her suffer all the more, it isn’t. Right now she needs to know that we still love her, and that means she needs somebody who’s affectionate and not very bright. That’s me, in case you hadn’t noticed.’

‘You stop that!’ Alcan flared. ‘I won’t have you saying things like that about yourself.!’ Then she seemed to realize that they were not alone, and she blushed and lowered her eyes in confusion.

‘He might be right, Vanion,’ Ehlana said gravely. ‘Sir Kalten may have his faults, but he’s straightforward and honest. Sephrenia knows that there’s no deviousness in his nature. He’s just too—too...’

‘Stupid?’ Kalten supplied.

‘That’s not the word I’d have chosen.’

‘It doesn’t hurt my feelings, my Queen. They don’t pay me to think—just to follow orders. When I try to think, I get into trouble, so I’ve learned to get along without thinking. I just trust my feelings instead. They don’t lead me off in the wrong direction too often. Sephrenia knows me, and she knows I couldn’t deceive her even if I tried.’

‘It’s called sincerity, my friend,’ Sparhawk smiled.

‘That’s as good a word for it as any, I suppose,’ Kalten shrugged. ‘I’ll just nip on down to her room and smother her with sincerity. That ought to make her feel better.’

‘It’s me, Sephrenia—Kalten. Unlock the door.’

‘Go away.’ Her voice was muffled.

‘This is important.’

‘Leave me alone.’

Kalten sighed. It was going to be one of those days. ‘Please, little mother,’ he tried again.

‘Just go away.’

If you don’t open the door, I’ll have to use magic on it.’

‘Magic? You?’ She laughed scornfuly.

Kalten leaned back, raised his right leg and drove his booted heel against the latch. He kicked it twice more, and the door splintered and burst open.

‘What are you doing?’ she screamed at him.

‘Haven’t you ever seen Elene magic before, little mother?’ he asked her mildly. ‘We use it all the time. You don’t mind if I come in, do you?’ He stepped through the splinter-littered doorway. ‘We thought you might be a little lonesome and that maybe you needed somebody to yell at. Vanion wanted to come, but I wouldn’t let him.’

‘You? Since when have you started ordering Vanion around?’

‘I’m bigger than he is—and younger.’

‘You get out of my room!’

‘I’m sorry, but I can’t do that.’ He glanced toward her window. ‘You’ve got a nice view from here. You can see all the way down to the harbor. Shall we get started? Screaming and hitting are all right, but please don’t turn me into a toad. Alcan wouldn’t like that.’

‘Who sent you here, Kalten?’

‘I already told you. It was my own idea. I wouldn’t let Vanion come because you’re upset right now. You might say something to him that you’d both regret later. You can say anything you want to me, Sephrenia. You can’t hurt my feelings.’

‘Go away!’

‘No, I won’t do that. Would you like to have me make you a nice cup of tea?’

‘Just leave me alone!

‘I already told you no.’ Then he took her by the shoulders and enfolded her in a huge bear-hug. She struggled against him, but he was absolutely immovable. ‘Your hair smells nice,’ he noted.

She began to pound on his shoulders with her fists. ‘I hate you!’

‘No, you don’t,’ he replied calmly. ‘You couldn’t hate me even if you wanted to.’ He continued to hold her. ‘It’s been very mild this autumn, hasn’t it?’

‘Please leave me alone, Kalten.’

‘No.”

She started to cry, clutching at his doublet and burying her face in his chest. ‘I’m so ashamed.’ she wept.

‘Of what? You didn’t do anything wrong. Zalasta tricked you, that’s all. He tricked the rest of us as well, so you’re no more to blame than we are.’

‘I’ve broken Vanion’s heart!’

‘Oh, I don’t think so—not really. You know Vanion. He can endure almost anything.’

The storm of her weeping continued—which was more or less what Kalten had in mind. He pulled a handkerchief out of the sleeve of his doublet and gave it to her, still not relaxing his embrace.

‘I’ll never be able to face them again,’ she wailed.

‘Who? You mean the others? Of course you will. You made a fool of yourself, that’s all. Everybody does that now and then.’

‘How dare you!’ She began to pound on him again. Kalten really wished she’d get past that part of it.

‘It’s true though, isn’t it?’ he said gently. ‘Nobody’s blaming you for it, but it’s true all the same. You did what you thought was right, but it turned out to be wrong. Everybody’s wrong sometimes, you know. There aren’t any perfect people.’

‘I’m so ashamed!’

‘You already said that. Are you sure you wouldn’t like a nice cup of tea?’

‘You should rest now, Anarae,’ Sarabian said solicitously. ‘I hadn’t realized how exhausting this would be for you.’

She smiled at him. ‘Thou art kind, Sarabian of Tamuli, but I am not so fragile as that. Let us proceed. It had been in the mind of Zalasta that he might by diverse inducements corrupt Anakha in his youth and thus gain access to Bhelliom without the need for perilous confrontation, but Sephrenia and Aphrael did closely attend the childhood and youth of Bhelliom’s champion, once again and all unknowingly thwarting Zalasta’s design.

‘Then did Zalasta conclude that he had no choice but to approach Anakha as an enemy rather than a convert, and consulted he with Ogerajin and with Otha and went he even to Cimmura to seek allies to assist him. In furtherance of this did he pose as one of the numerous Zemoch Styrics Otha had sent into the Elene kingdoms to sow dissension and turmoil.’

‘There were plenty of those, all right,’ Ulath said. ‘Rumor had it that a Zemoch Styric could give an Elene anything he wanted —provided that the Elene wasn’t too attached to his soul.’

‘The blandishments such Styrics offered were many,’ Xanetia agreed, ‘but the understanding of Otha’s agents was limited.’

‘Profoundly limited,’ Vanion agreed.

‘Truly. Zalasta, however, was more subtle, and far more patient. He did find an apt pupil in the person of the young chaplain to the royal house of Elenia, a priest named Annias.’

‘Annias.?’ Ehlana exclaimed. ‘I didn’t know that he was ever the royal chaplain.’

‘It was before you were born,’ Sparhawk told her.

‘That would explain why he had so much control over my father. Are you saying that Zalasta was behind all that, Anarae?’ Xanetia nodded.

‘It isn’t really all that easy to corrupt a young priest,’ Bevier objected. ‘They’re usually filled with zeal and idealism.’

‘And Annias was no exception,’ Xanetia replied. ‘He was ambitious, but in his youth was he ever true to the ideals of his Church. That idealism stood in Zalasta’s path until he found means to wear it away.’ She paused, flushing slightly. ‘I would not offend thee, majesty,’ she apologized to Ehlana, ‘but thine aunt was ever lustful and wanton.’

‘It doesn’t offend me in the slightest, Anarae,’ Ehlana replied. ‘Arissa’s appetites were legendary in Cimmura, and I was never really all that fond of her in the first place.’

‘There was some connection, then?’ Melidere asked.

‘Indeed, Baroness,’ Xanetia replied. ‘Princess Arissa was the means whereby Zalasta recruited Annias to his cause. Well schooled by the voluptuary Ogerajin, did Zalasta introduce the wanton princess to...’ She broke off, blushing furiously.

‘You needn’t go into detail, Xanetia,’ Ehlana told her. ‘We all knew Arissa, and we knew that there was nothing she wouldn’t do.’

‘In truth was she an apt pupil,’ Xanetia agreed. ‘Now Zalasta concluded that Annias would be useful to him by reason of his position as advisor to thy father. Thus did he implant the firm belief in the mind of thy corrupt aunt that no act could be so vile as the seduction of a young priest, and that notion, once implanted, did obsess Arissa, and ere long it bore fruit. In her twelfth year did Arissa steal away the dubious virtue of thy father’s chaplain.’

‘At the age of twelve?’ Melidere murmured. ‘She was precocious, wasn’t she?’

‘Then Annias was consumed with remorse,’ Xanetia continued.

‘Annias?’ Ehlana scoffed. ‘He didn’t know what the word meant.’

‘You may be wrong there, my Queen,’ Vanion disagreed. ‘I knew Annias when he was a young man. He was totally committed to the principles of the Church. It wasn’t until later that he began to change. Sparhawk’s father and I always wondered what had happened to him.’

‘Evidently Arissa happened,’ Ehlana said dryly. She pursed her lips. ‘Then Zalasta gained access to Annias by means of my aunt?’ she guessed.

Xanetia nodded. ‘The young priest, after much prayer and meditation, did resolve to renounce his vows and to wed the tarnished princess.’

‘A marriage made in heaven,’ Ulath noted sardonically.

‘Arissa, however, would have none of such union, for so insatiable was her nature that she soon grew tired of her ecclesiastical paramour and did taunt him by reason of his waning prowess and stamina. At Zalasta’s insinuating suggestion, however, did she bring her exhausted convert to a certain house in Cimmura, and there did Zalasta hint that he might restore the waning vigor of Annias by means of Styric enchantments. Thus did he secure a firm grip on the soul of him who would become Primate of Cimmura.’

‘We knew that Annias was getting help from one of Otha’s Styrics,’ Sparhawk said. ‘We had no idea it was Zalasta, though. He had a hand in virtually everything, didn’t he?’

‘He is most clever, Anakha. Patiently did he instruct his two ever more willing pupils in that depravity which he himself had learned under the tutelage of Ogerajin of Verel. The royal chaplain was central to his plan, but first was it necessary to corrupt him beyond all hope of redemption.’

‘He did that part of it well enough,’ Ehlana said bleakly.

‘Step by step did Arissa, guided by Zalasta, lead the chaplain down and down until all semblance of decency had been washed from him, and then it was that the Styric proposed the ultimate degeneracy—that the lustful princess, aided by her now equally foul paramour, should seduce thy father, her brother, and when he should be wholly in her thrall, should she broach the idea of incestuous marriage to him. Zalasta did well know that Anakha’s father would resist such abomination to the death, and hoped he thereby to separate the house of Sparhawk from the royal house of Elenia. Reckoned he not, however, upon the iron will of the Sparhawks nor the weakness of King Aldreas. The elder Sparhawk compelled thy father to wed another, but in truth had Zalasta’s goal been achieved. A breach had been opened between the two houses.’

‘But we’ve healed that breach, haven’t we, Sparhawk?’ Ehlana said with a warm smile.

‘Frequently,’ he replied.

‘What can I do?’ Sephrenia wailed, wringing her hands.

‘You can stop doing that, for one thing,’ Kalten told her, gently separating her hands. ‘I found out a little while ago just how sharp your fingernails are, and I don’t want you tearing off your skin.’

She looked guiltily at the fresh scratches on his face. ‘I hurt you, didn’t I, dear one?’

‘It’s nothing. I’m used to bleeding.

‘I’ve treated Vanion so badly,’ she mourned. ‘He’ll never forgive me, and I love him.’

‘Then tell him so. That’s all you really have to do, you know. Just tell him how you feel about him, say you’re sorry, and everything will go back to being the way it was before.’

‘It won’t ever be the same.’

‘Of course it will. As soon as you two are back together, Vanion will forget it ever happened. ‘ He took her two small hands in his great ones, turned them over, and kissed her palms. ‘That’s what love’s all about, little mother. We all make mistakes. The people who love us forgive the mistakes. The people who won’t forgive don’t really matter, now, do they?’

‘Well, no, but...’

‘There aren’t any buts, Sephrenia. It’s so simple that even I can understand it. Alcan and I trust our feelings, and it seems to work out fairly well. You don’t really need complicated logic when it comes to something as simple as love.’

‘You’re such a good man, Kalten.’

That embarrassed him a bit. ‘Hardly,’ he replied ruefully. ‘I drink too much, and I eat too much. I’m not very refined, and I usually can’t follow even a simple thought from one end to the other. God knows I’ve got faults, but Alcan knows about them and forgives them. She knows that I’m just a soldier, and she doesn’t expect too much from me. Are you just about ready for that cup of tea?’

‘That would be nice,’ she smiled.

‘Now that comes as a real surprise,’ Vanion said, ‘but why Martel?’

‘Zalasta did perceive that of all the Pandions, Martel came closest to being a match for Anakha,’ Xanetia replied, ‘and Martel’s hunger for the forbidden secrets provided Zalasta with an opening. The Styric did pose as an unlettered and greedy Zemoch, and did accept Martel’s gold with seeming eagerness. Thus did he beguile the arrogant young Pandion until there was no turning back for him.’

‘And all this time he was posing as Otha’s emissary?’ Bevier asked her.

‘Yes, Sir Knight. He served Otha’s design so long as it suited him, but his heart and mind remained his own. Truly, he did corrupt Primate Annias and the Pandion Martel for his own ends, which did ever center upon that day when Anakha would lift Bhelliom from the place where it lay hidden.’

‘But it wasn’t Anakha who lifted it, Anarae. It was Aphrael, and none of Zalasta’s scheming could have taken that into account.’

They all turned quickly at the sound of the familiar voice. Sephrenia, her face still drawn, stood in the doorway with Kalten hovering behind her. ‘Zalasta might possibly have been able to take the stone from Sparhawk, but not Aphrael. That’s where everything fell apart on him. He couldn’t bring himself to believe that anyone—even a God—would willingly surrender Bhelliom to someone else. Maybe someday I’ll explain it to him.’

‘I have seen into the mind of Zalasta, Sephrenia of Ylara,’ Xanetia told her. ‘He could not comprehend such an act.’

‘I’ll make him understand, Anarae,’ Sephrenia replied in a bleak voice. ‘I have this group of big savage Elenes who love me—or so they say. I’m sure that if I ask them nicely enough, they’ll beat understanding into Zalasta.’ And she smiled a wan little smile.

22

Ehlana rose from her chair, went to Sephrenia, and kissed her palms in greeting. Sparhawk often marveled at how his young wife instinctively knew the right thing to do. ‘We’ve missed you, little mother,’ she said simply. ‘Are you feeling better now?’

A faint smile touched Sephrenia’s lips. ‘Exactly how do you define “better”, Ehlana?’ She looked closely at the blonde queen. ‘You’re not getting enough sleep.’ Even now, Sephrenia automatically mothered everybody.

‘You look a bit drawn yourself,’ Ehlana replied. ‘I suppose we both have reason enough.’

‘Oh, yes.’ Sephrenia looked around at the slightly apprehensive faces of her friends. ‘Oh, stop that,’ she told them. ‘I’m not going to throw a fit. I behaved badly.’ She reached up and fondly touched Kalten’s cheek. ‘My overbearing friend here tells me that it doesn’t matter, but I’d still like to apologize.’

‘You had plenty of reason to be upset,’ Sparhawk told her. ‘We were very abrupt with you.’

‘That’s no excuse, dear one.’ She drew in a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and crossed the room to Xanetia with the air of one about to perform an unpleasant duty. ‘We don’t really have any reason to be fond of each other, Anarae,’ she said, ‘but we should at least be civil. I wasn’t. I’m sorry.’

‘Thy courage becomes thee, Sephrenia of Ylara. I do confess that I would be hard pressed thus to admit a fault to an enemy.’

‘Exactly what did Sir Kalten do to bring you around, Lady Sephrenia?’ Sarabian asked curiously. ‘You were in absolute despair, and Kalten wouldn’t have been my first choice as a comforter.’

‘That’s because you don’t know him, Sarabian. His heart is very large, and he demonstrates his affection in a very direct way. He kicked my door down and smothered me into submission.’ She thought about it for a moment. ‘About all he really did was wrap his arms around me and tell me that he loved me. He kept saying it over and over again, and every time he said it, it struck me right to the heart. Elenes are very good bullies. I screamed at him for a while, and he ignored me. Then I tried hitting him, but hitting Kalten is sort of like pounding on a brick. I even tried crying—I’ve always had good luck with crying but all he did was offer to make me a cup of tea.’ She shrugged. ‘After a while, I realized that he was going to continue to love me no matter what I did and that all I was really doing was making a fool of myself, so here I am.’

She smiled at Alcan. ‘I don’t know if you realize it, dear, but you may just be the luckiest woman in the world. Don’t let him get away.’

‘No fear of that, Lady Sephrenia,’ the soft-eyed girl responded with a rosy blush.

Sephrenia looked around, suddenly all business. ‘I’m sure we have more important things to discuss than my recent temper-tantrum. Have I missed much?’

‘Oh, not really, dear sister,’ Stragen drawled. ‘About all we’ve discovered so far is that Zalasta’s been responsible for nearly every catastrophe in human history since the fall of man. We don’t have quite enough evidence to implicate him in that yet.’

‘We’re a-workin’ on it, though,’ Caalador added.

Sparhawk briefly summarized what Xanetia had told them of the hidden side of Zalasta. Sephrenia was also startled to learn that it had been Zalasta who had corrupted Martel.

‘I’m not trying to be offensive, dear sister,’ Stragen said, ‘but it seems to me that the Younger Gods weren’t quite firm enough in dealing with these renegade Styrics. They seem to lend themselves to just about every bit of mischief that comes along. Something a bit more permanent than banishment might have been a better solution.’

‘The Younger Gods wouldn’t do that, Stragen.’

‘Pity,’ he murmured. ‘That sort of leaves it up to us, then doesn’t it? We’ve got a group of people out there who are highly skilled at causing trouble.’ His expression grew sly. ‘Here’s a notion,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you have somebody draw up a list of names and give it to me. I’ll see to it that the Secret Government takes care of all the messy details. We wouldn’t even need to bother the Younger Gods or the rest of Styricum about it. You propose, and I’ll dispose. Call it a personal favor if you like.’

‘You’re a depraved man, Stragen.’

‘Yes. I thought you might have noticed that.’

‘What did Zalasta do after Sparhawk destroyed Azash?’ Talen asked Xanetia. ‘Didn’t that teach him that he’d be wiser to stay clear of our friend here?’

‘He was much chagrined, young master. Anakha had demolished decades of patient labor in a single night, and with Bhelliom firmly in his grasp, he was more dangerous than ever. Zalasta’s hopes of wresting the jewel from him were dashed, and he fled from Zemoch in rage and disappointment.’

‘And when he ran away, he missed seeing Sparhawk throw Bhelliom into the sea,’ the boy added. ‘So far as he knew, Sparhawk still had it in his pocket.’

She nodded. ‘Returned he to Verel to consult with Ogerajin and diverse other renegades concerning this disastrous turn of events.’

‘How many of them are there, Lady?’ Kalten asked. ‘And what are they like? It’s always good to know your enemies.’

‘They are many, Sir Kalten, but four—in addition to Zalasta and Ogerajin—are most significant. They are the most powerful and corrupt in all of Styricum. Ogerajin is by far the foulest, but his powers are waning by reason of a loathsome disease which doth eat away at his mind.’ Xanetia suddenly looked uncomfortable, and she even blushed. ‘It is one of those ailments which do infect they who engage overmuch in bawdry.’

‘Ah ...’ Sarabian came to her aid. ‘I don’t know that we need to get too specific about Ogerajin’s disease. Why don’t we just say that he’s incapacitated and let it go at that? Who are the others, Anarae?’

She gave him a grateful look. ‘Cyzada of Esos is the most versed in the darker aspects of Styric magic, Emperor Sarabian,’ she replied. ‘Residing close by the eastern frontier of Zemoch, had he frequent contacts with the half-Styric, half-Elene wizards of that accursed land, and did he learn much from them. Reaches he with some facility into the darkness which did surround the mind of Azash, and can he summon certain of the creatures which served the Elder God.’

‘Damorks?’ Berit asked. ‘Seekers?’

‘The Damorkim perished with their master, Sir Knight. The fate of the Seekers is uncertain. Cyzada fears to summon such as they, for only Otha could surely control them.’

‘That’s something, anyway,’ Khalad said. ‘I’ve heard some stories that I’d rather not have to confirm in person.’

‘In addition to Cyzada, Zalasta and Ogerajin have allied themselves with Ptaga of Jura, Ynak of hydros, and Djarian of Samar,’ Xanetia continued.

‘I’ve heard of them,’ Sephrenia said darkly. ‘I wouldn’t have believed Zalasta could sink so low.’

‘Bad?’ Kalten asked her.

‘Worse than that. Ptaga’s a master of illusion who can blur the line between reality and imagining. It’s said that he conjures up the images of various women for the pleasure of the degenerates who pay him, and that the images are even better than reality could be.’

‘Evidently he’s branching out,’ Oscagne noted. ‘It would appear that he’s creating the illusions of the monsters now instead of pretty ladies. That would explain all the vampires and the like.’

‘Ynak’s reputed to be the most contentious man alive,’ Sephrenia went on. ‘He can start centuries-long feuds between families just by walking past their houses. He’s probably behind the upsurge of racial hatred that’s contaminating the Elene kingdoms to the west. Djarian is probably the pre-eminent necromancer in the world. It’s said that he can raise people who never even really existed.’

‘Whole armies?’ Ulath asked her. ‘Like those antique Lamorks or the Cyrgai?’

‘I doubt it,’ she replied, ‘although I can’t be sure. It was Zalasta who told us it was impossible, and he may have been lying.’

‘I’ve got a question, Anarae,’ Talen said. ‘Can you see what Zalasta’s thinking as well as hear it?’

‘To some degree, young master.’

‘What are you getting at, Talen?’ Sparhawk asked him.

‘You remember that spell you used to put Krager’s face in that basin of water back in Platime’s cellar in Cimmura?’ Sparhawk nodded. ‘A name’s just a name,’ Talen noted, ‘and these particular Styrics probably aren’t running around announcing themselves. Stragen suggested getting rid of them earlier. Wouldn’t pictures make that a lot easier? If Xanetia can see Zalasta’s memories of what those people look like and let me see them too, I could draw pictures of them. Then Stragen could send the pictures to Verel—or wherever those Styrics are—and Zalasta would suddenly lose some people he’s been counting on rather heavily. I think we owe him that much, anyway.’

‘I like the way this boy thinks, Sparhawk,’ Ulath grinned.

‘Thy plan is flawed, young master,’ Xanetia said to Talen. ‘The spell of which thou didst speak is a Styric spell, and I have no familiarity with it.’

‘Sephrenia could teach it to you.’ He shrugged.

‘You’re asking the impossible, Talen,’ Bevier told him. ‘Sephrenia and Xanetia have only recently reached the point where they can be in the same room without wanting to kill each other. There’s a lot of trust involved in teaching—and learning—spells.’

Xanetia and Sephrenia, however, had been exchanging a long, troubled look. ‘Don’t be too quick to throw away a good idea, Bevier,’ Sephrenia murmured. ‘It has got some possibilities, Anarae,’ she suggested tentatively. ‘The notion probably makes your skin crawl as much as it does mine, but if we could ever learn to trust each other, there could be all manner of things we might be able to accomplish. If we could combine your magic with mine ...’ She left it hanging.

Xanetia pursed her lips, and her expression oddly mirrored Sephrenia’s. So intense was her consideration of the notion that her control slipped a bit, and her face began to glow. ‘The alliance between our two races did almost bring the Cyrgai to their knees,’ she noted, also rather tentatively.

‘In diplomatic circles this is the point at which the negotiators usually adjourn so that they can consult with their governments,’ Oscagne suggested.

‘The Anarae and I aren’t obliged to get instructions from either Sarsos or Delphaeus, your Excellency,’ Sephrenia told him.

‘Most diplomats aren’t either.’ he shrugged. ‘The announcement “I must consult with my government” is merely a polite way of saying “Your suggestion is interesting. Give me some time to think it over and get used to the idea.” You ladies are breaking new ground. I’d advise you not to rush things.’

‘What say you, Sephrenia of Ylara?’ Xanetia said, smiling shyly. ‘Shall we pause for a fictional consultation with Sarsos and Delphaeus?’

‘That might not be such a bad idea, Xanetia of Delphaeus,’ Sephrenia agreed. ‘And as long as we both know that it’s fiction, we won’t have to waste time waiting for non-existent messengers to make imaginary journeys before we speak of it again.’

‘After the destruction of the city of Zemoch and all who dwelt there, did Zalasta and his cohorts meet in Verel to consider their course,’ Xanetia picked up the story. ‘Concluded they at once that they were no match for Anakha and Bhelliom. It was Ogeragin who did point out that Zalasta’s tentative alliance had been with Otha, and that there had been no direct contact with Azash. He did speak slightingly to Zalasta concerning this and Zalasta’s rancor regarding those words doth linger still.’

‘That’s always useful,’ Vanion observed. ‘Dissension among your enemies can usually be exploited.’

‘The presence of the contentious Ynak doth heighten their discord, Lord Vanion. Ogerajin did berate Zalasta, demanding to know if he were so puffed-up as to think himself the equal of a God, for Ogerajin doth consider Anakha to be such—or very nearly—because of his access to Bhelliom.’

‘How does it feel to be married to a God, Ehlana?’ Sarabian teased.

‘It has its moments,’ she smiled.

‘Cyzada of Esos then joined their discussion,’ Xanetia continued. ‘He did rather slyly suggest alliance with one or more of the myriad demi-gods of the nether world, but his companions trusted him not, for he alone is conversant with the Zemoch spells which do raise and control such creatures of darkness. Indeed, trust is slight in that unwholesome company. Zalasta hath placed the ultimate prize before them, and well doth he know that each of them doth secretly covet sole possession of the jewel. Theirs is an uneasy alliance at best.’

‘What did they finally decide to do, Anarae?’ Kring asked. Sparhawk had noticed that the Domi seldom spoke at these meetings. Kring was not really comfortable indoors, and the subtleties of politics which so delighted Ehlana and Sarabian quite obviously bored him. Peloi politics were straightforward and simple—and usually involved bloodshed.

‘It was the consensus of their deliberations that they might find—for a price—willing helpers in the imperial government itself,’ Xanetia replied.

‘They were right about that,’ Sarabian said sourly. ‘If what we saw yesterday is any indication, my ministers were standing in line to betray me.’

‘It wasn’t really personal, my Emperor,’ Oscagne assured him. ‘We were betraying each other, not you.’

‘Did anyone ever approach you?’

‘Several, actually. They couldn’t offer me anything I really wanted, though.’

‘Truth in politics, Oscagne?’ his brother asked in feigned astonishment. ‘Aren’t you setting a bad precedent?’

‘Grow up, Itagne,’ Oscagne told him. ‘Haven’t you learned by now that you can’t deceive Sarabian? He claims to be a genius, and he’s probably very close to being right—or will be as soon as we peel away his remaining illusions.’

‘Isn’t that a blunt sort of thing to say, Oscagne?’ Sarabian asked pointedly. ‘I’m right here, you know.’

‘Why—so you are, your Majesty,’ Oscagne replied with exaggerated astonishment. ‘isn’t that amazing?’

Sarabian laughed. ‘What can I do?’ he said to Ehlana. ‘I need him too much to even object. Why didn’t you tell me about this, Oscagne?’

‘It happened when you were still feigning stupidity, your Majesty. I didn’t want to wake you. I may have met this Ynak you’ve been talking about, Anarae. One of the men who approached me was Styric, and I’ve never met a more disagreeable man. I’ve come across goats who smelled better, and the fellow was absolutely hideous. His eyes looked off in different directions, and his teeth were broken and rotting, and they all seemed to stick straight out. He looked like a man with a mouthful of brown icicles.’

‘Thy description doth closely match Zalasta’s memories of him.’

‘That one shouldn’t be too orful hord t’ find, Stragen,’ Caalador drawled. ‘I kin send word t’ Verel, iffn y’ want. This yore Why-mack ain’t likely t’ be missed much iffn he’s as onpleasant as the Furrin Minister sez.’

Xanetia looked puzzled.

‘It’s a pose that amuses my colleague, Anarae,’ Stragen apologized. ‘He likes to put on the airs of a yokel. He says it’s for the purposes of concealment, but I think he does it just to irritate me.’

‘Thine Elenes are droll and frolicsome, Sephrenia of Ylara,’ Xanetia said.

‘I know, Anarae,’ Sephrenia sighed. ‘It’s one of the burdens I bear.’

‘Sephrenia!’ Stragen protested mildly.

‘How did you put this fellow off without getting a knife in your back, your Excellency?’ Talen asked Oscagne. ‘Declining that sort of offer is usually fatal.’

‘I told him that the price wasn’t right.’ Oscagne shrugged. ‘I said that if he could come up with a better offer, I might be interested.’

‘Very good, your Excellency,’ Caalador said admiringly. ‘What kind of reason did he give you for making the offer in the first place?’

‘He was a bit vague about it. He hinted about some kind of large-scale smuggling operation, and said that he could use the help of the foreign service to smooth the way in various kingdoms outside Tamuli. He hinted that he’d already bought off the Interior Ministry and the customs branch of the Chancellery of the Exchequer.’

‘He was lying, your Excellency,’ Stragen told him. ‘There isn’t that much money to be made in smuggling. It’s a big risk for short pay.’

‘I rather thought so myself.’ Oscagne leaned back, stroking his chin thoughtfully. ‘This group of Styrics down in Verel may think they’re very worldly, but they’re like children when compared to real criminals and international businessmen. They cooked up a story that wasn’t really very convincing. What they actually wanted was access to the government and the power of the various ministries in order to use that power to overthrow the government itself. The government had to be on the brink of collapse in order to get me to run off to Eosia to beg Prince Sparhawk to come here and save us.’

‘It worked, didn’t it?’ Itagne said bluntly.

‘Well, yes, I suppose it did, but it was so clumsy. I’d personally be ashamed to accept such a shoddy victory. It’s a matter of style, Itagne. Any amateur can blunder into occasional triumph. The true professional controls things well enough not to have to trust to luck.’

They adjourned for the night not long after that. Sparhawk watched Sephrenia and Vanion rather closely as they all filed out. The two of them exchanged a few tentative glances, but neither seemed ready to break the ice.

They gathered again the following morning, and Talen and Kalten seemed to be competing to see which of them could eat the most for breakfast. After a bit of casual conversation, they got down to business again.

‘Right after the attempted coup here in Matherion, Krager paid me a visit,’ Sparhawk told Xanetia. ‘Was he telling the truth when he said that Cyrgon’s involved in this?’

She nodded. ‘Cyrgon hath much reason to hate the Styrics and their Gods,’ she replied. ‘The curse which hath imprisoned his Cyrgai for ten eons hath enraged him beyond all measure. The outcast Styrics in Verel did share his hatred, for they too had been punished.’ She reflected a moment. ‘We all have reason to hate Zalasta,’ she said, ‘but we cannot question his courage. It was at peril of his life that he did carry the proposal of the renegades to the Hidden City of Cyrga to place it before Cyrgon himself. The proposal was simple. By means of Bhelliom could the curse be lifted and the Cyrgai loosed once more upon this world. The Styrics could be crushed, which would please both Cyrgon and the outcasts, the Cyrgai would come to dominate the world—with positions of honor and power reserved for Ogerajin and his friends—and Aphrael would be destroyed, thus giving possession of Sephrenia to Zalasta.’

‘Something for everybody,’ Sarabian said dryly.

‘So thought Ogerajin and Zalasta,’ Xanetia agreed. ‘They had, however, reckoned not upon the nature of Cyrgon. They soon found that he would in no wise consent to the secondary role they had in mind for him. Cyrgon doth command; he doth not follow. He did set his high priest, one Ekatas, over his new allies, telling them that Ekatas spoke for him in all things. Zalasta did secretly laugh at the God’s simplicity, thinking that the High Priest Ekatas would, like all the Cyrgai, die with the step which took him over the unseen line in the sand. Ekatas, however, had no need of crossing the line. With Cyrgon’s aid, did he travel with his mind, not his body, and could he observe and direct without leaving Cyrga. Truly, the mind of Ekatas can reach across vast distances, not only to convey the will of Cyrgon, but to advise the diverse cohorts of what hath occurred elsewhere.’

‘That explains how the word that we were coming got from one end of Cynesga to the other so fast,’ Bevier said. ‘We sort of wondered how they were keeping ahead of us.’

‘Now,’ Xanetia pressed on, ‘though they are outcast and despised, Ogerajin and the others are still Styrics, and the Styrics are not a war-like people. Their efforts had concentrated on deception and misdirection previously. Cyrgon, however, is a war-God, and he did command them to raise armies to confront the Atans, who are the strong arm of the Empire. Then were the outcasts of Verel nonplussed, for Cyrgon gave the command, but no guidance. Zalasta, who had traveled much in Eosia, did suggest to Ekatas that Cyrgon might deceive the Trolls and bring them to northern Tamuli, and Cyrgon did readily consent. Still he demanded more. Ynak of Hydros, who doth ever carry that cloud of dissension with him, could fan the fires of discontent in all of Tamuli, but so contentious is his nature that none would willingly follow him. Armies require generals, and Styrics are not gifted in that profession. I do not say this to give offense, Sephrenia,’ she added quickly. Both Xanetia and Sephrenia were being very careful about that.

‘I’m not offended, Xanetia. I like soldiers, mind you ... ‘ Her eyes flickered toward Vanion. ‘Some of them, anyway, but I really think the world might be a nicer place without them.’

‘Bite your tongue,’ Ulath told her. ‘If we couldn’t be soldiers, we’d all have to go out and find honest work.’

Xanetia smiled. ‘It was in desperation—for Cyrgon did grow impatient—that Zalasta did journey to Arjuna to enlist his son Scarpa in the enterprise. Now Scarpa was unlike his father in that he did willingly—even eagerly—resort to violence. His years as a performer in shabby carnivals had taught him the skills of swaying crowds of people by eloquence and by his commanding presence. His profession, however, was held in low regard, and this did pain him deeply, for Scarpa hath an exalted opinion of himself.’

‘He does indeed, little lady,’ Caalador agreed. ‘If what the thieves of Arjuna tell me is anywhere close to being accurate, Scarpa probably believes that he could fly or walk on water if he just set his mind to it.’

‘Truly,’ she agreed. ‘He hath, moreover, a deep contempt for the Gods and a profound hatred of women.’

‘That’s not uncommon among bastards,’ Stragen said clinically. ‘Some of us blame our mothers—or our Gods—for our social unacceptability. Fortunately, I never fell into that trap. But then, I’m so witty and charming that I didn’t have the usual inadequacies to try to explain away.’

‘I hate it when he does that,’ Baroness Melidere said.

‘It’s only a plain fact, my dear Baroness.’ He grinned at her. ‘False modesty is so unbecoming, don’t you think?’

‘Be clever on your own time, Stragen,’ Ehlana chided. ‘Did Zalasta tell his son all the details of this conspiracy, Anarae?’

‘Yes, your Majesty. Given the nature of the two, there was surprising candor between them. Scarpa, however, was very young and had an exaggerated notion of his own cleverness, although Zalasta did quickly realize that the rudimentary Styric spells which he had imparted to his son during his infrequent visits to Arjuna might serve to deceive rural bumpkins, but they would scarce be adequate for the business at hand. Therefore, took he his son to Verel to place him under the tutelage of Ogerajin.’

‘When was this, Anarae?’ Caalador asked curiously.

‘Perhaps five years since, Master Caalador.’

‘Then it fits together with what we found out. It was almost exactly five years ago that Scarpa disappeared from Arjuna. Then a couple of years later he came back and started stirring up trouble.’

‘It was a short education,’ Xanetia said, ‘but Scarpa hath a quick mind. In truth, it was his tutor who did suspend his training, for Ogerajin was much offended by the young man’s arrogance.’

‘This Scarpa sounds like the sort you have to stand in line to hate,’ Talen noted. ‘I’ve never met him, and I already dislike him.’

‘Zalasta was also taken somewhat aback by his son’s abrasive nature,’ Xanetia told them, ‘and thinking to awe him into some measure of civility, he did take him to Cyrga that he might come to know their master. Cyrgon did question the young man closely, and then, evidently satisfied, did he instruct him in the task before him. Scarpa came away with no more respect for the God of the Cyrgai than he had felt ere they met, and Zalasta hath lost what small regard he previously had for his son. It is now in his mind that should their conspiracy succeed, Scarpa will not long survive the victory.’ She paused. ‘An it please thee to view it so, Sephrenia, thy vengeance hath already had its beginning. Zalasta is a hollow man with no God and with none in all the world to love him or to call him friend. Even the scant affection he had for his son is now withered, and he is empty and alone.’

Two great tears welled up in Sephrenia’s eyes, but then she angrily dashed them away with the back of her hand.

‘It’s not enough, Anarae,’ she said adamantly.

