Sparhawk Universe 04 – Domes of Fire – Eddings, David

 

 

 

Danger stalked Queen Ehlana’s realm. When an ambasador from the far-off Tamul Empire begged for help, Sparhawk, Ehlana’s champion and Prince Consort, was the Emperor’s last hope. For surely the knight who had killed the evil God Azash could prevail against the terror in Tamul. But waiting for him was a glittering court seething with corruption, treachery—and the greatest danger Sparhawk would ever face!

 

 

Prologue

 

Excerpted from Chapter Two of The Cyrga Affair: An Examination of the Recent Crisis, Compiled by the Contemporary History Department of the University of Matherion.

 

It was quite obvious to the Imperial Council at this point that the empire was facing a threat of the gravest nature a threat which his Imperial Majesty’s government was ill-prepared to confront. The empire had long relied upon the armies of Atan to defend her interests during the periodic outbreaks of incidental civil disorder which are normal and to be expected in a disparate population ruled by a strong central authority. The situation facing his Majesty’s government this time, however, did not appear to arise from spontaneous demonstrations by a few malcontented hotheads spilling out into the streets from various university campuses during the traditional recess which follows final examinations.

 

Those particular demonstrations can be taken in stride, and order is usually restored with a minimum of bloodshed. The government soon realized that this time, however, things were different. The demonstrators were not high-spirited schoolboys, for one thing, and domestic tranquillity did not return when ‘classes at the universities resumed. The authorities might still have maintained order had the various disruptions been the result of ordinary revolutionary fervour. The mere presence of Atan warriors can dampen the spirits of even the most enthusiastic under normal circumstances. This time, the customary acts of vandalism accompanying the demonstrations were quite obviously of paranormal origin.

 

Inevitably, the imperial government cast a questioning eye at the Styrics in Sarsos. An investigation by Styric members of the Imperial Council whose loyalty to the throne could not be questioned, however, quite clearly indicated that Styricum had had no part in the disturbances.

 

The paranormal incidents were obviously coming from some as yet to be determined source and were so widespread that they could not have emanated from the activities of a few Styric renegades. The Styrics themselves were unable to identify the source of this activity, and even the legendary Zalasta, pre-eminent magician in all of Styricum though he might be, ruefully confessed to total bafflement.

 

It was Zalasta, however, who suggested the course ultimately taken by his Majesty’s government. He advised that the empire might seek assistance from the Eosian continent, and he specifically directed the government’s attention to a man named Sparhawk.

 

All imperial representatives on the Eosian continent were immediately commanded to drop everything else and to concentrate their full attention upon this man.

 

It was imperative that his Majesty’s government have information about this Sparhawk person. As the reports from Eosia began to filter in, the Imperial Council began to develop a composite picture of Sparhawk, his appearance, his personality and his history.

 

Sir Sparhawk, they discovered, was a member of one of the quasi-religious orders of the Elene Church. His particular order is referred to as ‘The Pandion Knights’.

 

He is a tall, lean man of early middle years with a battered face, a keen intelligence and an abrupt, even abrasive manner. The Knights of the Elene Church are fearsome warriors, and Sir Sparhawk is in the forefront of their ranks of champions. At the time in the history of the Eosian continent when the four orders of Church Knights were founded, the circumstances were so desperate that the Elenes set aside their customary prejudices and permitted the Militant Orders to receive instruction in the arcane practices of Styricum, and it was the proficiency of the Church Knights in those arts which helped them to prevail during the First Zemoch War some five centuries ago.

 

Sir Sparhawk held a position for which there is no equivalent in our empire. He was the hereditary ‘Champion’ of the royal house of the Kingdom of Elenia. Western Elenes have a chivalric culture replete with many archaisms. The ‘Challenge’ (essentially an offer to engage in single combat is the customary response of members of the nobility who feel that their honour has been somehow sullied. It is amazing to note that not even ruling monarchs are exempt from the necessity of answering these challenges. In order to avoid the inconvenience of responding to the impertinences of assorted hotheads, the monarchs of Eosia customarily designate some highly-skilled (and usually widely-feared) warrior as a surrogate. Sir Spar_hawk’s nature and reputation is such that even the most quarrelsome nobles of the kingdom of Elenia find after careful consideration that they have not really been insulted. It is a credit to Sir Sparhawk’s skill and cool judgement that he has seldom even been obliged to kill anyone during these affairs, since, by ancient custom, a severely incapacitated combatant may save his life by surrendering and withdrawing his challenge.

 

After his father’s death, Sir Sparhawk presented himself to King Aldreas, the father of the present queen, to take up his duties. King Aldreas, however, was a weak monarch, and he was dominated by his sister, Arissa, and by Annias, the Primate of Cimmura, who was also Princess Arissa’s surreptitious lover and the father of her bastard son, Lycheas. The Primate of Cimmura, who was the de facto ruler of Elenia, had hopes of ascending the throne of the Archprelacy of the Elene Church in the Holy City of Chyrellos, and the presence of the stern and moralistic Church Knight at the court inconvenienced him, and so it was that he persuaded King Aldreas to send Sir Sparhawk into exile in the Kingdom of Render.

 

In time, King Aldreas also became inconvenient, and Primate Annias and the Princess poisoned him, thus elevating Princess Ehlana, Aldreas’ daughter, to the throne. Though she was young, Queen Ehlana had received some training from Sir Sparhawk as a child, and she was a far stronger monarch than her father had been. She soon became more than a mere inconvenience to the Primate. He poisoned her as well, but Sir Sparhawk’s fellow Pandions, aided by their tutor in the arcane arts, a Styric woman named Sephrenia, cast an enchantment which sealed the queen up in crystal and sustained her life.

 

Thus it stood when Sir Sparhawk returned from exile.

 

Since the Militant Orders had no wish to see the Primate of Cimmura on the Archprelate’s throne, certain of the champions of the other three orders were sent to assist Sir Sparhawk in finding an antidote or a cure which could restore Queen Ehlana to health. Since the queen had denied Annias access to her treasury in the past, the Church Knights reasoned that should she be restored, she would once again deny Annias the funds he needed to pursue his candidacy.

 

Annias allied himself with a renegade Pandion named Martel, and this Martel person was, like all Pandions, skilled in the use of Styric magic. He cast obstacles, both physical and supernatural, in Sparhawk’s path, but Sir Sparhawk and his companions were ultimately successful in discovering that Queen Ehlana could only be restored by a magical object known as ‘The Bhelliom.’

 

Western Elenes are a peculiar people. They have a level of sophistication in worldly matters which sometimes surpasses our own, but at the same time, they have an almost childlike belief in the more lurid forms of magic. This ‘Bhelliom’, we are told, is a very large sapphire which was laboriously carved into the shape of a rose at some time in the distant past. The Elenes here insist that the artisan who carved it was a Troll. We will not dwell on that absurdity.

 

At any rate, Sir Sparhawk and his friends overcame many obstacles and were ultimately able to obtain the peculiar talisman, and (they claim) it was successful in restoring Queen Ehlana—although one strongly suspects that their tutor, Sephrenia, accomplished that task unaided, and that the apparent use of the Bhelliom was little more than a subterfuge she used to protect her from the virulent bigotry of western Elenes.

 

When the Archprelate Cluvonus died, the Hierocracy of the Elene Church journeyed to Chyrellos to participate in the ‘election’ of his successor. Election is a peculiar practice which involves the stating of preference. That candidate who receives the approval of a majority of his fellows is elevated to the office in question. This, of course, is an unnatural procedure, but since the Elene clergy is ostensibly celibate, there is no non-scandalous way the Archprelacy can be made hereditary. The Primate of Cimmura had bribed a goodly number of high churchmen to state a preference for him during the deliberations of the Hierocracy, but he still fell short of the needed majority. It was at this point that his underling, the aforementioned Martel, led an assault on the Holy City, hoping thereby to stampede the Hierocracy into electing Primate Annias. Sir Sparhawk and a limited number of Church Knights were able to keep Martel away from the Basilica where the Hierocracy was deliberating. Most of the city of Chyrellos, however, was severely damaged or destroyed during the fighting.

 

As the situation reached crisis proportions, help arrived for the beleaguered defenders in the form of the armies of the western Elene kingdoms. (Elene politics, one notes, are quite robust.) The connection between the Primate of Cimmura and the renegade Martel came to light as well as the fact that the pair had a subterranean arrangement with Otha of Zemoch. Outraged by the perfidy of the man, the Hierocracy rejected his candidacy and elected instead one Dolmant, the Patriarch of Demos. This Dolmant appears to be competent, though it may be too early to say for certain.

 

Queen Ehlana of the Kingdom of Elenia was scarcely more than a child, but she appeared to be a strong-willed and spirited young woman. She had long had a secret preference for Sir Sparhawk, though he was more than twenty years her senior, and upon her recovery it had been announced that the two were betrothed.

 

Following the election of Dolmant to the Archprelacy, they were wed. Peculiarly enough, the queen retained her authority, although we must suspect that Sir Sparhawk exerts considerable influence upon her in state as well as domestic matters.

 

The involvement of the Emperor of Zemoch in the internal affairs of the Elene Church was, of course, a casus belli, and the armies of western Eosia, led by the Church Knights, marched eastward across Lamorkand to meet the Zemoch hordes poised on the border. The long-dreaded Second Zemoch War had begun.

 

Sir Sparhawk and his companions, however, rode north to avoid the turmoil of the battlefield, and they then turned eastward, crossed the mountains of northern Zemoch and surreptitiously made their way to Otha’s capital at the city of Zemoch, evidently in pursuit of Annias and Martel.

 

The best efforts of the empire’s agents in the west have failed to reveal precisely what took place at Zemoch. It is quite certain that Annias, Martel and Otha himself perished there, but they are of little note in the pageant of history. What is far more relevant is the incontrovertible fact that Azash, Elder God of Styricum and the driving force behind Otha and his Zemochs, also perished, and it is undeniably true that Sir Sparhawk was responsible. We must concede that the levels of magic unleashed at Zemoch were beyond our comprehension and that Sir Sparhawk has powers at his command such as no mortal has ever possessed. As evidence of the levels of violence unleashed in the confrontation, we need only point to the fact that the city of Zemoch was utterly destroyed during the discussions.

 

Clearly, Zalasta the Styric had been right. Sir Sparhawk, the prince consort of Queen Ehlana, was the one man in all the world capable of dealing with the crisis in Tamuli. Unfortunately, Sir Sparhawk was not a citizen of the Tamul Empire, and thus could not be summoned to the imperial capital at Matherion by the emperor. His Majesty’s government was in a quandary. The emperor had no authority over this Sparhawk, and to have been obliged to appeal to a man who was essentially a private citizen would have been an unthinkable humiliation.

 

The situation in the empire was daily worsening, and our need for the intervention of Sir Sparhawk was growing more and more urgent. Of equal urgency was the absolute necessity of maintaining the empire’s dignity. It was ultimately the Foreign Office’s most brilliant diplomat, First Secretary Oscagne, who devised a solution to the dilemma. We will discuss his Excellency’s brilliant diplomatic ploy at greater length in the following chapter.