‘You’ve spent too much time with Elenes, little mother,’ Sarabian said. That startled Sparhawk just a bit. he could not be sure if the brilliant, erratic Tamul Emperor used that affectionate term deliberately, or if it had been a slip of the tongue.

‘Who recruited the others, Anarae?’ Vanion asked, smoothly moving away from a slightly touchy situation.

‘It was Scarpa, Lord Vanion,’ she replied. ‘Cyrgon had directed him to seek out confederates to stir rebellion in western Tamuli, thus to bar the way should Anakha come with the armies of the Church, for Cyrgon would not willingly pit his cherished Cyrgai against such as ye. Now Scarpa did know a certain out-at-the-elbows Dacite nobleman who, plagued by gambling debts and the ungentle urgings of his creditors to settle accounts, did flee from Daconia and conceal himself for a time in the very Arjuni carnival where Scarpa did practice his dubious art. This scruffy nobleman, Baron Parok by name, did Scarpa seek out on his return home from Cyrga. Parok, desperate out of all measure, soon willingly fell in with his former associate, for the inducements Scarpa offered were enticing. Consulted then the unscrupulous pair with the debauched Styrics at Verel and followed their counsel to seek out the merchant Amador in Edam and the poet Elron in Astel, both men being much taken with themselves and resentful of the station in life which fate had assigned them.’

Bevier was frowning. ‘We’ve encountered both of them, Anarae, and neither one strikes me as a natural leader. Were they the best Scarpa could find?’

‘Their selection was determined by their willingness to cooperate, Sir Knight. The ability to sway men with words and that commanding presence which doth draw all eyes to the one in question can be elevated by certain Styric spells. Unimpressive though they are, it was the quality of desperation in them which Scarpa did seek. Both Amador and Elron suffered agonies by reason of their insignificance, and both were willing, even eager, to go to any lengths to exalt themselves.’

‘We see it all the time in Thalesia, Bevier,’ Ulath explained. ‘We call it “the little man’s complaint”. Avin Wargunsson’s a perfect example. He’d rather die than be ignored.’

‘Amador’s not all that short,’ Talen pointed out.

‘There are all kinds of littleness, Talen,’ Ulath said. ‘How did Count Gerrich in Lamorkand get involved, Anarae? And why?’

‘He was recruited by Scarpa on Zalasta’s instruction, Sir Ulath. Zalasta thought to stir discord and turmoil on the Eosian Continent to persuade the Church of Chyrellos that her interests required that Anakha be dispatched to Tamuli to seek out the roots of the disturbances. Of all of them, only Zalasta hath his feet planted on both continents, and only he doth understand the thinking of thy Church. In truth, Elron and Amador are but pawns, knowing little of the true scope of the enterprise they have joined. Baron Parok is more knowledgeable, but he is still not privy to all their designs. Count Gerrich is peripheral. He follows his own purposes, which only occasionally match the purposes of his colleagues here in Tamuli.’

‘You almost have to admire them,’ Caalador said. ‘This is the most complicated and well-organized swindle I’ve ever heard of.’

‘But it all fell apart when Xanetia opened the door to Zalasta’s mind,’ Kalten said. ‘As soon as we found out that he’s been on the other side all along, the whole thing began to crumble.’ He thought of something. ‘How did Krager get mixed up in this?’

‘Count Gerrich did suggest him to Scarpa,’ Xanetia replied. ‘Gerrich had found the one called Krager useful in times past.’

‘Yes,’ Ulath said. ‘We saw him being useful outside the walls of Baron Alstrom’s castle in Lamorkand. Martel’s still coming back to haunt us, isn’t he, Sparhawk?’

‘How much did my Minister of the Interior and the other traitors really know about all of this, Anarae?’ Sarabian asked.

‘Almost nothing, Majesty. In the main they did believe that their activities were but a part of the ongoing struggle between Foreign Minister Oscagne and Interior Minister Kolata. Kolata offered them profit, and so they did follow him.’

‘Ordinary palace politics then,’ Sarabian mused.

‘I suppose I’ll have to keep that in mind at their trials. They weren’t really disloyal, only corrupt.’

‘All except for Kolata, your Majesty,’ Itagne noted. ‘His involvement almost had to have gone deeper than simple garden-variety political bickering, wouldn’t it?’

‘Kolata was a dupe, Itagne of Matherion,’ Xanetia corrected. ‘It was Teovin who was ever Zalasta’s man at court. It was to him that the one called Krager did bring Zalasta’s instruction, and Teovin did tell Kolata only so much as it was needful for him to know.’

‘This brings us to the coup-attempt,’ Ehlana said. ‘Krager told Sparhawk that it wasn’t intended to succeed—that it was only designed to force us to reveal our strengths and weaknesses. Was he actually telling the truth?’

‘In part, Majesty,’ Xanetia replied. ‘In the main, however, was Zalasta uncertain about the truth of Anakha’s declaration that he had cast Bhelliom into the sea. Sought he by raising rebellion in the streets of Matherion and endangering all whom Anakha held most dear to force him to reveal whether or no he still did possess the jewel.’

‘We played right into his hands by going after it, then, didn’t we?’ Khalad suggested.

‘I don’t think so,’ Sparhawk disagreed. ‘We’d never have found out about Bhelliom’s awareness if we’d left it where it was. That’s the thing that nobody knew about—except possibly Aphrael. Azash didn’t seem to know about it, and neither does Cyrgon. I doubt that either one would have been so interested in it if they’d known that it might resist their commands—even to the point of obliterating this world if necessary.’

‘All right,’ Khalad said. ‘Now we know what’s led up to all this. What happens next?’

‘That lieth in the future, Khalad of Demos,’ Xanetia replied, ‘and the future is concealed from all. Know, however, that our enemies are in disarray. Zalasta’s position as advisor to the imperial government was at the core of all their plans.’

‘How quickly will he be able to recover, Sephrenia?’ Ehlana asked. ‘You know him better than anyone. Will he be able to strike back immediately?’

‘Possibly,’ Sephrenia said, ‘but whatever he does won’t be very well thought out. Zalasta’s a Styric, and we don’t react well to surprises. He’ll flounder for a while—destroying mountains and setting lakes on fire—before he gets hold of himself.’

‘We should hit him again, then,’ Bevier observed. ‘We shouldn’t allow him to recover his balance.’

‘Here’s a thought,’ Sarabian said. ‘After we went through the secret files of the Interior Ministry, we decided to pick up only the top level of conspirators—the police chiefs and administrators in the various towns for the most part. We didn’t bother with the toadies and informers—largely because we didn’t have enough jail-space. The Interior Ministry was central to the whole conspiracy, I think, and now Zalasta and his friends will probably be forced to rely on the scrapings we left behind. If I send the Atans out to make a more thorough sweep, won’t that push Zalasta off balance all the more?’

‘Let him start to settle down first, Sarabian,’ Sephrenia advised. ‘Right now he’s so enraged that he probably wouldn’t even notice.’

‘Is Norkan still on the Isle of Tega?’ Vanion asked suddenly.

‘No,’ Ehlana replied. ‘I got tired of the forged letters he was sending me from there, so we sent him back to Atan.’

‘Good. I think we’d better get word of Zalasta’s treachery to him as quickly as possible. Betuana really needs to know about it.’

‘I’ll see to it, Vanion-Preceptor,’ Engessa promised.

‘Thank you, Engessa-Atan. If that little outburst in the throne-room is any indication of his present state of mind, Zalasta’s totally out of control right now.’

‘Infuriated to the brink of insanity,’ Sephrenia agreed. It was the first time she had spoken directly to Vanion since the rupture between them. That fact gave Sparhawk some hope.

‘He’ll almost have to do something then, won’t he?’ Vanion asked her. ‘In his present state, inaction would be unbearable.’

She nodded. ‘He’ll respond in some way,’ she said, ‘and since he wasn’t at all prepared for what just happened, whatever he does won’t have been planned out in advance.’

‘So it’ll have large holes in it, won’t it?’

‘ Probably.’

‘Most likely it would involve the use of main force,’ Sparhawk added. ‘Enraged people usually try to smash things.’

‘You’d better alert Norkan and Betuana to the possibility, Engessa-Atan,’ Sarabian instructed.

‘It shall be as you say, Sarabian-Emperor.’

Vanion began to pace up and down. ‘Zalasta’s still more or less in command,’ he said. ‘At least he will be until he does something so stupid that Cyrgon replaces him. Why don’t we let him have his temper-tantrum, crush it, and then round up all the minor conspirators? Let’s frighten our opponents just a bit. If they see us methodically smashing everything they’ve gone to so much trouble to prepare, and rounding up all their friends, they’ll start having thoughts about their own mortality. At that point, I think Cyrgon’s going to have to show himself, and then Sparhawk can turn Bhelliom loose on him.’

‘I hate it when he’s like this,’ Sephrenia said to Xanetia. ‘He’s so certain—and probably so right. Men are much more appealing when they’re just helpless little boys.’ The casual-seeming remark was startling. Sephrenia was clearly stepping over ancient racial antagonisms between Styric and Delphae and speaking to Xanetia as one woman to another.

‘Then all we really have to do is sit here and wait for Zalasta’s next move,’ Sarabian observed. ‘I wonder what he’s going to do.’

They did not have to wait long for the answer. A few days later an exhausted Atan stumbled across the drawbridge with an urgent message from Ambassador Norkan. ‘Oscagne,’ the message began with characteristic abruptness, ‘round up every Atan you can lay your hands on and send them all here. The Trolls are dismantling northern Atan right down to the very bedrock.’

23

‘We can’t send them, Engessa-Atan,’ Sarabian said. ‘We need them right where they are. At the moment, they’re all that’s holding the Empire together.’

Engessa nodded.

‘I understand the situation, Sarabian-Emperor, but Betuana-Queen will only wait for so long. If the lands of the Atans are in peril, she will have no choice but to act. She will order the Atans home—despite her alliance with you.’

‘She’s going to have to pull her people back,’ Vanion advised the huge Atan. ‘She doesn’t have enough warriors to defend the north against the Trolls, so she may have to abandon northern Atan for a while. We won’t be able to send full garrisons to her aid, but we can pull one or two platoons out of each garrison. That’s several thousand warriors altogether, but it’s going to take them longer to reach Atan because they’re so spread out. She’ll just have to pull back until we can get there.’

‘We are Atans, Vanion-Preceptor. We do not run away.’

‘I’m not suggesting that, Engessa-Atan. All your queen will be doing is repositioning her forces. She can’t hold the north at the moment, and there’s no point in wasting lives trying. The best we can do for her in the meantime is to send some Genidian advisors and Cyrinic technical assistance.’

‘Not quite, friend Vanion,’ Kring said. ‘I’ll go to Tikume in central Astel. The eastern Peloi aren’t as fearful of forests as my children are, and Tikume loves a good fight as much as I do, so he’ll probably bring several thousand horsemen with him. I’ll gather up a few hundred bowmen and come to Atan ahead of his main force.’

‘Your offer is generous, friend Kring,’ Engessa said.

‘It’s a duty, Engessa-Atan. You serve as Mirtai’s father, and that makes us kinsmen.’ Kring absently rubbed his hand across his shaved scalp. ‘The bowmen are very important, I think. Your Atans have moral objections about using bows in warfare, but when we met those Trolls in eastern Astel, we found out that you can’t really fight them without shooting them full of arrows first.’

‘Here’s another thought,’ Khalad said, holding up his crossbow. ‘How do your people feel about these, Engessa-Atan?’

Engessa spread his hands. ‘It is a new device here in Tamuli, Khalad-squire. We have not yet formed an opinion about it. Some Atans may accept it; others may not.’

‘We wouldn’t have to arm all the Atans with crossbows,’ Khalad said. He looked at Sparhawk. ‘Will you be needing me here, my Lord?’ he asked.

‘Why don’t you see if you can persuade me that I won’t?’

‘That’s a cumbersome way to put it, Sparhawk. We’ve still got all those crossbows we gathered up when we put down the coup. I broke most of them, but it won’t take me too long to fix them again. I’ll go north with Engessa-Atan and the technical advisors. Engessa can try to persuade his people that the crossbow’s a legitimate weapon of war, and I’ll teach them how to use it.’

‘I’ll join you in Atan later,’ Kring told them. ‘I’ll have to lead Tikume’s bowmen to the city. The Peloi tend to get lost in forests.’

‘Never mind, Mirtai,’ Ehlana told the giantess, whose eyes had suddenly come alight. ‘I need you here.’

‘My betrothed and my father are going to war, Ehlana,’ Mirtai objected. ‘You can’t expect me to stay behind.’

‘Oh yes I can. You can’t go, and that’s final.’

‘May I be excused?’ Mirtai asked stiffly.

‘If you wish.’ Mirtai stormed toward the door. ‘Don’t break all the furniture,’ Ehlana called after her.

It was really only a small domestic crisis, but it was a crisis all the same, largely because the Royal Princess Danae declared that she would die if her wandering cat were not found immediately. She wandered tearfully around the throne-room, climbing into laps, pleading, cajoling. Sparhawk was once again able to observe the devastating effect his daughter could have on someone’s better judgement when she was sitting in the person’s lap.

‘Please help me find my cat, Sarabian,’ she said, touching the Emperor’s cheek with one small hand. Sparhawk had long since learned that the first rule in dealings with Danae was never to let her touch you. Once she touched you, you were lost.

‘We all need some fresh air anyway, don’t we?’ Sarabian said to the others. ‘We’ve been sitting in this room for more than a week now. Why don’t we suspend our discussions and go find Princess Danae’s cat. I think we’ll all be fresher when we come back.’

Score one for Danae, Sparhawk smiled.

‘I’ll Tell you what,’ Sarabian continued.

‘It’s a beautiful morning. Why don’t we make an outing of it? I’ll send word to the kitchens, and we can all have our lunches out on the lawns.’ He smiled down at Danae, whose hand might just as well have been wrapped around his heart. ‘We’ll celebrate the return of Mmrr to her little mistress.’

‘What a wonderful idea!’ Danae exclaimed, clapping her hands together. ‘You’re so wise, Sarabian!’

They all smiled indulgently and rose to their feet. Sparhawk privately admitted that the Emperor was probably right. The long day’s conferences were beginning to make them all just a little fuzzy-headed. He went to his daughter and picked her up.

‘I can walk, father,’ she protested.

‘Yes, but I can walk faster. My legs are longer. We do want to find Mmrr as soon as possible, don’t we?’ She glared at him. ‘You’ve got everybody under control,’ he murmured to her. ‘You don’t have to herd them around like sheep. What’s this all about? You can call Mmrr back home anytime you feel like it. What are you really up to?’

‘There are some things I want to get settled before we get too busy, Sparhawk, and I can’t do anything with all of you huddled together in this room like a flock of chickens. I need to get you all out of here so that I can straighten things out.’

‘Is Mmrr really lost?’

‘Well, of course she isn’t. I know exactly where she is. I just told her to go chase grasshoppers for a while.’

‘What sort of things were you talking about? Exactly what is it that you want to get straightened out?’

‘Watch, Sparhawk,’ she told him. ‘Watch and learn.

‘It’s just not done, Kalten,’ Alcan said in a sorrowfully resigned voice as the two walked out across the drawbridge with Sparhawk and Danae not far behind.

‘What do you mean, “not done?’

‘You’re a knight, and I’m only a peasant girl. Why can’t we just leave things the way they are?’

‘Because I want to marry you.’

She touched his face fondly. ‘And I’d give anything to be able to marry you, but we can’t.’

‘I’d like to know why not.’

‘I told you already. We come from different social classes. A peasant girl can’t marry a knight. People would laugh at us and say hateful things about me.’

‘Only once,’ he declared, clenching his fist.

‘You can’t fight the whole world, my love,’ she sighed.

‘Of course I can—particularly if the world we’re talking about consists of those butterflies that infest the court at Cimmura. I could kill a dozen of them before lunch-time.’

‘No!’ she said sharply. ‘No killing! Can’t you see what that would do? People would grow to hate me. We’d never have any friends. That’s all right for you, because you’ll be off at whatever war Prince Sparhawk or Lord Vanion sends you to, but I’ll be completely alone. I couldn’t bear that.’

‘I want to marry you!’ he almost shouted.

‘It would make my life complete as well, my dear love,’ she sighed, ‘but it’s impossible.’

‘I want you to fix that, Sparhawk,’ Danae said out loud.

‘Quietly. They’ll hear us.’

‘They can’t hear us, Sparhawk—or see us either for that matter.’

‘You’re using a spell, I gather?’

‘Naturally. It’s a useful little spell that makes people ignore us. They kind of know we’re here, but their minds don’t pay any attention to us.’

‘I see. It tiptoes around the moral objection to eavesdropping too, doesn’t it?’

‘What on earth are you talking about, Sparhawk? I don’t have any moral problems with eavesdropping. I always eavesdrop. How else am I supposed to keep track of what people are doing? Tell mother to give Alcan a title so that she and Kalten can get married. I’d do it myself, but I’m busy. Take care of it.’

‘Is this the sort of thing you were talking about earlier?’

‘Of course. Don’t waste time on all these silly questions, Sparhawk. We’ve got a lot more to do today.’

‘I do love you, Berit-Knight,’ Empress Elysoun said a little sadly, ‘but I love him too.’

‘And how many others do you love, Elysoun?’ Berit asked her acidly.

‘I’ve lost count,’ the bare-breasted Empress shrugged. ‘Sarabian doesn’t mind. Why should you?’

‘Then we’re through? You don’t want to see me any more?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Berit-Knight. Of course I want to see you again—as often as I possibly can. It’s just that there are going to be times when I’ll be busy seeing him. I didn’t have to tell you this, you know, but you’re so nice that I didn’t want to go behind your back to...’ She groped for a word.

‘To be unfaithful?’ he said bluntly.

‘I’m never unfaithful,’ she said indignantly. ‘You take that back right now. I’m the most faithful lady in the whole court. I’m faithful to at least a dozen young men all at the same time.’

He suddenly burst out laughing.

‘What’s so funny?’ she demanded.

‘Nothing, Elysoun,’ he replied with a genuine fondness. ‘You’re so delightful that I can’t help laughing.’

She sighed. ‘Life would be so much simpler for me if you men wouldn’t take these things so seriously. Love’s supposed to be fun, but you all scowl and wave your arms in the air about it. Go love somebody else for a while. I won’t mind. As long as everybody’s happy, what difference does it make who made them happy?’

He smiled again.

‘You do still love me, don’t you, Berit-Knight?

‘Of course I do, Elysoun.’

‘There. Everything’s all right then, isn’t it?’

‘What was that all about?’ Sparhawk asked his daughter. They were standing fairly close to Berit and Elysoun—close enough to make Sparhawk slightly self-conscious, at any rate.

‘Berit was getting just a little too deeply involved with the naked girl,’ Danae replied. ‘He’s learned what she could teach him, so it’s time for their friendship to calm down a little. I have other plans for him.’

‘Have you ever considered letting him make his own plans?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Sparhawk. He’d just make a mess of things. I always take care of these arrangements. It’s one of the things I do best. We’d better hurry. I want to look in on Kring and Mirtai. He’s going to tell her something that isn’t going to make her happy. I want to be there to head off any explosions.’

They found Kring and Mirtai sitting on the lawn under a large tree ablaze with autumn color. Mirtai had opened the basket the kitchen had provided and was looking inside. ‘Some kind of dead bird,’ she reported.

Kring made a face. ‘I suppose it’s civilized food,’ he said, trying to put the best face on it.

‘We’re both warriors, my betrothed,’ she replied, also looking less than happy with what had been prepared for their lunch. ‘We’re supposed to eat red meat.’

‘Stragen told me once that you ate a wolf when you were younger,’ Kring said, suddenly remembering the story.

‘Yes,’ she replied simply.

‘Do you mean you actually did?’ He seemed stunned. ‘I thought he was just trying to fool me.’

‘I was hungry...’—she shrugged—’and I didn’t have time to stop. The wolf didn’t taste very good, but he was raw. If I’d had time to cook him, he might have been better.’

‘You’re a strange woman, my beloved.’

‘That’s why you love me, isn’t it?’

‘Well—it’s one of the reasons. Are you sure we can’t talk about our problem?’ He was obviously coming back to a subject they had discussed before—many times.

‘There’s nothing to talk about. We have to be married twice—once in Atana and then again when we get back to Pelosia. We won’t be really married until we’ve gone through both ceremonies.’

‘We’ll be half married after the ceremony in Atana, won’t we?’

‘Half married isn’t good enough, Kring. I’m a virgin. I’ve killed too many men protecting that to settle for “half married”. You’ll just have to wait.’

He sighed.

‘It’s going to take a long time, you know,’ he said mournfully.

‘It’s not that far from Atana back to your country. I’ll race you there.’

‘It’s not the journey that’s going to take so long, Mirtai. It’s the two months you’ll have to spend in my mother’s tent before the wedding in Pelosia. You’ll have to learn our practices and ceremonies.’

She gave him a long, steady look. ‘You said I have to what?’ There was an ominous tone in her voice.

‘It’s the custom. A Peloi bride always lives for two months with the groom’s mother before the ceremony.’

‘Why?’

‘To learn about him.’

‘I already know about you.

‘Well, yes, I suppose you do, but it’s the custom.’

‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘Customs often are, but I am Domi, so I have to set a good example—and you’ll be Dona. The Peloi women will have no respect for you if you don’t do what’s expected.’

‘I’ll teach them respect.’ her eyes had turned flint-hard.

He leaned back on his elbows. ‘I was sort of afraid you might feel this way,’ he sighed.

‘Is that why you didn’t mention it before?’

‘I was waiting for the right time. Is there any wine in that basket? This might be easier if we’re both more relaxed.’

‘Let’s wait. We can get relaxed after you tell me. What is this nonsense?’

‘Let’s see if I can explain it.’ He rubbed his head. ‘When my people say that the bride is “learning about her husband”, it doesn’t really mean that she’s learning about what he expects for breakfast or things like that. What they’re really talking about is the fact that there’s property involved.’

‘I don’t have any property, Kring. I’m a slave.’

‘Not after you marry me, you won’t be. You’ll be a very wealthy woman.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Peloi men own their weapons and their horses. Everything else belongs to the women. Always before, whenever I stole something—cattle, usually—I gave it to my mother. She’s been holding my wealth for me until I get married. She’s entitled to some of it. That’s what the two months is all about. It’s to give the two of you time to agree on the division.’

‘It shouldn’t take us that long.’

‘Well probably not. My mother’s a reasonable woman, but the two of you will also have to find husbands for my sisters. It wouldn’t be so hard if there weren’t so many of them.’

‘How many?’ Her voice was very hard now.

‘Ah—eight, actually.’

‘Eight?’ She said it flatly.

‘My father was very vigorous.’

‘So was your mother, apparently. Are your sisters presentable?’

‘More or less. None of them are as beautiful as you are though, love but then who could be?’

‘We can talk about that later. There’s some kind of problem with your sisters, isn’t there?’

Kring winced. ‘How did you know that?’

‘I know you, Kring. You saved mention of these sisters until the very last. That means that you didn’t want to talk about them, and that means there’s a problem. What is it?’

‘They think they’re rich. That makes them put on airs.’

‘Is that all?’

‘They’re very arrogant, Mirtai.’

‘I’ll teach them humility.’ She shrugged. ‘Since there are only eight, I should be able to do it all at once. I’ll just take them all out into the nearest pasture for an hour or so. They’ll be very humble when we come back—and eager to marry any men your mother and I choose for them. I’ll make sure they’re willing to do anything to get away from me. Your mother and I should be able to settle the property division in the morning; I’ll civilize your sisters in the afternoon, and you and I can be married that same evening.’

‘It’s not done that way, my love.’

‘It will be this time. I’m no more enthusiastic about waiting than you are. Why don’t you come over here and kiss me? Now that everything’s been settled, we should take advantage of this opportunity.’

He grinned at her. ‘My feelings exactly, love.’ He took her in his arms and kissed her.’ The kiss was rather genteel at first, but that didn’t last for very long. Things turned slightly savage after a moment.

‘That’s going to work out just fine,’ Danae said smugly. ‘I wasn’t sure how Mirtai was going to take to the idea of living with Kring’s mother, but she’s got everything in hand now.’

‘She’s going to upset the Peloi, you know,’ Sparhawk said.

‘They’ll live,’ the princess shrugged. ‘They’re too set in their ways anyhow. They need somebody like Mirtai to open their eyes to the modern world. Let’s move on, Sparhawk. We’re not done yet.’

‘How long has this been going on?’ Stragen asked in a slightly choked voice.

‘Since I was a little girl,’ Melidere replied. ‘My father made the dies when I was about seven or so.’

‘Do you realize what you’ve done, Baroness?’

‘I thought we were going to drop the formality, Milord Stragen.’ She smiled at him.

He ignored that. ‘You’ve struck a direct blow at the economy of every kingdom in Eosia. This is monstrous.’

‘Oh, do be serious, Stragen.’

‘You’ve debased the coinage!’

‘I haven’t really, but why should it make any difference to you?’

‘Because I’m a thief. You’ve devalued everything I’ve ever stolen!’

‘No, not really. The value of the coins doesn’t really have anything to do with their true weight. It’s a matter of trust. People may not like their governments, but they trust them. If the government says that this coin is worth a half-crown, then that’s what it’s worth. Its value is based on an agreement, not on weight. If the coin has milled edges, it has the value that’s stamped on its face. I haven’t really stolen anything.’

‘You’re a criminal, Melidere!’

‘How can I be a criminal if I haven’t stolen anything?’

‘What if they find out about what you’ve been doing?’

‘What if they do? They can’t do anything about it. If they say anything or try to do something to me, I’ll just tell the whole story, and every government in Eosia will collapse because nobody will trust their coins any more.’ She touched his cheek. ‘You’re such an innocent, Stragen. I think that’s why I’m fond of you. You pretend to be depraved, but actually you’re like a little boy.’

‘Why did you tell me about this?’

‘Because I need a partner. I can handle these affairs in Eosia, but taking on Tamuli as well might strain my resources just a bit. You have contacts here, and I don’t. I’ll teach you the business and then lease Tamuli to you. I’ll buy you a title and set things up so that you can start immediately.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Why?’ he demanded. ‘Why are you being so generous?’

‘I’m not being generous, Stragen. You will pay your rent every month. I can see to that. And you won’t pay in coins. I want bullion, Stragen—nice, solid bars of gold that I can weigh—and don’t try mixing any copper in, either. I’ll have your throat cut if you ever try that.’

‘You’re the hardest woman I’ve ever known, Melidere.’ He sounded slightly afraid of her.

‘Only in some places, Stragen,’ she replied archly. ‘The rest of me is fairly soft. Oh, that reminds me. We’ll be getting married.’

‘We’ll what?’

‘Partnerships aren’t made in heaven, Milord, marriages are. Marriage will give me one more hold on you, and I’d be an idiot to trust a man like you.’

‘What if I don’t want to get married?’ He sounded a little desperate now.

‘That’s just too bad, Stragen, because, like it or not, you will marry me.’

‘And you’ll have me killed if I don’t, I suppose.’

‘Of course. I’m not going to let you run around loose with this information. You’ll get used to the idea, Milord. I’m in a position to make you deliriously happy—and fabulously wealthy to boot. When have you ever had a better offer?’ The look in Stragen’s eyes, however, was one of sheer panic.

‘Now that was something I didn’t expect,’ Danae said as she and Sparhawk crossed the lawn.

Sparhawk was almost too shocked to answer. ‘You didn’t know about Melidere’s little hobby, you mean?’

‘Oh, of course I knew about that, Sparhawk. Melidere bought her way into mother’s court several years ago.’

‘Bought?’

‘She paid an old countess to step aside for her. What I didn’t expect was the direct way she approached Stragen. I thought she might soften things a little, but she was all business. She carved him into neat little slices, and she didn’t give him any room to move at all while she did it. I think I’ve misjudged her.’

‘No, actually you misjudged Stragen. She used the only technique that had any chance of success with him. Stragen’s very slippery. You’ve got to pin him to the plate with a fork before you can carve him. He probably wouldn’t have listened to an ordinary marriage proposal, so she was all business with him. The marriage was only an incidental part.’

‘Not to her, it wasn’t.’

‘Yes, I know. She did it right, though. I’m going to have to tell your mother about this, you know.’

‘No, actually you’re not. You heard Melidere. Mother wouldn’t be able to do anything about it, and all you’d do is worry her.’

‘They’re stealing millions, Aphrael.’

‘They’re not stealing anything, Sparhawk. What they’re going to do in no way changes the value of money. When you get right down to it, they’re actually creating wealth. The whole world will be better for it.’

‘I don’t entirely follow the logic of that.’

‘You don’t have to, father,’ she said sweetly. ‘Just take my word for it.’ She pointed. ‘We want to go over there next.’

‘Over there’ was beside the moat, where Sephrenia and Vanion walked side by side along the grassy bank. Sparhawk was growing accustomed to his de facto invisibility by now, but it was still strange to have one of his friends look directly at him without acknowledging his presence.

‘It would depend entirely on what kind of fish were locally available,’ Vanion was explaining.

Sparhawk could tell that Vanion was explaining because he was using his ‘explaining’ voice, which was quite a bit like his ‘preaching’ voice. Vanion had put whole generations of Pandion novices to sleep—both in the lecture-hall and in chapel.

‘Why is he talking like that?’ Danae asked.

‘Because he’s afraid,’ Sparhawk sighed.

‘Of Sephrenia? Vanion isn’t afraid of anything—least of all Sephrenia. He loves her.’

‘That’s what’s making him afraid. He doesn’t know what to say. If he says the wrong thing, it could all fall apart again.’

‘Now,’ Vanion continued to lecture, ‘there are warm-water fish and cold-water fish. Carp like the water to be warm, and trout like it colder.’ Sephrenia’s eyes were starting to glaze over. ‘The water in the moat has been standing for quite a while, so it’s fairly warm. That would sort of rule out trout, wouldn’t you say?’

‘I suppose so,’ she sighed.

‘But that doesn’t mean that you couldn’t plant some other kind of fish in there. A really good cook can do wonders with carp—and they do help to keep the water clean. There’s nothing like a school of carp to keep standing water from turning stagnant.’

‘No,’ she sighed. ‘I’m sure there isn’t.’

‘What on earth is he doing?’ Danae exploded.

‘It’s called “walking on eggshells”,’ Sparhawk explained. ‘He probably talks a great deal about the weather, too.’

‘They’ll never get back together if he doesn’t talk directly to her about something that matters.’

‘He probably won’t do that, Aphrael. I think Sephrenia’s going to have to take the first step.’

‘I found her!’ Talen’s shout came across the lawn. ‘She’s up in this tree!’

‘Oh, bother!’ Danae said irritably. ‘He wasn’t supposed to find her yet—and what’s she doing up a tree? She wasn’t supposed to climb any trees.’

‘We may as well go on over,’ Sparhawk told her. ‘Everybody’s drifting in that direction. You’d better turn off your spell.’

‘What about Vanion and Sephrenia?’

‘Why don’t we just let them work it out for themselves?’

‘Because he’ll go on talking about fish for the next ten years, that’s why.’

‘Sephrenia will only listen to lectures about fish for just so long, Danae, then she’ll get to the point. Vanion isn’t really talking about fish. He’s telling her that he’s ready to make peace if she is.’

‘He didn’t say anything about that. He was just about to start giving her recipes for boiled carp.’

‘That’s what you heard him saying, but that wasn’t what he was really saying. You’ve got to learn to listen with both ears, Danae.’

‘Elenes.’ she said, rolling her eyes upward. Then they heard Kalten shout, ‘Look out!’ Sparhawk looked sharply toward the spot where the others were gathered around a tall maple tree. Talen was up among the topmost branches, inching his way slowly out on a very slender limb toward the wild-eyed Mmrr. Things weren’t going well. The limb was sturdy enough to support Mmrr, but Talen was too heavy. The limb was bending ominously, and there were unpleasant cracking sounds coming from its base.

‘Talen,’ Kalten shouted again, ‘get back.’ But by then, of course, it was too late. The tree-limb did not so much break off from the trunk as it did split at its base and peel down the side of the tree. Talen made a desperate grab, caught the confused and terrified cat in one hand, and then plunged headlong down through the lower branches of the tree.

The situation was still not irretrievable. The Church Knights were all versed in various levels of magic, Sephrenia was there, and Aphrael herself rode on Sparhawk’s shoulders. The problem was that no one could actually see Talen. The maple tree had large leaves and the boy was falling down through the limbs and was thus totally obscured by the foliage. They could hear him hitting limbs as he fell, a series of sharp raps and thumps accompanied by grunts and sharp cries of pain. Then he emerged from the lower foliage, falling limply to land with a thud on the grass under the tree with Mmrr still loosely held in one hand. He did not get up.

‘Talen!’ Danae screamed in horror.

Sephrenia concurred with the opinion of Sarabian’s physicians. Talen had suffered no really serious injuries. He was bruised and battered, and there was a large, ugly knot on his forehead from his encounter with the unyielding tree-limb which had knocked him senseless, but Sephrenia assured them that, aside from a splitting headache, he would have no lasting after-effects from his fall.

Princess Danae, however, was in no mood to be reassured. She hovered at the bedside, reacting with little cries of alarm each time the unconscious boy stirred or made the slightest sound.

Finally, Sparhawk picked her up and carried her from the room. There were people there who probably shouldn’t witness miracles.

‘It got away from you, didn’t it, Aphrael?’ he observed to the distraught Child Goddess.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘You had to tamper with things—trying to fix things that would have fixed themselves if you’d just left them alone—and you almost got Talen killed in the process.’

‘It wasn’t my fault that he fell out of the tree.

‘Whose fault was it, then?’ He knew that logically he was being grossly unfair, but he felt that maybe it was time for the meddling little Goddess to be brought short. ‘You interfere too much, Aphrael,’ he told her. ‘People have to be allowed to live their own lives and to make their own mistakes. We can usually fix our mistakes by ourselves, if you’ll just give us the chance. I suppose that what it gets down to is that just because you can do something doesn’t always mean that you should do it. You might want to think about that.’

She stared at him for a long moment, and then she suddenly burst into tears.

‘Tikume’s bowmen will help,’ Vanion said to Sparhawk a bit later when the two stood together on the parapet. ‘Ulath’s right about Trolls. You definitely want to slow them down before you fight them.’

‘And Khalad’s idea about the crossbows isn’t bad either.’

‘Right. Thank God you brought him along.’ The Preceptor pursed his lips. ‘I’d like to have you take personal charge of Khalad’s training when you get him back to Cimmura, Sparhawk. Make sure that he gets instruction in politics, diplomacy and Church Law as well as in military skills. I think he’s going to go a long way in our order, and I want to be sure he’s ready for any position.’

‘Even yours?’

‘Stranger things have happened.’

Sparhawk remembered Vanion’s declamation on fish that morning. ‘Are you making any progress at all with Sephrenia?’ he asked.

‘We’re speaking to each other, if that’s what you mean.’

‘It wasn’t. Why don’t you just sit down and talk with her? About something more significant than the weather, or how many birds can sit on a limb, or what kind of fish can live in the moat?’

Vanion gave him a sharp look. ‘Why don’t you mind your own business?’

‘It is my business, Vanion. She can’t function while there’s this rift between you—and neither can you, for that matter. I need you—both of you—and I can’t really count on either of you until you resolve your differences.’

‘I’m moving as fast as I dare, Sparhawk. One wrong move here could destroy everything.’

‘So could a failure to move. She’s waiting for you to take the first step. Don’t make her wait too long.’

Stragen came out onto the parapet. ‘He’s awake now,’ he reported. ‘He’s not very coherent, and his eyes aren’t focused, but he’s awake. Your daughter’s making quite a fuss over him, Sparhawk.’

‘She’s fond of him,’ Sparhawk shrugged. ‘She tells everybody that she’s going to marry him someday.’

‘Little girls are strange, aren’t they?’

‘Oh, yes, and Danae’s stranger than most.’

‘I’m glad I was able to catch the two of you alone,’ Stragen said then. ‘There’s something I’d like to talk over with you before I mention it to the others.’ Stragen was absently twiddling two gold Elenic half-crowns in his right hand, carefully running one fingertip across the milled edges and hefting them slightly as if trying to determine their weight. Baroness Melidere’s confession appeared to have unsettled him just a bit.

‘Zalasta’s little fit of rage wasn’t quite as irrational as we thought it would be. Turning the Trolls loose on northern Atan was the most disruptive thing he could have done to us. We’ll have to deal with that, of course, but I think we’d better start preparing for his next move. Trolls don’t need much supervision once they’ve been pointed in the right direction, so Zalasta’s free to work on something else now, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Probably,’ Sparhawk agreed.

‘Now, I could be wrong...’

‘But you don’t think you are.’ Vanion completed his sentence sardonicallly.

‘He’s in a touchy mood today, isn’t he,’ Stragen said to Sparhawk.

‘He’s got a lot on his mind.’

‘It’s my guess that whatever Zalasta comes up with next is going to involve those conspirators Sarabian and Ehlana left in place for lack of jail cells.’

‘It could just as easily involve the armies Parok, Amador and Elron have raised in western Tamuli,’ Vanion disagreed.

Stragen shook his head. ‘Those armies were raised to keep the Church Knights off the continent, Lord Vanion, And they were raised at Cyrgon’s specific orders. If Zalasta risked them now, he’d have to answer to Cyrgon for it, and I don’t think he’s that brave yet.’

‘Maybe you’re right,’ Vanion conceded. ‘All right, let’s say that he will use those second-level conspirators. Sarabian and Ehlana have already set things in motion to round them up.’

‘Why bother rounding them up at all, my Lord?’

‘To get them off the streets, for one thing. Then there’s also the small detail of the fact that they’re guilty of high treason. They need to be tried and punished.’

‘Why?’

‘As an example, you idiot!’ Vanion flared.

‘I’ll agree that getting them off the streets is important, Lord Vanion, but there are more effective ways to make examples of people—not only more effective, but more terrifyingly certain. When you send policemen out to arrest people, it’s noisy, and usually others hear the noise and manage to escape. There’s also the fact that trials are tedious, expensive, and not absolutely certain.’

‘You’ve got an alternative in mind, I gather,’ Sparhawk said.

‘Naturally. Why not have the executions first and the trials later?’

They stared at him.

‘I’m sort of extending the idea I had the other day,’ Stragen said. ‘Caalador and I have access to a number of non-squeamish professionals who can carry out the executions privately.’

‘You’re talking about murder, Stragen,’ Vanion accused.

‘Why, yes, Lord Vanion, I believe that is the term some people do use to describe it. The whole idea behind “examples” is to frighten others so much that they won’t commit the same crime. It doesn’t really work, because criminals know that their chances of being caught and punished are very slim.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s just one of the hazards of doing business. We professional criminals break laws all the time. We don’t, however, break our own rules. People in our society who break the rules aren’t afforded the courtesy of being tried. They’re just killed. No acquittals, no pardons, no last-minute jail-breaks. Dead. Period. Case closed. The justice of regular society is slow and uncertain. Ours is just the opposite. If you want to use terror to keep people honest, use real terror.’

‘It has got possibilities, Vanion,’ Sparhawk suggested tentatively.

‘You’re not seriously considering it, are you? There are thousands of those people out there. You’re talking about the largest mass murder in history!’

‘It’s a way to get my name in the record books, anyway,’ Stragen shrugged. ‘Caalador and I are probably going to do this anyway. We’re both impatient men. I wouldn’t have bothered you about it, but I thought I’d like to get your views on the subject. Should we tell Sarabian and Ehlana, or should we just go ahead and not bother them? Discussions about relative morality are so tedious, don’t you think? The point here is that we need to come up with something that will unhinge Zalasta all the more, and I think this might be it. If he wakes up some morning in the not too distant future and finds himself absolutely and totally alone, it might give him some second thoughts about the wisdom of his course. Oh, incidentally, I’ve borrowed Berit and Xanetia. They’re taking a stroll in the vicinity of the Cynesgan embassy so that Xanetia can run that dip-net of hers through the minds of the people inside. We’ve got quite a few names, but I’m sure there are more.’

‘Doesn’t she have to be in the same room with somebody to listen to his thoughts?’ Vanion asked.

‘She’s not really certain. She’s never had occasion to test the limits of her gift. The expedition today is something in the nature of an experiment. We’re hoping that she’ll be able to reach in through the walls and pull out the names of the people inside. If she can’t, I’ll find some way to get her inside so that she can seine out what we need. Caalador and I want as much information and as many names as we can get. Setting up the largest mass murder in history is a very complicated business, and we don’t want to have to do it twice.’

‘Because Caalador and I are going to use the information to set that new world record I was telling you about yesterday. Sarabian hasn’t authorized it yet, so let’s not upset him over something he doesn’t need to know about—at least not until we’ve stacked all the bodies in neat piles.’

24

Princess Danae fell ill the next day. It was nothing clearly definable. There was no fever, no rash, and no cough involved—only a kind of listless weakness. The princess seemed to have no appetite, and it was difficult to wake her.

‘It’s the same thing as it was last month,’ Mirtai assured the little girl’s worried parents. ‘She needs a tonic, that’s all.’

Sparhawk, however, knew that Mirtai was wrong. Danae had not really been ill the previous month. The Child Goddess made light of her ability to be in two places at the same time, but her father knew that when her attention was firmly fixed on what was going on in one place, she would be semi-comatose in the other. This illness was quite different somehow.

‘Why don’t you go ahead and try a tonic, Ehlana?’ he suggested. ‘I’ll go talk with Sephrenia. Maybe she can think of something else.’

He found Sephrenia sitting moodily in her room. She was looking out the window, although it was fairly obvious that she did not even see the view.

‘We’ve got a problem, little mother,’ Sparhawk said, closing the door behind him. ‘Danae’s sick.’

She turned sharply, her eyes startled. ‘That’s absurd, Sparhawk. She doesn’t get sick. She can’t.’

‘I didn’t think so myself, but she’s sick all the same. It’s nothing really tangible, no overt symptoms or anything like that, but she’s definitely not well.’

Sephrenia rose quickly. ‘I’d better go have a look,’ she said. ‘Maybe I can get her to tell me what’s wrong. Is she alone?’

‘No. Ehlana’s with her. I don’t think she’ll be willing to leave. Won’t that complicate things?’

‘I’ll take care of it. Let’s get to the bottom of this before it goes any further.’

Sephrenia’s obvious concern worried Sparhawk all the more. He followed her back to the royal quarters with growing aprehension. She was right about one thing. Aphrael was not in any way susceptible to human illnesses, so this was no simple miasmic fever or one of the innumerable childhood diseases that humans catch, endure and get over. He dismissed out of hand the notion that there could be such a thing as the sniffles of the Gods.

Sephrenia was very business-like. She was muttering the Styric spell before she even entered Danae’s room.

‘Thank God you’re here, Sephrenia!’ Ehlana exclaimed, half rising from her chair beside the little girl’s bed. ‘I’ve been so...’

Sephrenia released the spell with a curious flick of her hand, and Ehlana’s eyes went blank. She froze in place, half risen from her chair and with one hand partially extended. Sephrenia approached the bed, sat on the edge of it, and took the little girl in her arms. ‘Aphrael,’ she said, ‘wake up. It’s me, Sephrenia.’

The Child Goddess opened her eyes and began to cry. ‘What is it?’ Sephrenia asked, holding her sister even more tightly and rocking back and forth with her.

‘They’re killing my children, Sephrenia!’ Aphrael wailed. ‘All over Eosia the Elenes are killing my children! I want to die!’

‘We have to go to Sarsos,’ Sephrenia said to Sparhawk and Vanion a short while later when the three of them were alone. ‘I have to talk with the Thousand.’

‘I know that it’s breaking her heart,’ Vanion said, ‘but it can’t really hurt her, can it?’

‘It could kill her, Vanion. The younger Gods are so totally involved with their worshipers that their very lives depend on them. Please, Sparhawk, ask Bhelliom to take us to Sarsos immediately.’

Sparhawk nodded bleakly and took out the box and touched his ring to the lid. ‘Open!’ He said it more sharply than he’d intended.

The lid snapped up.

‘Blue Rose,’ Sparhawk said, ‘a crisis hath arisen. The Child Goddess is made gravely ill by reason of the murder of her worshipers in far-off Eosia. We must at once to Sarsos that Sephrenia might consult with the Thousand of Styricum regarding a cure.’

‘It shall be as thou dost require, Anakha.’ The words came from Vanion’s mouth. The Preceptor’s expression turned slightly uncertain. ‘Is it proper for me to tell thee that I feel sympathy for thee and thy mate for this illness of thine only child?’

‘I do appreciate thy kind concern, Blue Rose.’

‘My concern doth not arise merely from kindness, Anakha. Twice hath the gentle hand of the Child Goddess touched me, and even I am not proof against the subtle magic of her touch. For the love we all bear her, let us away to Sarsos that she may be made whole again.’

The world seemed to shift and blur, and the three of them found themselves outside the marble-sheathed council hall in Sarsos. Autumn was further along here, and the birch forest lying on the outskirts of the city was ablaze with color.

‘You two wait here,’ Sephrenia told them. ‘Let’s not stir up the hot-heads by marching Elenes into the council chamber again.’

Sparhawk nodded and opened Bhelliom’s golden case to put the jewel away.

‘Nay, Anakha,’ Bhelliom told him, still speaking through Vanion’s lips. ‘I would know how Sephrenia’s proposal is received.’

‘An it please thee, Blue Rose,’ Sparhawk replied politely. Sephrenia went on inside.

‘It’s cooler here,’ Vanion noted pulling his cloak a little tighter about him.

‘Yes,’ Sparhawk agreed. ‘It’s farther north.’

‘That more or less exhausts the weather as a topic. Quit worrying, Sparhawk. Sephrenia has a great deal of influence with the Thousand. I’m sure they’ll agree to help.’ They waited as the minutes dragged by.

It was probably half an hour later when Sparhawk felt a sharp surge, almost a shudder, pass through Bhelliom. ‘Come with me, Anakha.’ Vanion’s voice was sharp, abrupt.

‘What is it?’

‘The Styric love of endless talk discontents me. I must needs go past the Thousand to the Younger Gods themselves. These babblers do talk away the life of Aphrael.’

Sparhawk was a bit surprised by the vehemence in Vanion’s voice. He followed as his Preceptor, walking in a gait that was peculiarly not his own, stormed into the building. The bronze doors to the council chamber may have been locked. The screech of tortured metal that accompanied Vanion’s abrupt opening of them suggested that they had been, at any rate.

Sephrenia was standing before the council pleading for aid when Vanion came through the door.

‘We don’t allow Elenes in here!’ one of the council members on a back bench shrieked in Styric, rising to his feet and waving his arms.

Then a sort of strangled silence filled the chamber. Vanion began to swell, spreading upward and outward into enormity even as an intensely blue aura flickered brighter and brighter around him. Flickers of lightning surged through that aura, and ripping peals of thunder echoed shockingly back from the marble-clad walls. Sephrenia stared at Vanion in sudden awe. Prompted by an unvoiced suggestion which only he could hear, Sparhawk raised the glowing Sapphire Rose. ‘Behold Bhelliom!’ he roared. ‘And hearken unto its mighty voice!’

‘Hear my words, ye Thousand of Styricum!’ The voice coming from the enormity which a moment before had been Vanion was vast. It was a voice to which mountains would listen and which waves and torrents would stop at once to hear. ‘I would speak with your Gods! Too small are ye and too caught up in endless babble to consider this matter!’

Sparhawk winced. Diplomacy, he saw, was not one of Bhelliom’s strong suits.

One of the white-robed councillors drew himself up, spluttering indignantly. ‘This is outrageous! We don’t have to...’ He was suddenly gone, and in his place stood a confused-looking personage who appeared to have been interrupted in the middle of his bath. Naked and dripping, he gaped at the huge, bluelighted presence and at the glowing jewel in Sparhawk’s hand. ‘Well, really...’ he protested.

‘Setras,’ the profound voice said sharply. ‘How deep is thy love for thy cousin Aphrael?’

‘This is most irregular,’ the youthful God protested.

‘How deep is thy love?’ The voice was inexorable.

‘I adore her, naturally. We all do, but...’

‘What wouldst thou give to save her life?’

‘Anything she asks, of course, but how could her life be in danger?’

‘Thou knowest that Zalasta of Styricum is a traitor, dost thou not?’

There were gasps from the council.

‘Aphrael said so,’ the God replied, ‘but we thought she might have been a little excited. You know how she is sometimes.’

‘She told thee truly, Setras. Even now do Zalasta’s minions slaughter her worshipers in far-off Eosia. With each death is she made less. If this be permitted to continue, soon she will be no more.’

The God Setras stiffened, his eyes suddenly blazing. ‘Monstrous!’

‘What wilt thou give that she may live?’

‘Mine own life, if need be,’ Setras replied with archaic formalism.

‘Wilt thou lend her of thine own worshipers?’ Setras stared at the glowing Bhelliom, his face filled with chagrin.

‘Quickly, Setras! Even now doth the life of Aphrael ebb away!’

The God drew in a deep breath. ‘There is no alternative?’ he asked plaintively.

‘None. The life of the Child Goddess is sustained only by love. Give her the love of certain of thy children for a time that she may be made whole again.’

Setras straightened.

‘I will,’ he declared. ‘Though it doth rend mine heart.’ A determined look crossed that divine face. ‘And I do assure thee, World-Maker, that mine shall not be the only children who will sustain the life of our beloved cousin with their love. All shall contribute equally.’

‘Done, then.’ Bhelliom seemed fond of that expression.

‘Ah...’ Setras said then, his tone slightly worried and his speech slipping into less formal colloquialism. ‘She will give them back, won’t she?’

‘Thou hast mine assurance, Divine Setras,’ Sephrenia promised with a smile.

The Younger God looked relieved. Then his eyes narrowed slightly. ‘Anakha,’ he said crisply.

‘Yes, Divine One?’

‘Measures must be taken to protect Aphrael’s remaining children. How might that best be accomplished?’

‘Advise them to go to the chapterhouses of the Knights of the Church of Chyrellos,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘There will they be kept from all harm.’

‘And who doth command these knights?’

‘Archprelate Dolmant, I suppose,’ Sparhawk replied doubtfully. ‘It is he who doth exercise ultimate authority.’

‘I will speak with him. Where may I find him?’

‘He will be in the Basilica in Chyrellos, Divine One.’

‘I will go there and seek him out that we may consult together regarding this matter.’

Sparhawk nearly choked on the theological implications of that particular announcement. Then he looked somewhat more closely at Sephrenia’s face. She was still regarding Vanion with a certain amount of awe. Then, so clearly that he could almost hear the click in her mind, Sephrenia made a decision. Her whole face, her entire being, announced it louder than words.

‘Ulath,’ Kalten said irritably, ‘pay attention. You’ve been woolgathering for the past two weeks. What’s got you so distracted?’

‘I don’t like the reports we’ve been getting back from Atan,’ the big Genidian replied, shifting the Princess Danae, Rollo and Mmrr around in his lap.

The little princess had been confined to her room for ten days by her illness, and this was her first day back among them. She was engaging in one of her favorite pastimes—lap-switching. Sparhawk knew that most of his friends really didn’t pay that much attention, responding automatically to her mute, wan little appeals to be picked up and held. In actuality, however, Aphrael, with toy and with cat, was very busily going from lap to lap to re-establish contact with those who might have drifted out of her grasp during her illness. As always, there were kisses involved, but those kisses were not really the spontaneous little demonstrations of affection they seemed. Aphrael could change minds and alter moods with a touch. With a kiss, however, she could instantly take possession of the entirety of someone’s heart and soul. Whenever Sparhawk was engaged in a dispute with his daughter, he was always very careful to keep at least one piece of furniture between them.

‘Things aren’t working out the way I thought they would,’ Ulath said in a gloomy voice. ‘The Trolls are learning to hide from arrows and crossbow bolts.’

‘Even a Troll is bound to learn eventually,’ Talen said. Talen seemed fully recovered from his tumble out of the maple tree, although he still complained of headaches occasionally.

‘No,’ Ulath disagreed. ‘That’s the whole point. Trolls don’t learn. Maybe it’s because their Gods don’t learn—or can’t. The Trolls that are walking around right now know exactly what the first Troll who ever lived knew—no more, no less. Cyrgon’s tampering with them. If he alters the Trolls to the point that they can learn things, mankind’s going to be in serious trouble.’

‘There’s something more, too, isn’t there, Ulath?’ Bevier asked shrewdly. ‘You’ve had your “theological expression” on your face for the past several days. You’re tussling with some moral dilemma, aren’t you?’

Ulath sighed. ‘This is probably going to upset everybody, but try to consider it on its merits instead of just going up in flames about it.’

‘That doesn’t sound too promising, old boy,’ Stragen murmured. ‘You’d better break it to us gently.’

‘I don’t think there is a gentle way, Stragen. Betuana’s dispatches are getting more and more shrill. The Trolls won’t come out in the open any more. The mounted Atans can’t get at them with lances, and the arrows and crossbow bolts are hitting more trees than Trolls. They’re even setting grass-fires so they can hide in the smoke. Betuana’s right on the verge of calling her people home, and without the Atans, we don’t have an army any more.’

‘Sir Ulath,’ Oscagne said, “I gather that this gloomy preamble is a preparation for a shocking suggestion. I think we’ve all been sufficiently prepared. Go ahead and shock us.’

‘We have to take the Trolls away from Cyrgon,’ Ulath replied, absently scratching Mmrr’s ears. ‘We can’t let him continue to teach them even rudimentary tactics, and we definitely don’t want them cooperating with each other the way they have been.’

‘And how exactly are you going to take totally unmanageable brutes away from a God?’ Stragen asked him.

‘I was sort of thinking along the lines of letting their own Gods do it. The Troll-Gods are available, after all. Ghwerig imprisoned them inside Bhelliom, and Sparhawk’s got Bhelliom tucked away inside his shirt. I’d imagine that Khwaj and the others would do almost anything for us if we promise to give them their freedom.’

‘Are you mad?’ Stragen exclaimed. ‘We can’t turn them loose! That’s unthinkable!’ He dropped the pair of gold coins he always carried now.

‘I’d be more than happy to consider alternatives—if anyone can come up with some. The threat to Atan is serious enough, but the longer Cyrgon dominates the Trolls, the more they’re going to learn from him. Sooner or later, they’ll go back to Thalesia. Do we really want a trained army of Trolls outside the gates of Emsat? We’ve got at least some small advantage if we deal with the Troll-Gods. We hold the key to their freedom. But we don’t really have anything Cyrgon wants—except Bhelliom itself. I’d rather deal with the Troll-Gods, myself.’

‘Why don’t we just have Sparhawk take Bhelliom to northern Atan and exterminate the Trolls with it?’

Sparhawk shook his head. ‘Bhelliom won’t do that, Stragen. It won’t obliterate an entire species. I know that for certain.’

‘You’ve got the rings. You could force it to do as you say.’

‘No. I won’t do that. Bhelliom isn’t a slave. If it cooperates, it’s going to have to be willingly.’

‘We can’t just turn the Troll-Gods loose, Sparhawk. I may be a thief, but I’m still a Thalesian. I’m not going to just sit by and let the Trolls over-run the entire peninsula.’

‘We haven’t even talked with the Troll-Gods yet, Stragen,’ Ulath told him. ‘Why don’t we see what they have to say before we decide? No matter what, though, we’re going to have to do something very soon. If we don’t, we’re going to start seeing long columns of Atans marching out of their barracks on their way back home.’

Danae slipped down from Ulath’s lap and retrieved Stragen’s coins. ‘You dropped these, Milord,’ she said sweetly. Then she frowned. ‘Is it my imagination, or is one of them just a little lighter than the other?’

Stragen looked at her with a slightly sick expression on his face.

It was somewhat later, and Sparhawk and Vanion were escorting Sephrenia back to her room. They reached the door and stopped. ‘Oh, this is absurd!’ Sephrenia suddenly burst out in an exasperated tone of voice. ‘Vanion, go get your things and come back home where you belong!’

Vanion blinked.

‘I...’

‘Hush,’ she told him. Then she glared at Sparhawk. ‘And not a word out of you, either!’

‘Me?’

‘You have packing to do, Vanion,’ she said. ‘Don’t just stand there gawking.’

‘I’ll get right at it.’

‘And don’t take all day.’ She threw her arms up in the air. ‘Men. Do I have to draw pictures for you? I did everything short of lighting signal fires and blowing trumpets, and all you wanted to talk about was the weather—or fish. Why wouldn’t you ever get to the point?’

‘Well—I...’ he floundered. ‘You were very angry with me, Sephrenia.’

‘That was then. This is now. I’m not angry any more, and I want you to come back home. I’m going to go have a word with Danae, and I want to see you back in our room when I return.’

‘Yes, dear,’ he replied meekly.

She glared at him for a moment, and then she spun on her heel and went off down the hall, talking to herself and waving her hands in the air.

‘Well, Krager’s back,’ Talen reported as they gathered again later that afternoon. ‘One of the beggars saw him slipping in through the back gate of the Cynesgan embassy about two hours ago—staggering might be a better word for it, though. He was roaring drunk.’

‘That’s the Krager we’ve come to know and love,’ Kalten laughed.

‘I can’t understand how Zalasta can put any faith in a known drunkard,’ Oscagne said.

‘Krager’s very intelligent when he’s sober, your Excellency,’ Sparhawk explained. ‘That was the only reason Martel put up with him.’ He scratched at his cheek. ‘Could we prevail on you to go back to that look-out near the embassy, Anarae?’ Xanetia started to rise from her chair. ‘Not right now,’ he smiled. ‘It usually takes Krager all night to sober up, so tomorrow morning should be soon enough. I think we’ll want to know what instructions he brings to the Cynesgan ambassador.’

‘There’s something else, too,’ Stragen added. ‘We’ve never really been sure if Krager knows that we’re using criminals to gather information for us. He knew that we were getting help from Platime in Cimmura and that we had contact with thieves and the like in other cities in Eosia, but we should find out if he’s made the connection between the two continents yet.’

‘He sort of hinted that he knew when he talked with me after we put down the coup,’ Sparhawk reminded him.

‘I don’t want to discard the entire apparatus on the basis of a hint, Sparhawk,’ Stragen said, ‘and I really need to know if he’s aware of the fact that we can use certain criminals for things other than spying.’

‘I shall probe his mind most closely,’ Xanetia promised.

‘Where are Vanion and Sephrenia, Sparhawk?’ Ehlana asked suddenly. ‘They should have been here an hour ago.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, dear. I meant to tell you about that. I excused them for the rest of the day. They have something important to take care of.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I am, dear—right now.’’

‘What are they doing?’

‘They’ve resolved their differences. I’d imagine they’re discussing that right now—at some length.’

She flushed slightly. ‘Oh,’ she said in a neutral sort of way. ‘What finally got them back together again?’

He shrugged. ‘Sephrenia got tired of the estrangement and told Vanion to come back home. She was very direct about it, and she even managed to twist it around so that it was all his fault. You know how that goes.’

‘That will do, Sir Knight,’ she said firmly.

‘Yes, your Majesty.’

‘Would this Krager person know where Zalasta is right now, Prince Sparhawk?’ Oscagne asked.

‘I’m sure he does, your Excellency. Zalasta probably doesn’t want him to know—Krager being what he is, and all—but it’s very hard to hide things from Krager when he’s the least bit sober.’

‘He could be enormously valuable to us, Prince Sparhawk. Particularly in the light of the Anarae’s special gift.’

‘You’d better get all you can from him right now, your Excellency,’ Talen suggested, ‘because just as soon as my brother gets back from Atan, he’ll probably kill him.’ Oscagne looked startled. ‘It’s a personal thing, your Excellency. Krager was involved in the death of our father—around the edges, anyway. Khalad wants to do something about that.’

‘I’m sure we can persuade him to wait, young master.’

‘I wouldn’t be, your Excellency.’

‘It’s been a part of us for so long that I don’t think we’d be Styrics without it, Anarae,’ Sephrenia said sadly. It was one of those private meetings at the top of the tower. Sparhawk and his daughter had joined Sephrenia, Vanion and Xanetia as evening settled over Matherion so that they could discuss certain things the others did not need to know about.

‘It is even so with us, Sephrenia of Ylara,’ Xanetia confessed. ‘Our hatred of thy race doth in part define the Delphae as well.’

‘We tell our children that the Delphae steal souls,’ Sephrenia said. ‘I was always taught that you glow because of the souls you’ve devoured, and that the people you touch decay because you’ve jerked their souls out of them.’

Xanetia smiled. ‘And we tell our young ones that the Styrics are ghouls who rob graves for food—when there are no Delphaeic children nearby to be eaten alive.’

‘I know a child with a slightly Styric background who’s been considering cannibalism lately,’ Sparhawk noted blandly.

‘Snitch,’ Danae muttered.

‘What’s this?’ Sephrenia demanded of her sister.

‘The Child Goddess was very upset when she found out that Zalasta had deceived her,’ Sparhawk said in an offhand sort of way, ‘and even more upset when she discovered that he wanted to steal you from her. She said she was going to rip his heart out and eat it right before his very eyes.’

‘Oh—I probably wouldn’t have done it.’ Aphrael tried to shrug it off.

‘Probably?’ Sephrenia exclaimed.

‘His heart’s so rotten it would have made me sick.’ Sephrenia gave her a long, steady look of disapproval. ‘Oh, all right,’ the Child Goddess said, “I was exaggerating.’ She looked pensively out over the city, then back at Sephrenia and Xanetia.

‘All this hatred and the wild stories the Styrics and the Delphae tell their children about each other aren’t really natural, you realize. You’ve been very carefully coached to feel this way. The real argument was between my family and Edaemus, and it involved things you wouldn’t even understand. It was a silly argument—like most arguments are—but Gods can’t keep their arguments private. You humans were drawn into something that didn’t really concern you at all.’ She sighed. ‘Like so many of our disagreements, that one started to spill over from the part of the world where we live into your part. It’s our party, and you never should have been invited.’

‘Where is this country of yours, Aphrael?’ Vanion asked curiously.

‘Right here.’ She shrugged. ‘All around us, but you can’t see it. It might be better if we had our own separate place, but it’s too late now. I should have told Sephrenia about our foolishness when she and I were children and I heard her parroting some of that nonsense about the Delphae, but then the Elene serfs destroyed our village and killed our parents, and Zalasta tried to shift his own guilt to the Delphae, and that set her prejudices in stone.’ She paused. ‘I always knew there was something about Zalasta’s story that didn’t ring true, but I couldn’t get into his thoughts to find out what it was.’

‘Why not?’ Vanion asked her. ‘You are a Goddess, after all.’

‘You’ve noticed,’ she exclaimed. ‘What a thrilling discovery that must have been for you!’

‘Mind your manners,’ Sparhawk told her.

‘Sorry, Vanion,’ she apologized. ‘That was a little snippy, wasn’t it? I can’t look into Zalasta’s thoughts because he isn’t one of my children.’ She paused. ‘Don’t you find the fact that I’m limited but Xanetia isn’t just a bit interesting, Sephrenia?’

‘Xanetia and I are exploring our differences, Aphrael,’ Sephrenia smiled. ‘Every one of them we’ve examined so far has turned out to be imaginary.’

‘Truly,’ Xanetia agreed.

Sparhawk could only begin to imagine how difficult even these tentative steps toward peacemaking must be for this strangely similar pair of women. The tearing down of institutionalized bigotry must have been somewhat akin to dismantling a house that had been standing for a hundred centuries.

‘Vanion, dear,’ Sephrenia said then, ‘it’s starting to get a little chilly.’

‘I’ll run down and fetch your cloak.’

She sighed. ‘No, Vanion,’ she told him. ‘I don’t want a cloak. I want you to put your arms around me.’

‘Oh.’ he said. ‘I should have thought of that myself.’

‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘Try to think of it more often.’ He smiled and put his arms about her.

That’s so much nicer,’ she said, snuggling up against him.

There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask,’ Sparhawk said to his daughter. ‘Regardless of who put them up to it, the people who attacked Ylara were Elenes. How in the world did you ever persuade Sephrenia to take on the chore of teaching the Pandions us the Secrets? She must have hated Elenes.’

‘She did.’ The Child Goddess shrugged. ‘And I wasn’t too fond of you myself. I had Ghwerig’s rings, though, and I absolutely had to get them on the fingers of King Antor and the first Sparhawk—otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.’ She paused and her eyes narrowed. ‘That’s intolerable.’ she exclaimed.

‘What is?’

‘Bhelliom manipulated me. after I stole the rings from Ghwerig—or maybe even before—it put the notion into the rings themselves. I know it did. I no sooner took those rings than the idea occurred to me to separate them by giving one of them to your ancestor and the other to Ehlana’s. This has all been Bheliom’s scheme. That—that thing used me!’

‘My, my,’ Sparhawk said blandly.

‘And it was so clever!’ she fumed. ‘It seemed like such a good idea. Your blue friend and I are going to have a long talk about this!’

‘You were telling us how you forced Sephrenia to become our tutor, I believe,’ he said.

‘I commanded her to do it—after coaxing wouldn’t work. First I ordered her to take the rings to that pair of bleeding savages, and then I took her to your mother-house at Demos and compelled her to become your tutor. I had to have her there to keep your family on the right track. You’re Anakha, and I knew I’d need some kind of hold on you. Otherwise, Bhelliom would have had you all to itself, and I didn’t trust it enough to let that happen.’

‘Then you did plan all this in advance,’ Sparhawk said just a bit sadly.

‘Bhelliom may have planned it first,’ she said darkly. ‘I was absolutely sure it was my idea. I thought that if I just happened to be your daughter, you’d at least pay some attention to me.’

He sighed. ‘It was all completely calculated, then, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes, but that doesn’t have anything to do with the way I feel about you. I had a great deal to do with inventing you, Sparhawk, so I do really love you. You were a darling baby. I almost disassembled Kalten when he broke your nose. Sephrenia talked me out of it, though. Mother was a different story. You were sweet, but she was adorable. I loved her from the first moment I saw her, and I knew you two would get on well together. I’m really rather proud of the way things have turned out. I even think Bhelliom approves—of course it would never admit it. Bhelliom’s so stuffy sometimes.’

‘Did your cousin Setras actually go into the Basilica and talk with Dolmant?’ Vanion asked her suddenly. ‘Yes.’

‘How did Dolmant take it?’

‘Surprisingly well. Of course, Setras can be very charming when he wants to be, and Dolmant is fond of me.’ She paused, her dark eyes speculative. ‘I think his Archprelacy’s going to bring about some rather profound changes in your Church, Vanion. Dolmant’s mind isn’t absolutely locked in stone the way Ortzel’s is. I think Elene theology’s going to change a great deal while he’s Archprelate.’

‘The conservatives won’t like that.’

‘They never do. Conservatives wouldn’t even change their underwear if they didn’t have to.’

‘That’s extremely questionable from a legal standpoint, your Majesty,’ Oscagne said. ‘I’m not personally questioning your word, Anarae,’ he added quickly, ‘but I think we can all see the problem here. All we’ll have in the way of evidence is Xanetia’s unsubstantiated testimony about what somebody’s thinking. Even the most pliable of judges is likely to choke a bit on that. These are going to be very difficult cases to prosecute—particularly in view of the fact that some of the accused are going to be members of the great families of Tamuli proper.’

‘You might as well go ahead and tell them all of it, Stragen,’ Sparhawk suggested. ‘You’re going to carry out your plan anyway, and they’ll worry over legal niceties for weeks if you don’t tell them.’

Stragen winced.

‘I really wish you hadn’t brought it up, old boy,’ he said in a pained voice. ‘Their Majesties are official personages, and they’re more or less obliged to observe the strict letter of the law. They’d both be much more comfortable if they didn’t know too many details.’

‘I’m sure they would, but all this fretting about building ironclad court cases is wasting time we should be spending on other problems.’

‘What’s this?’ Sarabian asked.

‘Milord Stragen and Master Caalador are contemplating something along the lines of what you might call legal short-cuts, your Majesty—in the interests of expediency. Do you want to tell them, Stragen? Or do you want me to do it?’

‘You go ahead. It might sound better coming from you.’ Stragen leaned back, still brooding over his two gold coins.

‘Their plan’s very simple, your Majesty,’ Sparhawk told the Emperor. ‘They propose that instead of rounding up all these conspirators, spies, informers and the like, we just have them murdered.’

‘What?’ Sarabian exclaimed.

‘That was a very blunt way to put it, Sparhawk,’ Stragen complained.

‘I’m a blunt man.’ Sparhawk shrugged. ‘Actually, your Majesty, I sort of approve of the notion. Vanion’s having a little trouble choking it down, though.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘Justice is a funny thing,’ he observed. ‘She’s only partly interested in punishing the guilty. What she’s really interested in is deterrence. The idea is to frighten people into avoiding crime by doing unpleasant things—publicly—to the criminals who get caught. But as Stragen pointed out, most criminals know that they probably won’t get caught, so all the police and the courts are really doing is justifying their continued employment. He suggests that we by-pass the police and the courts and send out the murderers some night very soon. The next morning, everybody even remotely connected with Zalasta and his renegade Styrics would be found with his throat cut. If we want a deterrent, that would really be the most effective one. There wouldn’t be any acquittals or appeals or imperial pardons to confuse the issue. If we do it that way, everybody in all of Tamuli will have nightmares about the fruits of treason for years afterward. I approve of the idea for tactical reasons, though. I’ll leave justice to the courts—or the Gods. I like the idea because of the damage it would do to Zalasta. He’s a Styric, and Styrics usually try to get what they want by deception and misdirection. Zalasta’s set up a very elaborate apparatus to gain his ends without a direct confrontation. Stragen’s plan would destroy that apparatus in a single night, and only madmen would be willing to join Zalasta after that. Once the apparatus is gone, he’ll have to come out in the open and fight. He’s not good at that, but we are. This would give us the chance to fight this war on our own terms, and that’s always an enormous tactical advantage.’

‘And we can pick our own time,’ Caalador added. ‘The timing would be very important.’

‘They wouldn’t be expecting it, that’s one thing,’ Itagne noted.

‘There are rules, Itagne,’ his brother objected. ‘Civilization’s based on rules. If we break the rules, how can we expect others to follow them?’

‘That’s the whole point, Oscagne. Right now, the rules are protecting the criminals, not society as a whole. We can wriggle around and come up with some kind of legalistic justification for it afterward. About the only real objection I have is that these ah—agents of government policy, shall we say, won’t have any official standing.’ He frowned for a moment.

‘I suppose we could solve that problem by appointing Milord Stragen to the post of Minister of the Interior and Master Caalador to that of Director of the Secret Police.’

‘Real secret, your Excellency,’ Caalador laughed. ‘I don’t even know who most of the murderers are.’

Itagne smiled. ‘Those are the best kind, I suppose.’ He looked at the Emperor. ‘That would put a slight stain of legality on the whole business, your Majesty—in the event that you decide to go ahead with it.’

Sarabian leaned thoughtfully back in his chair. ‘I’m tempted,’ he said. ‘A blood-bath like this would insure domestic tranquility in Tamuli for at least a century.’ He shook off his expression of wistful yearning and sat up.

‘It’s just too uncivilized. I couldn’t approve of something like that with Lady Sephrenia and Anarae Xanetia watching me and sitting in judgement.’

‘What are your feelings, Xanetia?’ Sephrenia asked tentatively.

‘We of the Delphae are not over-concerned with niceties and technicalities, Sephrenia.’

‘I didn’t think you would be. Good is good, and bad is bad, wouldn’t you say?’

‘It seemeth so to me.’

‘And to me as well. Zalasta’s hurt the both of us, and Stragen’s massacre would hurt him. I don’t think either of us would object too much to something that would cause him pain, would we?’ Xanetia smiled.

‘It’s your decision, then, Sarabian,’ Sephrenia said. ‘Don’t look to Xanetia and me for some excuse not to make it. We find nothing objectionable in the plan.’

‘I’m profoundly disappointed in both of you,’ he told them. ‘I was hoping you’d get me off the hook. You’re my last chance, Ehlana. Doesn’t this monstrous notion turn your blood cold?’

‘Not particularly.’ She shrugged. ‘But I’m an Elene—and a politician. As long as we don’t get caught with bloody knives in our own hands, we can always wriggle out of it.’

‘Won’t anyone help me?’ Sarabian actually looked desperate.