Part One: Eosia

 

 

Chapter 1

 

It was early spring, and the rain still had the lingering chill of winter. A soft, silvery drizzle sifted down out of the night sky and wreathed around the blocky watchtowers of Cimmura, hissing in the torches on each side of the broad gate and making the stones of the road leading up to the gate shiny and black. A lone rider approached the city. He was wrapped in a heavy traveller’s cloak and rode a tall, shaggy roan horse with a long nose and flat, vicious eyes. The traveler was a big man, a bigness of large, heavy bone and ropy tendon rather than of flesh. His hair was coarse and black, and at some time his nose had been broken. He rode easily but with the peculiar alertness of the trained warrior.

 

The big’ roan shuddered, shaking the rain out of his shaggy coat as they approached the east gate of the city and stopped in the ruddy circle of torchlight just outside the wall. An unshaven gate guard in a rust-splotched breastplate and helmet and with a patched green cloak hanging negligently from one shoulder came out of the gate house to look inquiringly at the traveler. He was swaying slightly on his feet.

 

‘Just passing through, neighbour,’ the big man said in a quiet voice. He pushed back the hood of his cloak.

 

‘Oh,’ the guard said, ‘it’s you, Prince Sparhawk. I didn’t recognise you. Welcome home.’

 

‘Thank you,’ Sparhawk replied. He could smell the cheap wine on the man’s breath.

 

‘Would you like to have me send word to the palace that you’ve arrived, your Highness?’

 

‘No. Don’t bother them. I can unsaddle my own horse.’ Sparhawk privately disliked ceremonies—particularly late at night. He leaned over and handed the guard a small coin. ‘Go back inside, neighbour. You’ll catch cold if you stand out here in the rain.’ He nudged his horse and rode on through the gate.

 

The district near the city wall was poor, with shabby, run-down houses standing tightly packed beside each other, their second storeys projecting out over the wet littered streets. Sparhawk rode up a narrow, cobbled street with the slow clatter of the big roan’s steel-shod hooves echoing back from the buildings. The night breeze had come up, and the crude signs identifying this or that tightly-shuttered shop on the street-level floors swung creaking on rusty hooks.

 

A dog with nothing better to do came out of an alley to bark at them with brainless self-importance. Sparhawk’s horse turned his head slightly to give the wet cur a long, level stare that spoke eloquently of death. The empty-headed dog’s barking trailed off and he cringed back, his rat-like tail between his legs. The horse bore down on him purposefully. The dog whined, then yelped, turned and fled. Sparhawk’s horse snorted derisively.

 

‘That make you feel better, Faran?’ Sparhawk asked the roan.

 

Faran flicked his ears.

 

‘Shall we proceed then?’

 

A torch burned fitfully at an intersection, and a buxom young whore in a cheap dress stood, wet and bedraggled, in its ruddy, flaring light. Her dark hair was plastered to her head, the rouge on her cheeks was streaked and she had a resigned expression on her face.

 

‘What are you doing out here in the rain, Naween?’ Sparhawk asked her, reining in his horse.

 

‘I’ve been waiting for you, Sparhawk.’ Her tone was arch, and her dark eyes wicked.

 

‘Or for anyone else?’

 

‘Of course. I am a professional, Sparhawk, but I still owe you. Shouldn’t we settle up one of these days?’

 

He ignored that. ‘What are you doing working the streets?’

 

‘Shanda and I had a fight,’ she shrugged. “I decided to go into business for myself.’

 

‘You’re not vicious enough to be a street-girl, Naween.’ He dipped his fingers into the pouch at his side, fished out several coins and gave them to her. ‘Here,’ he instructed. ‘Get a room in an inn someplace and stay off the streets for a few days. I’ll talk with Platime, and we’ll see if we can make some arrangements for you .’

 

Her eyes narrowed. ‘You don’t have to do that, Sparhawk. I can take care of myself.’

 

‘Of course you can. That’s why you’re standing out here in the rain. Just do it, Naween. It’s too late and too wet for arguments.’

 

‘This is two I owe you, Sparhawk. Are you absolutely sure . . . ?’ She left it hanging.

 

‘Quite sure, little sister. I’m married now, remember?’

 

‘So?’

 

‘Never mind. Get in out of the weather.’ Sparhawk rode on, shaking his head. He liked Naween, but she was hopelessly incapable of taking care of herself.

 

He passed through a quiet square where all the shops and booths were shut down. There were few people abroad tonight, and few business opportunities. He let his mind drift back over the past month and a half. No one in Lamorkand had been willing to talk with him.

 

Archprelate Dolmant was a wise man, learned in doctrine and Church politics, but he was woefully ignorant of the way the common people thought. Sparhawk had patiently tried to explain to him that sending a Church Knight out to gather information was a waste of time, but Dolmant had insisted, and Sparhawk’s oath obliged him to obey. And so it was that he had wasted six weeks in the ugly cities of southern Lamorkand where no one had been willing to talk with him about anything more serious than the weather. To make matters even worse, Dolmant had quite obviously blamed the knight for his own blunder.

 

In a dark side-street where the water dripped monotonously onto the cobblestones from the eaves of the houses, he felt Faran’s muscles tense. ‘Sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘I wasn’t paying attention.’ Someone was watching him, and he could clearly sense the animosity which had alerted his horse. Faran was a war-horse, and he could probably sense antagonism in his veins.

 

Sparhawk muttered a quick spell in the Styric tongue, concealing the gestures which accompanied it beneath his cloak. He released the spell slowly to avoid alerting whoever was watching him.

 

The watcher was not an Elene. Sparhawk sensed that immediately. He probed further. Then he frowned. There were more than one, and they were not Styrics either. He pulled his thought back, passively waiting for some clue as to their identity. The realization came as a chilling shock. The watchers were not human. He shifted slightly in his saddle, sliding his hand toward his sword-hilt. Then the sense of the watchers was gone, and Faran shuddered with relief. He turned his ugly face to give his master a suspicious look.

 

‘Don’t ask me, Faran,’ Sparhawk told him. “I don’t know either.’ But that was not entirely true. The touch of the minds in the darkness had been vaguely familiar, and that familiarity had raised questions in Sparhawk’s mind, questions he did not want to face.

 

He paused at the palace gate long enough to firmly instruct the soldiers not to wake the whole house, and then he dismounted in the courtyard.

 

A young man stepped out into the rain-swept yard from the stable. ‘Why didn’t you send word that you were coming, Sparhawk?’ he asked very quietly.

 

‘Because I don’t particularly like parades and wild celebrations in the middle of the night,’ Sparhawk told his squire, throwing back the hood of his cloak. ‘What are you doing up so late? I promised your mothers I’d make sure you got your rest. You’re going to get me in trouble, Khalad.’

 

‘Are you trying to be funny?’ Khalad’s voice was gruff, abrasive. He took Faran’s reins. ‘Come inside, Sparhawk. You’ll rust if you stand out here in the rain.’

 

‘You’re as bad as your father was.’

 

‘It’s an old family trait.’ Khalad led the prince consort and his evil-tempered warhorse into the hay-smelling stable where a pair of lanterns gave off a golden light.

 

Khalad was a husky young man with coarse black hair and a short-trimmed black beard. He wore tight-fitting black leather breeches, boots and a sleeveless leather vest that left his arms and shoulders bare. A heavy dagger hung from his belt, and steel cuffs encircled his wrists. He looked and behaved so much like his father that Sparhawk felt again a brief, brief pang of loss. ‘I thought Talen would be coming back with you,’ Sparhawk’s squire said as he began unsaddling Faran.

 

‘He’s got a cold. His mother—and yours—decided that he shouldn’t go out in the weather, and I certainly wasn’t going to argue with them.’

 

‘Wise decision,’ Khalad said, absently slapping Faran on the nose as the big roan tried to bite him. ‘How are they?’

 

‘Your mothers? Fine. Aslade’s still trying to fatten Elys up, but she’s not having too much luck. How did you find out I was in town?’

 

‘One of Platime’s cut-throats saw you coming through the gate. He sent word.’

 

‘I suppose I should have known. You didn’t wake my wife, did you?’

 

‘Not with Mirtai standing watch outside her door, I didn’t. Give me that wet cloak, my Lord. I’ll hang it in the kitchen to dry.’ Sparhawk grunted and removed his sodden cloak. ‘The mail shirt too, Sparhawk,’ Khalad added, ‘before it rusts away entirely.’ Sparhawk nodded, unbelted his sword and began to struggle out of his chain-mail shirt.

 

‘How’s your training going?’

 

Khalad made an indelicate sound. “I haven’t learned anything I didn’t already know. My father was a much better instructor than the ones at the chapterhouse. This idea of yours isn’t going to work, Sparhawk. The other novices are all aristocrats, and when my brothers and I outstrip them on the practice field, they resent it. We make enemies every time we turn around.’ He lifted the saddle from Faran’s back and put it on the rail of a nearby stall. He briefly laid his hand on the big roan’s back, then bent, picked up a handful of straw and began to rub him down.

 

‘Wake some groom and have him do that,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘Is anybody still awake in the kitchen?’

 

‘The bakers are already up, I think.’

 

‘Have one of them throw something together for me to eat. It’s been a long time since lunch.’

 

‘All right. What took you so long in Chyrellos?’

 

‘I took a little side trip into Lamorkand. The civil war there’s getting out of hand, and the Archprelate wanted me to nose around a bit.’

 

‘You should have got word to your wife. She was just about to send Mirtai out to find you.’ Khalad grinned at him. “I think you’re going to get yelled at again, Sparhawk.’

 

‘There’s nothing new about that. Is Kalten here in the palace?’

 

Khalad nodded. ‘The food’s better here, and he isn’t expected to pray three times a day. Besides, I think he’s got his eye on one of the chambermaids.’

 

‘That wouldn’t surprise me very much. Is Stragen here too?’

 

‘No. Something came up, and he had to go back to Emsat.’

 

‘Get Kalten up then. Have him join us in the kitchen. I want to talk with him. I’ll be along in a bit. I’m going to the bathhouse first.’

 

‘The water won’t be warm. They let the fires go out at night.’

 

‘We’re soldiers of God, Khalad. We’re all supposed to be unspeakably brave.’

 

‘I’ll try to remember that, my Lord.’

 

The water in the bathhouse was definitely on the chilly side, so Sparhawk did not linger very long. He wrapped himself in a soft white robe and went into the dim corridors of the palace and to the brightly-lit kitchens where Khalad waited with the sleepy-looking Kalten.

 

‘Hail, Noble Prince Consort,’ Kalten said drily. Sir Kalten obviously didn’t care much for the idea of being roused in the middle of the night.

 

‘Hail, noble Boyhood Companion of the Noble Prince Consort,’ Sparhawk replied.

 

‘Now there’s a cumbersome title,’ Kalten said sourly. ‘What’s so important that it won’t wait until morning?’

 

Sparhawk sat down at one of the work tables, and a white-smocked baker brought him a plate of roast beef and a steaming loaf still hot from the oven.

 

‘Thanks, neighbour,’ Sparhawk said to him.

 

‘Where have you been, Sparhawk?’ Kalten demanded, sitting down across the table from his friend. Kalten had a wine flagon in one hand and a tin cup in the other.

 

‘Sarathi sent me to Lamorkand,’ Sparhawk replied, tearing a chunk of bread from the loaf.

 

‘Your wife’s been making life miserable for everyone in the palace, you know.’

 

‘It’s nice to know she cares.’

 

‘Not for any of the rest of us it isn’t. What did Dolmant need from Lamorkand?’

 

‘Information. He didn’t altogether believe some of the reports he’s been getting.’

 

‘What’s not to believe? The Lamorks are just engaging in their national pastime—civil war.’