Oscagne gave his Emperor a penetrating look. ‘It has to be your decision, your Majesty,’ he said. ‘I personally don’t like it, but I’m not the one who has to give the order.’

‘Is it always like this, Ehlana?’ Sarabian groaned.

‘Usually,’ she replied quite calmly. ‘Sometimes it’s worse.’

The Emperor sat staring at the wall for quite some time. ‘All right, Stragen,’ he said finally. ‘ Go ahead and do it.’

‘That’s mother’s darling boy,’ Ehlana said fondly.

25

‘No, Caalador,’ Sparhawk said, ‘as a matter of fact, it won’t take three or four weeks. I have access to a faster way to get from place to place.’

‘That won’t do any good, Sparhawk,’ the ruddy-faced Cammorian objected. ‘The people in the Secret Government won’t take orders from you.’

‘I won’t be giving the orders, Caalador,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘You will.’

Caalador swallowed. ‘Are you sure it’s safe to travel that way?’ he asked doubtfully.

‘Trust me. How many people will we have to get word to?’

Caalador threw an uncomfortable glance at Sarabian. ‘I’m not at liberty to say.’

‘I won’t use the information, Caalador,’ the Emperor assured him.

‘You and I know that, your Majesty, but rules are rules. We like to keep our numbers just a little vague.’

‘Generalize, Caalador,’ Ehlana suggested. ‘A hundred? Five hundred?’

‘Not hardly that many, dorlin’,’ he laughed. ‘Thar ain’t no pie whut kin be cut into that many pieces.’ He squinted a bit anxiously at Stragen. ‘Let’s just say more than twenty and less than a hundred and let it go at that, shall we? I’d rather not get my own throat cut.’

‘That’s general enough,’ Stragen laughed. ‘I won’t turn you in for that, Caalador.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Don’t mention it.’

‘Two or three days, then,’ Sparhawk said.

‘Let’s not start passing the word around until after the Anarae pulls her net through Krager’s mind tomorrow morning,’ Stragen said.

‘Thou art fond of that particular metaphor, Milord Stragen,’ Xanetia noted in a slightly disapproving tone.

‘I’m not trying to be offensive, Anarae. I’m groping for a way to explain something I couldn’t begin to understand, that’s all.’ Stragen’s face grew bleak. ‘If Krager really knows about the Secret Government, he’s probably infiltrated it, and there’ll be some people out there we won’t want to tell about this.’

‘And whose names we’ll be adding to our list,’ Caalador added.

‘Just how long is your list, Master Caalador?’ Oscagne asked.

‘You don’t really need to know that, your Excellency,’ Caalador replied in a tone that clearly said that he wasn’t going to discuss the matter. ‘Let’s pick a date—something that sort of stands out in people’s minds. Thieves and cutthroats aren’t all that good at reading calendars.’

‘How about the Harvest Festival?’ Itagne suggested. ‘It’s only three weeks away, and it’s celebrated in all of Tamuli.’

Caalador looked around. ‘Can we wait that long?’ he asked.

‘It would be the perfect time. Our murderers would have three nights to get the job done instead of one, and there’s lots of noise and confusion during the Harvest Festival.’

‘And lots of drinking,’ Itagne added. ‘The whole continent gets roaring drunk.’

‘It’s a general holiday, then?’ Bevier asked.

Itagne nodded. ‘Technically it’s a religious holiday. We’re supposed to thank the Gods for a bountiful harvest. Most people can get that out of the way in about a half a minute, and that leaves them three days and nights to get into trouble. The harvest crews are all paid off, they take their annual baths, and then head for the nearest town in search of mischief.’

‘It’s made to order for our purposes,’ Caalador added.

‘Will you be ready to move your forces against the Trolls in three weeks, Lord Vanion?’ Sarabian asked. ‘More than ready, your Majesty. We weren’t planning to gather them all in one place anyway. The detachments from each garrison are only platoon-sized, and a platoon can move faster than a battalion. They’re all moving toward staging areas along the Atan border.’

‘Do we want to hit them all at the same time?’ Kalten asked.

‘We could go any one of three ways on that,’ Sparhawk said. ‘We can hit the Trolls first and pull Zalasta’s attention to northern Atan, or we can murder the conspirators first and send him scurrying around the continent trying to salvage what he can of his organization, or we can do it simultaneously and see if he can be in a hundred places all at the same time.’

‘We can decide that later,’ Sarabian said. ‘Let’s get word to the murderers first. We know that we want them to go to work during the Harvest Festival. The military situation’s more fluid.’

‘Let’s make a special point of eliminating Sabre, Parok and Rebal this time,’ Stragen said to Caalador. ‘Evidently the Atans missed them in the last general round-up. Those Elene kingdoms in western Tamuli are standing between Sir Tynian and Matherion, and as long as those three trouble-makers are alive, he’s going to have rough going. Is there any way we could get Scarpa as well?’

Caalador shook his head. ‘He’s holed up in Natayos. He’s turned it into a fortress and filled it with fanatics. I couldn’t pry a murderer enough to try to kill him. The only way we’ll get Scarpa is to mount a military expedition.’

‘That’s a shame,’ Sephrenia murmured. ‘The death of his only son would definitely twist a knife in Zalasta’s belly.’

‘Savage,’ Vanion accused affectionately.

‘Zalasta killed my family, Vanion,’ she replied. ‘All I want to do is return the favor.’

‘That sounds fair to me,’ he smiled.

‘I’m still dead set against it,’ Stragen said stubbornly when he, Sparhawk and Ulath met in the hallway a bit later.

‘Be reasonable, Stragen,’ Ulath said. ‘It won’t hurt anything to see what they have to say, will it? I’m not going to just turn them loose without any restrictions at all, you know.’

‘They’ll agree to anything to get their freedom, Ulath. They might promise to pull the Trolls out of Atan—or even to help us deal with Zalasta and Cyrgon—but once they get back to Thalesia, they won’t feel obligated to honor any commitments. We’re not even members of the same species as their worshipers. We’re just animals in their eyes. Would you feel obliged to keep promises you made to a bear?’

‘That would depend on the bear, I suppose.’

‘The Troll-Gods might break promises they make to us,’ Sparhawk said, ‘but they won’t break faith with Bhelliom, because Bhelliom can re-absorb them if they try any tricks.’

‘Well,’ Stragen said doubtfully, “I want to be sure everybody understands that I don’t like this, but I guess it won’t hurt to hear what they have to say. I want to be present, though. I don’t altogether trust you, Ulath, so I want to hear the promises you give them.’

‘Do you understand Trollish?’

Stragen shuddered. ‘Of course not.’

‘You’re going to have a little difficulty following the conversation, then, don’t you think?’

‘Sephrenia’s going along, isn’t she? She can translate for me.’

‘Are you sure you trust her?’

‘That’s a contemptible thing to say.’

‘I thought I’d ask. When do you want to do this, Sparhawk?’

‘Let’s not be premature,” Sparhawk decided. ‘I still have to take Caalador around to talk with his friends. Let’s get that all set up and make sure that the Atans Vanion’s calling in are in the staging areas before we broach the subject to the Troll-Gods. There’s no point in getting them excited until we need them.’

‘I think we’ll want to be out in the countryside when we talk with them,’ Ulath suggested. ‘When we tell them that Cyrgon’s stolen their worshipers, their screams of outrage might shatter all the sea-shells off the walls of Matherion.’

‘His mind is much fogged by drink,’ Xanetia reported about mid-morning the next day after she and Berit had returned from the Cynesgan embassy, ‘and it is difficult to wring consistency from it.’

‘Does he have any suspicions at all, Anarae?’ Stragen asked with a worried expression.

‘He doth know that thou hast set thieves and beggars to watch him in the past, Milord Stragen,’ she replied, ‘but it is his thought that thou—or young Talen—must make these arrangements in each city and that one of ye must go there to speak with each chief separately.’

‘He don’t know nothin’ about the Sekert Cover-mint?’ Caalador pressed, speaking in dialect for some obscure reason.

‘His understanding of thy society is vague, Master Caalador. Cooperation of such nature is beyond his grasp, for Krager himself is incapable of it, being guided only by immediate self-interest.’

‘What a splendid drunkard,’ Stragen exulted. ‘Let’s all pray that he never sobers up!’

‘A-men.’ Caalador agreed fervently. ‘Well, Sporhawk, why don’t yew have a talk with this yore joel o’ yourn, an me’n you’ll go a-hippety-skippin ’round about Tamuli. We got us folks t’ see an’ th’otes t’ cut.’

Xanetia’s face took on a pained expression.

Caalador was badly shaken the first few times Bhelliom whisked him half-way across the continent, but after that he seemed to grow numb. It took him about a half-hour each time to pass instructions to the various criminal chiefs of Tamuli, and Sparhawk strongly suspected that the ruddy-faced Cammorian settled his shaken nerves with strong drink at each stop. Sparhawk could not be sure, of course, since he was quite firmly excluded from the discussions.

‘You don’t need to know who these people are, Sparhawk,’ Caalador said, ‘and your presence would just make them nervous.’

Vanion’s small Atan detachments were streaming into the staging areas along the Atan border from all over Tamuli, and Tikume had promised several thousand eastern Peloi in addition to the three hundred bowmen Kring had taken with him back to Atan. Bhelliom took Sparhawk and Vanion to the Atan capital so that they could reassure Betuana that they were in fact marshaling forces to come to her aid, but to explain why they were holding most of that aid at the border.

‘The Trolls wouldn’t understand the significance of those reinforcements, Betuana-Queen,’ Vanion told her, ‘but Cyrgon’s completely versed in strategy and tactics. He’d understand what was going on immediately. Let’s not give him any hints about what we’re doing until we’re ready to strike.’

‘Do you really think you can spring surprises on a God, Vanion-Preceptor?’ she asked. Betuana was dressed in what passed for armor among the Atans, and her face clearly showed that she had been functioning on short sleep for weeks.

‘I’m certainly going to try, Betuana-Queen,’ Vanion replied with a brief smile. ‘I think it’s fairly safe to say that Cyrgon hasn’t had a new thought in the last twenty thousand years. Military thinking’s changed a great deal in that time, so he probably won’t fully understand what we’re up to.’ He made a wry face. ‘At least that’s what I’m hoping,’ he added.

And then it reached the point where they could not put it off any longer. None of them were really comfortable with the idea of chatting with the Troll-Gods, but the time had come to put Ulath’s notion to the test.

About an hour before dawn of the day none of them had really been looking forward to, Sparhawk and Vanion went to Sephrenia’s room to speak with Sephrenia, Xanetia and Danae. Their discussions struck a snag almost immediately.

‘I have to go along, Sparhawk,’ Danae insisted.

‘That’s out of the question,’ he told her. ‘Ulath and Stragen are going to be there. We can’t let them find out who you really are.’

‘They’re not going to find anything out, father,’ she said with exaggerated patience. ‘It won’t be Danae who’ll be going along.’

‘Oh. That’s different, then.’

‘Exactly how are we going to work this, Sparhawk?’ Vanion asked. ‘Won’t you have to release the Troll-Gods in order to talk with them?’

Sparhawk shook his head. ‘Bhelliom says we won’t. The TrollGods themselves will still be locked up inside Bhelliom. Their spirits have always been free to roam around, except when Bhelliom’s encased in gold—or steel. They have a certain limited amount of power in that condition, I guess, but their real power’s locked up with them inside the Bhelliom.’

‘Wouldn’t it be safer just to get them to agree to use that limited power rather than to unleash them entirely?’ Vanion asked.

‘It wouldn’t work, dear one,’ Sephrenia told him. ‘The TrollGods may encounter Cyrgon, and if they do, they’ll need their full power.’

‘Moreover,’ Xanetia added, “I do strongly believe that they will sense our need and bargain stringently.’

‘Are you going to do the talking, Sparhawk?’ Vanion asked.

Sparhawk shook his head. ‘Ulath knows Trolls—and the Troll-Gods—better than I do, and his Trollish is better than mine. I’ll hold Bhelliom and call the Troll-Gods out and then let him do the talking.’ He looked out the window. ‘It’s almost dawn,’ he said. ‘We’d better get started. Ulath and Stragen are going to meet us down in the courtyard.’

‘Turn your backs,’ Danae told them.

‘What?’ her father asked.

‘Turn around, Sparhawk. You don’t have to watch this.

‘It’s one of her quirks,’ Sephrenia explained. ‘She doesn’t want anybody to know what she really looks like.’

‘I already know what Flute looks like.’

‘There’s a transition, Sparhawk. She doesn’t go directly from Danae to Flute. She passes through her real person on the way from one little girl to the other.’

Sparhawk sighed. ‘How many of her are there?’

‘Thousands, I’d imagine.’

‘That’s depressing. I’ve got a daughter I don’t really know.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Danae said. ‘Of course you know me.’

‘But only one of you, a several thousandth part of who you really are—such a tiny part.’ He sighed again and turned his back.

‘It’s not a tiny part, father.’ Danae’s voice changed as she spoke, becoming richer, more vibrant. It was no longer a child’s voice, but a woman’s.

There was a mirror on the far side of the room, a flat sheet of polished brass. Sparhawk glanced at it and saw the wavering reflection of a figure standing behind him. He quickly averted his eyes.

‘Go ahead and look, Sparhawk. It’s not a very good mirror, so you won’t see all that much.”

He raised his eyes and stared at the gleaming brass. The reflection was distorted. About all he could really see was the general size and shape. Aphrael was somewhat taller than Sephrenia. Her hair was long and very dark, and her skin was pale. Her face was hardly more than a blur in that imperfect reflection, but he could see her eyes quite clearly for some reason. There was an ageless wisdom in those eyes and a kind of eternal joy and love.

‘I wouldn’t do this for just anybody, Sparhawk,’ the woman’s voice told him, ‘but you’re the best father I’ve ever had, so I’m stretching the rules for you.’

‘Don’t you wear any clothes?’ he asked her.

‘What on earth for? I don’t get cold, you know.

‘I’m talking about modesty, Aphrael. I am your father, after all, and things like that are supposed to concern me.’

She laughed and reached around from behind him to caress his face. It was not a little girl’s hand which touched his cheek. He caught the faint scent of crushed grass, but the rest of the familiar fragrance that lingered about both Danae and Flute had been subtly changed. The person standing behind him was definitely not a little girl.

‘Is this the way you appear to the rest of your family?’ he asked her.

‘Not very often. I prefer to have them think of me as a child. I can get my own way a lot easier in that form—and I get a lot more kisses.’

‘Getting your own way is very important to you, isn’t it, Aphrael?’

‘Of course. It’s important to all of us, isn’t it? I’m just better at it than most.’ She laughed, a deep, rich laugh. ‘I’m probably the best there is at getting my own way.’

‘I’ve noticed that,’ he said dryly.

‘Well,’ she said then, ‘I’d love to talk more with you about it, but I suppose we shouldn’t keep Ulath and Stragen waiting.’ The reflection wavered and began to shrink, sliding back into childhood. ‘All right, then,’ Flute’s familiar voice said, ‘let’s go have it out with the Troll-Gods.’

It was blustery that morning, and dirty gray clouds scudded in off the Tamul Sea. There were few citizens abroad in fire-domed Matherion as Sparhawk and his friends rode out of the palace compound and down the long, wide street leading to the west gate. They left the city and rode up the long hill to the place from which they had first glimpsed the gleaming city.

‘How do you plan to approach them?’ Stragen asked Ulath as they crested the hill.

‘Carefully,’ Ulath grunted. ‘I’d rather not get eaten. I’ve talked with them before, so they probably remember me, and the fact that Sparhawk’s holding Bhelliom in his fist may help to curb their urge to devour me right on the spot.’

‘Any particular sort of place you’d like?’ Vanion asked him.

‘An open field—but not too open. I want trees nearby so I can climb one in case things turn ugly.’ Ulath looked around at the rest of them. ‘One word of caution,’ he added. ‘Don’t any of you stand between me and the nearest tree once I get started.

‘Over there?’ Sparhawk suggested, pointing toward a pasture backed by a pine grove.

Ulath squinted. ‘It’s not perfect, but no place really would be. Let’s get this over with. My nerves are strung a little tight this morning for some reason.’

They rode out into the pasture and dismounted. ‘Is there anything anyone would like to tell me before we start?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘You’re on your own, Sparhawk,’ Flute replied. ‘It’s all up to you and Ulath. We’re just here to observe.’

‘Thanks,’ he said dryly.

She curtsied. ‘Don’t mention it.’

Sparhawk took the box out from inside his tunic and touched his ring to it. ‘Open,’ he told it.

The lid popped up.

‘Blue Rose,’ Sparhawk said, speaking in Elenic.

‘I hear thee, Anakha.’ The voice came from Vanion’s lips again.

‘I feel the Troll-Gods within thee. Can they understand my words when I speak in this tongue?’

‘Nay, Anakha.’

‘Good. Cyrgon hath by deceit and subterfuge lured the Trolls here to Daresia and doth hurl them against our allies, the Atans. We would attempt to persuade the Troll-Gods to re-assert their authority over their creatures. Thinkest thou that they might be willing to give hearing to our request?’

‘Any God listens most attentively to words concerning his worshipers, Anakha.’

‘I had thought such might be the case. Dost thou agree with mine assessment that the knowledge that Cyrgon hath stolen their Trolls will enrage them?’

‘They will be discomfited out of all measure, Anakha.’

‘How thinkest thou we might best proceed with them?’

‘Advise them in simple words of what hath come to pass. Speak not too quickly nor with obscured meaning, for they are slow of understanding.’

‘I have perceived as much in past dealings with them.’

‘Wilt thou speak with them? I say this not in criticism, but thy Trollish is rude and uncouth.”

‘Did you put that in, Vanion?’ Sparhawk accused.

‘Not me.’ Vanion protested his innocence. ‘I wouldn’t know good Trollish from bad.’

‘Forgive mine ineptitude, Blue Rose. Mine instructor was in haste when she schooled my tongue in the language of the man-beasts.’

‘Sparhawk!’ Sephrenia objected.

‘Well, weren’t you?’ He addressed the stone again. ‘My comrade, Sir Ulath, hath greater familiarity with Trolls and their speech than do I. It is he who will advise the Troll-Gods that Cyrgon hath stolen their creatures.’

‘I will bring forth their spirits that thy comrade may address them.’

The stone pulsed in his hand, and the gigantic presences Sparhawk had sensed in the Temple of Azash were there, but this time they were in front of him where he could see them. He fervently wished that he could not. Because their reality was still locked inside the Bhelliom, their forms were suffused with an azure glow. They bulked enormous before him, their brutish faces enraged and their fury held in check only by the power of Bhelliom.

‘All right, Ulath,’ Sparhawk said. ‘This is a dangerous situation. Try to be very, very convincing.’

The big Genidian knight swallowed hard and stepped forward.

‘I am Ulath-from-Thalesia,’ he said in Trollish. ‘I speak for Anakha, Bhelliom’s child. I bring word of your children. Will you hear me?’

‘Speak, Ulath-from-Thalesia.’ Sparhawk judged from the crackling roar mingled in the enormous voice that it was Khwaj, the Troll-God of Fire, who spoke.

Ulath’s face took on an expression of mild reproach. ‘We are baffled by what you have done,’ he told them. ‘Why have you given your children to Cyrgon?’

‘What?’ Khwaj roared.

‘It was our thought that you wished it so,’ Ulath said, feigning surprise. ‘Did you not command your children to leave their home-range and to walk for many sleeps across the ice-which-never-melts to this alien place?’

Khwaj howled, beating at the ground with his ape-like fists, raising a cloud of dust and smoke from the ground.

‘When did this come to pass?’ Another voice, a voice filled with a kind of gross slobbering, demanded.

‘Two full turns of the seasons, Ghnomb,’ Ulath answered the question of the God of Eat. ‘It was our thought that you knew. Blue Rose called you forth that we might ask why you have done this. Our Gods wish to know why you have broken the compact.’

‘Compact?’ Stragen asked after Sephrenia had translated.

‘It’s an agreement,’ Flute explained. ‘We didn’t really want to exterminate the Trolls, so we told the Troll-Gods that we’d leave their children alone if they’d stay in the Thalesian mountains.’

‘When did this happen?’

‘Twenty-five thousand years ago or so.’

Stragen swallowed hard.

‘Why are your children obeying Cyrgon if you did not command it?’ Ulath asked.

One of the gigantic figures stretched out an abnormally long arm, and the huge hand plunged into a kind of emptiness, vanishing as it went in, almost as a stick seems to vanish when poked into a forest pool. When the hand re-emerged, it held a struggling Troll. The enormous God spoke, harshly demanding. The language was clearly Trollish, snarling and roaring.

‘Now that’s interesting,’ Ulath murmured. ‘It appears that even Trollish has changed over the years.’

‘What’s he saying?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘I can’t entirely make it out,’ Ulath replied. ‘It’s so archaic that I can’t understand most of the words. Zoka’s demanding some answers, though.’

‘Zoka?’

‘The God of Mating.’ Ulath listened intently. ‘The Troll’s confused,’ he reported. ‘He says that they all thought they were obeying their Gods. Cyrgon’s disguise must have been nearly perfect. The Trolls are very close to their Gods, and they’d probably recognize any ordinary attempt to deceive them.’

Zoka roared and hurled the shrieking Troll back into emptiness. ‘Anakha!’ another of the vast Gods bellowed.

‘Which one is that?’ Sparhawk muttered.

‘Ghworg,’ Ulath replied quietly, ‘the God of Kill. Be a little careful with him. He’s very short-tempered.’

‘Yes, Ghworg,’ Sparhawk responded to that vast brute.

‘Release us from your father’s grip. Let us go. We must reclaim our children.’ There was blood dripping from the fangs of the God of Kill. Sparhawk didn’t want to think about whose blood it might be.

‘Let me,’ Ulath murmured. He raised his voice. ‘That is beyond Anakha’s power, Ghworg,’ he replied. ‘The spell which imprisoned you was of Ghwerig’s making. It is a Trollish spell, and Anakha is untaught in such.’

‘We will teach him the spell.’

‘No!’ Flute suddenly broke in, throwing aside her pretense of merely observing. ‘These are my children. I will not permit you to contaminate them with Trollish spells.’

‘We beg you, Child Goddess Set us free! Our children stray from us!’

‘My family will never agree. Your children look upon our children as food. If Anakha frees you, your children will devour ours. It cannot be.’

‘Ghnomb!’ Khwaj roared. ‘Give her surety!’

The huge face of the God of Eat twisted in agony. ‘I cannot!’ It was almost a wail. ‘It would lessen me! Our children must eat. All that lives must be food!’

‘Our children are lost unless you agree!’ The grass around the feet of the God of Fire began to smoke.

‘I think I see a toe-hold here,’ Ulath said in Elenic. He spoke again in Trollish. ‘There is justice in Ghnomb’s words,’ he told the Gods. ‘Why should he alone lessen himself? Each must also accept lessening. Ghnomb will not accept less.”

‘It speaks truly’ Ghnomb howled. ‘I will not be lessened unless all are lessened!’

The four other Troll-Gods squirmed, their faces reflecting the same agony that had marked Ghnomb’s.

‘What will satisfy you?’ It was the voice of the God that had not yet spoken. There were blizzards in that voice.

‘The God of Ice,’ Ulath identified the speaker, ‘Schlee.’

‘Lessen yourselves,’ Ghnomb demanded stubbornly. ‘I will not if you will not!’

‘Trolls,’ Aphrael sighed, rolling her eyes. ‘Will you accept my mediation in this?’ she demanded of the monstrous deities.

‘We will hear your words, Aphrael,’ Ghworg replied doubtfully.

‘Our purposes are the same,’ the Child Goddess began. Sparhawk groaned.

‘What’s wrong?’ Ulath asked quickly.

‘She’s going to make a speech—now of all time proportions.’

‘Shut up, Sparhawk!’ the Child Goddess snapped. ‘I know what I’m doing.’ She turned to face the Troll-Gods again. ‘Cyrgon deceived your children,’ she began. ‘He brought them across the ice-which-never-melts to this place to make war on my children. Cyrgon must be punished!’

The Troll-Gods roared their agreement.

‘Will you join with me and my family to cause hurt to Cyrgon for what he has done?’

‘We will cause hurt to him by ourselves, Aphrael,’ Ghworg snarled.

‘And how many of your children will die if you do? My children can pursue the children of Cyrgon into the lands of the sun, where your children die. Should we not join then that Cyrgon will suffer more?’

‘There is wisdom in her words,’ Schlee said to his fellows. The breath of the God of Ice steamed in the air, though it was not really that cold, and glittering snowflakes appeared out of nowhere to settle on his massive shoulders.

‘Ghnomb must agree that your children will no longer eat mine,’ Aphrael bored in. ‘If he does not, Anakha will not free you from his father’s grip.’

Ghnomb groaned.

‘Ghnomb must do this,’ she insisted. ‘If he does not, I will not permit Anakha to free you, and Cyrgon will keep your children. Ghnomb will not agree to this if each of you will not accept equal lessening. Ghworg! You must no longer drive your children to kill mine!’

Ghworg raised both huge arms and howled.

‘Khwaj!’ she continued inexorably. ‘You must curb the fires which rage through the forests of Thalesia each year when the sun returns to the lands of the north.’

Khwaj stifled a sob.

‘Schlee!’ Aphrael barked. ‘You must hold back the rivers of ice which crawl down the sides of the mountains. Let them melt when they reach the valleys.’

‘No!’ Schlee wailed.

‘Then you have lost all your children. Hold back the ice or you will weep alone in the wastes of the north. Zoka! No more than two offspring can issue from each she-Troll.’

‘Never.’ Zoka bellowed. ‘My children must mate!’

‘Your children are now Cyrgon’s. Will you aid Cyrgon’s increase?’ She paused, her eyes narrowing. ‘One last agreement will I have from you all, or I will not let Anakha free you.’

‘What is your demand, Aphrael?’ Schlee asked in his ice-choked voice.

‘Your children are immortal. Mine are not. Your children must also die—each in an appointed time.’

They exploded in an absolute rage.

‘Return them to their prison, Anakha,’ Aphrael said. ‘They will not agree. The bargaining is done.’ She said it in Trollish, so it was obviously intended for the benefit of the raging Troll-Gods.

‘Wait!’ Khwaj shouted. ‘Wait!’

‘Well?’ she said.

‘Let us go apart from you and your children that we may consider this monstrous demand.’

‘Do not be long,’ she said to them. ‘I have little patience.’ The five vast beings withdrew further out into the pasture.

‘Weren’t you pushing them a little far?’ Sephrenia suggested. ‘That last demand of yours may very well kill any chance of reaching an agreement.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Aphrael replied. ‘The Troll-Gods can’t think that far into the future. They live for now, and right now the most important thing for them is taking their Trolls back from Cyrgon.’ She sighed. ‘The last demand is the most important, really. Humans and Trolls can’t live in the same world. One or the other has to leave. I’d rather that it was the Trolls, wouldn’t you?’

‘You’re very cruel, Aphrael. You’re forcing the Troll-Gods to assist in the extermination of their own worshipers.’

‘The Trolls are doomed anyway,’ the Child Goddess sighed. ‘There are just too many humans in the world. If the Trolls suddenly become mortal, they’ll just slip away peacefully. If you humans have to kill them all, half of your number will die with them. I’m just as moral as the rest of the Gods. I love my children, and I don’t want half of them killed and eaten in the mountains of Thalesia in some war to the death with the Trolls.’

‘Sparhawk,’ Stragen said, ‘didn’t Khwaj do something that made it possible for you to watch Martel and listen to him talking when we were going across Pelosia toward Zemoch?’ Sparhawk nodded.

‘Can Aphrael do that?’

‘I’m right here, Stragen,’ Flute told him. ‘Why don’t you ask me?’

‘We haven’t really been properly introduced yet, Divine One,’ he said with a fluid bow. ‘Can you?—reach out and talk with somebody on the other side of the world, I mean?’

‘I don’t like to do it that way,’ she replied. ‘I want to be close to someone when I talk to him.’

‘My Goddess places great importance on touching, Stragen,’ Sephrenia explained.

‘Oh. I see. All right, then, when the Troll-Gods come back and if they agree to our preposterous demands—I’d like to have Sparhawk—or Ulath—ask Khwaj to do me a favor. I need to talk to Platime back in Cimmura.’

‘They do return,’ Xanetia advised.

They all turned to face the monstrous beings coming back across the autumn-browned pasture.

‘You have left us no choice, Aphrael, ‘ Khwaj said in a broken voice. ‘We must accept your brutal demands. We must save our children from Cyrgon.’

‘You will no longer kill and eat my children?’ she pressed.

‘We will not.’

‘You will no longer burn the forests of Thalesia?’ Khwaj groaned and nodded.

‘You will no longer fill the valleys with glaciers?’ Schlee sobbed his agreement.

‘You will no longer breed your Trolls like rabbits?’ Zoka wailed.

‘Your children will grow old and die as do all other creatures?’ Khwaj buried his face in his hands. ‘Yes,’ he wept.

‘Then we will join with you and do war upon Cyrgon. You will return to Bhelliom’s heart for now. Anakha will carry you to the place where your children languish in thrall to Cyrgon. There will he release you and there will you wrest your children from Cyrgon’s vile grasp. And there will we join together to cause hurt to Cyrgon. We will make his pain like the pain of Azash.’

‘YES.’ the Troll-Gods howled their agreement in unison.

‘Done then!’ Aphrael declared in a ringing voice. ‘One boon more, Khwaj—in demonstration of our newly formed alliance. This child of mine would speak with one known as Platime in Cimmura in far-off Elenia. Make it so that he can do this.’

‘I will, Aphrael.’ Khwaj held out his vast hand, and a sheet of unwavering fire dripped from his fingertips. Behind the fire there lay a bedchamber with a vast, snoring bulk sprawled on an oversized bed.

‘Wake up, Platime,’ Stragen said crisply.

‘Fire!’ Platime shrieked, struggling into a sitting position.

‘Oh, be quiet!’ Stragen snapped. ‘There isn’t any fire. This is magic.’

‘Stragen? Is that you? Where are you?’

‘I’m behind the fire. You probably can’t see me.

‘Are you learning magic now?’

‘Just dabbling,’ Stragen lied modestly. ‘Now listen carefully. I don’t know how long the spell will last. I want you to get in touch with Arnag in Khadach. Ask him to kill Count Gerrich. I don’t have time to explain. It’s important, Platime. It’s part of something we’re doing here in Tamuli.’

‘Gerrich?’ Platime said doubtfully. ‘That’s going to be expensive, Stragen.’

‘Get the money from Lenda. Tell him that Ehlana authorized it.’

‘Did she?’

‘Well—she would if she knew about it. I’ll get her approval next time I talk with her. Now, listen carefully, because this is the most important part. Gerrich has to be killed exactly fifteen days from now—not fourteen, not sixteen. The time’s very important.’

‘All right, I’ll see to it. Tell Ehlana that Gerrich will die in exactly fifteen days. Was there anything else? That magic fire of yours is making me very nervous.’

‘See if you can identify anybody else Gerrich has been dealing with and kill them as well—those Pelosian barons who’ve allied themselves with him certainly, and any people in the other kingdoms who are in this with him. You know the kind I mean the ones like the Earl of Bolton.’

‘You want them all killed at that same time?’

‘As close as you can. Gerrich is the really important one, though.’ Stragen pursed his lips. ‘While you’re at it, you’d probably better kill Avin Wargunsson as well—just to be on the safe side.’

‘He’s as good as dead, Stragen.’

‘You’re a good friend, Platime.’

‘Friend, my foot. You’ll pay the usual fees, Stragen.’

Stragen sighed. ‘All right,’ he said mournfully.

‘How deeply are you attached to your Elene God, Stragen?’ Aphrael asked as they rode back to Matherion.

‘I’m an agnostic, Divine One.’

‘Would you like to examine that last sentence for logical consistency, Stragen?’ Vanion asked with an amused expression.

‘Consistency’s the mark of a little mind, my Lord,’ Stragen replied loftily. ‘Why do you ask, Aphrael?’

‘You don’t really belong to any God, then, do you?’

‘No, not really.’

Sephrenia started to say something, but Aphrael raised one little hand to cut her off. ‘You might want to look into the advantages of coming to serve me,’ the Child Goddess suggested. ‘I can do all sorts of wonderful things for you.’

‘You’re not supposed to do this, Aphrael,’ Sephrenia protested.

‘Hush, Sephrenia. This is between Stragen and me. I think that maybe it’s time for me to broaden my horizons. Styrics are very, very nice, but sometimes Elenes are more fun. Besides, Stragen and I are both thieves. We’ve got a lot in common.’ She grinned at the blond man. ‘Think it over, Milord. I’m not at all difficult to serve. A few kisses and a bouquet of flowers now and then and I’m perfectly happy.’

‘She’s lying to you,’ Sparhawk warned. ‘Enlisting in the service of Aphrael is volunteering for the profoundest slavery you could possibly imagine.’

‘Well...’ the Child Goddess said deprecatingly, ‘I suppose it is when you get right down to it—but as long as we’re all having fun what difference does it make?’

26

It was quite early, several hours before dawn, Sparhawk judged, when Mirtai entered the royal bedroom—as usual without knocking. ‘You’d better get up,’ the golden giantess announced. Mirtai could be very blunt when the occasion demanded it.

Sparhawk sat up. ‘What’s the problem?’ he asked. ‘There’s a fleet of boats coming toward the city,’ she replied. ‘Either that, or the Delphae have learned how to walk on water. There are enough lanterns on the eastern horizon to light up a small city. Put your clothes on, Sparhawk. I’ll go wake the others.’ She turned abruptly and left the room.

‘I wish she’d learn to knock,’ Sparhawk muttered, throwing off the covers.

‘You’re the one who’s supposed to make sure that the doors are locked,’ Ehlana reminded him. ‘Do you think it might be trouble?’

‘I don’t know. Did Sarabian say anything about expecting a fleet?’

‘He didn’t mention it to me,’ she replied, also rising from their bed.

‘I’d better go have a look.’ He picked up his cloak. ‘There’s no need for you to go outside, dear,’ he told her. ‘It’s chilly up on the parapet.’

‘No. I want to see for myself.’

They went out of the bedroom. Princess Danae came out of her room in her nightdress, rubbing her eyes with one hand and dragging Rollo behind her. Mutely she went to Sparhawk, and he picked her up without even thinking. The three of them went into the hallway and up the stairs toward the top of the tower.

Kalten and Sarabian were standing on the east side of the tower looking out across the battlements at the lights strung out along the eastern horizon.

‘Any idea of who they might be?’ Sparhawk asked as he and his family joined them.

‘Not a clue,’ Kalten replied.

‘Could it be the Tamul navy? Ehlana asked the Emperor.

‘It could be, I suppose,’ he replied, ‘but if it is, they’re not responding to any orders I sent out.’

Sparhawk stepped back a few paces. ‘Who do the ships belong to?’ he murmured to his daughter.

‘I ain’t a-tellin’, dorlin’,’ she replied with a little smirk.

‘Stop that. I want to know who’s coming.’

‘You’ll find out...’ She squinted out toward the lights on the horizons. ‘in a couple of hours, I’d imagine.’

‘I want to know who they are,’ he insisted.

‘Yes, I can see that, but wanting isn’t getting, father, and I ain’t a-gonna tell ya.’

‘Oh, God,’ he groaned.

‘Yes?’ she responded innocently. ‘Was there something?’

The dawn came up rusty that morning. There was no hint of a breeze, and the smoke from the chimneys of fire-domed Matherion hung motionless in the air, blurring the light from the east. Sparhawk and the other knights roused the Atan garrison, put on their armor, and rode down to the harbor. The approaching ships were clearly of Cammorian construction, but they had been altered. Banks of oars had been added along their sides.

‘Somebody was in a hurry to get here,’ Ulath noted. ‘A Cammorian ship with a good following wind can make thirty leagues a day. If you added oars to that, you could increase it to fifty.’

‘How many ships are there?’ Kalten asked, squinting at the approaching fleet.

‘I make it close to a hundred,’ the big Thalesian replied.

‘You could carry a lot of men on a hundred ships, ‘ Sarabian said.

‘Enough to make me nervous, your Majesty,’ Vanion agreed.