 

‘There seems to be something a little different this time. Do you remember Count Gerrich?’

 

‘The one who had us besieged in Baron Alstrom’s castle? I never met him personally, but his name’s sort of familiar.’

 

‘He seems to be coming out on top in the squabbles in western Lamorkand, and most everybody up there believes that he’s got his eye on the throne.’

 

‘So?’ Kalten helped himself to part of Sparhawk’s loaf of bread. ‘Every baron in Lamorkand has his eyes on the throne. What’s got Dolmant so concerned about it this time?’

 

‘Gerrich’s been making alliances beyond the borders of Lamorkand. Some of those border barons in Pelosia are more or less independent of King Saros.’

 

‘Everybody in Pelosia’s independent of Saros. He isn’t much of a king. He spends too much time praying.’

 

‘That’s a strange position for a soldier of God,’ Khalad murmured.

 

‘You’ve got to keep these things in perspective, Khalad,’ Kalten told him. ‘Too much praying softens a man’s brains.’

 

‘Anyway,’ Sparhawk went on. ‘if Gerrich succeeds in dragging those Pelosian barons into his bid for King Friedahl’s throne, Friedahl’s going to have to declare war on Pelosia. The Church already has a war going on in Render, and Dolmant’s not very enthusiastic about a second front.’ He paused. “I ran across something else, though,’ he added. “I overheard a conversation I wasn’t supposed to. The name Drychtnath came up. Do you know anything about him?’

 

Kalten shrugged. ‘He was the national hero of the Lamorks some three or four thousand years ago. They say he was about twelve feet tall, ate an ox for breakfast every morning and drank a hogshead of mead every evening. The story has it that he could shatter rocks by scowling at them and reach up and stop the sun with one hand. The stories might be just a little bit exaggerated, though.’

 

‘Very funny. The group I overheard were all telling each other that he’s returned.’

 

‘That’d be a neat trick. I gather that his closest friend killed him. Stabbed him in the back and then ran a spear through his heart. You know how Lamorks are.’

 

‘That’s a strange name,’ Khalad noted. ‘What does it mean?’

 

‘Drychtnath?’ Kalten scratched his head. “‘Dreadnought”, I think. Lamork mothers do that sort of thing to their children.’ He drained his cup and tipped his flagon over it. A few drops came out. ‘Are we going to be much longer at this?’ he asked. ‘if we’re going to sit up talking all night, I’ll get more wine. To be honest with you though, Sparhawk, I’d really rather go back to my nice warm bed.’

 

‘And your nice warm chambermaid?’ Khalad added.

 

‘She gets lonesome,’ Kalten shrugged. His face grew serious. ‘If the Lamorks are talking about Drychtnath again, it means that they’re starting to feel a little confined. Drychtnath wanted to rule the world, and any time the Lamorks start invoking his name, it’s a fair indication that they’re beginning to look beyond their borders for elbow room.’

 

Sparhawk pushed back his plate. “It’s too late at night to start worrying about it now. Go back to bed, Kalten. You too, Khalad. We can talk more about this tomorrow. I really ought to go pay a courtesy call on my wife.’ He stood up.

 

‘That’s all?’ Kalten said. ‘A courtesy call?’

 

‘There are many forms of courtesy, Kalten.’

 

The corridors in the palace were dimly illuminated by widely-spaced candles. Sparhawk went quietly past the throne-room to the royal apartments. As usual, Mirtai dozed in a chair beside the door. Sparhawk stopped and considered the Tamul giantess. When her face was in repose, she was heart-stoppingly beautiful. Her skin was golden in the candlelight, and her eyelashes were so long that they touched her cheeks. Her sword lay in her lap with her hand lightly enclosing its hilt.

 

‘Don’t try to sneak up on me, Sparhawk.’ She said it without opening her eyes.

 

‘How did you know it was me?’

 

‘I could smell you. All you Elenes seem to forget that you have noses.’

 

‘How could you possibly smell me? I just took a bath.’

 

‘Yes. I noticed that too. You should have taken the time to let the water heat up a little more.’

 

‘Sometimes you amaze me, do you know that?’

 

‘You’re easily amazed, Sparhawk.’ She opened her eyes. ‘Where have you been? Ehlana’s been nearly frantic.’

 

‘How is she?’

 

‘About the same. Aren’t you ever going to let her grow up? I’m getting very tired of being owned by a child.’ In Mirtai’s own eyes, she was a slave, the property of the Queen Ehlana. This in no way hindered her in ruling the royal family of Elenia with an iron fist, arbitrarily deciding what was good for them and what was not. She had brusquely dismissed all the queen’s attempts to emancipate her, pointing out that she was an Atan Tamul, and that her race was temperamentally unsuited for freedom. Sparhawk tended strongly to agree with her, since he was fairly certain that if she were left to follow her instincts, Mirtai could depopulate several fair-sized towns in short order.

 

She stood up, rising to her feet with exquisite grace. She was a good four inches taller than Sparhawk, and he felt again that odd sense of shrinking as he looked up at her. ‘What took you so long?’ she asked him.

 

‘I had to go to Lamorkand.’

 

‘Was that your idea? or somebody else’s?’

 

‘Dolmant sent me.’

 

‘Make sure Ehlana understands that right from the start. If she thinks you went there on your own, the fight will last for weeks, and all that wrangling gets on my nerves.’ She produced the key to the royal apartment and gave Sparhawk a blunt, direct look. ‘Be very attentive, Sparhawk. She’s missed you a great deal, and she needs some tangible evidence of your affection. And don’t forget to bolt the bedroom door. Your daughter might be just a little young to be learning about certain things.’ She unlocked the door.

 

‘Mirtai, do you really have to lock us all in every night?’

 

‘Yes, I do. I can’t get to sleep until I know that none of you is out wandering around the halls.’

 

Sparhawk sighed. ‘Oh, by the way,’ he added, ‘Kring was in Chyrellos. I imagine he’ll be along in a few days to propose marriage to you again.’

 

‘It’s about time,’ she smiled. “It’s been three months since his last proposal. I was beginning to think he didn’t love me any more.’

 

‘Are you ever going to accept him?’

 

‘We’ll see. Go wake up your wife, Sparhawk. I’ll let you out in the morning.’ She gently pushed him on through the doorway and locked the door behind him.

 

Sparhawk’s daughter, Princess Danae, was curled up in a large chair by the fire. Danae was six years old now. Her hair was very dark, and her skin as white as milk. Her dark eyes were large, and her mouth a small pink bow. She was quite the little lady, her manner serious and very grown-up. Her constant companion, nonetheless, was a battered and disreputable-looking stuffed toy animal named Rollo. Rollo had descended to Princess Danae from her mother. As usual, Princess Danae’s little feet had greenish grass-stains on them.

 

‘You’re late, Sparhawk,’ she said flatly to her father.

 

‘Danae,’ he said to her, ‘you know you’re not supposed to call me by name like that. If your mother hears you, she’s going to start asking questions.’

 

‘She’s asleep,’ Danae shrugged.

 

‘Are you really sure about that?’

 

She gave him a withering look. ‘Of course I am. I’m not going to make any mistakes. I’ve done this many, many times before, you know. Where have you been?’

 

‘I had to go to Lamorkand.’

 

‘Didn’t it occur to you to send word to mother? She’s been absolutely unbearable for the last few weeks.’

 

‘I know. Any number of people have already told me about it. I didn’t really think I’d be gone for so long. I’m glad you’re awake. Maybe you can help me with something.’

 

‘I’ll consider it—if you’re nice to me.’

 

‘Stop that. What do you know about Drychtnath?’

 

‘He was a barbarian, but he wasan Elene, after all, so it was probably only natural.’

 

‘Your prejudices are showing.’

 

‘Nobody’s perfect. Why this sudden interest in ancient history?’

 

‘There’s a wild story running through Lamorkand that Drychtnath’s returned. They’re all sitting around sharpening swords with exalted expressions on their faces. What’s the real significance of that?’

 

‘He was their king several thousand years ago. It was shortly after you Elenes discovered fire and came out of your caves.’

 

‘Be nice.’

 

‘Yes, father. Anyway, Drychtnath hammered all the Lamorks into something that sort of resembled unity and then set out to conquer the world. The Lamorks were very impressed with him. He worshipped the old Lamork Gods, though, and your Elene Church was a little uncomfortable with the notion of a pagan sitting on the throne of the whole world, so she had him murdered.’

 

‘The Church wouldn’t do that,’ he said flatly.

 

‘Did you want to listen to the story? or did you want to argue theology? After Drychtnath died, the Lamork priests disembowelled a few chickens and fondled their entrails in order to read the future. That’s really a disgusting practice, Sparhawk. It’s so messy.’ She shuddered.

 

‘Don’t blame me. I didn’t think it up.’

 

‘The “auguries”, as they called them, said that one day Drychtnath would return to take up where he’d left off and that he’d lead the Lamorks to world domination.’

 

‘You mean they actually believe that?’

 

‘They did once.’

 

‘There are some rumours up there of backsliding reversion to the worship of the old Pagan Gods.’

 

‘It’s the sort of thing you’d expect. When a Lamork starts thinking about Drychtnath, he automatically hauls the old Gods out of the closet. It’s so foolish. Aren’t there enough real Gods for them?’

 

‘The old Lamork Gods aren’t real, then?’

 

‘Of course not. Where’s your mind, Sparhawk?’

 

‘The Troll-Gods are real. What’s the difference?’

 

‘There’s all the difference in the world, father. Any child can see that.’

 

‘Why don’t I just take your word for it? And why don’t you go back to bed?’

 

‘Because you haven’t kissed me yet.’

 

‘Oh. Sorry. I had my mind on something else.’

 

‘Of course not.’

 

‘Then give me a kiss.’

 

He did that. As always she smelled of grass and trees. ‘Wash your feet,’ he told her.

 

‘Oh, bother,’ she said.

 

‘Do you want to spend a week explaining those grassstains to your mother?’

 

‘That’s all I get?’ she protested. ‘One meager little kiss and bathing instructions?’

 

He laughed, picked her up and kissed her again—several times. Then he put her down. ‘Now scoot.’

 

She pouted a little and then sighed. She started back toward her bedroom, negligently carrying Rollo by one hind leg. ‘Don’t keep mother up all night,’ she said back over her shoulder, ‘and please try to be quiet. Why do you two always have to make so much noise?’ She looked impishly back over her shoulder. ‘Why are you blushing, father?’ she asked innocently. Then she laughed and went on into her own room and closed the door.

 

He could never be sure if his daughter really understood the implications of such remarks, although he was certain that one level at least of her strangely layered personality understood quite well. He made sure that her door was latched and then went into the bedroom he shared with his wife. He closed and bolted the door behind him.

 

The fire had burned down to embers, but there was still sufficient light for him to be able to see the young woman who was the focus of his entire life. Her wealth of pale blonde hair covered her pillow, and in sleep she looked very young and vulnerable. He stood at the foot of the bed looking at her. There were still traces of the little girl he had trained and moulded in her face.

 

He sighed. That train of thought always made him melancholy, because it brought home the fact that he was really too old for her. Ehlana should have a young husband—someone less battered, certainly someone handsome. He idly wondered where he had made the mistake that had so welded her affection to him that she had not even considered any other possible choice. It had probably been something minor—insignificant even. Who could ever know what kind of effect even the tiniest gesture might have on another?

 

‘I know you’re there, Sparhawk,’ she said without even opening her eyes. There was a slight edge to her voice.