Then, as the ships entered the harbor, the red and gold standards of the Church were run up on the masts, and as the lead vessel came closer, Sparhawk could make out two familiar figures standing in the bow. The one man had broad shoulders and a massive chest. His round face was split with a delighted grin. The other was short and very stout. He was also grinning.

‘What kept you?’ Ulath shouted across the intervening water.

‘Class distinctions,’ Tynian shouted back. ‘Knights are defined as gentlemen, and they objected to being pressed into service as oarsmen.’

‘You’ve got knights manning the oars?’ Vanion called incredulously.

‘It’s a part of a new physical conditioning program, Lord Vanion,’ Patriarch Emban shouted. ‘Archprelate Dolmant noticed that the Soldiers of God were getting a little flabby. They’re much more fit now than they were when we left Sarinium.’

The ship approached the wharf carefully, and the seamen threw the mooring hawsers to the knights ashore. Tynian leaped across. Emban gave him a disgusted look and waddled back amidships to wait for the sailors to extend the gangway.

‘How’s the shoulder?’ Ulath asked the broad-faced Deiran.

‘Much better,’ Tynian replied. ‘It aches when the weather’s damp, though.’ He saluted Vanion. ‘Komier, Darellon and Abriel are leading the Church Knights east from Chyrellos, my Lord,’ he reported. ‘‘Patriarch Bergsten’s with them. Patriarch Emban and I came on ahead by ship—obviously. We thought a few more knights here in Matherion might be useful.’

‘Indeed they will, Sir Tynian. How many do you have with you?’

‘Five thousand, my Lord.’

‘That’s impossible, Tynian. There’s no way you could crowd that many men and horses on a hundred ships.’

‘Yes, my Lord,’ Tynian replied mildly, ‘we noticed that ourselves almost immediately. The knights were terribly disappointed when they found out that we weren’t going to let them bring their horses with them.’

‘Tynian,’ Kalten objected, ‘they have to have horses. A knight without his horse is meaningless.’

‘There are already horses here, Kalten. Why bring more?’

‘Tamul horses aren’t trained.’

‘Then we’ll just have to train them, won’t we? I had a hundred ships. I could have brought fifteen hundred knights along with their horses, or five thousand without the horses. Call the extra thirty-five hundred a gift.’

‘How were you able to make them row?’ Ulath asked.

‘We used whips.’ Tynian shrugged. ‘There’s a Captain Sorgi who plies the inner sea, and the oars were his idea.’

‘Good old Sorgi,’ Sparhawk laughed.

‘You know him?’

‘Quite well, actually.’

‘You’ll be able to renew your friendship. His ship’s out there with the fleet. We’d have sailed aboard his ship, but Patriarch Emban didn’t like the looks of it. It’s all patched and rickety.’

‘It’s old. I think Sorgi has a secret bet with himself about which of them falls apart first—him or his ship.’

‘His mind’s still sharp, though. When we asked him how to get more speed out of the ships, he suggested adding oars to the sails. It’s very seldom done that way because of the expense of paying the oarsmen—not to mention the fact that they take up room usually reserved for cargo. I decided not to bring any cargo, and Church Knights are sworn to poverty, so I didn’t have to pay them. It worked out fairly well, actually.’

They gathered in Ehlana’s sitting room several hours later to hear Emban and Tynian report on what was happening in Eosia. ‘Ortzel quite nearly had apoplexy when Dolmant pulled all the knights out of Render,’ Emban told them. He leaned back in his chair with a silver tankard in his pudgy hand. ‘Ortzel really has his heart set on returning the Renders to the bosom of our Holy Mother. Dolmant seemed inclined to agree with him right at first, but he woke up one morning with a completely different outlook. Nobody’s been able to explain his sudden change of heart.’

‘He received a message, Emban,’ Sephrenia smiled. ‘The messenger can be very impressive when he wants to be.’

‘Oh?’

‘An emergency came up, your Grace,’ Vanion explained. ‘Zalasta had sent word to his confederates in Eosia, and they began killing the worshipers of the Child Goddess, Aphrael. That put her life in danger as well. We spoke with one of the other Younger Gods—Setras. He agreed that the other Younger Gods would lend Aphrael some of their children, and he went to Chyrellos to ask Dolmant to offer sanctuary to Aphrael’s surviving worshipers. He was also going to try to persuade Dolmant to send the Church Knights here. Evidently he was a bit more convincing than you and Tynian were.’

‘Are you saying that a Styric God went into the Basilica?’ Emban exclaimed.

‘He said that’s what he was going to do,’ Sparhawk replied, shifting his daughter in his lap.

‘No Styric God has ever gone into the Basilica!’

‘He’s wrong,’ Princess Danae whispered into her father’s ear. ‘I’ve been there dozens of times.’

‘I know,’ Sparhawk whispered back. ‘Setras paid a formal visit, though.’ He thought of something. ‘Setras went to Chyrellos just a short time ago,’ he murmured into her ear. ‘Even with oarsmen to help, Tynian’s fleet couldn’t have reached Matherion this fast. Have you been tampering again?’

‘Would I do that?’ Her eyes were wide and innocent.

‘Yes, as a matter of fact, you probably would.’

‘If you already knew the answer, why did you ask the question? Don’t waste my time, Sparhawk. I am very busy, you know.”

‘Things seem to be coming to a head in Lamorkand,’ Tynian continued his report. ‘Count Gerrich’s forces have taken Vraden and Agnak in northern Lamorkand, and King Friedahl’s been appealing to the other monarchs for assistance.’

‘We’ll be taking care of that shortly, Sir Tynian,’ Stragen told him. ‘I’ve been in touch with Platime, and he’s arranging fatal accidents for Gerrich and the various barons who’ve been helping him.’

The door opened, and Berit entered with Xanetia.

‘What did you find out, Anarae?’ Sephrenia asked intently.

‘This morning’s sortie was quite profitable, little mother,’ Berit advised her. ‘Zalasta’s friend Ynak showed up at the Cynesgan embassy, and the Anarae was able to probe his mind. I think we’ve got most of the details of their plan now.’

‘Is this the lady with the rare gift?’ Emban asked.

‘I seem to be forgetting my manners,’ Vanion apologized. ‘Anarae Xanetia, this is Sir Tynian of Deira and Patriarch Emban of the Church of Chyrellos. Gentlemen, this is Xanetia, the Anarae of the People of Delphaeus.’

Tynian and Emban bowed, their eyes curious.

‘What have our friends at the embassy been up to, Anarae?’ Sarabian asked.

‘Though it was not pleasant to probe so vile a mind, Ynak’s thought did reveal much, Majesty,’ she replied. ‘As we had surmised, the outcast Styrics at Verel have long known that the greatest threat to their design would come from Eosia. They wished Anakha to come to Tamuli, but they did not wish for him to bring a hundred thousand Church Knights with him. The turmoil in western Tamuli is in fact intended to block the passage of the knights. All else is extraneous. Moreover, the attacks of the Trolls in Atan are also designed to divert attention. Our peril doth not approach from the west or from the north. It is from the south that our enemies plan to make their main assault. Even now do Cynesgan troops filter across the unguarded frontier to join with Scarpa’s forces in the jungles of Arjuna, and Elenes from western Tamuli, moreover, do journey by ship to southern Arjuna to add their weight to Scarpa’s growing horde. The distractions in the west and in Atan were to drain away imperial might and to weaken Tamul proper, thus opening a path for Scarpa to strike directly across Tamul and to lay siege to Matherion itself. Ynak and the others were much chagrined by the exposure of Zalasta’s treachery, for it voided his opportunity to do us harm by misdirection and false counsel.’

‘What’s the real goal of a siege of Matherion, Lady Xanetia?’ Emban asked shrewdly. ‘It’s a nice enough city, but...’ He spread his hands.

‘Our enemies thought to compel the imperial government to surrender up Anakha by posing a threat to Matherion itself, your Grace. The subversion of diverse ministers and officials gave them hope that the Prime Minister might be persuaded to capitulate so that Matherion might be spared.’

‘That might have worked,’ Sarabian noted. ‘Pondia Subat’s backbone isn’t really very rigid. Zalasta and his four friends plan things quite well.’

‘Three friends now, your Majesty,’ Berit grinned. ‘The Anarae tells me that the one named Ptaga came a cropper a few days ago.’

‘The vampire-raiser?’ Kalten said. ‘What happened to him?

‘May I tell them, Anarae?’ Berit asked politely.

‘An it please thee, Sir Knight.’

‘It seems that Ptaga was in southern Tamul proper—in those mountains between Sama and Samar. He was waving his arms and creating the illusion of Shining Ones to turn loose on the populace. One of the real Delphae was out scouting the area and came across him and quietly joined the crowd of illusions.’ Berit grinned a nasty little grin.

‘Well?’ Kalten said impatiently. ‘What happened?’

‘Ptaga was inspecting his illusions, and when he came to the real Shining One, not even he could tell the difference. The Delphaeic scout reached out and touched him. Ptaga’s cast his last illusion, I guess. He was in the process of dissolving when the scout left the area.’

‘Ynak of Hydros is most discomfited by his associate’s demise,’ Xanetia added, ‘for without the illusions of Ptaga, our enemies must produce real forces to confront us.’

‘And that brings us to something we should consider, ‘ Oscagne observed. ‘The arrival of Sir Tynian and Patriarch Emban with five thousand knights, the elimination of these illusions which were terrorizing the populace, and our knowledge of this planned attack from the south changes the whole strategic situation, doesn’t it?’

‘It certainly does,’ Sarabian agreed.

‘I think we might want to consider these new developments in our planning, then, your Majesty.’

‘You’re very right, of course, Oscagne.’ Sarabian squinted at Sparhawk. ‘Could we prevail on you to go on up to Atan and bring Betuana back here, old boy?’ he asked. ‘If we’re going to discuss changes in planning, she should be present. Betuana’s bigger than I am, and I definitely don’t want to insult her by leaving her out of our discussions.’

Betuana, the Queen of the Atans, ruled more or less by default. King Androl, her husband, was a stupendous warrior, and that may have been a part of the problem. He was so stupendous that the normal concerns of the military commanders—such problems as being grossly outnumbered, for example—were quite beyond his grasp. Men who are sublimely convinced of their own invincibility seldom make good generals. Betuana, on the other hand, was a good general, quite possibly one of the best in the world, and the peculiar Atan society, which totally ignored any distinctions between the sexes, gave her talents the fullest opportunity to flower. Far from resenting his wife’s superiority, Androl was inordinately proud of her. Sparhawk rather suspected that Betuana might have preferred it otherwise, but she was realistic about the whole thing. She had, moreover, a disconcerting level of trust. Sparhawk had carefully marshaled a number of explanations about both the need for the council of war and about their mode of travel, but those explanations proved totally unnecessary.

‘All right,’ she replied calmly when he told her that Bhelliom would transport them instantly to Matherion.

‘You don’t want any details, your Majesty?’ He was more than a little surprised.

‘Why waste time explaining something I wouldn’t understand anyway, Sparhawk-Knight?’ She shrugged. ‘I’ll accept your word that the jewel can take us to Matherion. You don’t have any reason to lie to me about it. Give me a few moments to tell Androl that I’m going and to change clothes. Sarabian-Emperor finds my work-clothes a trifle unsettling.’ She glanced down at her armor.

‘He’s changed quite a bit, your Majesty.’

‘So Norkan tells me. I’m curious to find out just how much your wife has modified him. I’ll be right back.’ She strode from the room.

‘You get used to that, Sparhawk,’ Khalad said. ‘She’s very direct, and she doesn’t waste time asking questions about things she doesn’t need to know about. It’s quite refreshing, actually.’

‘Be nice,’ Sparhawk said mildly.

Ambassador Norkan was nervous, but both Kring and Engessa were quite nearly as calm as the queen.

‘God.’ Emperor Sarabian exclaimed as the momentary blur faded and the trees of Atan vanished to be replaced by the familiar blue carpeting, breeze-touched drapes, and the gleaming, opalescent walls of the royal sitting room in Ehlana’s castle. ‘Isn’t there some way you can announce that you’re coming, Sparhawk?’

‘I don’t think so, your Majesty,’ Sparhawk replied.

‘Having a group of people simply pop out of nowhere is very unnerving, you know.’ He frowned. ‘What would have happened if I’d been standing in the same spot as the one you just appeared in? Would we have suddenly gotten sort of combined? —all mixed together into one person?’

‘I don’t really know, your Majesty.’

‘Tell him that it is impossible, Anakha,’ Vanion, still speaking for Bhelliom, said. ‘I would not make such errors, and it is unusual for two things to be in the same place at once.’

‘Unusual?’ Sarabian demanded. ‘Do you mean that it can happen?’

‘I pray thee, Anakha, ask him not to pursue this question The answers will greatly disturb him.’

‘You’re looking fit, Sarabian-Emperor,’ Betuana said. ‘You are much changed. Do you know how to use that sword?’

‘The rapier? Oh, yes, Betuana. Actually, I’m quite proficient.’

‘The weapon is light for my taste, but each of us must select such arms as suit him best. Sparhawk-Knight and Vanion-Preceptor tell me that much has changed. Let us consider those changes and adjust our plans to fit them.’ She looked at Ehlana and smiled. ‘You look well, Sister-Queen,’ she said. ‘Matherion suits you.’

‘And you’re as lovely as ever, dear sister,’ Ehlana replied warmly. ‘The gown is breathtaking.’

‘Do you really like it?’ Betuana turned almost girlishly to show off her deep blue Atan gown which left one golden shoulder bare and was girdled at the hips with a golden chain.

‘It’s absolutely stunning, Betuana. Blue is definitely your color.’

Betuana glowed at the compliment. ‘Now then, Sarabian,’ she said, all business again, ‘what’s happened, and what are we going to do about it?’

‘I do not find that amusing, Sarabian-Emperor,’ Betuana declared angrily.

‘I didn’t say it to amuse you, Betuana. I felt much the same way when they told me about it. I’ve sent for the lady. You’re probably going to have to see for yourself.’

‘Do you take me for some child to be frightened by stories of ghosts and hobgoblins?’

‘Of course not, but I assure you, Xanetia really is a Delphae.’

‘Does she glow?’

‘Only when it suits her. She’s been suppressing the light for the sake of our peace of mind—and she’s altered her coloration. She looks like an ordinary Tamul, but believe me, she’s far from ordinary.’

‘I think you’ve lost your mind, Sarabian-Emperor.’

‘You’ll see, dorlin’.’

She gave him a startled look.

‘Local joke.’ He shrugged.

The door opened, and Xanetia, Danae and Sephrenia entered. Princess Danae, her face artfully innocent, went to Betuana’s chair and held out her arms. Betuana smiled at the little girl, picked her up, and held her on her lap. ‘How have you been, Princess?’ she asked in Elenic.

‘That’s all right, Betuana,’ the little girl replied in Tamul. ‘Sephrenia’s taught us all to speak the language of humans. I’ve been a little sick, actually, but I’m all better now. It’s really boring to be sick, isn’t it?’

‘I’ve always thought so, Danae.’

‘I don’t think I’ll do it any more, then. You haven’t kissed me yet.’

‘Oh,’ Betuana smiled. ‘I forgot. I’m sorry.’ She quickly attended to the oversight.

Sarabian straightened in his chair. ‘Queen Betuana of Atan, I have the honor to present Anarae Xanetia of Delphaeus. Would you mind showing the queen who you are, Anarae?’

‘An it please thee, Majesty,’ Xanetia replied.

‘It’s a startling experience, your Majesty,’ Emban said to the Atan queen, folding his pudgy hands on his paunch, ‘but you get used to it.’

Xanetia looked gravely at Betuana. ‘Thy people and mine are cousins, Betuana-Queen,’ she said. ‘Long, however, have we been separated. I mean thee no harm, so fear me not.’

‘I do not fear thee.’ Betuana lapsed automatically into archaic Tamul.

‘Mine appearance here in Matherion is of necessity disguised, Betuana-Queen. Behold my true state.’ Once again the color drained from Xanetia’s hair and face, and her unearthly glow began to shine through.

Danae calmly reached up to touch Betuana’s face with one small hand. Sparhawk carefully concealed his smile.

‘I know what you’re feeling, Betuana,’ Sephrenia said quite calmly. ‘I’m sure you can imagine how Xanetia and I both felt about each other the first time we met. You know about the enmity between our two races, don’t you?’ Betuana nodded, obviously not trusting herself to speak. ‘I’m going to do something profoundly unnatural, Anarae,’ Sephrenia said then, ‘but I think Atana Betuana needs reassurance. Let’s both try to control our nausea.’

Then, with no hesitation or evident revulsion, she embraced the glowing woman. Sparhawk knew her very well, however, and he could see the faint ripple along her jaw. Sephrenia had steeled herself as she might have before thrusting her hand into fire. Almost timidly, Xanetia’s arms slipped around Sephrenia’s shoulders.

‘Well met, sister mine,’ she murmured.

‘Well met indeed, my sister,’ Sephrenia replied.

‘Did you notice that the world didn’t come to an end, Betuana?’ Ehlana said.

‘I think I did’d feel it quiver, though,’ Sarabian smiled.

‘We seem to be surrounded by people obsessed with their own cleverness, Xanetia,’ Sephrenia smiled.

‘A failing of the young, my sister. Maturity may temper their impulse to levity.’

Betuana straightened in her chair and put Danae down. ‘This alliance meets with your approval, Sarabian-Emperor?’ she asked formally.

‘It does, Betuana-Queen.’

‘Then I shall abide by it.’

She rose to her feet and went to the two sorceresses, holding out her hands. Sephrenia and Xanetia took those hands, and the three stood together so for a long minute.

‘Thou art brave, Betuana-Queen,’ Xanetia noted.

‘I’m an Atan, Anarae.’ Betuana shrugged. Then she turned and gave Engessa a stern look. ‘Why did you not tell me?’ she demanded.

‘I was told not to, Betuana-Queen,’ he replied. ‘Sarabian-Emperor said that you would need to see Xanetia-Anarae before you would believe that she is who we say she is. He also wanted to be present when you and she met. He takes delight in the astonishment of others. His is a peculiar mind.’

‘Engessa!’ Sarabian protested.

‘I am bound to speak the truth as I see it to my queen, Sarabian-Emperor.’

‘Well, I suppose you are, but you don’t have to be quite so blunt about it, do you?’

‘All right, then,’ Vanion summed it all up, ‘we start marching north with the knights, the majority of the local Atan garrisons, and the Imperial Guard. We’ll make a great deal of noise and show about it, and Ekatas, Cyrgon’s High Priest, will pass the word to Zalasta and Cyrgon that we’re on the way. That will give Stragen’s murderers a free hand, because everybody will be watching us. Then, when the Harvest Festival’s over and the bodies start to turn up, our friends out there should be a bit distracted. At that point, Sparhawk takes Bhelliom to northern Atan and releases the Troll-Gods. Northern Atan becomes totally secure at that point. We reverse our line of march, pick up the bulk of the Atans, and go south to meet Scarpa. Are we all agreed so far?’

‘No, we’re not, Vanion-Preceptor,’ Betuana said firmly. ‘The Harvest Festival’s still two weeks away, and the Trolls could very well be in the streets of Atana in two weeks. We have to devise some means to slow their advance.’

‘Forts,’ Ulath said.

‘I must be getting used to you, Ulath,’ Kalten laughed. ‘I actually understood that one.’

‘So did I,’ Sarabian agreed, ‘but the Trolls might just bypass any forts we build and keep marching on Atana.’

‘The Trolls might, your Majesty,’ Sparhawk disagreed, ‘but Cyrgon won’t. Cyrgon’s got the oldest military mind in the world, and a soldier absolutely will not leave enemy strongholds behind his lines. People who do that lose wars. If we build forts, he’ll have to stop his advance to deal with them.’

‘And if the forts are in open fields, the Trolls won’t be able to hide in the forest,’ Bevier added. ‘They’ll have to come across open ground, and that’s going to put them in plain view of the Peloi archers, my catapult crews, and Khalad’s crossbowmen. Even if they cover the field with smoke, we’ll be able to put down a goodly number of them with blind shots.’

‘My Atans do not like to hide behind walls,’ Betuana said stubbornly.

‘We all have to do things we don’t like sometimes, Betuana,’ Ehlana told her. ‘Forts will keep your warriors alive, and dead soldiers don’t serve any purpose at all.’

‘Except to provide supper for the Trolls,’ Talen added. ‘There’s an idea, Sparhawk. If you could train your Pandions to eat their enemies, you wouldn’t need supply trains.’

‘Do you mind?’ Sparhawk said acidly.

‘It still won’t work,’ Betuana told them. ‘The Trolls are too closely engaged with my armies. We don’t have time to build forts.’

‘We could build the forts a few miles behind your lines and withdraw your troops into them once they’re finished, your Majesty,’ Sparhawk told her.

‘Have you had many dealings with Trolls, Prince Sparhawk?’ she asked tartly. ‘Do you have any idea at all of how fast they can run? They’ll be on top of you before you can get the walls up.’

‘They can’t run anywhere if time stops, your Majesty. We used that when we were on our way to Zemoch. The Troll-God of Eat can put people—or Trolls—into the space between one second and the next. We found that when we were in that space, the rest of the world didn’t move at all. We’ll have plenty of time to build the forts.’

‘Why don’t you verify that with the Bhelliom before you start making predictions, Sparhawk?’ Emban suggested. ‘Let’s be sure that it’s going to work before we base any strategies on it. Let’s find out if it has any reservations about the notion.’

Bhelliom, as it turned out, had several. ‘Thy design is flawed, Anakha,’ it responded to Sparhawk’s question. Vanion’s hand lifted Sephrenia’s tea-cup and released it. The cup stopped in mid-air and hung there. ‘Take the vessel down, Anakha,’ Vanion’s voice instructed.

Sparhawk took hold of the cup and immediately found that it was as immobile as a mountain. He tried as hard as he could to move it, but it simply stayed where it was.

‘Thou couldst not so much as move a leaf, Anakha,’ Bhelliom told him. ‘Thou canst easily move thyself through that frozen moment, but to move other objects would require thee to move the entire universe.’

‘I see,’ Sparhawk said glumly. ‘Then we wouldn’t be able to cut down trees and build forts, would we?’

‘Are those structures of great importance to thee? Doth some obscure custom require them?’

‘Nay, Blue Rose. It is our intent to place obstructions in the path of the Trolls that they may not attack our friends, the Atans.’

‘Wouldst thou be offended were I to offer a suggestion?’

Ulath looked sharply at Tynian. ‘Have you been talking to that poor stone in secret?’ he accused.

‘Very funny, Ulath,’ Tynian said sourly.

‘I did not understand.’ Vanion’s tone was slightly chilly.

‘It is an ongoing discussion between the two, Blue Rose,’ Sparhawk explained, giving the pair a hard look. ‘It hath reached a point so obscure now that it is incomprehensible. Gladly would I hear thy suggestion, my friend.’

‘Is it needful to injure the Trolls, Anakha? If they be totally denied access to the lands of thy friends, the Atans, must thou kill them?’

‘Indeed, Blue Rose, we would prefer not to cause them harm. When their Gods wrest them from Cyrgon’s dominion, shall they be our allies.’

‘Would it offend thee should I erect a barrier before them? a barrier beyond their ability to cross?’

‘Not in the least. Indeed, we would be most grateful.’

‘Let us then to Atan, and I will make it so. I would not see any destroyed needlessly. My child will surely aid me, and between us, she and I will bar the Trolls from proceeding farther southward.’

‘Thou hast a daughter too, Blue Rose?’ Sparhawk was stunned.

‘I have millions, Anakha, and each is as precious to me as thine is to thee. Let us to Atan, then, that the bloodshed may cease.’

Northern Atan was forested, but the more rugged mountains lay to the south. The mountains of the north had been ground down by glaciers in ages past, and the land sloped gradually on down to the Sea of the North where eternal pack-ice capped the globe. Sparhawk looked around quickly. Bhelliom had responded to his unspoken request and had brought only warriors to this northern forest. There were certain to be arguments about that later, but that could not be helped.

‘Engessa-Atan.’ Vanion’s voice was crisply authoritative. An absurd notion occurred to Sparhawk. He wondered suddenly if Bhelliom had ever commanded troops.

‘Yes, Vanion-Preceptor?’ the big Atan replied.

‘Command thy kinsmen to withdraw one league’s distance from the place where now they are engaged.’

Engessa looked sharply at Vanion, then realized that it was not the Pandion Preceptor who had spoken. ‘That will take some time, Blue Rose,’ he explained. ‘The Atans are engaging the Trolls all across the North Cape. I will have to send messengers.’

‘Do thou but speak the command, Engessa-Atan. All shall hear thee, thou hast mine assurance.’

‘I wouldn’t argue, friend Engessa,’ Kring advised. ‘That’s the jewel that stops the sun. If it says they’ll all hear you, they’ll all hear you, take my word for it.’

‘We’ll try it, then.’ Engessa raised his face. ‘Withdraw!’ he roared in a shattering bellow. ‘Fall back one league and regroup!’ The huge voice echoed and re-echoed through the forest.

‘I think you could make yourself heard from one side of the cape to the other without any help at all, Engessa-Atan,’ Kalten said.

‘Not quite so far, Kalten-Knight,’ Engessa replied modestly.

‘Thy judgement of thy people’s speed will be more precise than mine, Engessa-Atan,’ Bhelliom told him. ‘Advise me when they have reached safety. I would not have them trapped north of the wall.’

‘The wall?’ Ulath asked.

‘The barrier of which I spake.’ Vanion bent and touched the ground with strangely gentle fingertips. ‘It is well, Anakha. We are within a few paces of the place I sought.’

‘I have ever had absolute faith in thine ability to find a precise spot, Blue Rose.’

‘“Ever” is perhaps an imprecise term, Anakha.’ A faint, ironic smile touched Vanion’s lips. ‘It seemeth me I do recall some talk of finding thyself on the surface of the moon when first we began to move from place to place.’

‘You did say that, Sparhawk,’ Kalten reminded his friend.

‘Thou spakest of thy daughter, Blue Rose,’ Sparhawk said, rather quickly changing the subject. ‘May we be privileged to meet her?’

‘Thou hast met her, Anakha. Thou standest this very moment upon her verdant bosom.’ Vanion’s hand fondly patted the ground.

‘The earth itself?’ Bevier asked incredulously.

‘Is she not fair?’ There was a note of pride in the question. Then Vanion straightened. ‘Let us withdraw somewhat from this spot, Anakha. What I am to do here will take place some six of thy miles beneath our feet, and its effects here at the surface are difficult to predict. I would not endanger thee or thy companions by mine imprecision, and there will be some disturbance here. Is it safe to proceed now, Engessa-Atan?’

Engessa nodded. ‘Any Atan who hasn’t covered at least a league by now doesn’t deserve to be called an Atan,’ he replied. They turned and walked some hundred paces to the south. Then they stopped.

‘Farther, I pray thee, Anakha, yet again as far, and it would be well if thou and thy companions did lie upon the earth. The disturbance may be quite profound.’

‘Your friend is beginning to make me nervous, Sparhawk,’ Tynian confessed as they walked another hundred paces back. ‘Exactly what is it planning here?’

‘You know as much about it as I do, my friend.’ Then they heard a deep-toned subterranean booming which seemed to rise up out of the core of the earth. The ground shuddered sharply under their feet.

‘Earthquake.’ Kalten shouted in alarm.

‘I think that may be what you were asking about, Tynian, Ulath rumbled.

‘This is not simple, Anakha,’ Bhelliom observed in an almost clinical tone. ‘The pressures are extreme and must be adjusted with great delicacy to achieve the end we do desire.’ The next jolt staggered them. The ground heaved and shuddered, and the dreadful, hollow booming grew louder.

‘It is time, Anakha. The disturbance which I did mention previously is about to begin.’

‘Begin?’ Bevier exclaimed. ‘It’s all I can do to stand up now!’

‘We’d better do as we’re told,’ Sparhawk said sharply, dropping to his knees and then sprawling out face down on the carpet of fallen leaves. ‘I think the next one’s going to be spectacular.’

‘The next one’ lasted for a full ten minutes. Nothing with legs could have stood erect on the violently jerking and convulsing earth. Then, with a monstrous roar, the earth not fifty paces in front of them split. The land beyond that ghastly crack in the earth’s shell seemed to fall away, while the shuddering ground to which they clung heaved upward, rising ponderously, rippling almost like a wind-tossed banner. Great clouds of birds, squawking in alarm, rose from the shuddering trees. Then the earthquake gradually subsided. The violence of the tremors grew less severe and less frequent, although there were a number of intermittent jolts. The awful booming sound grew fainter, echoing up through miles of rock like the memory of a nightmare. Vast clouds of dust came billowing up over the lip of the newly formed precipice.

‘Now mayest thou contemplate mine handiwork, Anakha,’ Bhelliom said quite calmly, although with a certain modest pride. ‘Speak truly, for I will not be offended shouldst thou find flaws. If thou dost perceive faults in what I have wrought, I will correct them at once.’

Sparhawk decided not to trust his feet just yet. Followed closely by his friends, he crawled to the abrupt edge which had not been there fifteen minutes earlier.

The cliff was almost as straight as a sword-cut, and it went down and down at least a thousand feet. It stretched, moreover, as far as the eye could reach both to the east and to the west. A huge escarpment, a vast wall, now separated the upper reaches of the North Cape from the rest of Tamuli.

‘What thinkest thou?’ Bhelliom asked, just a little anxiously. ‘Will my wall deny the Trolls access to the lands of thy friends? I can do more if it is thy wish.’

‘No, Blue Rose,’ Sparhawk choked, ‘no more, I pray thee.’

‘I am pleased that thou art satisfied.’

‘It is a splendid wall, Blue Rose.’ It was a ridiculous thing to say, but Sparhawk was badly shaken.

Bhelliom did not seem to notice. Vanion’s face was suddenly creased with an almost shy smile at Sparhawk’s stunned expression of approval.

‘It is an adequate wall,’ it said a bit deprecatingly. ‘There was some urgency in our need, so I had not time enough to mold and shape it as I might have wished, but methinks it will serve. I would take it as kindness, however, that when next thou dost require modification of the earth, thou wouldst give me more extensive notice, for truly, work done in haste is never wholly satisfactory.’

‘I shall endeavor to remember that, Blue Rose.’

27

‘It’s not so bad in here, Sarabian,’ Mirtai was saying to the distraught Emperor. ‘The floor’s carpeted here, so most of the tiles weren’t broken when they fell.’ She was on her knees gathering up the small opalescent tiles as Sparhawk and the others emerged from that blurred gray emptiness.

‘Sparhawk!’ Sarabian exclaimed, recoiling in shocked surprise. ‘I wish you’d blow a trumpet or something before you do that!’

‘What happened here, your Majesty?’ Vanion asked, staring at the littered carpet.

‘We had an earthquake. Now I’ve got an economic disaster on my hands in addition to everything else!’

‘You felt it here, your Majesty?’ Vanion choked.

‘It was terrible, Vanion!’ Sephrenia said. ‘It was the worst earthquake I’ve ever been through!’

‘Here?’

‘You’re going to make me cross if you keep saying that. Of course we felt it here. Look at the walls.’

‘It looks like a bad case of the pox,’ Kalten said.

‘The tiles were jumping off the walls like grasshoppers,’ Sarabian said in a sick voice. ‘God knows what the rest of the city looks like. This will bankrupt me.’

‘It’s over four hundred leagues!’ Vanion choked. ‘Twelve hundred miles!’

‘What is he talking about, Sparhawk?’ Ehlana demanded.

‘We were at the center of the earthquake,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘It was up in northern Atan.’

‘Did you do this to me, Sparhawk?’ Sarabian demanded.

‘Bhelliom did, your Majesty. The Trolls won’t be attacking the Atans any more.’

‘Bhelliom shook them all to pieces?’

Sparhawk smiled faintly. ‘No, your Majesty. It put a wall across the North Cape.’

‘Can’t the Trolls climb over it?’ Betuana demanded.

‘I wouldn’t think so, your Majesty,’ Vanion said. ‘It’s about a thousand feet high, and it stretches from the Tamul Sea to that coast that lies to the northwest of Sarsos. The Trolls won’t be coming any farther south—not in the next two weeks, anyway, and after that, it won’t make any difference.’

‘What exactly do you mean when you say “wall”, Vanion?’ Patriarch Emban asked.

‘Actually, it’s an escarpment, your Grace,’ Vanion explained, ‘a huge cliff that stretches all the way across the North Cape. That’s what caused the earthquake.’

‘Won’t Cyrgon be able to reverse whatever Bhelliom did?’ Sephrenia asked.

‘Bhelliom says no, little mother,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘He isn’t strong enough.’

‘He’s a God, Sparhawk.’

‘Evidently that doesn’t make any difference. What happened was just too enormous. Bhelliom said that it shifted some things about six miles beneath the surface of the earth, and certain changes in the shape of that part of the continent happened all at once instead of being spread out over a million or so years. The changes were going to happen anyway, but Bhelliom just made them happen all at once. I gather that the escarpment will become a mountain range as it gradually breaks down. The concepts are just too vast for Cyrgon to comprehend, and the pressures involved are beyond his ability to control.’

‘What in God’s name have you done, Sparhawk?’ Emban exclaimed. ‘You’re ripping the world apart!’

‘Tell them not to be disquieted, Anakha.’ Bhelliom spoke again in Vanion’s voice. ‘I would not hurt my daughter, for I do love her. She is a wayward and whimsical child at times, much given to tantrums and sweet, innocent vanity. Behold how she doth adorn herself with spring and mantle her shoulders with the white gown of winter. The stresses and tensions which I did relieve in raising the wall had, in truth, been causing her some discomfort. Indeed doth she take some pleasure in her new adornment, for, as I say, she is a trifle vain.’

‘Where’s Kring?’ Mirtai asked suddenly.

‘We left him, Engessa and Khalad back at the escarpment,’ Sparhawk told her. ‘Bhelliom’s excellent wall keeps the Trolls from getting at us, but it also keeps us from getting at them. We have to work out some way to get the Troll-Gods past it to steal back their Trolls.’

‘You’ve got Bhelliom, Sparhawk,’ Stragen said. ‘Just jump over it.’

Sparhawk shook his head. ‘Bhelliom says that we’d better not. The ground’s still a little touchy near the wall right now. If we jump around too much in that general vicinity, we might set off more earthquakes.’

‘God.’ Sarabian cried. ‘Don’t do that! You’ll shake the whole continent apart.’

‘We’re trying to avoid that, your Majesty. Engessa, Kring and Khalad are working on something. If we can’t go down the escarpment, we may have to use Tynian’s fleet and sail around the eastern end of it.’

‘We want to think about that for a while, though,’ Vanion added. ‘Sparhawk and I are still debating the issue. I still think we’ll want to make some show of marching north. If we leave here in about a week with banners flying and five thousand knights added to the forces we’ve gathered in this general area, we’ll have Zalasta’s full attention. If we go out to sea, he won’t know we’re coming, and that might give him the leisure to sniff out some details of Stragen’s plans for our special celebration of the Harvest Festival. Both ideas have an element of surprise involved. We’re quibbling about which surprise would disrupt Zalasta’s plans the most.’

The training of Tamul horses began immediately. Tynian’s knights, of course, complained bitterly. The riding-horses favored by the Tamul gentry were too small and delicate to carry armored men, and the oversized plow horses used by Tamul farmers were too slow and docile to make good war-horses.

They were always rushed now. Caalador had given the order, and it was irrevocable. The murders would take place during the Harvest Festival, whether their other plans were fully in place or not, and every minute brought the holiday that much closer.

It was five days following the return of Sparhawk and his friends from northern Atan when a runner reached Matherion with a message from Khalad. Mirtai admitted the weary Atan to the sitting room, where Sparhawk and Vanion were still arguing the relative merits of their opposing plans. Wordlessly, the messenger handed Khalad’s note to Sparhawk.

‘My Lord,’ he read the characteristically abrupt note aloud. ‘The earthquake has jumbled the northeast coast. Don’t rely on any charts of the area. You’re going to have to come by sea, however. There’s no way we can climb down the wall—particularly not with Trolls waiting for us at the bottom. Engessa, Kring and I will be waiting with the Atans and Tikume’s Peloi a couple of leagues south of where the wall dives into the Tamul Sea. Don’t take too long to get here. The other side is up to something.’