 

‘I was admiring the view.’ A light tone might head off the incipient unpleasantness; though he didn’t really have much hope of that.

 

She opened her grey eyes. ‘Come over here,’ she commanded, holding her arms out to him.

 

‘I was ever your Majesty’s most obedient servant.’ He grinned at her, going to the side of the bed.

 

‘Oh, really?’ she replied, wrapping her arms about his neck and kissing him. He kissed her back, and that went on for quite some time.

 

‘Do you suppose we could save the scolding until tomorrow morning, love?’ he asked. ‘I’m a little tired tonight. Why don’t we do the kissing and making up now, and you can scold me later.’

 

‘And lose my edge? Don’t be silly. I’ve been saving up all sorts of things to say to you.’

 

‘I can imagine. Dolmant sent me to Lamorkand to look into something. It took me a little longer than I expected.’

 

‘That’s not fair, Sparhawk,’ she accused.

 

‘I didn’t follow that.’

 

‘You weren’t supposed to say that yet. You’re supposed to wait until after I’ve demanded an explanation before you give me one. Now you’ve gone and spoiled it.’

 

‘Can you ever forgive me?’ He assumed an expression of exaggerated contrition and kissed her on the neck. His wife, he had discovered, loved these little games.

 

She laughed. ‘I’ll think about it.’ She kissed him back. The women of his family were a very demonstrative little group, he decided. ‘All right then,’ she said. ‘You’ve gone and spoiled it anyway, so you might as well tell me what you were doing, and why you didn’t send word that you’d be delayed.’

 

‘Politics, love. You know Dolmant. Lamorkand is right on the verge of exploding. Sarathi wanted a professional assessment, but he didn’t want it generally known that I was going there at his instruction. He didn’t want any messages explaining things floating around.’

 

‘I think it’s time for me to have a little talk with our revered Archprelate,’ Ehlana said. ‘He seems to have a little trouble remembering just who I am.’

 

‘I don’t recommend it, Ehlana.’

 

‘I’m not going to start a fight with him, my love. I’m just going to point out to him that he’s ignoring the customary courtesies. He’s supposed to ask before he commandeers my husband. I’m getting just a little weary of his imperial Archprelacy, so I’m going to teach him some manners.’

 

‘Can I watch? That might just be a very interesting conversation.’

 

‘Sparhawk,’ she said, giving him a smouldering look, “if you want to avoid an official reprimand, you’re going to have to start taking some significant steps to soften my displeasure.’

 

‘I was just getting to that,’ he told her, enfolding her in a tighter embrace.

 

‘What took you so long?’ she breathed.

 

It was quite a bit later, and the displeasure of the Queen of Elenia seemed to be definitely softening. ‘What did you find out in Lamorkand, Sparhawk?’ she asked, stretching languorously. Politics were never really very far from the queen’s mind.

 

‘Western Lamorkand’s in turmoil right now. There’s a count up there—Gerrich, his name is. We ran across him when we were searching for Bhelliom. He was involved with Martel in one of those elaborate schemes devised to keep the Militant Orders out of Chyrellos during the election.’

 

‘That speaks volumes about this count’s character.’

 

‘Perhaps, but Martel was very good at manipulating people. He stirred up a small war between Gerrich and Patriarch Ortzel’s brother. Anyway, the campaign appears to have broadened the count’s horizons a bit. He’s begun to have some thoughts about the throne.’

 

‘Poor Freddie,’ Ehlana sighed. King Friedahl of Lamorkand was her distant cousin. ‘You couldn’t give me that throne of his. Why should the Church be concerned, though? Freddie’s got a large enough army to deal with one ambitious count.’

 

‘It’s not quite so simple, love. Gerrich has been concluding alliances with other nobles in western Lamorkand. He’s amassed an army nearly as big as the king’s, and he’s been talking with the Pelosian barons around Lake Venue.’

 

‘Those bandits,’ she said with a certain contempt. ‘Anybody can buy them.’

 

‘You’re well-versed in the politics of the region, Ehlana.’

 

‘I almost have to be, Sparhawk. Pelosia fronts my northeastern border. Does this current disturbance threaten us in any way?’

 

‘Not at the moment. Gerrich has his eyes turned eastward toward the capital.’

 

‘Maybe I should offer Freddie an alliance,’ she mused. ‘If general war breaks out in the region, I could snip off a nice piece of southwestern Pelosia.’

 

‘Are we developing territorial ambitions, your Majesty?’

 

‘Not tonight, Sparhawk,’ she replied. ‘I’ve got other things on my mind tonight.’ And she reached out to him again.

 

It was quite a bit later, almost dawn. Ehlana’s regular breathing told Sparhawk that she was asleep. He slipped from the bed and went to the window. His years of military training made it automatic for him to take a look at the weather just before daybreak.

 

The rain had abated, but the wind had picked up. It was early spring now, and there was little hope for decent weather for weeks. He was glad that he had reached home when he had, since the approaching day looked unpromising. He stared out at the torches flaring and tossing in the windy courtyard.

 

As they always did when the weather was bad, Sparhawk’s thoughts drifted back to the years he had spent in the sun-blasted city of Jiroch on the arid north coast of Render where the women, all veiled and robed in black, went to the well in the steely first light of day and where the woman named Lillias had consumed his nights with what she chose to call love. He did not, however, remember that night in Cippria when Martel’s assassins had quite nearly spilled out his life. He had settled that score with Martel in the Temple of Azash in Zemoch, so there was no real purpose in remembering the stockyard of Cippria nor the sound of the monastery bells which had called to him out of the darkness.

 

That momentary sense of being watched, the sense that had come over him in the narrow street while he had been on his way to the palace still nagged at him. Something he did not understand was going on, and he fervently wished that he could talk with Sephrenia about it.

 

 

Chapter 2

 

‘Your Majesty,’ the Earl of Lenda protested, ‘you can’t address this kind of language to the Archprelate.’ Lenda was staring with chagrin at the piece of paper the queen had just handed him. ‘You’ve done everything but accuse him of being a thief and a scoundrel.’

 

‘Oh, did I leave those out?’ she asked. ‘How careless of me.’ They were meeting in the blue-carpeted council chamber as they usually did at this time of the morning.

 

‘Can’t you do something with her, Sparhawk?’ Lenda pleaded.

 

‘Oh, Lenda,’ Ehlana laughed, smiling at the frail old man, ‘that’s only a draft. I was a little irritated when I scribbled it down.’

 

‘A little?’

 

‘I know we can’t send the letter in its present form, my Lord. I just wanted you to know how I really felt about the matter before we rephrase it and couch it in diplomatic language. My whole point is that Dolmant’s beginning to overstep his bounds. He’s the Archprelate, not the emperor. The Church has too much authority over temporal affairs already, and, if someone doesn’t bring Dolmant up short, every monarch in Eosia will become little more than his vassal. I’m sorry gentlemen. I’m a true daughter of the Church, but I won’t kneel to Dolmant and receive my crown back from him in some contrived little ceremony that has no purpose other than my humiliation.’

 

Sparhawk was a bit surprised at his wife’s political maturity. The power structure on the Eosian Continent had always depended on a rather delicate balance between the authority of the Church and the power of the various kings. When that balance was disturbed, things went awry.

 

‘Her Majesty’s point may be welltaken, Lenda,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘The Eosian monarchies haven’t been very strong for the last generation or so. Aldreas was—’ He groped for a word.

 

‘Inept,’ his wife coolly characterised her own father.

 

‘I might not have gone quite that far,’ he murmured. ‘Wargun’s erratic, Saros is a religious hysteric, Obler’s old, and Friedahl reigns only at the sufferance of his barons. Dregos lets his relatives make all his decisions, King Brtsant of Cammorta is a voluptuary and I don’t even know the name of the current King of Render.’

 

‘Ogyrin,’ Kalten supplied, ‘not that it really matters.’

 

‘Anyway,’ Sparhawk continued, sinking lower in his chair and rubbing the side of his face thoughtfully, ‘during this same period of time, we’ve had a number of very able churchmen in the Hierocracy. The incapacity of Cluvonus sort of encouraged the patriarchs to strike out on their own. If you had a vacant throne someplace, you could do a lot worse than put Emban on it—or Ortzel—or Bergsten, and even Annias had a very high degree of political skill. When kings grow weak, the Church grows strong—too strong sometimes.’

 

‘Spit it out, Sparhawk,’ Platime growled. ‘Are you trying to say we should declare war on the Church?’

 

‘Not today, Platime. We might want to keep the idea in reserve, though. Right now I think it’s time to start sending some signals to Chyrellos, and our queen may be just the one to send them. After the way she stampeded the Hierocracy during Dolmant’s election, I think they’ll listen very carefully to just about anything she says. I don’t know that I’d soften her letter all that much, Lenda. Let’s see if we can get their attention.’

 

Lenda’s eyes were very bright. ‘This is the way the game’s supposed to be played, my friends,.’ he said enthusiastically.

 

‘You do realise that it’s altogether possible that Dolmant didn’t realise that he was stepping over the line,’ Kalten noted. ‘Maybe he sent Sparhawk to Lamorkand as the interim preceptor of the Pandion Order and completely overlooked the fact that he’s also the prince consort. Sarathi’s got a lot on his mind just now.’

 

‘If he’s that absent-minded, he’s got no business occupying the Archprelate’s throne,’ Ehlana asserted. Her eyes narrowed, always a dangerous sign. ‘Let’s make it very clear to him that he’s hurt my feelings. He’ll go out of his way to smooth things over, and maybe I can take advantage of that to retrieve that Duchy just north of Vardenaise. Lenda, is there any way we can keep people from bequeathing their estates to the Church?’

 

‘It’s a long-standing custom, your Majesty.’

 

‘I know, but the land originally comes from the crown. Shouldn’t we have some say in who inherits it? You’d think that if a nobleman dies without an heir, the estate would revert back to me, but every time there’s a childless noble in Elenia, the churchmen flock around him like vultures trying to talk him into giving them the land.’

 

‘Jerk some titles,’ Platime suggested. ‘Make it a law that if a man doesn’t have an heir, he doesn’t keep his estate.’

 

‘The aristocracy would go up in flames,’ Lenda gasped.

 

‘That’s what the army’s for,’ Platime shrugged, ‘to put out fires. I’ll tell you what, Ehlana, you pass the law, and I’ll arrange a few very public and very messy accidents for the ones who scream the loudest. Aristocrats aren’t very bright, but they’ll get the point—eventually.’

 

‘Do you think I could get away with that?’ Ehlana asked the Earl of Lenda.

 

‘Surely your Majesty’s not seriously considering it?’

 

‘I have to do something, Lenda. The Church is eating up my kingdom acre by acre, and once she takes possession of an estate, the land’s removed from the tax rolls forever.’ She paused. ‘This could just be a way to do what Sparhawk suggested—get the Church’s attention. Why don’t we draw up a draft of some outrageously repressive law and just “accidentally” let a copy fall into the hands of some middle-level clergyman. It’s probably safe to say that it’ll be in Dolmant’s hands before the ink’s dry.’

 

‘That’s really unscrupulous, my Queen,’ Lenda told her.

 

‘I’m so glad you approve, my Lord.’ She looked around. ‘Have we got anything else this morning, gentlemen?’

 

‘You’ve got some unauthorised bandits operating in the mountains near Cardos, Ehlana,’ Platime rumbled.