‘That throws both your plans out the window, doesn’t it,’ Emperor Sarabian noted. ‘You won’t be able to go by land, because you can’t climb down the wall, and you can’t go by sea, because the sea’s filled with uncharted reefs.’

‘And to make matters worse, we’ve only got about two days to make the decision.’ Itagne added. ‘The forces we’re sending to the north are going to have to start moving at least a week before the Festival if they’re going to reach the North Cape in time to spring our second surprise on Zalasta.’

‘I’d better go have a talk with Captain Sorgi,’ Sparhawk said, rising to his feet.

‘He and Caalador are down in the main pantry,’ Stragen advised him. ‘They’re both Cammorians, and Cammorians like to be close to food and drink.’ Sparhawk nodded, and he and Vanion quickly left the room.

An almost immediate friendship had sprung up between Caalador and Sorgi. They were, as Stragen had pointed out, both Cammorians, and they even looked much alike. Both had curly hair, though Sorgi’s was nearly silver by now, and they were both burly men with heavy shoulders and powerful hands.

‘Well, Master Cluff,’ Sorgi said expansively as Sparhawk and Vanion entered the large, airy kitchen store-room, ‘have you solved all the world’s problems yet?’ Captain Sorgi always called Sparhawk by the alias he had used the first time they had met.

‘Hardly, Sorgi. We’ve got one that maybe you can solve for us, though.’

‘Get the money part settled first, Sorgi,’ Caalador recommended. ‘Ol’ Sporhawk here, he gets a little vague when th’ time comes t’ settle up.’

Sorgi smiled. ‘I haven’t heard that dialect since I left home,’ he told Sparhawk. ‘I could sit and listen to Caalador talk by the hour. Let’s not worry about money yet. The advice is free. It starts costing you money when I lift my anchor up off the bottom.’

‘We have to go to a place where there’s been an earthquake recently,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘Kurik’s son just sent me a message. The earthquake has changed things so much that all the old maps are useless.’

‘Happens all the time,’ Sorgi told him. ‘The estuary that runs on up to Vardenais changes her bottom every winter.’

‘How do you deal with that?’

Sorgi shrugged. ‘We put out a small boat with a strong sailor to do the rowing and a clever one to heave the sounding-line. They lead us through.’

‘Isn’t that sort of slow?’

‘Not nearly as slow as trying to steer a sinking ship. How big an area got churned up by the earthquake?’

‘It’s sort of hard to say.’’

‘Guess, Master Cluff. Tell me exactly what happened, and give me a guess about how big the danger-spot is.’ Sparhawk glossed over the cause of the sudden change in the coastline and described the emergence of the escarpment. ‘No problem,’ Sorgi assured him.

‘How did you arrive at that conclusion, Captain?’ Vanion asked him.

‘We won’t have to worry about any reefs to the north of your cliff, my Lord. I saw something like that happen on the west coast of Render one time. You see, what’s happened is that the cliff keeps on going. It runs on out to sea—under the water—so once you get to the north of it, the water’s going to be a thousand feet deep. Not too many ships I know of draw that much water. I’ll just take along some of the old charts. We’ll go out about ten leagues and sail north. I’ll take my bearings every so often, and when we get six or eight leagues north of this new cliff of yours, we’ll turn west and run straight for the beach. I’ll put your men ashore up there with no trouble at all.’

‘And that’s the problem with your plan, Sparhawk,’ Vanion said. ‘You’ve only got a hundred ships. If you take both the knights and their horses, you’ll only be able to take fifteen hundred up there to face the Trolls.’

‘Is a-winnin’ this yore arg-u-ment real important t’ you two?’ Caalador asked.

‘We’re just looking for the best way, Caalador,’ Sparhawk replied.

‘Then why not combine the two plans? Have Sorgi start north first thing in the morning, and you mount up your armies and ride on up that way as soon as you get things organized. When Sorgi gets to a place ten leagues or so south of the wall, he can feel his way in to shore. You meet him there, and he starts ferrying your army on around the reef and puts you down on the beach north of the wall. Then you can go looking for Trolls, and Sorgi can drop his anchor and spend his time fishing.’

Sparhawk and Vanion looked at each other sheepishly.

‘It’s like I wuz a-sayin’, Sorgi,’ Caalador grinned. ‘The gentry ain’t got hardly no common sense a-tall. I b’leeve it’s ’cause they ain’t got room in then heads fer more’n one i’dee at a time.’

Inevitably, the day arrived when the relief column was scheduled to depart for Atan. It was before dawn when Mirtai came into the bedroom of the Queen of Elenia and her Prince Consort. ‘Time to get up,’ the giantess announced.

‘Don’t you know how to knock?’ Sparhawk asked, sitting up in bed.

‘Did I interrupt something?’

‘Never mind, Mirtai,’ he sighed. ‘It’s a custom, that’s all.’

‘Foolishness. Everybody knows what goes on in here.’

‘Isn’t it almost time for you and Kring to get married?’

‘Are you trying to get rid of me, Sparhawk?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Kring and I have decided to wait until after all of this is finished up. Our weddings are going to be a little complicated. We have to go through two ceremonies in two parts of the world. Kring’s not very happy about all the delay.’

‘I can’t for the life of me see why,’ Ehlana said innocently.

‘Men are strange.’ Mirtai shrugged.

‘They are indeed, Mirtai, but how would we amuse ourselves without them?’

Sparhawk dressed slowly, pulling on the padded, rust-stained underclothing with reluctance and eyeing his black-enameled suit of steel work-clothes with active dislike.

‘Did you pack warm clothing?’ Ehlana asked him. ‘The’ nights are getting chilly even this far south, so it’s going to be very cold up on the North Cape.’

‘I packed it,’ he grunted, ‘for all the good it’s going to do. No amount of clothing helps when you’re wearing steel.’ He made a sour face. ‘I know it’s a contradiction, but I start to sweat the minute I put the armor on. Every knight I’ve ever known does the same. We keep on sweating even when we’re freezing and icicles are forming up inside the armor. Sometimes I wish I’d gone into another line of work. Bashing people for fun and profit starts to wear thin after a while.’

‘You’re in a gloomy mood this morning, love.’

‘It’s just that it’s getting harder and harder to get started. I’ll be all right once I’m on the road.’

‘You will be careful, won’t you, Sparhawk? I’d die if I lost you.’

‘I’m not going to be in all that much danger, dear. I’ve got Bhelliom, and Bhelliom could pick up the sun and break it across its knee. It’s Cyrgon and Zalasta who’ll have to watch out.’

‘Don’t get over-confident.’

‘I’m not. I’ve got more advantages than I can count, that’s all. We’re going to win, Ehlana, and there’s nothing in the world that can stop us. All that’s really left is the tedious plodding from here to the victory celebration.’

‘Why don’t you kiss me for a while now?’ she suggested. ‘Before you put on the armor. It takes weeks for the bruises to go away after you kiss me when you’re all wrapped in steel.’

‘You know,’ he smiled, ‘that’s an awfully good idea. Why don’t we do that?’

The column stretched for several miles, undulating across the rounded hills on the east coast of Lake Sama. There were Church Knights, Atans, Kring’s Peloi, and a few ornately garbed regiments of the Tamul army.

It was a splendid day, one of those perfect autumn days with a stiff wind aloft hurrying puffy white clouds across an intensely blue sky, and the enormous shadows of those clouds raced across the rolling landscape so that Sparhawk’s army rode alternately in sunshine and in shadow. The pennons and flags were of many hues, and they snapped and rippled in the breeze, tugging at the lances and flag-staffs to which they were fastened. Queen Betuana strode along at Faran’s shoulder.

‘Are you sure, Sparhawk-Knight?’ she asked. ‘The Troll-beasts are animals, and all animals are born knowing how to swim. Even a cat can swim.’

‘Only reluctantly, Betuana-Queen,’ Sparhawk smiled, remembering Mmrr’s ‘cat-paddling’ in Sephrenia’s fish-pond in Sarsos. ‘Ulath-Knight says that we won’t have to worry about the Troll-beasts swimming around the end of the escarpment. They’ll swim across rivers and lakes, but the sea terrifies them. It has something to do with the tides, I think—or maybe it’s the salt.’

‘Must we continue at this slow pace?’ Her tone was impatient.

‘We want to be certain that Zalasta’s spies see us, your Majesty,’ Vanion told her. ‘That’s a very important part of our plan.’

‘Elene battles are very large,’ she observed.

‘We’d prefer smaller ones, Atana, but Zalasta’s schemes stretch across the whole continent, so we have to respond.’

Sephrenia, with Flute riding in front of her, rode forward with Xanetia. They had all watched the tentative friendship growing between Sephrenia and Xanetia. Both were still very cautious, and there were no great leaps in their relationship. The tennousness now came not from defensiveness but rather from an excess of concern about inadvertently giving offense, and Sparhawk felt that to be a rather profound change for the good.

‘We grew tired of all the stories,’ Sephrenia told Vanion. ‘I can’t be sure which is the bigger liar, Tynian or Ulath.’

‘Oh?’

‘They’re trying to outdo each other. Ulath’s exaggerating outrageously, and I’m sure Tynian’s doing the same thing. Each of them is doing his level best to persuade the other that he missed the adventure of the century. They’ll be drowning in falsehood before long.’

‘It’s a demonstration of a form of affection, little mother,’ Sparhawk explained. ‘They’d be too embarrassed to admit that they’re genuinely fond of each other, so they tell each other wild stories instead.’

‘Did you understand that at all, Xanetia?’ Sephrenia smiled.

‘What reasonable person can ever understand how and why men express their love, sister?’

‘Men aren’t really comfortable with the word “love”,’ Sparhawk told them, ‘particularly when it’s applied to other men.’

‘It is love, though, isn’t it, Sparhawk?’ Sephrenia asked him.

‘Well, I suppose it is, but we’re not comfortable with it all the same.’

‘I have meant to speak with thee, Anarae.’ Betuana lapsed perhaps unconsciously into archaic Tamul.

‘Gladly will I hear thy words, Queen of Atan.

‘It hath been the wont of youthful Atans to seek Delphaeus, having it in their minds to destroy thy home and to put thy people to the sword. I am heartily sorry that I have permitted this.’

Xanetia smiled.

‘It is of no moment, Queen of Atan. This is but an excess of adolescent enthusiasm. I must freely confess that our fledglings do entertain themselves by deceiving and distracting thine, leading them away from their intended goal by rudimentary enchantments and clumsy deceptions. It cometh to me all unbidden that thus are we both relieved of the obligation to entertain our children, who, by virtue of their youth and inexperience and profound inability to divert themselves, do continually complain that there is nothing for them to do—at least nothing worthy of what they perceive to be their enormous gifts.’

Betuana laughed. ‘Do thy children have that self-same plaint, Anarae?’

‘All children complain,’ Sephrenia assured them. ‘It’s one of the things that make parents age so fast.’

‘Well said,’ Sparhawk agreed. Neither he nor Sephrenia looked directly at Flute.

They reached Lebas in northern Tamul in about two days. Sparhawk had spoken with the army, stressing the enormous power of Bhelliom, to explain how it would be possible for them to cover great distances in a short period of time. In actuality, however, Bhelliom was in no way responsible. Flute was in charge of their travel arrangements on this particular trip.

There was another Atan runner waiting for them in Lebas with yet another message from Khalad. It was a fairly offensive note which suggested that the runner had been sent to guide them to the stretch of beach where Kring and Engessa waited with their forces, since if knights were left to their own devices in the forest, they would inevitably get lost. Khalad’s class prejudices were still quite firmly in place.

There was no road as such leading north from Lebas, but the trails and paths were quite clearly marked. They reached the southern edge of the vast forest that covered the northeastern quadrant of the continent, and the hundred Peloi Kring had brought with him from Eosia pulled in to ride very close to their allies. Deep woods made the plains-dwelling western Peloi very nervous.

‘I think it has to do with the sky,’ Tynian explained to the others.

‘You can barely see the sky when you’re in the deep woods, Tynian,’ Kalten objected.

‘Exactly my point,’ the broad-faced Deiran replied. ‘The western Peloi are accustomed to having the sky overhead. When there are tree-limbs blocking their view of it, they start to get nervous.’

They were never able to determine if the attempt was random or was deliberately aimed at Betuana. They were a hundred leagues or so into the forest and had set up their night’s encampment, and the large tent for the ladies—Betuana, Sephrenia, Xanetia and Flute—had been erected somewhat apart so that they might have a bit of privacy.

The assassins were well concealed, and there were four of them. They burst out of the thicket with drawn swords just as Betuana and Xanetia were emerging from the tent. Betuana responded instantly. Her sword whipped out of its sheath and plunged directly into the belly of one of the attackers. Even as she jerked the sword free, she dove to the ground, rolled and drove both feet full into the face of yet another. Sparhawk and the others were running toward the tent in response to Sephrenia’s cry of alarm, but the Queen of the Atans seemed to have things well in hand. She parried a hasty thrust and split the skull of the shabby assailant who had made it. Then she engaged the remaining attacker.

‘Look out!’ Sent shouted as he ran toward her. The man she had felled with her feet was struggling to rise, his nose bleeding and a dagger in his hand. He was directly behind the Atan Queen.

Always before, when Xanetia had shed her disguise, the change had been slow, the concealing coloration receding gradually. This time, however, she flashed into full illumination, and the light within her was no mere glow. Instead, she blazed forth like a new sun.

The bloody-nosed assassin might have been able to flee from her had he been in full possession of his faculties. The kick he had received in the face, however, appeared to have rattled him and shaken his wits. He did scream once, though, just before Xanetia’s hand touched him. His scream died in a hoarse kind of gurgle. With his mouth agape and his eyes bulging with horror, he stared at the blazing form of she who had just mortally wounded him, but only for a moment. After that, it was no longer possible to recognize his expression. The flesh of his face sagged and began to run down, turned by that dreadful touch into a putrefying liquid. His mouth seemed to gape wider as his cheeks and lips oozed down to drip off his chin. He tried to scream once, but the decay had already reached his throat, and all that emerged from his lipless mouth was a liquid wheeze. The flesh slid off his hand, and his dagger dropped from his skeleton clutch. He sagged to his knees with the slimy residue of skin and nerve and tendons oozing out of his clothing. Then the rotting corpse toppled slowly forward to lie motionless on the leaf-strewn floor of the forest—motionless, but still dissolving as Xanetia’s curse continued its inexorable course. The Anarae’s fire dimmed, and she buried her shining face in her glowing hands and wept.

28

It was raining in Esos, a chill, persistent rain that swept down out of the mountains of Zemoch every autumn. The rain did not noticeably dampen the Harvest Festival celebration, since most of the revelers were too drunk to even notice the weather.

Stolg was not drunk. He was working, and he had nothing but contempt for men who drank on the job. Stolg was a nondescript sort of fellow in plain clothing. He wore his hair cropped close, and he had large, powerful hands. He went through the crowd of revelers unobtrusively, moving toward the wealthier quarter of the city.

Stolg and his wife Ruts had argued that morning, and that always put him in a bad humor. Ruts really had little cause for complaint, he thought, stepping aside for a group of drunken young aristocrats. He was a good provider, after all, and their neat little cottage on the outskirts of town was the envy of all their friends. Their son was apprenticed to a local carpenter, and their daughter had excellent prospects for a good marriage. Stolg loved Ruts, but she periodically became waspish over some little thing and pestered him to death about it. This time she was upset because their cottage had no proper lock on the front door, and no matter how many times he told her that they, of all people, had no need of locks, she had continued to harp on the subject.

Stolg stopped and drew back into a recessed doorway as the watch tramped by. Djukta would normally have bribed the watch to stay out of Stolg’s way, but it was Harvest Festival time, so there would be plenty of confusion to cover any incidental outcries. Djukta was not one to spend money needlessly. It was a common joke in the seedier taverns in Esos that Djukta had deliberately grown his vast beard so that he could save the price of a cloak.

Stolg saw the house that was his destination and went into the foul-smelling alley behind it. He had arranged for a ladder to be placed against the back of the house, and he went up quickly and entered through a second-story window. He walked on down the hallway and through the door into a bedroom. A former servant in the house had drawn a diagram and had pointed out the room of the owner of the house, a minor nobleman named Count Kinad. Once inside the room, Stolg lay down on the bed. As long as he had to wait, he might as well be comfortable. He could hear the sound of revelry coming from downstairs.

As he lay there, he decided to install the lock Ruts wanted. It wouldn’t be expensive, and the peace and quiet around the house would be more than worth it.

It was no more than half an hour later when he heard a heavy, slightly unsteady footfall on the stair. He rolled quickly off the bed, crossed silently to the door, and put his ear to the panel.

‘It’s no trouble at all,’ a slurred voice outside said. ‘I’ve got a copy in my bedroom.’

‘Really, Count Kinad,’ a lady’s voice called from below, “I take your word for it.’

‘No, Baroness, I want you to read his Majesty’s exact words. It’s the most idiotic proclamation you’ve ever seen.’

The door opened, and a man carrying a candle entered. It was the man who had been pointed out to Stolg two days ago. Stolg idly wondered what Count Kinad had done to irritate someone enough to justify the expense of a professional visit. He brushed the thought aside. That was really none of his business. Stolg was a thorough professional, so he had several techniques available to him. The fact that Count Kinad’s back was to him presented the opportunity for his favorite, however. he drew a long poniard from his belt, stepped up behind the count, and drove the long, slim blade into the base of the count’s skull with a steely crunch. He caught the collapsing body and quietly lowered it to the floor. A knife-thrust in the brain was always certain, and it was quick, quiet, and produced a minimum of mess. Ruts absolutely hated to wash her husband’s work-clothes when there was blood all over them. Stolg set his foot between the count’s shoulders and wrenched his poniard out of the back of the skull. That was sometimes tricky. Pulling a knife out of bone takes quite a bit of strength.

Stolg rolled the body over and looked intently into the dead face. A professional always makes sure that a client has been permanently serviced. The count was definitely dead. His eyes were blank, his face was turning blue, and a trickle of blood was coming out of his nose. Stolg wiped off his poniard, put it away, and went back out into the hallway. He walked quietly back to the window through which he had entered.

There were two more names on the list Djukta had given him, and with luck he could service another this very night. It was raining, however, and Stolg really disliked working in the rain. He decided to go home early instead and tell Ruts that he would give in just this once and install the lock she wanted so much. Then he thought it might be nice if they took their son and their daughter to the tavern at the end of the street to have a few tankards of ale with their neighbors. It was the harvest Festival, after all, and a man should really try to spend the holidays with his friends and family.

Sherrok was a small, weedy sort of fellow with thinning hair and a lumpy skull. He did not so much walk as scurry through the crowded streets of Verel in southern Daconia. In the daytime, Sherrok was a minor official in the customs house, biting his tongue as he took orders from his Tamul superiors. Sherrok loathed Tamuls, and being placed in a subservient position to them sometimes made him physically ill. It was that loathing that had been primarily behind his decision to sell information to the diseased Styric Ogerajin, to whom a mutual acquaintance had introduced him. When Ogerajin, after a few carefully worded questions, had slyly hinted that certain kinds of information might be worth quite a bit of money, Sherrok had leaped at the chance to betray his despised superiors—and to make tidy sums as well.

The information he had for Ogerajin tonight was lenl important. The greedy, blood-sucking Tamuls were going to raise the customs rate by a full quarter of a percent. Ogerajin should pay handsomely for that piece of information. Sherrok licked his lips as he rushed through the noisy crowds celebrating the Harvest Festival. There was an eight-year-old Astellian girl available at one of the slave-marts, a ravishing child with huge, terrified eyes, and if Ogerajin could be persuaded to be generous, Sherrok might actually be able to buy her. He had never owned a child so young before, and the very thought of her made his knees go weak.

His mind was full of her as he passed a reeking alleyway, and so he was not really paying any attention—until he felt the strand of wire snap tight around his neck. He struggled, of course, but it was really not much use. The assassin dragged him back into the alley and methodically strangled him. His last thought was of the little girl’s face. She actually seemed to be laughing at him.

‘You’re really more trouble than you’re worth, you know,’ Bersola said to the dead man sprawled in the bow of the rowboat. Bersola always talked to the men he had killed. Many of Bersola’s colleagues believed that he was crazy. Candor compels us to admit that they were probably right. Bersola’s major problem lay in the fact that he always did things exactly the same way. He invariably stuck his knife into someone between the third and fourth ribs at a slightly downward angle. It was effective, though, since a knife thrust there absolutely cannot miss the heart. Bersola also never left a body lying where it fell. He had a compulsive sense of neatness which drove him to put the remains somewhere out of sight. Since Bersola lived and worked in the Daconian town of Ederus on the coast of the Sea of Edam, disposal was a simple matter. A short trip in a rowboat and a few rocks tied to the deceased’s ankles removed all traces. Bersola’s habit-driven personality, however, led him always to sink the bodies in the exact same place. The other murderers of Ederus made frequent laughing reference to ‘Bersola’s Reef’, a place on the lake-bottom supposedly piled high with sunken bodies. Even people who didn’t fully understand the significance of the phrase referred to Bersola’s Reef.

‘You went and did it, didn’t you?’ Bersola said to the corpse in the bow of the boat as he rowed out to the reef. ‘You just had to go and offend somebody. You’ve got nobody to blame but yourself for this, you know. If you’d behaved yourself, none of this would have happened.’

The corpse did not answer. They almost never did. Bersola stopped rowing and took his bearings. There was the usual light in the window of Fanna’s Tavern on the far shore, and there was the warning fire on the rocky headlands on the near side. The lantern on the wharf protruding out from Ederus was dead astern. ‘This is the place,’ Bersola told the dead man. ‘You’ll have lots of company down there, so it won’t be so bad.’ He shipped his oars and crawled forward. He checked the knots on the rope that held the large rock in place between the dead man’s ankles. ‘I’m really sorry about this, you know,’ he apologized, ‘but it was your own fault.’ he lifted the rock—and the dead man’s legs—over the side. He held the shoulders for a moment. ‘Do you have anything you’d like to say?’ he asked.

He waited for a decent interval, but the dead man did not reply.

‘I didn’t really think you would,’ Bersola said. He let go of the shoulders, and the body slithered limply over the gunwale and disappeared into the dark waters of the lake. Bersola whistled his favorite tune as he rowed back to Ederus.

Avin Wargunsson, Prince Regent of Thalesia, was in an absolute fury. Patriarch Bergsten had left Thalesia without so much as a by-your-leave. It was intolerable! The man had absolutely no regard for the Prince Regent’s dignity. Avin Wargunsson was going to be king one day, after all—just as soon as the raving madman in the north tower finally got around to dying—and he deserved some courtesy. People always ignored him! That indifferent lack of regard cankered the soul of the little crown prince. Avin was scarcely more than five feet tall, and in a kingdom absolutely awash with blond people a foot or more taller, he was almost unnoticeable. He had spent his childhood scurrying like a mouse out from under the feet of towering men who kept accidentally stepping on him because they refused to look down and see that he was there. Sometimes that made him so angry that he could just scream.

Then, without even bothering to knock, two burly blond ruffians opened the door and rolled in a large barrel. ‘Here’s that cask of Arcian red you wanted, Avin,’ one of them said. The ignorant barbarian didn’t even know enough to use a proper form of address.

‘I didn’t order a barrel of wine,’ Avin snapped.

‘The chief of the guards said you wanted a barrel of Arcian red,’ the other blond savage declared, closing the door. ‘We’re just doing what we were told to do. Where do you want this?’

‘Oh, put it over there,’ Avin said pointing. It was easier than arguing with them.

They rolled the barrel across the floor and set it up in the corner.

‘I don’t think I know you two,’ Avin said.

‘We’re new,’ the first one said, shrugging. ‘We just joined the Royal Guard last week.’ He set a canvas bag on the floor and took out a pry-bar. He carefully inserted the bar under the lid of the barrel and worked it back and forth until the lid came free.

‘What are you doing?’ Avin demanded.

‘You can’t drink it if you can’t get at it, Avin,’ the fellow pointed out. ‘We’ve got the right tools, and you probably don’t.’

At least the man was clean-shaven. Avin approved of that. Most of the men in the Royal Guard looked like trees with golden moss growing on them.

‘You’d better taste it and make sure it hasn’t soured, Brok.’

‘Right,’ the other one agreed. He scooped up some of the wine in the cupped palm of his hand and sucked it in noisily. Avin shuddered. ‘Tastes all right to me, Tel,’ he reported. A thoughtful look crossed his face. ‘Why don’t I fill up a bucket of this before we put the lid back on?’ he suggested. ‘Hauling this barrel up the stairs was heavy business, and I’ve worked up quite a thirst.’

‘Good idea,’ Tel agreed.

The bearded man picked up the brass-bound wooden bucket Avin used for a waste basket.

‘Is it all right if I use this, Avin?’ he asked.

Avin Wargunsson gaped at him. This went too far—even in Thalesia.

The burly fellow shook the contents of the waste basket out on the floor and dipped it into the barrel. Then he set the pail down.

‘I guess we’re ready then, Tel,’ he said.

‘All right,’ Tel replied. ‘Let’s get at it.’

‘What are you doing?’ Avin demanded in a shrill voice as the two approached him.

They didn’t even bother to answer. It was intolerable—he was the Prince Regent people had no right to ignore him like this! They picked him up by the arms and carried him over to the barrel, ignoring his struggles. He couldn’t even get their attention by kicking them.

‘In you go,’ the one named Tel said pleasantly, almost in the tone one uses when he pushes a horse into a stall.

The two lifted Avin Wargunsson quite easily and stuffed him feet first into the barrel. The one called Brok held him down while Tel took a hammer and a handful of nails out of the canvas bag and picked up the barrel-lid. He set the lid on Avin’s head and pushed him down. Then he rapped his hammer around the edge of the lid, settling it in place.

Only Avin’s eyes and forehead were above the surface of the wine. He held his breath and pounded impotently on the underside of the lid with both fists. Then there was another pounding sound as Tel calmly nailed down the lid of the barrel.

The ladies quite firmly dismissed Kalten when they set out the morning after the attempt on Queen Betuana’s life. Kalten took his self-appointed duties as Xanetia’s protector quite seriously, and he was a bit offended at being so cavalierly sent away.

‘They need some privacy right now,’ Vanion told him. ‘Set some knights to either side to protect them, but give them enough room to get Xanetia through this.’ Vanion was a soldier, but his insights were sometimes quite profound.

Sparhawk looked back over his shoulder. Sephrenia rode close to one side of the sorrowing Xanetia, and Betuana strode along on the other. Xanetia rode with her head bowed, holding Flute in her arms. There was about them a kind of exclusionary wall as they closed ranks around their injured sister. Sephrenia rode very close to the Anarae, frequently reaching out her hand to touch the stricken woman. The racial differences and eons-old enmity appeared to have been overridden by the universal sisterhood of all women. Sephrenia reached across those barriers to comfort her enemy without even thinking about it. Betuana was no less solicitous, and in spite of the gruesome demonstration of the effects of Xanetia’s touch, she walked very close to the Delphaeic woman.

Aphrael, of course, was in complete control of the situation. She rode with her arms about Xanetia’s waist, and Aphrael’s touch was one of the more powerful forces on earth. Sparhawk was quite certain that Xanetia was not really suffering. The Child Goddess would not permit that. The Anarae’s apparent horror and remorse at what she had been compelled to do was entirely for the benefit of her two comforters. Aphrael was quite deliberately erasing Sephrenia’s racial animosity and Betuana’s superstitious aversion by the simple expedient of intensifying Xanetia’s outward appearance of grief.

It was easy to underestimate Aphrael when she appeared in one of her innumerable incarnations as a capricious little girl, and that was probably the main reason she had chosen the form of the Child Goddess in the first place. Sparhawk, however, had seen the reality of Aphrael waveringly reflected in the brass mirror back in Matherion, and the reality was neither childish nor whimsical. Aphrael always knew exactly what she was doing, and she always got exactly what she wanted. Sparhawk firmly fixed the wavering image of the reality of Aphrael in his mind so that it would always be present when the dimples and the kisses began to cloud his judgement.

The days were significantly shorter this far to the north. The sun rose far to the southeast now, and it did not go very high above the southern horizon before it started to descend again. Each long night’s frost piled up on the previous night’s lacy blanket, since the pale, weak sun no longer had the strength to melt what had built up during the hours of darkness.

It was nearly sunset when a towering Atan came loping down a frosty forest path to meet them. He went directly to Queen Betuana and banged his fist against his chest in salute. Betuana motioned quickly to Sparhawk and the others.

‘A message from Engessa-Atan,’ she said tersely. ‘There are enemies gathering on the coast at the eastern end of the wall.’

‘Trolls?’ Vanion asked quickly.

The tall Atan shook his head. ‘No, Vanion-Lord,’ he replied. ‘They’re Elenes, and for the most part they’re not warriors. They’re cutting trees.’

‘To use in building fortifications?’ Bevier asked.

‘No, Church Knight. They are lashing the trees together to build things that will float.’

‘Rafts?’ Tynian asked. ‘Ulath, you said that Trolls are afraid of the sea. Would they be willing to use rafts to go around the outer edge of the escarpment?’

‘It’s hard to say,’ the blond-braided Thalesian replied. ‘Ghwerig did use a boat to cross Lake Venue, and he almost had to have stolen a ride on some ship to get from Thalesia to Pelosia when he followed King Sarah during the Zemoch war, but Ghwerig wasn’t like other Trolls.’ He looked at the Atan. ‘Are they building these rafts north of the wall or here on the south side?’

‘They’re on this side of the wall,’ the Atan replied.

‘That doesn’t make too much sense, does it?’ Kalten asked.

‘Not to me, it doesn’t,’ Ulath admitted.

‘I think we’d better get up there and have a look, Sparhawk,’ Vanion said. ‘That attack on Betuana last night was fair evidence that Zalasta knows we’re coming, so this little stroll through the woods has accomplished its purpose. Let’s join forces with Engessa and Kring and find out if Sorgi’s made it to the beach yet. Winter’s coming on very fast anyway, and I think we’ll want to deal with the Trolls before the sun goes down permanently.’

‘Would you see to that, Divine One?’ Sparhawk said to Aphrael. ‘I’d ask Bhelliom to do it, but you’ve been handling things so well that I wouldn’t want to appear critical by taking over at this point.’

Aphrael’s eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t push your luck, Sparhawk,’ she said ominously.

Sparhawk was never really certain whether Aphrael had somehow moved them during the night or had slipped them across the intervening miles at some point between the time when they swung up into their saddles and the time when their mounts took their first steps. The Child Goddess was too practiced, too skilled, to be caught tampering when she didn’t want to be. The hill was the same hill that had been lying to the northwest of their night’s encampment when the sun had gone down—or so it seemed—but when they crested it about a half-hour after they set out, there was a long, sandy beach and the lead-gray expanse of the Tamul Sea on the other side instead of a broad, unbroken forest.

‘That was quick,’ Talen said, looking around. Talen’s presence on this expedition had never really been explained to Sparhawk’s satisfaction. He suspected Aphrael, however. It was easy to suspect Aphrael of such things, and more often than not the suspicions proved to be well founded.

‘There’s someone coming down the beach,’ Ulath said, pointing at a tiny figure riding along the water’s edge from the north.

‘Khalad,’ Talen shrugged.

‘How can you tell?’

‘He’s my brother, Sir Ulath—besides, I recognize his cloak.’

They rode on down the hill and out onto the sand.

‘What kept you?’ Khalad asked Sparhawk bluntly when he joined them.

‘I’m glad to see you too, Khalad.’

‘Don’t try to be funny, Sparhawk. I’ve been struggling to keep Engessa and his Atans from swimming round the outer edge of the escarpment for the past ten days. They want to go attack the Trolls all by themselves. How did Stragen’s plan come off?’

‘It’s hard to say,’ Talen told him. ‘We were on the road during the harvest Festival. I know Stragen and Caalador well enough to know that most of the people they were after are probably dead by now, though. We’re a little late because we wanted to make sure that Zalasta’s people saw us coming. We thought we might be able to divert him enough to keep him out of the way of Caalador’s murderers.’

Khalad grunted.

‘Are the Trolls gathering anywhere nearby?’ Ulath asked.

‘As closely as we can tell, they’re all clustered around the abandoned village of Tzada over on the other side of the Atan border,’ Khalad replied. ‘They tried to climb the wall for a while, but then they pulled back. Engessa’s got scouts on top of the wall watching them. They’ll let us know when they start to move.’

‘Where are Engessa and Kring?’ Vanion asked him.

‘Up the beach about a mile, my Lord. We’ve built an encampment back in the forest a ways. Tikume’s joined us. He brought in several thousand of the eastern Peloi about five days ago.’

‘That should help,’ Kalten said. ‘The Peloi are very enthusiastic about their wars.’

‘Any sign of Sorgi yet?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘He’s feeling his way in through the reefs,’ Khalad replied. He sent a longboat on ahead to let us know that he was coming.’

‘What’s this business with the rafts all about?’ Vanion asked him.

‘They aren’t rafts, my Lord. They’re sections of a floating bridge.’

‘A bridge? A bridge to where?’

‘We aren’t sure. We’ve been staying back a ways so that the Edomish peasants constructing it won’t see us.’

‘What are Edomishmen doing on this side of the continent?’ Kalten asked with some astonishment.

‘Building a bridge, Sir Kalten. Weren’t you listening? Talen’s old friend Amador—or Rebal, or whatever he calls himself now —is sort of in charge, but Incetes is there too, and he’s the one who’s making the big impression. He bellows orders in archaic Elenic, and he’s been braining anyone who doesn’t understand him or move fast enough.”

‘Is it that counterfeit one we saw in the woods near Jorsan?’ Talen asked.

‘I don’t think so. This fellow seems to be quite a bit bigger, and he’s got a sizeable contingent of men in bronze armor with him. I’d guess that somebody’s resurrecting people out of the past again.’

‘That would probably be Djarian of Samar,’ Sephrenia said. ‘Maybe he can raise whole armies after all.’

‘He can if Cyrgon’s lending him a hand,’ Aphrael added. The Child Goddess had appeared to be dozing in her sister’s arms, but she had clearly been listening. She opened her large, dark eyes. ‘Hello, Khalad,’ she said. ‘You look a little windburned.’

‘We’ve had some gales coming in off the Tamul Sea, Divine One. There’s a strong smell of ice mixed up in them.’

‘That’s what they’re doing,’ Ulath said, snapping his fingers.

‘Does he still do that?’ Tynian asked.

‘I was hoping you’d cured him of it by now.’

‘Ulath likes to play leap-frog with his mind, Tynian,’ Sephrenia said calmly. ‘He’ll come back in a moment or two and fill in the blank spaces for us.’

‘How long has it been cold up here, Khalad?’ Ulath asked.

‘It wasn’t particularly warm when we got here, Sir Ulath.’

‘Is any ice forming up in the inlets and along the beach at night?’

‘Some. It isn’t very thick, though, and the tide comes in and breaks it up before it has the chance to spread.’

‘The floating ice a mile or so out to sea isn’t breaking up, though,’ Ulath said. ‘It rises and falls with the tide because it’s not grinding up against the rocks. It’s probably almost a foot thick out there by now. The Edomishmen aren’t building rafts or a bridge. They’re building a pier out to that pan-ice. There’ll be another one north of the wall as well. The Trolls will cross the ice. We know that because they did it to get here from Thalesia. Cyrgon’s going to march the Trolls to the pier north of the wall and drive them out to the pan-ice. Then they’ll march south across the ice and come ashore on this south pier.’

‘And then they’ll attack the Atans again,’ Vanion said bleakly. ‘How thick will the pan-ice have to be to support the weight of the Trolls?’

‘Two feet or so. It should be thick enough by the time the piers are finished—if it stays cold.’

‘I think we can count on Cyrgon to make sure that it stays cold,’ Tynian noted.

‘There’s something else, too,’ Khalad added. ‘If Cyrgon’s playing with the weather this way, it won’t be too long before Sorgi’s ships are locked in ice. I think we’d better come up with something, my Lords—and fairly soon—or we’re going to be hip-deep in Trolls again.’

‘Let’s go talk with Kring and Engessa,’ Sparhawk said.

29

‘Not even a little bit, your Majesty.’ Ulath shuddered. ‘The point is that we don’t really want to fight them at all. We want to steal them. We could just ignore all this construction work here on the coast, you know. Sorgi’s ships could ferry us around these work-gangs and put us ashore far enough north of the escarpment so that Bhelliom won’t set off a new batch of earthquakes, and then we could have it carry us directly to Tzada.’

‘That’s a good plan, Ulath-Knight,’ Betuana agreed, ‘except for the ice. It’s already forming out there, you know.’

‘Aphrael,’ Sparhawk said to the Child Goddess, ‘could you melt that ice for us?’

‘If I really had to,’ she replied, ‘but it wouldn’t be polite. The ice is a part of winter, and winter belongs to the earth. The earth is Bhelliom’s child, not mine, so you’ll have to talk to Bhelliom about it.’

‘What should I ask it to do?’

She shrugged. ‘Why not just leave that up to Bhelliom? Tell it that the ice is a problem and let it decide how to deal with it. You’ve got a lot to learn about the etiquette of these situations, Sparhawk.’

‘I suppose so,’ he admitted, ‘but it’s the sort of thing that doesn’t come up every day, so I haven’t had much practice.’

‘You see what I mean about those rafts, Sparhawk?’ Khalad said. ‘Those green logs lie so low in the water that you couldn’t lead a donkey along that pier without getting him wet all the way up to the hocks.’

‘How would you have built them?’

‘I’d have used a double layer of logs—one layer across the top of the other.’ The two of them were lying under some bushes on a knoll watching the Edomish peasants laboring on the rafts. The first part of the pier was already anchored in place, and it jutted about a quarter of a mile out into the icy water. Additional rafts were being added to the outer end as quickly as they were completed.

‘There’s Incetes,’ Khalad said pointing at a huge man in a bronze mail-shirt and horned helmet. ‘He and those pre-historic warriors he brought with him have been driving those poor peasants to the point of exhaustion. Rebal’s running around waving his arms and trying to look important, but it’s Incetes who’s really in charge. The peasants don’t seem to understand his dialect, so he’s been talking to them by hand.’ Khalad scratched his short black beard. ‘You know, Sparhawk, if we killed him, his warriors would vanish, and one charge by the knights would chase Rebal and his peasants half-way back to Edam.’

‘It’s a nice idea, but how are we going to get close enough to kill him?’

‘I’m already close enough, Sparhawk. I could kill him from right here.’

‘He’s two hundred and fifty paces away, Khalad. Your father said that the maximum range with a crossbow is two hundred yards—and even that involved a lot of luck.’

‘I’m a better shot than father was.’ Khalad lifted his crossbow. ‘I’ve modified the sights and lengthened the arms a bit. Incetes is close enough, believe me. I could stick a bolt up his nose from here.’

‘That’s a graphic picture. Let’s go talk with Vanion.’

They slid back down the back of the knoll, mounted their horses, and rode back to their hidden encampment. Sparhawk quickly explained his squire’s plan to the others.

‘Are you sure you could hit him at that range, Khalad?’ Vanion asked a bit skeptically.

Khalad sighed. ‘Do you want a demonstration, my Lord?’ he asked.

Vanion shook his head. ‘No. If you tell me you can hit him, then I’ll believe you.’

‘All right. I can hit him, my Lord.’

‘That’s good enough for me.’ Vanion frowned. ‘What would you say might be the absolute extreme range of the crossbow?’ he asked.

Khalad spread his hands uncertainly. ‘I’d have to experiment, Lord Vanion,’ he said. ‘I’m sure I could build one that would reach out a thousand yards, but aiming it would be difficult, and it would probably take two men a half-hour to re-cock it. The arms would have to be very stiff.’

‘A thousand paces,’ Vanion sighed, shaking his head. He rapped his knuckles on the chest of his suit of armor. ‘I think we’re becoming obsolete, gentlemen.’ Then he straightened. ‘Well, we’re not obsolete yet. As long as we’re here anyway, let’s go ahead and neutralize this southern pier. All it’s going to cost us is one crossbow bolt and a single mounted charge. The dismay it’s going to cause our enemies is worth that much anyway.’

Kring and Tikume came riding up the hill from the beach with Captain Sorgi clattering along beside him. Sorgi was not a very good horseman, and he rode stiffly, clinging to the saddle-bow. ‘Friend Sorgi came ashore in one of those rowboats,’ Kring said. ‘His big boats are still about a mile out in the water.’

‘Ships, friend Kring,’ Sorgi corrected with a pained expression. ‘the little ones are boats, but the big ones are called ships.’

‘What’s the difference, friend Sorgi?’

‘A ship has a captain. A boat operates by mutual consent.’ Sorgi’s expression grew somber. ‘We have a problem, Master Cluff. The ice is forming up right behind my ships. I’ll be able to bring them ashore, but I don’t think they’ll be of much use to you. I’ve had soundings taken, and we’ll have to sail a couple of miles out to get around the reef that runs out to sea from that cliff. We don’t have those two miles any more. The ice is moving inshore very fast.’

‘You’d better talk with Bhelliom, Sparhawk,’ Aphrael said. ‘I think I told you that this morning.’

‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘as a matter of fact you did.’

‘Why didn’t you do it, then?’

‘I had a few other things on my mind.’

‘They get like that as they grow older,’ Sephrenia told her sister. ‘They get mulish and deliberately put off doing things they’re supposed to do just because we suggest them. They hate being told what to do.’

‘What’s the best way to get around that?’ Sephrenia smiled sweetly at the warriors standing around her. ‘I’ve always had good luck with telling them to do the exact opposite of what I really want.’

‘All right,’ the Child Goddess said doubtfully. ‘It sounds silly to me, but if it’s the only way to get the job done...’ She drew’ herself up. ‘Sparhawk!’ she said in a commanding voice. ‘Don’t you dare talk to Bhelliom!’

Sparhawk sighed. ‘I wonder if Dolmant could find an opening in a monastery for me when I get home,’ he said.

Sparhawk and Vanion went off a ways from the others to consult with the Sapphire Rose. Flute trailed along behind them.

Sparhawk touched his ring to the lid of the box. ‘Open,’ he said. The lid snapped up.

‘Blue Rose,’ Sparhawk said, ‘winter doth approach with unseemly haste, and the freezing of the sea doth hinder our design. We would proceed some distance beyond thine excellent wall so that our movements will not perturb thy daughter.’

‘Thou’ art considerate, Anakha,’ Vanion’s voice replied.

‘His courtesy is not untainted by self-interest, Flower-Gem,’ Aphrael said with an impish little smile. ‘When thy daughter shudders, it doth unsettle his stomach.’

‘You didn’t have to say that, Aphrael,’ Sparhawk told her. ‘Are you going to do this?’

‘No. My manners are better than that.’

‘Why did you come along, then?’

‘Because I owe Bhelliom an apology—and it owes me an explanation.’ She looked into the golden cask, and the azure glow from the stone illuminated her face. She spoke directly to the stone in a language Sparhawk did not understand, although it was somehow tantalizingly familiar. There were pauses as she spoke, pauses during which Sparhawk presumed Bhelliom was responding, communing directly with her in a voice which only she could hear. At one point she laughed, peal upon peal of silvery laughter that almost seemed to sparkle in the chill air.

‘All right, Sparhawk,’ she said finally, ‘Bhelliom and I have finished apologizing to each other. You can go ahead and present your problem now.’

‘You’re too kind,’ he murmured.

‘Be nice.’

‘I would not trouble thee with our trivial concerns, Blue Rose,’ Sparhawk said then, ‘but methinks the onset of the winter ice hath been hastened by Cyrgon’s hand, and it is beyond our power to respond.’

Vanion’s tone was stern as Bhelliom replied. ‘Methinks Cyrgon doth need instruction in courtesy, Anakha—and perchance in humility as well. He hath bent his will to the premature formation of the ice. I will tweak his beard for this. There are rivers in the sea, and he hath turned one of these aside to freeze this coast in furtherance of his design. I will turn aside yet another and bring the torrid breath of tropic climes to this northern shore and consume his ice.’

Aphrael clapped her hands together with a delighted laugh.

‘What’s so funny?’ Sparhawk asked her.

‘Cyrgon’s going to be a little sick for a few days,’ she replied. ‘Thou art wise beyond measure, Flower-Gem,’ she said gaily.

‘Thou art kind to say so, Aphrael, but methinks thy praise hath some small taint of flattery to it.’

‘Well,’ she said, ‘a little, perchance, but over-fulsome praise for those we love is no sin, is it?’

‘Guard well thine heart, Anakha,’ Bhelliom advised. ‘The Child Goddess will steal it from thee when thou dost least expect it.’

‘She did that years ago, Blue Rose,’ Sparhawk replied.

‘I can do this myself, Sparhawk,’ Khalad whispered. ‘I don’t need a chaperone.’

The two were lying behind a log atop the knoll from which they had observed the Edomish workmen the previous day. The work-gangs were laboring by the smoky light of fires being fed with green wood. The moon was full, and the smoke from the fires seemed almost to glow in its pale light.

‘I just came along to admire the shot, Khalad,’ Sparhawk replied innocently. ‘I like to watch professionals in action. Besides, I have to give Ulath the signal just as soon as you put Incetes to sleep.’ He shivered. ‘Aren’t we just a bit early?’ he asked. ‘The sky won’t start to get light for another hour yet. All we’re doing here is sprouting icicles.’

‘Did you want to do this?’

‘No. I probably couldn’t even come close at this range.’

‘Then do you want to keep your mouth shut and let me do it?’

‘You’re awfully grouchy for so young a fellow, Khalad. That doesn’t usually set in until a man’s much older.’

‘Dealing with knights has prematurely aged me.’

‘How does this new sight of yours work?’

‘Do you know what the word “trajectory” means?’

‘Sort of.’

Khalad shook his head wearily. ‘Never mind, Sparhawk. My calculations are accurate. Just take my word for it.’

‘You actually work it out on paper.’

‘Paper’s cheaper than a bushel of new crossbow bolts.’

‘It sounds to me as if you spend more time calculating and adjusting your sights than you do shooting.’

‘Yes,’ Khalad admitted, ‘but if you do it right, you only have to shoot once.’

‘Why did we come out so early, then?’

‘To give my eyes time to adjust to the light. The light’s going to be peculiar when I make the shot. I’ll have moonlight, firelight, and the first touches of dawn in the sky when the time comes. It’s all changing, and I need to watch it change so that my eyes are ready. I’ve also got to pick Incetes out and keep a close eye on him. Killing his second cousin won’t do the job.’

‘You think of everything, don’t you?’

‘Somebody has to.’

They waited. The pale light of the full moon made the sand of the newly emerged mile-wide beach intensely white, almost the same as snow, and the night air was bitingly cold.

‘Keep your head down, Sparhawk, or hold your breath.’

‘What?’

‘Your breath is steaming. If somebody looks this way, he’ll know that we’re here.’

‘They’re two hundred and fifty paces away, Khalad.’

‘Why take chances if you don’t have to?’ Khalad peered intently at the ant-like figures working at the edge of the trees. ‘Is Empress Elysoun still chasing Berit?’ he asked after a few moments.

‘She seems to be branching out a bit. I think she caught him a few times, though.’

‘Good. Berit was awfully stuffy when he was younger. He’s in love with your wife, you know.’

‘Yes. We talked about it some years back.

‘It doesn’t bother you?’

‘No. It’s just one of those infatuations young men go through. He doesn’t really intend to do anything about it.’

‘I like Berit. He’ll make a good knight—once I grind off the remnants of his nobility. Titles make people a little silly.’ He pointed. ‘It’s starting to get light off to the east.’

Sparhawk glanced out across the icy reaches of the north Tamul Sea. ‘Yes,’ he agreed.

Khalad opened the leather pouch he had brought along and took out a length of sausage. ‘A bite of breakfast, my Lord?’ he offered, reaching for his dagger.

‘Why not?’ The first faint touches of light along the eastern horizon faded back into darkness as the ‘false dawn’ came and went. No one had ever satisfactorily explained that particular phenomenon to Sparhawk. He had seen it many times during his exile in Render. ‘We’ve still got about another hour,’ he told his squire. Khalad grunted, laid back against the log, and closed his eyes.

‘I thought you were here to watch,’ Sparhawk said. ‘How can you watch if you’re asleep?’

‘I’m not sleeping, Sparhawk. I’m just resting my eyes. Since you came along anyway, you can watch for a while.’

The true dawn began to stain the eastern sky some time later, and Sparhawk touched Khalad’s shoulder. ‘Wake up,’ he said quietly.

Khalad’s eyes opened quickly. ‘I wasn’t asleep.’

‘Why were you snoring, then?’

‘I wasn’t. I was just clearing my throat.’

‘For half an hour?’

Khalad rose up slightly and peered over the top of the log. ‘Let’s wait until the sun hits those people,’ he suggested. ‘That bronze breastplate Incetes is wearing should gleam in the sunlight, and a brighter target’s easier to hit.’

‘You’re the one doing the shooting.’

Khalad looked at the laboring Edomish peasants.

‘I just had a thought, Sparhawk. They’ve built a lot of those rafts. Why waste them?’

‘What did you have in mind?’

‘Even if Bhelliom melts Cyrgon’s ice, it’s going to take Captain Sorgi a couple of days to ferry all of us around that reef. Why not use these rafts? Sorgi can put a good-sized force on the beach a few miles north of the pier that’s probably being constructed on the other side of the wall, and the rest of us can slip around the reef from this side on those rafts, and we can jump the people up there from both sides.’

‘I thought you didn’t like these rafts.’

‘I can fix them, Sparhawk. All we have to do is take two of them, lay one on top of the other, and we’ll have one good one. Cyrgon might have more forces up here on the North Cape than just the Trolls. I think we’ll want to put all these rafts well out of his reach, don’t you?’

‘You’re probably right. Let’s talk to Vanion about it.’ Sparhawk looked at the eastern horizon. ‘The sun’s starting to come up.’

Khalad rolled over and laid his crossbow across the log. He carefully checked the settings on his sighting mechanism and then settled the stock against his shoulder. Incetes was standing on a tree stump in the full light of the half-risen sun. He was waving his arms and bellowing incomprehensible exhortations to his exhausted workmen.

‘Are we ready?’ Khalad asked, laying his cheek against the stock and squinting through the sight.

‘I’m ready, but you’re the one who has to shoot.’

‘No talking. I have to concentrate now.’ Khalad drew in a deep breath, let part of it out, and then stopped breathing entirely. Incetes, gleaming golden in the new-risen sun, stood bellowing and waving his arms. The titan from pre-history looked tiny, almost toy-like in the distance. Khalad slowly, deliberately squeezed the release lever. The crossbow thumped heavily, its rope-thick gut string giving off a deep-toned twang. Sparhawk watched the bolt arc upward.

‘Got him,’ Khalad said with a certain satisfaction.

‘The arrow hasn’t even reached him yet,’ Sparhawk objected.

‘It will. Incetes is dead. The arrow will go right through his heart. Go ahead and signal Ulath to charge.’

‘Aren’t you being a little...’

A vast cry of chagrin rose from the crowd at the edge of the forest. Incetes was toppling slowly backward, and the bronze-age warriors surrounding him wavered and vanished even as he fell.

‘You’ve got to learn to have a little more faith, Sparhawk,’ Khalad noted. ‘When I tell you that somebody’s dead, he’s dead— even if he doesn’t know it yet. Were you planning to signal Ulath sometime today?’

‘Oh. I almost forgot.’

‘Age does that to people—or so I’ve been told.’

‘The ministries are corrupt, Ehlana. I’ll be the first to admit that, but if I have to rebuild the government from the ground up, I’ll spend the rest of my life at it, and I’ll never get anything else done.’ Sarabian’s tone was pensive.

‘But Pondia Subat’s such an incompetent,’ Ehlana objected.

‘I want him to be an incompetent, dear heart. I’m going to reverse the usual roles. He’s going to be the figurehead, and I’m going to be the one pulling the strings. The other ministers are in the habit of obeying him, so having him as Prime Minister won’t even confuse them. I’ll write Subat’s speeches for him and terrorize him to the point where he won’t depart from the prepared text. I’ll terrorize him to the point where he won’t even change clothes or shave without my permission. That’s why I want him to sit in and hear the reports of Milord Stragen’s unique solution to our recent problem. I want him to imagine the feel of the knives going in every time he has an independent thought.’

‘Might I make a suggestion, your Majesty?’ Stragen asked.

‘By all means, Stragen,’ Sarabian smiled. ‘The stunning success of your outrageous scheme has earned you a sizeable balance of imperial indulgence.’

Stragen smiled and began to pace the floor, his face deep in thought and his fingers absently weighing a gold coin. Ehlana wondered where he had picked up that habit.

‘The society of thieves is classless, your Majesty,’ he pointed out. ‘We’re firm believers in the aristocracy of talent, and talent shows up in some of the strangest places. You might want to consider including some people who aren’t Tamuls in your government. Racial purity is all well and good, I suppose, but when every government official of rank in every subject kingdom is a Tamul, it stirs the kind of resentments which Zalasta and his friends have been exploiting. A more ecumenical approach might dampen those resentments. If an ambitious man sees the chance for advancement, he’s much less likely to want to throw off the yoke of the Godless yellow devils.’

‘Are they still calling us that?’ Sarabian murmured. He leaned back. ‘It’s an interesting notion, Stragen. First I ruthlessly crush rebellion, and then I invite the rebels into the government. It should confuse them, if nothing else.’

Mirtai opened the door to admit Caalador. ‘What’s afoot?’ Ehlana asked him.

‘Our friends at the Cynesgan embassy are very busy, your Majesty,’ he reported. ‘Evidently our unusual celebration of the Harvest Festival made them nervous. They’re bringing in supplies and reinforcing the gates. It looks as if they’re expecting trouble. I’d say they’re getting ready to fort up.’

‘Let them,’ Sarabian shrugged. ‘if they want to imprison themselves, it saves me the trouble of doing it.’

‘Is Krager still inside?’ Ehlana asked.

Caalador nodded. ‘I saw him walking across the courtyard this morning my very own-self.”

‘Keep an eye on him, Caalador,’ she instructed.

‘I purely will, dorlin’,’ he grinned. ‘I purely will.’

Vanion led the charge up the beach. The knights and the Peloi descended upon the demoralized work-gangs in a thunderous rush, while Engessa’s Atans ran along the water’s edge to the foot of the makeshift pier to cut off the escape of those laboring to extend it farther out into the chill waters of the Tamul Sea. The ribbon clerk Amador was shrieking orders from the pier, but no one was really paying much attention to him. Some few of the workmen who had been cutting trees put up a feeble resistance, but most fled back into the forest.

It only took a few minutes for those who had chosen to resist to realize that the decision had been a bad one, and they threw down their weapons and raised their hands in surrender. The knights, trained to be merciful, readily accepted surrenders; Tikume’s Peloi did so only reluctantly; the Atans on the pier tended to ignore those who sued for mercy, pausing only long enough to kick them off into the water. With Betuana and Engessa in the lead, the Atans marched ominously out onto the pier, killing anybody who offered any resistance and throwing the rest into the chill water on either side. The men in the water struggled to shore to be rounded up by the Tamul soldiers from the imperial garrison at Matherion. The soldiers’ presence was primarily a gesture, since they were ceremonial troops unprepared either by their training or their natural inclinations for fighting. They were quite good at rounding up the shivering men who emerged, dripping and blue with the cold, from the icy water, however.

‘I’d say that Bhelliom’s warm current hasn’t arrived yet,’ Khalad observed.

‘It wouldn’t seem so,’ Sparhawk agreed. ‘Let’s go on down. The days are very short now, and I’d like to secure the north pier before the sun goes down.’

‘If there is a north pier,’ Khalad said.

‘There has to be one, Khalad.’

‘You wouldn’t mind if I ambled over to the edge of the cliff and had a look for myself, would you? Logic is all well and good, but a little verification never hurt anything.’ They walked back down the knoll, mounted, and rode out to join their friends.

‘Not much of a fight,’ Kalten complained, looking disdainfully at the mob of terrified prisoners.

‘Those are the best kind,’ Tynian told him.

‘Sorgi’s coming,’ Ulath told them pointing at the fleet moving toward the beach. ‘As soon as Betuana and Engessa finish clearing the pier, we’ll be able to get started.’

The Atans were half-way to the end of the pier by now, and the terrified Edomishmen were being crowded into a tighter and tighter mass by that inexorable advance.

‘How cold is that water?’ Talen asked. ‘I mean, has it started to warm up at all?’

‘Not noticeably,’ Ulath said. ‘I saw a fish swim by earlier wearing a fur coat.’

‘Do you think a man could swim back to shore from the end of the pier?’

‘Anything’s possible.’ Ulath shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t want to wager any money on it, though.’

Rebal was at the very end of the pier by now, and his screams were growing increasingly shrill. The Atans leveled their spears and continued their inexorable advance. They did not even bother to kill the Edomishmen any more. They simply shoved everyone off the pier to struggle in the icy water. A large knot of the workmen at the very end of the pier went off the end in a kind of cluster, the ones at the extreme outer end dragging their fellows with them as they toppled off. The Atans lined the sides and the end of the pier, keeping everyone in the water at spear’s length from safety. That went perhaps somewhat beyond the bounds of civilized behavior, but Sparhawk knew of no diplomatic way to object to Queen Betuana about it, so he ground his teeth together and let it pass. There was a great deal of splashing at first, but that did not last for very long. Singly and in groups the freezing peasants gave up and slid under the waves. A few athletic ones struck out for shallow water, but no more than a handful reached that questionable safety.

Amador, Sparhawk noted, was not among the few survivors being rounded up by the Tamul soldiers at the water’s edge. Sorgi’s ships were standing at anchor some few yards off the beach by now, and the plans they had all drawn up the night before proceeded smoothly.

There was one thing, however, which their planning had not taken into account. Khalad had ridden to the edge of the cliff to look to the north, and he rode back with a slightly worried frown.

‘Well?’ Sparhawk asked him.

‘There’s a pier north of the wall, right enough,’ Khalad replied, dismounting, ‘but we’ve got a problem coming up from the south. Bhelliom’s warm current is arriving.’

‘Why is that a problem?’

‘I think Bhelliom got a little carried away. It looks as if the leading edge of that current is boiling.’

‘So?’

‘What do you get when you pour boiling water on ice Sparhawk?’

‘Steam, I suppose.’

‘Right. Bhelliom’s melting the ice out there, right enough, but it’s raising a lot of steam in the process. What’s another word for steam, my Lord?’

‘Please don’t do that, Khalad. It’s very offensive. Just how big is this fog-bank?’

‘I couldn’t see the end of it, my Lord.”

‘Thick?’

‘You could probably walk on it.’

‘Could we possibly stay ahead of it?’

Khalad pointed out to sea. ‘I sort of doubt it, my Lord. I’d say it’s already here.’

The fog was rolling across the water in a thick gray blanket, its leading edge a solid wall obscuring everything in its path.Sparhawk started to swear.

‘You seem melancholy, my queen,’ Alcan said when the ladies were alone.

Ehlana sighed.

‘I don’t like being separated from Sparhawk,’ she said. ‘There were too many years of that when he was in exile.’

‘You’ve loved him for a long time, haven’t you, your Majesty?’

‘I was born loving Sparhawk. It’s really more convenient that way. You don’t have to waste time thinking about other possible husbands. You can concentrate all your attention on the one you’re going to marry and make sure you’ve closed all his escape routes.’

There was a knock on the door, and Mirtai rose, put her hand on her sword-hilt, and went to answer it. Stragen entered. He was wearing rough clothes.

‘What on earth have you been up to, Milord?’ Melidere asked him.

‘Pushing a wheelbarrow, Baroness.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m not sure that it accomplishes all that much to disguise myself this way, butt it’s good to maintain proper work habits. I’ve been posing as an employee of the Ministry of Public Works. We’ve been repairing the street outside the Cynesgan embassy. Caalador and I rolled dice, and he won the right to sit on a roof-top to keep watch. I get to trundle wheelbarrow-loads of cobblestones to the pavers.’

‘I gather that something’s happening at the embassy?’ Ehlana guessed.

‘Yes, my Queen. Unfortunately, we can’t quite figure out what. All the chimneys are spouting smoke that doesn’t look like wood smoke. I think they’re burning documents. That’s usually a sign of incipient flight.’

‘Don’t they know that they haven’t a chance of getting out of town?’ Mirtai asked him.

‘It appears that they’re going to make a try anyway. It’s just a guess, but I’d say they’re planning something that’s going to seriously offend the authorities, and then they’re going to try to make a run for it.’ He looked at Ehlana. ‘I think we’d better tighten our security arrangements, your Majesty. All these preparations hint at something serious, and we don’t want to be caught off-guard.’

‘I’ll have a talk with Sarabian,’ Ehlana decided. ‘It was useful to have that embassy functioning as long as Xanetia was here to eavesdrop. Now that she’s off with Sparhawk and the others, the embassy’s just an irritation. I think it might be time to send in some Atans to nullify it.’

‘It’s an embassy, your Majesty,’ Melidere objected. ‘We can’t just go in and round everybody up. That’s against all the rules of civilized behavior.’

‘So?’

‘We don’t have much choice, Master Cluff,’ Sorgi said gravely. ‘When you’re out in deep water and this kind of fog comes up, all you can do is put out your sea-anchor and hope you don’t run aground on some island. You’d never be able to pick your way around the end of that reef with those rafts, and I’d rip the bottoms out of half the ships in the fleet if I tried to slip through the channel between the reef and the ice. We’re going to have to wait until this lifts—or thins out at least.’

‘And how long will that be?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘There’s no way to tell.’

‘The air’s colder than the water, Sparhawk,’ Khalad explained. ‘That’s what’s causing the fog. I don’t think it’s going to lift until the air warms up. We won’t be ready to leave here until tomorrow anyway. We’re going to have to do something to raise those rafts up out of the water a bit before we load men and horses on them. If we try to use them the way they are, we’ll be trying to move them half submerged.’

‘Why don’t you get started on that, Khalad?’ Vanion suggested. ‘Sparhawk and I’ll go have a talk with Sephrenia and Aphrael. We might just need a bit of divine intervention here. Coming, Sparhawk?’

The two of them went back on down the beach to the fire Kalten had built for the ladies.

‘Well?’ Sephrenia asked. She was seated on a driftwood log with her sister in her lap.

‘The fog’s creating some problems,’ Vanion replied. ‘We can’t get around the end of the reef until it lifts, and we’re a little crowded for time. We’d like to reach Tzada before the Trolls start to march. Any ideas?’

‘A few,’ Aphrael replied, ‘but I’ll need to talk with Bhelliom first. There are certain proprieties and courtesies involved, you understand.’

‘No,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘I don’t, really, but that doesn’t matter all that much. I’ll take your word for it.’

‘Oh, thank you, Sparhawk!’ she said with a certain false ingenuousness. ‘I think Bhelliom and I should discuss this in private. Open the box and give it to me.’

‘Whatever you say.’ He took out the cask and touched it with his ring. ‘Open,’ he told it. Then he handed the box to the Child Goddess.

She slid down off Sephrenia’s lap and went down the beach a little way. Then she stood looking out at the fog-enveloped sea. So far as Sparhawk could tell, she was not speaking aloud to the Sapphire Rose.

It was about ten minutes later when she returned. She handed the box back to Sparhawk. ‘It’s all taken care of,’ she told him in an offhand way. ‘When do you want to leave?’

‘Tomorrow morning?’ Sparhawk asked Vanion.

Vanion nodded. ‘That should give Khalad time to modify the rafts, and we can get the knights and their horses on board Sorgi’s ships and ready to go by then.’

‘All right,’ Aphrael said. ‘Tomorrow, then. Now why don’t you go find Ulath and ask him whose turn it is to do the cooking? I’m absolutely famished.’

It was not much of a breeze, and it did not entirely dissipate the fog, but they could at least see where they were going, and the tattered remnants of mist would provide them with some cover after they rounded the tip of the reef. Khalad had decided that the quickest way to modify the rafts was simply to double them, pulling one raft on top of another so that the added buoyancy would provide a reasonable freeboard. This made the rafts very cumbersome, of course. They were heavy and hard to steer, and so their progress out along the reef was painfully slow.

The skiff leading the way, however, cut through the water ahead of the flotilla and faded into the remnants of the fog-bank. Khalad and Berit had not really asked, but had simply announced that they would scout on ahead. After about an hour, the skiff returned.

‘We marked the channel,’ Khalad told them. ‘That boiling water really cut the ice away, so there’ll be plenty of room to get the rafts round the tip of the reef.’

‘We saw Captain Sorgi’s ships go by,’ Berit reported. ‘Apparently he didn’t entirely trust the sails. This breeze is a little erratic...’ He hesitated. ‘You don’t have to tell Aphrael I said that, of course. Anyway, Sorgi’s put the knights to work rowing. They’ll get to the beach north of the pier quite some time before we make it to shore.’

‘Are those trees sticking up out of the water going to cause us any problems?’ Kalten asked.

‘Not if we stick close to the face of the cliff, Sir Kalten,’ Khalad replied. ‘The landslides Bhelliom’s earthquake set off knocked down all the trees for about a hundred yards out from the wall. The trees farther out will give us some additional cover. When you add them to what’s left of the fog, I don’t think anybody on shore will see us coming.’

‘It’s working out fairly well, then,’ Ulath said, grunting as he pushed his twenty-foot-long pole against the sea-bottom, ‘except for this part, of course.’

‘We could always swim,’ Tynian suggested.

‘No, that’s all right, Tynian,’ Ulath replied. ‘I don’t mind poling all that much.’

When they reached the tip of the reef, the flotilla of rafts split up into two separate fleets. Queen Betuana and Engessa took the Atans and made their way along the outer edge of the half-submerged forest toward the pier that thrust out from shore, while Sparhawk and his friends took the Peloi and the knights for whom there had not been room aboard Sorgi’s ships along the cliff-face with Khalad and Berit scouting ahead in the skiff. Since even Sorgi’s hundred ships and the large number of rafts were not enough to carry all their forces, they had been obliged to leave a sizeable portion of their army on the south beach along with Sephrenia, Talen, Flute and Xanetia.

‘It’s shoaling,’ Ulath said after about another half-hour. ‘I think we’re getting closer to shore.’

‘More of the trees are sticking up out of the water as well,’ Kalten added. ‘I’ll definitely be glad to get off this raft. It’s a nice enough raft, I suppose, but pushing it through the water with a twenty-foot pole is sort of like trying to tip over a house.’

The skiff came ghosting back out of the fog. ‘You’d better start keeping your voices down, my Lords,’ Khalad said in a hoarse whisper. ‘We’re getting closer.’ He reached out with one hand to steady the skiff. ‘We’re in luck, though. There used to be a road running along parallel to the beach—at least I think it was a road. Anyway, the road or whatever it was gives us an open channel through the trees, and the trees between us and the beach will keep the workmen from seeing us.’

‘And probably keep us from getting ashore as well,’ Tynian added.

‘No, Sir Tynian,’ Berit replied. ‘There was a meadow out there a mile or so from where the cliff is now, and that’s where the pier is. All we have to do is follow that road and it’ll bring us out almost on top of the work-gangs.’

‘Could you hear them at all?’ Vanion asked.

‘Oh, yes,’ Khalad replied, ‘almost as if they were standing about ten feet away—and you’ll start hearing their axes in just a few minutes.’ He and Berit climbed aboard the raft.

‘Could you make out their accents? Were they more of those Edomishmen we came up against on the south pier?’

‘No, my Lord. The men up here are Astels. We couldn’t see the beach, but I’d guess that the people giving the orders came from Ayachin’s army instead of Incetes’ people.’

‘Let’s push on, then,’ Kalten said, hefting his pole. ‘Figuratively speaking, of course,’ he added.

‘Are we all ready?’ Sparhawk asked, looking up and down the line of rafts strung out to either side.

‘What is there to get ready for, Sparhawk?’ Kalten asked. ‘If anything, Astellian serfs are going to be even more timid than those Edomish peasants were. Ulath could probably chase them all back into the trees by just standing out here in what’s left of the fog blowing on his Ogre-horn.’

‘All right, then,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Aphrael,’ he threw the thought out, ‘are you listening?’

‘Well, of course I’m listening, Sparhawk.’

He decided to try a different approach. He cast his request in formal Styric this time. ‘An it please thee, Divine Aphrael, I do Beseech thine aid.’

‘Aren’t you feeling well?’Her tone was suspicious.

‘I but sought to demonstrate mine unutterable regard and respect for thee, Divine One.’

‘Are you making fun of me?’

‘No, of course not. I just realized that I haven’t been all that~ respectful lately. We’re in position now. We’re going to start moving the rafts slowly toward shore. As soon as we can make out the people on the beach, Ulath’s going to give the signal for the general attack. I’d appreciate a nice strong gust of wind at that point, if it’s not too much trouble.’

‘Well, I’ll think about it.’

‘Will you be able to hear Ulath’s horn? Or would you rather have me tell you when we need the wind?’

‘Sparhawk, I can hear a spider walking across the ceiling of a house ten miles away. I’ll blow as soon as Ulath does.’

‘That’s a novel way to put it.’

‘Get moving, Sparhawk, or you’ll run out of time.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

He looked around at the others. ‘Let’s get started,’ he told them. ‘The Divine One’s drawing in deep breaths. I think she plans to blow the fog all the way to the pole.’

The rafts inched forward, concentrating on staying in a straight line so that none of them emerged from the fog before the others. They could clearly hear the voices speaking in Elenic from the shore now, and the faint lapping of wavelets sloshing over the protruding roots of the trees off to the left.

‘Six feet,’ Kalten reported in a loud whisper as he lifted his pole out of the water. ‘We can make a mounted charge when it shoals down to four.’

‘If the fog holds out that long,’ Bevier amended. They crept on with the water shoaling under their rafts inch by inch as they eased closer to shore.

They heard the sound of a heavy blow and curses spat out in archaic Elenic.

‘That’s one of Ayachin’s men,’ Khalad whispered.

‘Ayachin himself wouldn’t be here, would he?’ Berit asked.

‘Incetes was, so I wouldn’t discount the possibility.’

‘If Ayachin is here, I want you two to go looking for Elron,’ Sparhawk instructed. ‘We lost Amador, but Xanetia should be able to get the same kind of information out of Elron. Don’t let him get away—or get himself killed.’

‘Three feet!’ Kalten announced in a triumphant whisper. ‘We can charge just as soon as we catch sight of them now.’ The rafts inched closer, and the voices ahead were much louder now.

‘There’s something moving,’ Khalad said pointing at a dim shape ahead.

‘How far?’ Sparhawk asked, Peering into the white blankness ahead.

‘Maybe thirty paces.’

Then Sparhawk saw more of the dark outlines in the fog and heard the sound of men slogging through shallow water. ‘Mount up!’ he commanded in a low voice. ‘And signal the other rafts.’ They pulled themselves slowly into their saddles, being careful not to make any noise.

‘All right, Ulath,’ Sparhawk said aloud, ‘let everybody know that we’re starting.’

Ulath grinned and lifted the curled Ogre-horn to his lips.

30

It was more like a gale than a breeze, and it came howling out of nowhere, bending the evergreens and tearing the last of the leaves from birch and aspen. The fog streamed away in the leaf-speckled blast.

The crests of the shallow waves were suddenly whipped to froth, and the water ran against a shoreline that was not sand, nor gravel nor rock, but grass and half-submerged bushes. There were thousands of men on shore, roughly dressed serfs laboring in a field of tree stumps.

‘Heretic knights!’ a man at the edge of the water screamed. He wore crude bits and pieces of ancient armor, and he stood gaping at the huge force of mounted men which had appeared quite suddenly out of nowhere as the gale tore the fog away. Ulath’s horn continued its barbaric call, and Tikume’s Peloi and the knights plunged off the rafts, their mounts sending great sheets of water out to either side, almost like icy wings.

‘What must we do, noble Ayachin?’ the crudely armored man shrieked to a lean fellow astride a white horse. The mounted man was more completely armored, although his armor was an archaic blend of steel plate and bronze chain-mail.

‘Fight!’ he roared. ‘Destroy the heretic invaders! Fight—for Astel and our holy faith!’