 

The gross, black-bearded man sat with his feet upon the table. There was a wine flagon and goblet at his elbow. His doublet was wrinkled and food-spotted, and his shaggy hair hung down over his forehead, almost covering his eyes. Platime was constitutionally incapable of using formal titles, but the queen chose to overlook that.

 

‘Unauthorised?’ Kalten sounded amused.

 

‘You know what I mean,’ Platime growled. ‘They don’t have permission from the thieves’ council to operate in that region, and they’re breaking all the rules. I’m not positive, but I think they’re some of the former henchmen of the Primate of Cimmura. You blundered there, Ehlana. You should have waited until you had them in custody before you declared them outlaws.’

 

‘Oh well,’ she shrugged. ‘Nobody’s perfect.’

 

Ehlana’s relationship with Platime was peculiar. She realised that he was unable to mouth the polite formulas of the nobility, and so she accepted a bluntness from him that would have offended her had it come from anyone else. For all his faults, Platime was turning into a gifted, almost brilliant counsellor, and Ehlana valued his advice greatly.

 

‘I’m not surprised to find out that Annias’ old cronies have turned to highway robbery in their hour of need. They were all bandits to begin with anyway. There have always been outlaws in those mountains, though, so I doubt that another band will make all that much difference.’

 

‘Ehlana,’ he sighed, ‘you’re the same as my very own baby sister, but sometimes you’re terribly ignorant. An authorised bandit knows the rules. He knows which travellers can be robbed or killed and which ones have to be left alone. Nobody gets too excited if some overstuffed merchant gets his throat cut and his purse lifted, but if a government official or a high-ranking nobleman turns up dead in those mountains, the authorities have to take steps to at least make it appear that they’re doing their jobs. That sort of official attention is very bad for business. Perfectly innocent criminals get rounded up and hanged. Highway robbery’s not an occupation for amateurs. And there’s another problem as well. These bandits are telling all the local peasantry that they’re not really robbers, but patriots rebelling against a cruel tyrant—that’s you, little sister. There’s always enough discontent among the peasants to make some of them sympathetic toward that sort of thing. You aristocrats haven’t any business getting involved in crime. You always try to mix politics in with it.’

 

‘But my dear Platime,’ she said winsomely, “I thought you knew. Politics is a crime.’

 

The fat man roared with laughter. “I love this girl,’ he told the others. ‘Don’t worry too much about it, Ehlana. I’ll try to get some men inside their band, and when Stragen gets back, we’ll put our heads together and work out some way to put those people out of business.’

 

‘I knew I could count on you,’ she said. She rose to her feet. ‘If that’s all we have, gentlemen, I have an appointment with my dressmaker.’ She looked around. ‘Coming, Sparhawk?’

 

‘In a moment,’ he replied. “I want to have a word with Platime.’

 

She nodded and moved toward the door.

 

‘What’s on your mind, Sparhawk?’ Platime asked.

 

‘I saw Naween last night when I rode into town. She’s working the streets.’

 

‘Naween? That’s ridiculous! Half the time she even forgets to take the money.’

 

‘That’s what I told her. She and Shanda had a falling out, and she was standing on a street corner near the east gate. I sent her to an inn to get her out of the weather. Can we make some kind of arrangement for her?’

 

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Platime promised.

 

Ehlana had not yet left the room, and Sparhawk sometimes forgot how sharp her ears were. ‘Who’s this Naween?’ she asked from the doorway with a slight edge to her voice.

 

‘She’s a whore,’ Platime shrugged, ‘a special friend of Sparhawk’s. ‘

 

‘Platime.” Sparhawk gasPed.

 

‘Isn’t she?’

 

‘Well, I suppose so, but when you say it that way—’ Sparhawk groped for the right words.

 

‘Oh. I didn’t mean it that way, Ehlana. So far as I know, your husband’s completely faithful to you. Naween’s a whore. That’s her occupation, but it doesn’t have anything to do with her friendship—not that she didn’t make Sparhawk some offers, but she makes those offers to everybody. She’s a very generous girl.’

 

‘Please, Platime,” Sparhawk groaned, ‘don’t be on my side any more.’

 

‘Naween’s a good girl,’ Platime continued to explain to Ehlana. ‘She works hard, she takes good care of her customers and she pays her taxes.’

 

‘Taxes?’ Ehlana exclaimed. ‘Are you telling me that my government encourages that sort of thing? Legitimises it by taxing it?’

 

‘Have you been living on the moon, Ehlana? Of course she pays taxes. We all do. Lenda sees to that. Naween helped Sparhawk once while you were sick. He was looking for that Krager fellow, and she helped him. Like I said, she offered him other services as well, but he turned her down politely. She’s always been a bit disappointed in him about that.’

 

‘You and I are going to have a long talk about this, Sparhawk,’ Ehlana said ominously.

 

‘As your Majesty wishes,’ he sighed as she swept coolly from the room.

 

‘She doesn’t know very much about the real world, does she, Sparhawk?’

 

‘It’s her sheltered upbringing.’

 

‘I thought you were the one who brought her up.

 

‘That’s right.’

 

‘Then you’ve only got yourself to blame. I’ll have Naween stop by and explain it all to her.’

 

‘Are you out of your mind?’

 

Talen came in from Demos the next day, and he rode into the courtyard with Sir Berit. Sparhawk and Khalad met them at the stable door. The prince consort was making some effort to be inconspicuous until such time as the queen’s curiosity about Naween diminished. Talen’s nose was red, and his eyes looked puffy.

 

‘I thought you were going to stay at the farm until you got over that cold,’ Sparhawk said to him.

 

‘I couldn’t stand all that mothering,’ Talen said, slipping down from his saddle. ‘One mother is bad enough, but my brothers and I have two now. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look another bowl of chicken soup in the face again. Hello, Khalad.’

 

‘Talen,’ Sparhawk’s burly young squire grunted. He looked critically at his half-brother. ‘Your eyes look terrible.’

 

‘You ought to see them from in here.’

 

Talen was about fifteen now, and he was going through one of those stages. Sparhawk was fairly certain that the young thief had grown three inches in the past month and a half. A goodly amount of forearm and wrist stuck out of the sleeves of his doublet.

 

‘Do you think the cooks might have something to eat?’ the boy asked. As a result of his rapid growth, Talen ate almost constantly now.

 

‘I’ve got some papers for you to sign, Sparhawk,’ Berit said. ‘It’s nothing very urgent, but I thought I’d ride in with Talen.’ Berit wore a mail shirt, and he had a broadsword belted at his waist. His weapon of choice, however, was still the heavy war-axe slung to his saddle.

 

‘Are you going back to the chapterhouse?’ Khalad asked him.

 

‘Unless Sparhawk has something he wants me for here.’

 

‘I’ll ride along with you then. Sir Clart wants to give us more instruction with the lance this afternoon.’

 

‘Why don’t you just unhorse him a few times?’ Berit suggested. ‘Then he’ll leave you alone. You could do it, you know. You’re already better than he is.’

 

Khalad shrugged. ‘It’d hurt his feelings.’

 

‘Not to mention his ribs, shoulders and back,’ Berit laughed.

 

‘It’s a bit ostentatious to outperform your instructors,’ Khalad said. ‘The other novices are already a little sulky about the way my brothers and I have outstripped them. We’ve tried to explain, but they’re sensitive about the fact that we’re peasants. You know how that goes.’ He looked inquiringly at Sparhawk. ‘Are you going to need me for anything this afternoon, my Lord?’

 

‘No. Go ahead on out and dent Sir Clart’s armour a bit. He’s got an exaggerated notion of his own skill. Give him some instruction in the virtue of humility.’

 

‘I’m really hungry, Sparhawk,’ Talen complained.

 

‘All right. Let’s go to the kitchen.’ Sparhawk looked critically at his young friend. ‘Then I guess we’ll have to send for the tailor again,’ he added. ‘You’re growing like a weed.’

 

‘It’s not my idea.’

 

Khalad started to saddle his horse, and Sparhawk and Talen went into the palace in search of food. It was about an hour later when the two of them entered the royal apartment to find Ehlana, Mirtai and Danae sitting by the fire. Ehlana was leafing through some documents. Danae was playing with Rollo, and Mirtai was sharpening one of her daggers. ‘Well,’ Ehlana said, looking up from the documents, “if it isn’t my noble prince consort and my wandering page.’

 

Talen bowed. Then he sniffed loudly.

 

‘Use your handkerchief,’ Mirtai told him.

 

‘Yes, ma’am.’

 

‘How are your mothers?’ Ehlana asked the young man. Everyone, perhaps unconsciously, used that phrasing when speaking to Talen and his half-brothers. In a very real sense, though, the usage reflected reality. Aslade and Elys mothered Kurik’s five sons excessively and impartially.

 

‘Meddlesome, my Queen,’ Talen replied. “It’s not really a good idea to get sick in that house. In the last week I think I’ve been dosed with every cold remedy known to man.’ A peculiar, squeaky noise came from somewhere in the general vicinity of the young man’s midsection.

 

‘Is that your stomach?’ Mirtai asked him. ‘Are you hungry again?’

 

‘No. I just ate. I probably won’t get hungry again for at least fifteen minutes.’ Talen put one hand to the front of his doublet. ‘The little beast was being so quiet I almost forgot it was there.’ He went over to Danae, who was tying the strings of a little bonnet under the chin of her stuffed toy. ‘I’ve brought a present for you, Princess,’ he said.

 

Her eyes brightened. She set Rollo aside and sat waiting expectantly.

 

‘But no kissing,’ he added. ‘Just a “thank you” will do. I’ve got a cold, and you don’t want to catch it.’

 

‘What did you bring me?’ she asked eagerly.

 

‘Oh, just a little something I found under a bush out on the road. It’s a little wet and muddy, but you can dry it out and brush it off, I suppose. It’s not much, but I thought you might like it—just a little.’ Talen was underplaying it for all he was worth.

 

‘Could I see it, please?’ she begged.

 

‘Oh, I suppose so.’ He reached inside his doublet, took out a rather bedraggled grey kitten and sat it on the floor in front of her. The kitten had mackerel stripes, a spiky tail, large ears and an intently curious look in its blue eyes. It took a tentative step toward its new mistress. Danae squealed with delight, picked up the kitten and hugged it to her cheek. “I love it!!’ she exclaimed.

 

‘There go the draperies,’ Mirtai said with resignation. ‘Kittens always want to climb the drapes.’

 

Talen skilfully fended off Sparhawk’s exuberant little daughter. ‘The cold, Danae,’ the boy warned. ‘I’ve got a cold, remember?’

 

Sparhawk was certain that his daughter would grow more skilled with the passage of time and that it wouldn’t be very long until Talen would no longer be able to evade her affection. The kitten had been no more than a gesture, Sparhawk was certain, some spur-of-the-moment impulse to which Talen had given no thought whatsoever. It rather effectively sealed the young man’s fate, however. A few days before, Sparhawk had idly wondered where he had made the mistake that had permanently attached his wife’s affection to him. He realised that this scruffy-looking kitten was Talen’s mistake—or at least one of them. Sparhawk mentally shrugged. Talen would make an adequate son-in-law—once Danae had trained him.

 

‘Is it all right, your Majesty?’ Talen was asking the queen. ‘For her to have the kitten, I mean?’

 

‘Isn’t it just a little late to be asking that question, Talen?’ Ehlana replied.

 

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he said impudently. “I thought I’d timed it just about right.’