Sparhawk sawed Faran’s reins round and charged directly at the resurrected Astellian hero, his sword aloft and his shield in front of his body. Ayachin’s helmet had no visor as such, but rather a steel noseguard protruding down over half his face. There was a quick intelligence in that face and a burning zeal. The eyes were the eyes of a fanatic. He set himself, raised his sword, and spurred his white mount forward to meet Sparhawk’s charge.

The two horses crashed together, and the white mount reared back. Faran was the bigger horse, and he was skilled at fighting. He slammed his shoulder into Ayachin’s mount and tore chunks from the white animal’s neck with his teeth. Sparhawk caught the ancient hero’s sword-stroke with his shield and countered with a heavy overhand stroke of his own, clashing his blade down on the hastily raised and bulky shield.

‘Heretic!’ Ayachin snarled. ‘Spawn of hell! Foul sorcerer.’

‘Give it up!’ Sparhawk snapped. ‘You’re out of your class.’

Sparhawk found that he had no real wish to kill this man who was fighting to defend his homeland and his faith from a brutal Church policy long since abandoned. Sparhawk had no real quarrel with him. Ayachin bellowed his defiance and swung his sword at Sparhawk. He showed some proficiency with the weapon, but he was no real match for the black-armored Pandion he faced. Sparhawk caught the sword-stroke with his shield again, and st a chopping blow at his opponent’s shoulder.

‘Run away, Ayachin!’ he barked. ‘I don’t want to kill you! You’ve been duped by an alien God and brought thousands of years into the future. This isn’t your fight! Take your people and go.’

It was too late, though. Sparhawk saw the madness in his opponent’s eyes, and he had been in too many fights not to recognize it. He sighed, crowded Faran in against the other horse, and began a series of strokes he had used so many times in the past that, once it began, the succeeding blows were automatic.

The ancient fought bravely, struggling to respond with unwieldy equipment, but the outcome was inevitable. Sparhawk’s progressive strokes bit him deeper and deeper, chunks of his armor flew from each savage cut. Then, altering his last stroke to avoid a grotesque maim, Sparhawk thrust instead of delivering the customary overhand stroke that would have split his opponent’s head. His swordpoint crunched through the ancient and ineffective armor and smoothly ran through Ayachin’s chest.

The fire went out of that ancient face, and the hero Aga stiffened and toppled slowly from his saddle. Sparhawk raised his sword-hilt to his face in a sad salute. A great cry went up from the Astellian serfs as Ayachin’s army vanished. A burly serf at the water’s edge bawled contradictory orders, gyrating his arms like a windmill. Berit leaned over in his saddle and brought the flat side of his axe-blade down on top of the man’s head, felling him instantly.

There were a few pockets of ineffective and half-hearted resistance, but the serfs for the most part fled. Queen Betuana and her Atans drove the panicky workers from the pier, and the knights and the Peloi parted ranks to permit them to flee into the forest. Sparhawk rose up in his stirrups and looked to the north. The knights who had disembarked from Sorgi’s ships were also driving the misguided serfs on the far side of the pier back into the trees.

The battle, such as it had been, was over.

The Queen of the Atans came ashore with a look of discontent on her golden face. ‘It was not much of a fight, Sparhawk-Knight,’ she accused.

‘I’m very sorry, your Majesty,’ he apologized. ‘I did the best I could with what I had to work with. I’ll try to do better next time.

She suddenly grinned at him. ‘I was teasing you, Sparhawk-Knight. Good planning reduces the need for fighting, and you plan very well.’

‘Your Majesty is very kind to say so.’

‘How long will it take that Cammorian sailor to bring the rest of our army to this side of the wall?’

‘The rest of today and most of tomorrow, I’d imagine.’

‘Can we afford to wait that long? We should go to Tzada before the Troll-beasts start to march.’

‘I’ll talk with Aphrael and Bhelliom, your Majesty,’ he said. ‘They’ll be able to tell us what the Trolls are doing—and delay them if necessary.’

Khalad rode up. ‘We couldn’t find any sign of Elron, Sparhawk,’ he reported. ‘We captured a few of those serfs, and they told us that he wasn’t here.’

‘Who was in charge, then?’

‘That husky fellow Berit put to sleep with the flat of his axe seems to have been the one giving all the orders.’

‘Wake him up and see what you can get out of him. Don’t twist him too hard, though. If he decides to be stubborn, we’ll wait until Xanetia gets here. She can find out everything he knows without hurting him.’

‘Yes, my Lord.’ Khalad wheeled his mount and went looking for Berit.

‘You have a kindly disposition for a warrior, Sparhawk-Knight,’ Betuana observed.

‘These serfs aren’t really our enemies, Betuana-Queen. I’ll show you the other side of my nature after we catch Zalasta.’

‘His name is Torbik,’ Khalad reported when he joined them in the pavilion they had erected for the ladies. ‘He was one of Sabre’s first followers. I think he’s a serf from Baron Kotyk’s estate. He wouldn’t say so, but I’m fairly sure he knows that Elron is Sabre.’

‘Does he know why Elron sent him rather than coming here himself?’ Tynian asked.

‘He hasn’t a clue—or so he says,’ Khalad replied. ‘Anarae Xanetia can look inside his head and find out for sure.’ He paused. ‘Excuse me, Anarae,’ he said to the Delphaeic woman. ‘We all keep groping for ways to describe what you do when you listen to the thoughts of others. We’d probably be a lot less offensive if you’d tell us the right word for it.’

Xanetia, who had arrived with Sephrenia, Talen and Flute on Sorgi’s ship with the first contingent being ferried around the reef, smiled. ‘I had wondered which of ye would be the first to ask,’ she said. ‘Methinks I should have known it would be thee, young master, for thine is the most practical mind in all this company. We of the Delphae do refer to this modest gift as “sharing”. We share the thoughts of others, we do not “leech” them, nor do we scoop them like struggling minnows from the dark waters of consciousness.’

‘Would it offend you, Sir Knights, if I pointed out that it’s easier to ask than to grope your way through four languages looking for the right term?’ Khalad asked rather innocently.

‘Yes,’ Vanion said, ‘as a matter of fact it would offend us.’

‘I won’t point it out, then, my Lord.’ Khalad even managed to say it with a straight face. ‘Anyway, Torbik was here primarily to keep the Astellian serfs from talking with Ayachin’s warriors too much. Evidently there’s a great potential for confusion in the situation. Elron definitely didn’t want the two groups to start comparing notes.’

‘Does he have any idea at all about where Elron is right now?’ Kalten asked.

‘He doesn’t even know where he is right now. Elron just said a few vague things about eastern Astel and let it go at that. Torbik wasn’t really the one in charge here—any more than Ayachin was. There was a Styric with them, and he was the one who was giving all the orders. He was probably one of the first to run off into the woods when we came ashore.’

‘Could that have been Djarian?’ Bevier asked Sephrenia. ‘Zalasta’s necromancer? Somebody had to be the one who plucked Ayachin out of the ninth century.’

‘It might have been,’ Sephrenia replied doubtfully. ‘More likely, though, it was one of Djarian’s pupils. It’s the initial spell that’s difficult. Once the people from the past have been successfully raised, a fairly simple spell can bring them back again. I’m sure there was a Styric south of the wall calling up Incetes and his men as well. Zalasta and Ogerajin have a large body of renegades to draw upon.’

‘May I come in?’ Captain Sorgi asked from just outside the tent.

‘Of course, Captain,’ Vanion replied.

The silvery-haired seaman came inside. ‘We’ll have the last of your people ashore on this side of the reef by tomorrow noon, my Lords,’ he reported. ‘You’ll want us to wait here, won’t you?’

‘Yes,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘if all goes well, we’ll need to go back around the reef after we’ve finished at Tzada.’

‘Will the warm water hold? I’d rather not get ice-bound up here.’

‘We’ll see to it, Captain,’ Sparhawk promised.

Sorgi shook his head. ‘You’re a strange man, Master Cluff. You can do things no one I’ve ever met can do.’ He suddenly smiled. ‘But strange or not, you’ve thrown a lot of profit my way since you started running away from that ugly heiress.’ He looked at the others. ‘But I’m just interrupting things here. Do you suppose I might have a word with you in private, Master Cluff?’

‘Of course.” Sparhawk rose and followed the sailor outside.

‘I’ll get right to the point,’ Sorgi said. ‘Do you have any further plans for these rafts—after you use them to go back around the reef, I mean?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘Would it be all right with you if I left a crew on the beach south of the reef while I run you and your friends back to Matherion?’

‘I have no objections, Captain, but I don’t quite understand.’

‘The rafts are made of very good logs, Master Cluff. After your army uses them to get around the reef, they’ll just be lying there. It’d be a shame to waste them. I thought I’d leave a crew to lash them together into some kind of boom. I’ll come back after I drop you off in Matherion, and we’ll tow them to the timber market in Etalon—or maybe even back to Matherion itself. They should fetch a good price.’

Sparhawk laughed. ‘Good old Sorgi,’ he said, putting a friendly hand on the sea-captain’s shoulder. ‘You never overlook a chance for a profit, do you? Take the logs with my blessing.’

‘You’re a generous man, Master Cluff.’

‘You’re my friend, Captain Sorgi, and I like doing things for friends.’

‘You’re my friend as well, Master Cluff. The next time you need a ship, come and look me up. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.’ Sorgi paused, his expression suddenly cautious. ‘For only half price,’ he added.

The village of Tzada had been abandoned several years ago, and the rampaging Trolls had knocked most of the buildings down. It lay at the edge of a vast marshy meadow with Bhelliom’s escarpment looming over it to the south. The sun was just rising far to the southeast, and the grassy meadow was thick with frost that glittered in the slanting sunlight.

‘How large is the meadow, your Majesty?’ Vanion asked Betuana.

‘Two leagues across and six or eight leagues long. It will be a good battlefield.’

‘We were sort of hoping to avoid that, your Majesty,’ Vanion reminded her.

Engessa was ordering his scouts out to pinpoint the exact location of the Trolls. ‘We were able to see them from the top of the escarpment,’ he told Vanion. ‘They’ve been gathering out in the middle of the meadow every day for the past several weeks. They were too far away for us to see exactly what they’ve been doing, though. The scouts will locate them for us.’

‘What’s the plan, friend Sparhawk?’ Kring asked, fingering his saber-hilt. ‘Do we march on them and turn their Gods loose on them at the last minute?’

‘I want to talk with the Troll-Gods first,’ Aphrael said. ‘We want to be absolutely certain that they understand all the conditions of their release.’

Vanion rubbed at the side of his face. ‘I think we’ll want the Trolls to come to us instead of the other way round, don’t you, Sparhawk?’

‘Definitely, but a feint of some kind should draw them out. ‘ Sparhawk thought for a moment. ‘Why don’t we move a mile or so out into the meadow so they can see us. Then we’ll draw up in a standard formation—knights in the center, Atans on either side, and the Peloi out on the flanks. Cyrgon’s got a milltary mind, and that formation’s older than dirt. He’ll think we’re preparing to attack. The Cyrgai are an aggressive people, and they would want to attack first. Cyrgon’s commanding Trolls this time instead of his own people, but I think we can count on him to do what’s customary.’

‘He might as well’ Ulath shrugged. ‘The Trolls will attack as soon as they see us no matter what Cyrgon wants them to do. The idea of just defending themselves won’t even occur to them. They look on us as food, and somebody who sits in one place waiting for supper to come to him usually goes to bed hungry.’

‘Better and better,’ Vanion said. ‘We’ll hold our formation and let them get to within a few hundred yards of us. Then we’ll turn the Troll-Gods loose. They’ll reclaim their Trolls, and Cyrgon will be left standing out there in the middle of the meadow all alone.’

‘Or maybe not quite,’ Sephrenia added. ‘He might just have Zalasta with him. I certainly hope so, anyway.’

‘Savage,’ Vanion said fondly to her.

‘Let’s leave the army here and go round to the back side of the village,’ Sparhawk suggested. ‘If we’re going to talk with the Troll-Gods, I’d rather not do it out in plain sight.’ He turned Faran and led the others around the ruined village to a smaller clearing a few hundred yards to the east.

Sparhawk had deliberately not closed the box after Bhelliom had transported them to Tzada. This time he wanted his enemies to know where he was. ‘Blue Rose,’ he said politely, ‘canst thou find anything amiss in our plan?’

‘It seemeth sound to me, Anakha,’ the stone replied through Vanion’s lips. ‘It might be prudent, however, to advise the TrollGods that Cyrgon may reach back into antiquity for reinforcements once he doth perceive that the Trolls are no longer deceived by his assumed guise.’

‘Thou art wise, my friend,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘We shall so advise them.’ He looked at Aphrael. ‘Don’t pick any fights right now,’ he told her. ‘Let’s try to get along with our allies—at least until the battle’s over.’

‘Trust me,’ she said.

‘Do I have any choice?’

‘No, not really. Bring on the Troll-Gods, Sparhawk. Let’s get to work. The day won’t last forever, you know.’ He muttered something under his breath.

‘I didn’t quite hear that,’ she said.

‘You weren’t supposed to.’ He raised the glowing gem. ‘Please bring them forth now, my friend,’ he told it. ‘The Child Goddess doth grow impatient.’

‘I did notice that myself, Anakha.’

Then the vast presences of the Troll-Gods were there, glowing blue and towering enormous.

‘The time is come,’ Sparhawk announced in Trollish. ‘This is the place where Cyrgon has your children. Let us join together to cause hurt to Cyrgon.’

‘Yes’ Ghworg exulted.

‘I will remind you of our compact,’ Aphrael said. ‘You have given surety. I will hold you to your promises.’

‘Well will we keep them, Aphrael.’ Ghworg’s voice was sullen.

‘Let us repeat them,’ she said shrewdly. ‘Promises made in haste are sometimes forgotten. Your children will no longer eat my children. Is it agreed?’

Ghnomb sobbed his assent.

‘Khwaj will restrain his fire and Schlee his ice. Agreed? Ghworg will forbid your children to kill mine, and Zoka will permit no more than two cubs to each she-Troll. Is it agreed?’

‘Agreed. Agreed,’ Ghworg said impatiently. ‘Free us.’

‘In a moment. Is it also agreed that your children will become mortal? That they will age and die as do mine?’ They howled in fury. They had evidently been hoping in their dim minds that she had forgotten that promise. ‘Agreed?’ she bored in with a not-so-veiled threat in her voice.

‘Agreed,” Schlee said reluctantly.

‘Turn them loose, Sparhawk.’

‘In a minute.’ Then he spoke to the Troll-Gods directly. ‘It is our intent to punish Cyrgon,’ he told them. ‘Let him seem to have victory in his mouth before we jerk it from between his teeth. Thus will he suffer more.’

‘It speaks well,’ Schlee told the others. ‘Let us hear its words. Let us find out how the pain of Cyrgon may be made greater.’

Sparhawk quickly outlined their plan of battle. ‘Thus,’ he concluded, ‘when your children are ten tens of strides from Aphrael’s children and Cyrgon exults, you can appear and jerk your stolen children back from his grasp. In pain and agony may he bring his own children from the shadowy past to meet us. I will appeal to the Child Goddess and ask her to relent this once and let your children feast upon Cyrgon’s, and Cyrgon himself will feel their teeth as they rend and tear the flesh of his children.’

‘Your words are good, Anakha,’ Schlee agreed. ‘It is my thought that you are almost worthy to be a Troll.’

‘I thank you for thinking so,’ Sparhawk replied a bit doubtfully.

The army advanced at a steady trot. The Church Knights, their armor gleaming in the slanting rays of the newly risen sun and the pennons on their lances fluttering, rode forward, the hooves of their heavy war-horses crushing the knee-high grass of the meadow. The unmounted Atans loped along on either side, and Tikume’s Peloi, probably the finest light cavalry in the world, ranged out on the flanks. Despite Vanion’s violent objections, Sephrenia and Xanetia rode with the knights. Flute, for some obscure reason, rode with Talen this time.

They trotted perhaps two miles out into the frost-whitened meadow, and then Vanion held up his hand to signal a halt. Ulath blew a long, strident blast on his Ogre-horn to pass the word. Engessa, Betuana and Kring joined them.

‘We have more details now,’ Betuana told them. ‘Some of our scouts concealed themselves in the high grass to watch the Trolls. Cyrgon is exhorting the man-beasts, and there are several Styrics with him. My people don’t know the language of those monsters, so they couldn’t understand what Cyrgon was saying.’

‘It’s not too hard to guess.’ Tynian shrugged. ‘We’ve got quite an army here, and we’ve drawn up in the traditional battle formation. I’m sure Cyrgon thinks we’re planning to attack the Trolls. He’s preparing them for battle.’

‘Could your scouts recognize any of the Styrics, Betuana?’ Sephrenia asked, her face grim.

The Atan queen shook her head. ‘They couldn’t get that close,’ she replied.

‘Zalasta is there, Sephrenia,’ Xanetia said. ‘I can feel the presence of his mind.’

‘Can you hear his thoughts, Anarae?’ Bevier asked her.

‘Not clearly, Sir Knight. He is not yet close enough.’

Vanion frowned. ‘I wish we could get some assurance that this ruse of ours is working,’ he fretted. ‘This could turn very ugly if Zalasta’s got any idea at all of what we’re planning. Could your scouts get any kind of estimate about how many Trolls are out there, your Majesty?’

‘Perhaps fifteen hundred, Vanion-Preceptor,’ Betuana replied.

‘That’s almost the whole herd,’ Ulath observed. ‘There aren’t really very many Trolls.’ He made a wry face. ‘There don’t really have to be. One Troll’s a crowd all by himself in a fight.’

‘If we were planning a battle, would we have enough men?’ Tynian asked him.

Ulath wobbled one hand back and forth uncertainly. ‘It’d be touch and go,’ he replied. ‘We’ve only got about twelve thousand. Attacking fifteen hundred Trolls with so few would be an act of desperation.’

‘Our ruse is believable, then,’ Vanion said. ‘Cyrgon and Zalasta shouldn’t have any reason to suspect a trap.’

They waited. The horses of the knights were restive and grew more difficult to control as the minutes ticked by. Then an Atan woman came running back across the frosty meadow.

‘They’ve started to move, Betuana-Queen!’ she shouted from about a hundred yards out.

‘It worked, then,’ Talen said gleefully.

‘We’ll see,’ Khalad said cautiously. ‘Let’s not start dancing in the streets just yet.’

The scout came the rest of the way across the meadow to join them.

‘Tell us what you saw,’ Betuana commanded.

‘The man-beasts are coming toward us, Betuana-Queen,’ the woman replied. ‘They move singly, some far to the front and others lagging behind.’

‘Trolls wouldn’t understand the concept of fighting as a unit,’ Ulath told them.

‘Who commands them?’ Betuana asked.

‘Something that is very large and ugly, Betuana-Queen.” the scout reported. ‘The man-beasts around it are taller than Atan, and they scarcely come as high as its waist. Then Styrics with it as well—eight, by my count.’

‘Did one of them have silvery hair and beard?’ Sephrenia asked intently.

‘There were two such. One is thin, and one is fat. The thin one is close by the big ugly thing.’

‘That one is Zalasta,’ she said in a bleak voice.

‘I’ll take a promise from you now, Sephrenia,’ Vanion said firmly.

‘You can go whistle for promises right now, Vanion,’ she replied tartly. She was flexing her fingers in an ominous sort of way.

‘You were right, Sparhawk-Knight,’ Engessa said with a faint smile. ‘When we reached Sarsos last summer, you said Sephrenia was two hundred feet tall. She does seem to grow as one comes to know her better, doesn’t she? I don’t think I’d care to trade places with Zalasta right now.’

‘No,’ Sparhawk agreed. ‘That wouldn’t be a good idea.’

‘Will you at least agree to think just a little before you start grappling with Zalasta?’ Vanion pleaded. ‘For my sake? My heart stops when you’re in danger.’

She smiled at him. ‘That’s very sweet, Vanion, but I’m not the one in danger right now.’

Then they heard it. It was a dull, rhythmic thudding of hundreds of feet striking the earth in unison, and that thudding was accompanied by a low, brutish grunting. Then the thudding and grunting suddenly broke off, and a shrill, wailing ululation rose, fluctuating and piercing the chill air.

‘Kring!’ Ulath barked. ‘Let’s go have a look.’ And the two galloped out across the frozen meadow.

‘What is it?’ Vanion asked.

‘Very bad news,’ Kalten replied tensely. ‘We’ve heard that noise before. When we were on our way to Zemoch, we came across some creatures Sephrenia called the “Dawn Men”. They make Trolls look like tame puppies by comparison.’

‘And the Troll-Gods wouldn’t have any authority over them,’ Sephrenia added. ‘We might have to retreat.’

‘Never!’ Betuana almost shouted. ‘I won’t run away again not from anything! I’ve been humiliated too many times already! My Atans and I will die here if necessary!’

Ulath and Kring came riding back, their faces baffled. ‘They’re just ordinary Trolls!’ Ulath exclaimed. ‘But they’re stamping and grunting and wailing the same way the Dawn-Men did!’

Flute suddenly burst out laughing.

‘What’s so funny?’ Talen demanded.

‘Cyrgon,’ she replied gaily. ‘I knew he was stupid, but I didn’t think he was this stupid. He can’t tell the difference between Trolls and Dawn-Men. He’s forcing the Trolls to behave the way their ancestors did, and that won’t work with Trolls. All he’s doing is confusing them. Let’s go out and meet them, Sparhawk. I want to watch Cyrgon’s face crumble and fall off the front of his head.’

Then she drove her little grass-stained feet into the flanks of Talen’s horse, obliging the rest of them to follow along behind. They crested a low hill and reined in. The Trolls were advancing through the tall grass on a broad front, quite nearly a mile across, shuffling, stamping their heels, and grunting in unison. A vast shape which very closely resembled Ghworg, the God of Kill, shambled along in the center of the brutish throng, beating on the frozen ground with a huge, iron-bound club. The monstrous apparition was closely surrounded by a group of white-robed Styrics. Sparhawk could quite clearly see Zalasta to Cyrgon’s right.

‘Cyrgon!’ Aphrael called. Her voice was shatteringly loud. Then she spoke at some length in a language that had only traces of Styric in it and was shaded around the edges with bits and pieces of Elenic and Tamul and a half-dozen other languages as well.

‘What tongue is that?’ Betuana demanded.

‘It is the language of the Gods,’ Vanion replied, his voice carrying that slightly wooden overtone that always overlaid it when Bhelliom spoke. ‘The Child Goddess doth taunt Cyrgon.’ Vanion seemed to wince slightly. ‘Thou wert perhaps unwise to expose thy Goddess overmuch to Elenes, Sephrenia,’ Bhelliom observed. ‘Her capacity for imprecation and insult seemeth me inappropriate for one so young.’

‘Aphrael is hardly young, Blue Rose,’ she replied.

A faint smile touched Vanion’s lips. ‘Not to thee, perhaps. Perspective, however, doth color all. To me, thy seemingly ancient Goddess is scarce more than a babe.’

‘Be nice,’ Aphrael murmured. Then she continued to rail at the now-enraged Cyrgon.

‘Can you hear Zalasta’s thoughts now, Anarae?’ Kalten asked.

‘Clearly, Sir Knight,’ Xanetia replied.

‘Does he have any suspicion at all about what we’re going to do?’

‘Nay. He doth believe that victory is within his reach.’

Aphrael stopped in mid-curse. ‘Let’s disabuse him of that right now,’ she said. ‘Turn loose the Troll-Gods, Sparhawk.’

‘An it please thee, Blue Rose,’ Sparhawk said politely, ‘evict thine unwanted tenants now.’

‘More than gladly, Anakha,’ Bhelliom replied with great relief.

The Troll-Gods were not surrounded by that azure nimbus this time. They appeared suddenly and in vividly excruciating detail. Sparhawk suppressed a wave of revulsion.

‘Go to your children, Ghworg!’ Aphrael commanded in Trollish. ‘It is your semblance Cyrgon has stolen, and it is your right to cause hurt to him for that.’

Ghworg roared his agreement and charged down the hill with the other Troll-Gods close on his heels. The counterfeit Ghworg gaped up the hill at the dreadful reality descending upon him. And then he screamed in sudden agony.

‘Does that even happen to Gods?’ Talen asked Flute. ‘Does it hurt you as much as it hurts humans to have one of your spells broken?’

‘Even more,’ she almost purred. ‘Cyrgon’s brains are on fire right now.’

The Trolls were also gaping at their suddenly materialized Gods. One huge brute not far from the writhing God of the Cyrgai reached out almost absently, picked up a shrieking Styric, and pulled off his head. Then he tossed the head aside and began to eat the still-convulsing body.

The Troll-Gods roared something in unison, and the Trolls all fell on their faces. Cyrgon writhed, shrieking, and the seven remaining Styrics collapsed as if they had been cut down. The false shape of Ghworg shuddered away into nothingness, and Cyrgon himself suddenly appeared as an amorphous blob of pale, intense light.

Aphrael sneered. ‘That’s Cyrgon for you,’ she noted. ‘He claims to be too proud to assume a human form. Personally, I think he’s just too clumsy. If he tried, he’d probably put the head on upside down or both arms on the same side.’ She shrieked a few more triumphant insults.

‘Aphrael.’ Sephrenia actually sounded shocked.

‘I’ve been saving those up,’ the Child Goddess apologized. ‘You weren’t really supposed to hear me say them.’

Cyrgon’s fire was fluctuating wildly now, flaring and dimming as his agony swelled and then diminished.

‘What is Zalasta feeling now?’ Sephrenia eagerly asked Xanetia.

‘His pain doth go beyond mine ability to describe it,’ the Anarae replied.

‘Dear, dear sister!’ Sephrenia exulted. ‘You’ve made me happier than you could possibly imagine!’

‘Are you ever going to be able to tame her again?’ Sparhawk asked Vanion.

‘It may take a while.’ Vanion’s tone was troubled.

The writhing, half-formed shape of the flame-like Cyrgon partially rose and waved one huge, fiery arm, and a half-mile or so behind the Trolls there suddenly appeared a vast glittering.

‘He’s called up his Cyrgai!’ Khalad shouted. ‘We’d better do something.’

‘Ghworg! Schlee!’ Vanion roared in Bhelliom’s huge voice. ‘Cyrgon hath summoned his children. Now may your children feast!’

The Troll-Gods swelled even more enormous and barked sharp commands to their prostrate worshipers. The Trolls scrambled to their feet, turned, and looked hungrily at the advancing Cyrgai drawn from ages past. Then with a great roar they rushed toward the banquet Cyrgon had so generously provided.

Ehlana was tired. It had been one of those exhausting days, with so many things to do that nothing had been really wrapped up before the next intruded itself. She had retired to the royal bedroom with Mirtai, Alcan and Melidere to prepare for bed. Danae trailed along behind them, dragging Rollo by one hind leg and yawning broadly.

‘The Emperor was in a peculiar humor this evening,’ Melidere noted, closing the door behind them.

‘Sarabian’s nerves are strung a little tight right now,’ Ehlana said, sitting down at her dressing-table. ‘The future of his whole empire hinges on what Sparhawk and the others are doing in the north, and there’s no way he can keep track of what’s going on up there.’

Danae yawned again and curled up in a chair. ‘Where’s your cat?’ Ehlana asked her.

‘She’s around somewhere,’ Danae replied sleepily.

‘Check my bed, Mirtai,’ Ehlana instructed. ‘I don’t like furry little surprises in the middle of the night.’

Mirtai patted down the canopied royal bed and then dropped to her knees to look under all the furniture. ‘No sign of her, Ehlana,’ she reported.

‘You’d better go find her, Danae,’ the queen said.

‘I’m sleepy, mother,’ Danae objected.

‘The sooner you find your cat, the sooner you can get to bed. Let’s catch her before she gets out of the castle this time. Go with her, Mirtai. After you two find the cat, put Danae to bed and then see if you can locate either Stragen or Caalador. One of them’s supposed to bring me a report on what’s going on at the Cynesgan embassy tonight, and I’d like to get it out of the way before I go to bed. I don’t want them banging on my door in the middle of the night.’

Mirtai nodded. ‘Come along, Danae,’ she said.

The princess sighed. She climbed out of her chair, kissed her mother, and followed the golden giantess out of the room. Alcan began to brush the queen’s hair. Ehlana loved to have her hair brushed. There was a kind of sleepy, sensual delight in it that relaxed her tremendously. She was quite vain about her hair. It was thick and heavy and lustrously blonde. Its pale color was astounding to the dark-haired Tamuls, and she knew that all eyes would be on her any time she entered a room. The three of them talked, the drowsy, intimate talk of ladies preparing for bed.

Then there was a polite tapping at the door. ‘Oh, bother,’ Ehlana said. ‘See who that is, Melidere.’

‘Yes, your Majesty.’ The Baroness rose to her feet and crossed the bedroom to the door. She opened it and spoke for a moment with the people outside.

‘It’s four of the Peloi, your Majesty,’ she said. ‘They say they have word from the north.’

‘Bring them in, Melidere.’ Ehlana turned to face the door. The man who came through the door did not look all that much like a Peloi. The clothing, tight-fitting and mostly leather, was right, as was the saber at the man’s waist. His head was shaved, as were the heads of all Peloi men, but this fellow’s face was slightly tanned, whereas his scalp was as pale as the belly of a fish. Something was wrong here.

The man behind the first wore a carefully trimmed black beard. His face was very pale, and it looked somehow familiar. The last two also wore Peloi garb and had shaved their heads, but they were definitely not Peloi. The first was Elron, the juvenile Astellian poet, and the second pouchy-eyed and slightly tipsy, was Krager.

‘Ah,’ he said in his drink-slurred voice, ‘so good to see you again, your Majesty.’

‘How did you get in here, Krager?’ she demanded.

‘Nothing easier, Ehlana,’ he smirked. ‘You should have kept a few of Sparhawk’s knights here to stand watch. Church Knights are more observant than Tamul soldiers. We dressed as Peloi and shaved our heads, and no one gave us a second glance. Elron here covered his face with his cloak when the Baroness answered the door—just as a precaution—but otherwise it was almost too easy. You have met Elron before, haven’t you?’

‘I vaguely remember him, don’t you, Melidere?’

‘Why, yes, I believe so, your Majesty,’ the blonde girl replied. ‘Wasn’t he that literary incompetent we met back in Astel? The one with delusions of grandeur? I’d hardly call those atrocities he commits poetry, though.’

Elron’s face went suddenly white with outrage.

‘I’m not an expert in the area of poetry, ladies,’ Krager shrugged. ‘Elron tells me that he’s a poet, so I take him at his word. May I present Baron Parok?’ he indicated the first man who had entered the room.

Parok bowed floridly. His face was marked with the purplish broken veins of a heavy drinker, and his eyes were pouchy and dissipated-looking.

Ehlana ignored him. ‘You’re not going to get out of here alive, Krager. You know that, don’t you?’

‘I always get out alive, Ehlana,’ he smirked. ‘My preparations are always very thorough. Now I’d like to have you meet our leader. This is Scarpa.’ He gestured at the bearded man. ‘I’m sure you’ve heard of him, and he’s been absolutely dying to make your acquaintance.’

‘He doesn’t look all that dead to me—yet,’ she noted. ‘Why don’t you call the guards to remedy that, Melidere?’

Scarpa blocked the Baroness. ‘This bravado is quite out of place in a mere woman,’ he said to Ehlana coldly in a voice loaded with contempt. ‘You give yourself too many airs. All the genuflecting and “your Majesty”s seem to have gone to your head and made you forget that you’re still only a woman.’

‘I don’t think I need instruction in proper behavior from the bastard son of a whore!’ she retorted.

Scarpa’s face flickered a brief annoyance. ‘We’re wasting time here,’ he said. His voice was deep and rich, the voice of a performer, and his manner and gestures were studied. He had obviously spent a great deal of time in the public eye. ‘We have many leagues to cover before dawn.’

‘I’m not going anyplace,’ she declared.

‘You’ll go where I tell you to go,’ he said, ‘and I’ll teach you your place as we go along.’

‘What do you hope to gain from this?’ Melidere demanded.

‘Empire and victory.’ Scarpa shrugged. ‘We’re taking the Queen of Elenia hostage. Her husband is so stupid that he forgets that the world is full of women—one very much like another. He’s so foolishly attached to her that he’ll give us anything for her safe return.’

‘Are you such an idiot that you actually believe that my busband will trade Bhelliom for me?’ Ehlana said scornfully. ‘Sparhawk is Anakha, you fool, and he has Bhelliom in his fist. That makes him a God. He killed Azash, he’ll kill Cyrgon, and he’ll definitely kill you. Pray that he does it quickly, Scarpa. He has it in his power to make your dying last for a million years if he chooses.’

‘I do not pray, woman. Only weaklings put any faith in Gods.’

‘I think you underestimate Sparhawk’s devotion to you, Ehlana,’ Krager said. ‘He’ll give up anything to gain your safe return.’

‘He won’t have to,’ Ehlana snapped. ‘I’ll deal with the four of you myself. Do you really think you can get out of here when one word from me will bring half the garrison running?’

‘You won’t give that word, however,’ Scarpa sneered. ‘You’re just a little too arrogant, woman. I think you need to know the full reality of your situation.’ He turned and pointed at Baroness Melidere. ‘Kill that one,’ he commanded Elron.

‘But...’ the pasty-faced literary poseur began to object.

‘Kill her!’ Scarpa snapped. ‘If you don’t, I’ll kill you!’ Elron tremblingly drew his rapier and advanced on the defiant Baroness.

‘It’s not a knitting-needle, you clot,’ Melidere told him. ‘You can’t even hold it right. Stick to butchering language, Elron. You don’t have the skill—or the stomach—to move up to people yet, although your so-called poetry’s bad enough to make people want to die.’

‘How dare you?’ he almost screamed, his face turning purple.

‘How’s your “Ode to Blue” coming, Elron?’ she taunted him. ‘You could make a fortune peddling that one as an emetic, you know. I felt the urge to vomit before you’d finished reciting the first stanza.’

He howled in absolute rage and made a clumsy thrust with his rapier. Ehlana had watched Stragen training Sarabian often enough to know that the thrust was well off the mark. The intrepid Baroness, however, coolly deflected the blade with the wrist of the hand she seemed to be raising in a futilely defensive gesture, and Elron’s blade passed smoothly through her shoulder. Melidere gasped, clutching at the blade to conceal the exact location of the wound. Then she lurched back to pull herself free of the blade and clawed at the wound to spread the blood spurting from it over the bodice of her nightdress. Then she fell.

‘You murderer!’ Ehlana shrieked, rushing to her fallen friend. She hurled herself across Melidere’s inert body, weeping and crying out in apparent anguish. ‘Are you all right?’ she muttered under her breath between sobs.

‘It’s only a scratch,’ Melidere lied, also in a whisper.

‘Tell Sparhawk that I’m all right,’ the queen instructed, tugging off her ring and concealing it in Melidere’s bodice, ‘and tell him that I forbid him to give up Bhelliom, no matter what they threaten to do to me.’ She rose to her feet, her face tear-streaked. ‘You’ll hang for this, Elron,’ she said in a deadly voice, ‘or maybe I’ll have you burned at the stake instead—with a slow fire.’ She pulled a blanket from the bed and quickly covered Melidere with it to prevent too close an examination.

‘We will leave now,’ Scarpa said coldly. ‘That other one is also your friend, I believe.’ He pointed at the ashen-faced Alcan. ‘We’ll take her along and if you make any outcry at all, I’ll personally slit her throat.’

‘You’re forgetting the message, Scarpa,’ Krager said pulling a folded piece of paper from the inside of his leather Peloi jacket. ‘We have to leave a friendly little note for Sparhawk—just to let him know that we stopped by to call.’ Then he drew a small knife. ‘Your pardon, Queen Ehlana,’ he smirked, exhaling the sharp, acrid reek of his wine-sodden breath into her face, ‘but I need a bit of authentication to prove to Sparhawk that we’re really holding you captive.’ He took hold of a lock of Ehlana’s hair and roughly sawed it off with his knife. ‘We’ll just leave this with our note so that he can compare it with later ones to verify that it’s really yours.’ His grin grew even more vicious ‘if you should feel a sudden urge to cry out, Ehlana, just remember that all we really need is your head. We can harvest hair from that, so we won’t need to bring the rest of you along if you start being too much bother.’