 

Ehlana looked at her daughter, who was snuggling the kitten against her face. All cats are born opportunists. The kitten patted the little girl’s cheek with one soft paw and then nuzzled. Kittens are expert nuzzlers.

 

‘How can I say no after you’ve already given it to her, Talen?’

 

‘It would be a little difficult, wouldn’t it, your Majesty?’ The boy sniffed loudly.

 

Mirtai rose to her feet, put her dagger away and crossed the room to Talen. She reached out her hand, and he flinched away. ‘Oh, stop that,’ she told him. She laid her hand on his forehead. ‘You’ve got a fever.’

 

‘I didn’t get it on purpose.’

 

‘We’d better get him to bed, Mirtai,’ Ehlana said, rising from her chair.

 

‘We should sweat him first,’ the giantess said. ‘I’ll take him to the bathhouse and steam him for a while.’ She took Talen’s arm, firmly.

 

‘You’re not going into the bathhouse with me!’ he protested, his face suddenly aflame.

 

‘Be quiet,’ she commanded. ‘Send word to the cooks, Ehlana. Have them stir up a mustard plaster and boil up some chicken soup. When I bring him back from the bathhouse, we’ll put the mustard plaster on his chest, pop him into bed and spoon soup into him.’

 

‘Are’ you going to just stand there and let them do this to me, Sparhawk?’ Talen appealed.

 

‘I’d like to help you, my friend,’ Sparhawk replied, ‘but I’ve got my own health to consider too, you know.’

 

‘I wish I was dead,’ Talen groaned as Mirtai pulled him from the room.

 

Stragen and Ulath arrived from Emsat a few days later and were immediately escorted to the royal apartment. ‘You’re getting fat, Sparhawk,’ Ulath said bluntly, removing his ogre-horned helmet.

 

‘I’ve put on a few pounds,’ Sparhawk conceded.

 

‘Soft living,’ Ulath grunted disapprovingly.

 

‘How’s Wargun?’ Ehlana asked the huge blond Thalesian.

 

‘His mind’s gone,’ Ulath replied sadly. ‘They’ve got him locked up in the west wing of the palace. He spends most of his time raving.’

 

Ehlana sighed. “I always rather liked him—when he was sober.’

 

‘I doubt that you’ll feel the same way about his son, your Majesty,’ Stragen told her dryly. Like Platime, Stragen was a thief, but he had much better manners.

 

‘I’ve never met him,’ Ehlana said.

 

‘You might consider adding that to your next prayer of thanksgiving, your Majesty. His name’s Avin—a short and insignificant name for a short and insignificant fellow. He doesn’t show very much promise.’

 

‘Is he really that bad?’ Ehlana asked Ulath.

 

‘Avin Wargunsson? Stragen’s being generous. Avin’s a little man who spends all his time trying to make sure that people don’t overlook him. When he found out that I was coming here, he called me to the palace and gave me a royal communication to bring to you. He spent two hours trying to impress me.’

 

‘Were you impressed?’

 

‘Not particularly, no.’ Ulath reached inside his surcoat and drew out a folded and sealed sheet of parchment.

 

‘What does it say?’ she asked.

 

‘I wouldn’t know. I don’t read other people’s mail. My guess is that it’s a serious discussion of the weather. Avin Wargunsson’s desperately afraid that people might forget about him, so every traveller who leaves Emsat is loaded down with royal greetings.’

 

‘How was the trip?’ Sparhawk asked them.

 

‘I can’t really say that I’d recommend sea travel at this time of year,’ Stragen replied. His icy blue eyes hardened. “I want to have a talk with Platime. Ulath and I were set upon by some brigands in the mountains between here and Cardos. Bandits are supposed to know better than that.’

 

‘They aren’t professionals,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘Platime knows about them, and he’s going to take steps. Were there any problems?’

 

‘Not for us,’ Ulath shrugged. ‘The amateurs out there didn’t have a very good day, though. We left five of them in a ditch, and then the rest all remembered an important engagement somewhere else.’ He went to the door and looked out into the hall. Then he closed the door and looked around, his eyes wary. ‘Are there any servants or people like that in any of your rooms here, Sparhawk?’ he asked.

 

‘Mirtai and our daughter is all.’

 

‘That’s all right. I think we can trust them. Komier sent me to let you know that Avin Wargunsson’s been in contact with Count Gerrich down in Lamorkand. Gerrich’s taking a run at King Friedahl’s throne, and Avin’s not quite bright. He doesn’t know enough to stay out of the internal squabbles in Lamorkand. Komier thinks there might just possibly be some sort of secret arrangement between them. Patriarch Bergsten’s taking the same message to Chyrellos.’

 

‘Count Gerrich’s going to start to irritate Dolmant if he doesn’t watch what he’s doing,’ Ehlana said. ‘He’s trying to make alliances every time he turns around, and he knows that’s a violation of the rules. Lamork civil wars aren’t supposed to involve other kingdoms.’

 

‘That’s an actual rule?’ Stragen asked her incredulously.

 

‘Of course. It’s been in place for a thousand years. If the Lamork barons were free to form alliances with nobles in other kingdoms, they’d plunge the continent into war every ten years. That used to happen until the Church stepped in and told them to stop.’

 

‘And you thought our society had peculiar rules,’ Stragen laughed to Platime.

 

‘This is entirely different, Milord Stragen,’ Ehlana told him in a lofty tone. ‘Our peculiarities are matters of state policy. Yours are simply good common sense. There’s a world of difference.’

 

‘So I gather.’

 

Sparhawk was looking at all three of them when it happened, so there was no doubt that when he felt that peculiar chill and caught that faint flicker of darkness at the very outer edge of his vision, they did as well.

 

‘Sparhawk!’ Ehlana cried in alarm.

 

‘Yes,’ he replied. “I know. I saw it too.’

 

Stragen had half-drawn his rapier, his hand moving with cat-like speed. ‘What is it?’ he demanded, looking around the room.

 

‘An impossibility,’ Ehlana said flatly. The look she gave her husband was a little less certain, however. ‘Isn’t it, Sparhawk?’ her voice trembled slightly.

 

I certainly thought so,’ he replied.

 

‘This isn’t the time to be cryptic,’ Stragen said. Then they all relaxed as the chill and the shadow passed.

 

Ulath looked speculatively at Sparhawk. ‘Was that what I thought it was?’ he asked.

 

‘So it seems.’

 

‘Will someone please tell me what’s going on here?’ Stragen demanded.

 

‘Do you remember that cloud that followed us up in Pelosia?’ Ulath said.

 

‘Of course. But that was Azash, wasn’t it?’

 

‘No. We thought so, but Aphrael told us that we were wrong. That was after you came back here, so you probably didn’t hear about it. That shadow we just saw was the Troll-Gods. They’re inside the Bhelliom.’

 

‘Inside?’

 

‘They needed a place to hide after they’d lost a few arguments with the Younger Gods of Styricum.’ Stragen looked at Sparhawk. “I thought you told me that you’d thrown Bhelliom into the sea.’

 

‘We did.’

 

‘And the Troll-Gods can’t get out of it?’

 

‘That’s what we were led to believe.’

 

‘You should have found a deeper ocean.’

 

‘There aren’t any deeper ones.’

 

‘That’s too bad. It looks as if someone’s managed to fish it out.’

 

‘It’s logical, Sparhawk,’ Ulath said. ‘That box was lined with gold, and Aphrael told us that the gold would keep Bhelliom from getting out on its own. Since the Troll-Gods can’t get out of Bhelliom, they were down there too. Somebody’s found that box.’

 

‘I’ve heard that the people who dive for pearls can go down quite deep,’ Stragen said.

 

‘Not that deep,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Besides, there’s something wrong.’

 

‘Are you just now realising that?’ Stragen asked him.

 

‘That’s not what I mean. When we were up in Pelosia, you could all see that cloud.’

 

‘Oh, yes,’ Ulath said fervently.

 

‘But before that—when it was just a shadow—only Ehlana and I could see it, and that was because we were wearing the rings. This was definitely a shadow and not a cloud, wasn’t it?’

 

‘Yes,’ Stragen admitted. ‘Then how is it that you and Ulath could see it too? Stragen spread his hands helplessly. ‘There’s something else too,’ Sparhawk added. ‘The night I came home from Lamorkand, I felt something in the street watching me—several somethings. They weren’t Elene or Styric, and I don’t think they were human. That shadow that just passed through here felt exactly the same.’

 

‘I wish there was some way we could talk with Sephrenia,’ Ulath muttered.

 

Sparhawk was fairly certain that there was a way, but he was not free to reveal it to any of them.

 

‘Do we tell anybody else about this?’ Stragen asked.

 

‘Let’s not start a panic until we find out some more about it,’ Sparhawk decided.

 

‘Right,’ Stragen agreed. ‘There’s always plenty of time for panic later—plenty of reason too, I think.’

 

The weather cleared over the next few days, and that fact alone lifted spirits in the palace. Sparhawk spent some time closeted with Platime and Stragen, and then the two thieves sent men into Lamorkand to investigate the situation there. ‘That’s what I should have done in the first place,’ Sparhawk said, ‘but Sarathi wouldn’t give me the chance. Our revered Archprelate has a few blind spots. He can’t seem to get it through his head that official investigators aren’t going to ever really get to the bottom of things.’

 

‘Typical aristocratic ineptitude,’ Stragen drawled. ‘It’s one of the things that makes life easier for people like Platime and me.’

 

Sparhawk didn’t argue with him about that. ‘Just tell your men to be careful,’ he cautioned them. ‘Lamorks tend to try to solve all their problems with daggers, and dead spion don’t bring home very much useful infornation.’

 

‘Astonishing insight there, old boy,’ Stragen said, his rich voice dripping with irony. “It’s absolutely amazing that Platime and I never thought of that.’

 

‘All right,’ Sparhawk admitted, ‘maybe I was being just a little obvious.’

 

‘We saw that too, didn’t we, Platime?’

 

Platime grunted. ‘Tell Ehlana that I’m going to be away from the palace for a few days, Sparhawk.’

 

‘Where are you going?’

 

‘None of your business. There’s something I want to take care of.’

 

‘All right, but keep in touch.’

 

‘You’re being obvious again, Sparhawk.’ The fat man scratched his paunch. ‘I’ll talk with Talen. He’ll know how to get in touch with me if the queen really needs me for something.’ He groaned as he hauled himself to his feet. ‘I’m going to have to lose some weight,’ he said half to himself. Then he waddled to the door with that peculiarly spraddle-legged gait of the grossly obese.

 

‘He’s in a charming humour today,’ Sparhawk noted.

 

‘He’s got a lot on his mind just now,’ Stragen shrugged.

 

‘How well-connected are you in the palace at Emsat, Stragen?’

 

‘I have some contacts there. What do you need?’

 

‘I’d like to put some stumbling blocks in the way of this accommodation between Avin and Count Gerrich. Gerrich’s beginning to get a little too much influence in northern Eosia. Maybe you ought to get word to Meland in Acie as well. Gerrich’s making alliances in Pelosia and Thalesia already. It doesn’t seem reasonable that he’d overlook Deira, and Deira’s a little chaotic right now. Ask Meland to keep his eyes open.’

 

‘This Gerrich’s really got you concerned, hasn’t he?’

 

‘There are some things going on in Lamorkand that I don’t understand, Stragen, and I don’t want Gerrich to get too far ahead of me while I’m trying to sort them out.’

 

‘That makes sense—I suppose.’

 

Khalad came to his feet with his eyes slightly unfocused and with a thin dribble of blood coming out of his nose.

 

‘You see? You over-extended again,’ Mirtai told him.

 

‘How did you do that?’ Sparhawk’s squire asked her.

 

‘I’ll show you. Kalten, come here,’

 

‘Not me,’ the blond Pandion refused, backing away.

 

‘Don’t be foolish. I’m not going to hurt you.’

 

‘Isn’t that what you told Khalad before you bounced him off the flagstones?’

 

‘You might as well do as I tell you, Kalten,’ she said. ‘You’ll wind up doing it in the end anyway, and it won’t be nearly as painful for you if you don’t argue with me. Take out your sword and stab me in the heart with it.’

 

‘I don’t want to hurt you, Mirtai.’

 

‘You? Hurt me?’ Her laugh was sardonic.

 

‘You don’t have to be insulting about it,’ he said in an injured tone, drawing his sword.

 

It had all begun when Mirtai had passed through the palace courtyard while Kalten was giving Khalad some instruction in swordsmanship. She had made a couple of highly unflattering comments. One thing had led to another, and the end result had been this impromptu training session, during which Kalten and Khalad learned humility, if nothing else.

 

‘Stab me through the heart, Kalten,’ Mirtai said again. In Kalten’s defence it should be noted in passing that he really did try. He made a great deal of noise when he came down on his back on the flagstones. ‘He made the same mistake you did,’ Mirtai pointed out to Khalad. ‘He straightened his arm too much. A straight arm is a locked arm. Always keep your elbow slightly bent.’

 

‘We’re trained to thrust from the shoulder, Mirtai,’ Khalad explained.

 

‘There are a lot of Elenes, I suppose,’ she shrugged. “It shouldn’t be all that hard to replace you. The thing that makes me curious is why you all feel that it’s necessary to stick your sword all the way through somebody. If you haven’t hit the heart with the first six inches of the blade, another yard or so of steel going through’ the same hole won’t make much difference, will it?’

 

‘Maybe it’s because it looks dramatic,’ Khalad said.

 

‘You kill people for show? That’s contemptible, and it’s the sort of thinking that fills graveyards. Always keep your blade free so that you’re ready for your next enemy. People fold up when you run swords through them, and then you have to kick the body off the blade before you can use it again.’

 

‘I’ll try to remember that.’

 

‘I hope so. I rather like you, and I hate burying friends.’ She bent, professionally peeled Kalten’s eyelid back and glanced at his glazed eyeball. ‘You’d better throw a bucket of water on our friend here,’ she suggested. ‘He hasn’t learned how to fall yet. We’ll go into that next time.’

 

‘Next time?’

 

‘Of course. If you’re going to learn how to do this, you’d better learn how to do it right.’ She gave Sparhawk a challenging look. ‘Would you like to try?’ she asked him.

 

‘Ah—no, Mirtai, not right now. Thanks all the same, though.’

 

She went on into the palace, looking just slightly pleased with herself.

 

‘You know, I don’t think I really want to be a knight after all, Sparhawk,’ Talen said from nearby. ‘It looks awfully painful.’

 

‘Where have you been? My wife’s got people out looking for you.’

 

‘Yes. I saw them blundering around out in the streets. I had to go visit Platime in the cellar.’

 

‘Oh?’

 

‘He picked up something he thought you ought to be aware of. You know those unauthorised bandits in the hills near Cardos?’

 

‘Not personally, no.’

 

‘Funny, Sparhawk. Very funny. Platime’s found out that somebody we know is sort of directing their activities.’

 

‘Oh? Who’s that?’

 

‘Can you believe that it’s Krager? You should have killed him when you had the chance, Sparhawk.’

 

 

Chapter 3

 

The fog drifted in from the river not long after the sun went down that evening. The nights in Cimmura were always foggy in the spring when it wasn’t raining. Sparhawk, Stragen and Talen left the palace wearing plain clothing and heavy traveller’s cloaks and rode to the southeast quarter of town.

 

‘You don’t necessarily have to tell your wife I said this, Sparhawk,’ Stragen noted, looking around with distaste, ‘but her capital’s one of the least attractive cities in the world. You’ve got a truly miserable climate here.’

 

‘It’s not so bad in the summer-time,’ Sparhawk replied a little defensively.

 

‘I missed last summer,’ the blond thief said. ‘I took a short nap one afternoon and slept right through it. Where are we going?’

 

‘We want to see Platime.’

 

‘As I recall, his cellar’s near the west gate of the city. You’re taking us in the wrong direction.’

 

‘We have to go to a certain inn first.’ Sparhawk looked back over his shoulder. ‘Are we being followed, Talen?’ he asked.

 

‘Naturally.’

 

Sparhawk grunted. ‘That’s more or less what I expected.’

 

They rode on with the thick mist swirling around the legs of their horses and making the fronts of the nearby houses dim and hazy-looking. They reached the inn on Rose Street, and a surly-appearing porter admitted them to the inn yard and closed the gate behind them.

 

‘Anything you find out about this place isn’t for general dissemination,’ Sparhawk told Talen and Stragen as he dismounted. He handed Faran’s reins to the porter. ‘You know about this horse, don’t you, brother?’ he warned the man.

 

‘He’s a legend, Sparhawk,’ the porter replied. ‘The things you wanted are in the room at the top of the stairs.’

 

‘How’s the crowd in the tavern tonight?’

 

‘Loud, smelly and mostly drunk.’

 

‘There’s nothing new about that. What I meant, though, was how many of them are there?’

 

‘Fifteen or twenty. There are three of our men in there who know what to do.’

 

‘Good. Thank you, Sir Knight.’

 

‘You’re welcome, Sir Knight.’ Sparhawk led Talen and Stragen up the stairs.

 

‘This inn, I gather, isn’t altogether what it seems,’ Stragen observed.

 

‘The Pandions own it,’ Talen told him. ‘They come here when they don’t want to attract attention.’

 

‘There’s a little more to it than that,’ Sparhawk told him. He opened the door at the top of the stairs, and the three of them entered. Stragen looked at the workmen’s smocks hanging on pegs near the door. ‘We’re going to resort to subterfuge, I see.’

 

‘It’s fairly standard practice,’ Sparhawk shrugged. ‘Lets get changed. I’d sort of like to get back to the palace before my wife sends out search parties.’

 

The smocks were of blue canvas, worn and patched and with a few artfully-placed smudges on them. There were woollen leggings as well and thick-soled workmen’s boots. The caps were baggy affairs, designed more to keep off weather than they were for appearance.

 

‘You’re going to have to leave that here,’ Sparhawk said, pointing at Stragen’s rapier. ‘It’s a little obvious.’ The big Pandion tucked a heavy dagger under his belt.

 

‘You know that there are people watching the gate of the inn, don’t you, Sparhawk?’ Talen said.

 

‘I hope they enjoy their evening. We aren’t going out through the gate, though.’ Sparhawk led them back down to the inn yard, crossed to a narrow door in a side wall and opened it. The warm air that boiled out through the doorway smelled of stale beer and unwashed bodies. The three of them went inside and closed the door behind them. They seemed to be in a small storeroom. The straw on the floor was mouldy.

 

‘Where are we?’ Talen whispered.

 

‘In a tavern,’ Sparhawk replied softly. ‘There’s going to be a fight in just a few minutes. We’ll slip out into the main room during the confusion.’ He went to the curtained doorway leading out into the tavern and twitched the curtain several times. ‘All right,’ he whispered. ‘We’ll mingle with the crowd during the fight, and after a while, we’ll leave. Behave as if you’re slightly drunk, but don’t over-do it.’

 

‘I’m impressed,’ Stragen said.

 

‘I’m more than impressed,’ Talen added. ‘Not even Platime knows that there’s more than one way out of that inn.’

 

The fight began not long after that. It was noisy, involving a great deal of shouting and pushing and finally a few blows. Two totally uninvolved and evidently innocent by-standers were knocked senseless during the course of the altercation. Sparhawk and his friends smoothly insinuated themselves into the crowd, and after ten minutes or so, they reeled out through the door.

 

‘A little unprofessional,’ Stragen sniffed. ‘A staged fight shouldn’t involve the spectators that way.’

 

‘It should when the spectators might be looking for something other than a few tankards of ale,’ Sparhawk disagreed. ‘The two who fell asleep weren’t regular patrons in the tavern. They might have been completely innocent, but then again, they might not. This way, we don’t have to worry about them trailing along behind us.’

 

‘There’s more to being a Pandion Knight than I thought,’ Talen noted. ‘I may like it after all.’

 

They walked through the foggy streets towards the rundown quarter near the west gate, a maze of interconnecting lanes and unpaved alleys. They entered one of those alleys and went through it to a flight of muddy stone stairs leading down. A thick-bodied man lounged against the stone wall beside the stairs. ‘You’re late,’ he said to Talen in a flat voice.

 

‘We had to make sure we weren’t being followed,’ the boy’ shrugged.

 

‘Go on down,’ the man told them. ‘Platime’s waiting.’

 

The cellar hadn’t changed. It was still smoky and dim, and it was filled with a babble of coarse voices coming from the thieves, whores and cutthroats who lived there.

 

‘I don’t know how Platime can stand this place,’ Stragen shuddered.

 

Platime sat enthroned on a large chair on the other side of a smoky fire burning in an open pit. He heaved himself to his feet when he saw Sparhawk. ‘Where have you been?’ he bellowed in a thunderous voice.

 

‘Making sure that we weren’t followed,’ Sparhawk replied.

 

The fat man grunted. ‘He’s back here,’ he said; leading them toward the rear of the cellar. ‘He’s very interested in his health at the moment, so I’m keeping him more or less out of sight.’ He pushed his way into a small, closet-like chamber where a man sat on a stool nursing a tankard of watery beer. The man was a small, nervous-looking fellow with thinning hair and a cringing manner. ‘This is Polk,’ Platime said. ‘He’s a sneak-thief. I sent him to Cardos to have a look around and to see what he could find out about some people we’re interested in. Tell him what you found out, Polk.’

 

‘Well sir, good masters,’ the weedy man began, ‘it tuk me a goodly while to git close to them fellers, I’ll tell the world, but I made myself useful, an’ they finally sort of assepted me. They was all sorts of rigimarole I had to go thee—swearin’ oaths an’ gettin’ blindfolded the first couple times they tuk me to their camp an all, but after a while, they kinda let down then guard, an’ I come an’ went putty much as I pleased. Like Platime prob’ly tole you, we figgered a’t first they wuz gist a buncha amachooms what didn’t know nothin’ about the way things is supposed to be did. We sees that sorta thing all the time, don’t we, Platime? Them’s the kind as gits thenselves caught an’ hung.’

 

‘And good riddance to them,’ Platime growled.

 

‘Well sir,’ Polk continued, ‘like I say, me’n Platime we figgered as how them fellers in the mountings was gist a buncha them amachoors I tole you about—fellers what’d took up cuttin’ th’oats fer fun an’ profit, don’t y’know. As she turns out, howsomever, they was more’n that. Then leaders was six er seven noblemen as was real disappointed ‘bout the way the big plans of the Primate Annias fell on then faces, an’ they was powerful unhappy ‘bout what the queen had writ down on the warrants she put out fer ‘em—nobles not bein’ accustomed to bein’ called them sorta names.

 

‘Well sir, t’ short it up some, these here noblemen all run off into the mountings ‘bout one jump ahead of the hangman, an’ they go t’ robbin’ travellers t’ make ends meet an’ spent the resta then time thinkin’ up nasty names t’ call the queen.’

 

‘Get to the point, Polk,’ Platime told him wearily.

 

‘Yessir, I wuz gist about to. Well now, it went on like that fer a spell, an’ then this here Krager feller, he come into camp, an’ some of them there nobles, they knowed him. He tole ‘em as how he knowed some furriners as’d help ‘em out iffn they’d raise enough fuss here ‘in Elenia t’ keep the queen an’ her folks from gittin’ too curious ‘bout some stuff what’s goin’ on off in Lamorkand. This here Krager feller, he sez as how this stuff in Lamorkand might just could be a way fer ‘em all t’ change the way then forchunes bin goin’ since ol’ Annias got hisself kilt. Well, sir, them dukes an’ earls an’ such got real innerested at that point, an’ they tole us all t’ go talk t’ the local peasants an’ t’ start runnin’ down the tax-collectors an’ t’ say as how it ain’t natural fer no country t’ be run by no woman an’ the like. We wuz’supposed t’ stir up them peasants an’ t’ git ‘em t’ talkin’ among themselves ,’bout how the people oughtta all git together an’ thaw the queen out an’ the like, an’ then them nobles, they caught a few tax collectors an’ hung ‘em an’ give the money back t’ the folks it’d been stole from in the first place, an’ them peasants, they wuz all happy as pigs in mud ‘bout that.’

 

Polk scratched at his head. ‘Well sir, I guess I’ve said m’piece now. At’s the way she stands in the mountings now. This here Krager feller, he’s got some money with ‘im, an’ he’s mighty free with it, so them nobles what’s bin on short rations is gettin’ downright fond of ‘im.’

 

‘Polk,’ Sparhawk told him, ‘you’re a treasure.’ he gave the man several coins, and then he and his friends left the cubicle.

 

‘What are we going to do about it, Sparhawk?’ Platime asked.

 

‘We’re going to take steps,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘How many of these ‘liberators’ are there?’

 

‘A hundred or so.

 

‘I’ll need a couple dozen of your men who know the country.’

 

Platime nodded. ‘Are you going to bring in the army?’

 

‘I don’t think so. I think a troop of Pandions might make a more lasting impression on people who think they have grievances against our queen, don’t you?’

 

‘Isn’t that just a bit extreme?’ Stragen asked him.

 

‘I want to make a statement, Stragen. I want everybody in Elenia to know just how much I disapprove of people who start plotting against my wife. I don’t want to have to do it again, so I’m going to do it right the first time.’

 

‘He didn’t actually talk like that, did he, Sparhawk?’ Ehlana asked incredulously.

 

‘That’s fairly close,’ Sparhawk told her. ‘Stragen’s got a very good ear for dialect.’

 

‘It’s almost hypnotic, isn’t it?’ she marvelled, ‘and it goes on and on and on.’ She suddenly grinned impishly. ‘Write down ‘happy as pigs in mud’, Lenda. I may want to find a way to work that into some official communication.’

 

‘As you wish, your Majesty.’ Lenda’s tone was neutral, but Sparhawk knew that the old courtier disapproved.

 

‘What are we going to do about this?’ the queen asked.

 

‘Sparhawk said that he was going to take steps, your Majesty,’ Talen told her. ‘You might not want to know too many details.’

 

‘Sparhawk and I don’t keep secrets from each other, Talen.’

 

‘I’m not talking about secrets, your Majesty,’ the boy replied innocently. ‘I’m just talking about boring unimportant little things you shouldn’t really waste your time on.’ He made it sound very plausible, but Ehlana looked more than a little suspicious.

 

‘Don’t embarrass me, Sparhawk’ she warned.

 

‘Of course not,’ he replied blandly.

 

The campaign was brief. Since Polk knew the precise location of the camp of the dissidents, and Platime’s men knew all the other hiding places in the surrounding mountains, there was no real place for the bandits to run, and they were certainly no match for the thirty black-armoured Pandions Sparhawk, Kalten and Ulath led against them. The surviving nobles were held for the queen’s justice and the rest of the outlaws were turned over to the local sheriff for disposition.

 

‘Well, my Lord of Bolton,’ Sparhawk said to a earl crouched before him on a log, with a blood-stained bandage around his head and his hands bound behind him. ‘Things didn’t turn out so well, did they?’

 

‘Curse you, Sparhawk.’ Bolton’ spat, squinting up against the afternoon’s brightness. ‘How did you find out where we were?’

 

‘My dear Bolton,’ Sparhawk laughed, ‘you didn’t really think you could hide from my wife, did you? She takes a very personal interest in her kingdom. She knows every tree, every town and village and all of the peasants. It’s even rumoured that she knows most of the deer by their first names.’

 

‘Why didn’t you come after us earlier then?’ Bolton sneered.

 

‘The queen was busy. She finally found the time to make some decisions about you and your friends. I don’t imagine you’ll care much for these decisions, old boy. What I’m really interested in is any information you might have about Krager. He and I haven’t seen each other for quite some time, and I find myself yearning for his company again.’

 

Bolton’s eyes grew frightened. ‘You won’t get anything from me, Sparhawk,’ he blustered.

 

‘How much would you care to wager on that?’ Kalten asked him. ‘You’d save yourself a great deal of unpleasantness if you told Sparhawk what he wants to know, and Krager’s not so loveable that you’d really want to go through that in order to protect him.’

 

‘Just talk, Bolton,’ Sparhawk insisted implacably.

 

‘I—I can’t!’ Bolton’s sneering bravado crumbled. His face turned deathly pale, and he began to tremble violently. ‘Sparhawk. I beg of you. It means my life if I say anything.’

 

‘Your life isn’t worth very much right now anyway,’ Ulath told him bluntly. ‘One way or another, you are going to talk.’

 

‘For God’s sake, Sparhawk! You don’t know what you’re asking!’

 

‘I’m not asking, Bolton.’ Sparhawk’s face was bleak.

 

Then, without any warning or reason, a deathly chill suddenly enveloped the woods, and the midafternoon sun darkened. Sparhawk glanced upward. The sky was very blue, but the sun appeared wan and sickly. Bolton screamed. An inky cloud seemed to spring from the surrounding trees, coalescing around the shrieking prisoner. Sparhawk jumped back with a startled oath, his hand going to his sword-hilt.

 

Bolton’s voice had risen to a screech, and there were horrible sounds coming from the impenetrable darkness surrounding him—sounds of breaking bones and tearing flesh. The shrieking broke off quite suddenly, but the sounds continued for several eternal-seeming minutes. Then, as quickly as it had come, the cloud vanished. Sparhawk recoiled in revulsion. His prisoner had been torn to pieces.

 

‘Good God!’ Kalten gasPed. ‘What happened?’

 

‘We both know, Kalten,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘We’ve seen it before. Don’t try to question any of the other prisoners. I’m almost positive they won’t be allowed to answer.’

 

There were five of them, Sparhawk, Ehlana, Kalten, Ulath and Stragen. They had gathered in the royal apartments, and their mood was bleak.

 

‘Was it the same cloud?’ Stragen asked intently.

 

‘There were some differences,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘It was more in the way it felt rather than anything I could really pin down.’

 

‘Why would the Troll-Gods be so interested in protecting Krager?’ Ehlana asked, her face puzzled.

 

‘I don’t think it’s Krager they’re protecting,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘I think it has something to do with what’s going on in Lamorkand.’ He slammed his fist down on the arm of his chair. ‘I wish Sephrenia were here!’ he burst out with a sudden oath. ‘All we’re doing is groping in the dark.’

 

‘Would you be opposed to logic at this point?’ Stragen asked him.

 

‘I wouldn’t even be opposed to astrology just now,’ Sparhawk replied sourly.

 

‘All right.’ The blond Thalesian thief rose to his feet and began to pace up and down, his eyes thoughtful. First of all, we know that somehow the Troll-Gods have got out of that box.’

 

‘Actually, you haven’t really proved that, Stragen,’ Ulath disagreed. ‘Not logically, anyway.’

 

Stragen stopped pacing. ‘He’s right, you know,’ he admitted. ‘We’ve been basing that conclusion on a guess. All we can say with any logical certainty is that we’ve encountered something that looks and feels like a manifestation of the Troll-Gods. Would you accept that, Sir Ulath?’

 

‘I suppose I could go that far, Milord Stragen.’

 

‘I’m so happy. Do we know of anything else that does the same sort of things?’

 

‘No,’ Ulath replied, ‘but that’s not really relevant. We don’t know about everything. There could be dozens of things we don’t know about that take the form of shadows or clouds, tear people all to pieces and give humans a chilly feeling when they’re around.’

 

‘I’m not sure that logic is really getting us anywhere,’ Stragen conceded.

 

‘There’s nothing wrong with your logic, Stragen,’ Ehlana told him. ‘Your major premise is faulty, that’s all.’

 

‘You too, your Majesty?’ Kalten groaned. ‘I thought there was at least one other person in the room who relied on common sense rather than all this tedious logic.’

 

‘All right then, Sir Kalten,’ she said tartly, ‘what does your common sense tell you?’

 

‘Well, first off, it tells me that you’re all going at the problem backwards. The question we should be asking is what makes Krager so special that something supernatural would go out of its way to protect him? Does it really matter what the supernatural thing is at the moment?’

 

‘He might have something there, you know?’ Ulath said. ‘Krager’s a cockroach basically. His only real reason for existing is to be stepped on.’

 

‘I’m not so sure,’ Ehlana disagreed. ‘Krager worked for Martel, and Martel worked for Annias.’

 

‘Actually, dear, it was the other way around,’ Sparhawk corrected her.

 

She waved that distinction aside. ‘Bolton and the others were all allied to Annias, and Krager used to carry messages between Annias and Martel. Bolton and his cohorts would almost certainly have known Krager. Polk’s story more or less confirms that. That’s what made Krager important in the first place.’ She paused, frowning. ‘But what made him important after the renegades were all in custody?’

 

‘Backtracking,’ Ulath grunted.

 

‘I beg your pardon?’ The queen looked baffled.

 

‘This whatever-it-is didn’t want us to be able to trace Krager back to his present employer.’

 

‘Oh, that’s obvious, Ulath,’ Kalten snorted. ‘His employer is Count Gerrich. Polk told Sparhawk that there was somebody in Lamorkand who wanted to keep us so busy here in Elenia that we wouldn’t have time to take any steps to put down all the turmoil over there. That has to be Gerrich.’

 

‘You’re just guessing, Kalten,’ Ulath said. ‘You could very well be right, but it’s still just a guess.’

 

‘Do you see what I mean about logic?’ Kalten demanded of them. ‘What do you want, Ulath? A signed confession from Gerrich himself?’

 

‘Do you have one handy? All I’m saying is that we ought to keep an open mind. I don’t think we should close any doors yet, that’s all.’

 

There was a firm knock on the door, and it opened immediately afterward. Mirtai looked in. ‘Bevier and Tynian are here,’ she announced.

 

‘They’re supposed to be in Render,’ Sparhawk said. ‘What are they doing here?’

 

‘Why don’t you ask them?’ Mirtai suggested pointedly. ‘They’re right out here in the corridor.’

 

The two knights entered the room. Sir Bevier was a slim, olive-skinned Arcian, and Sir Tynian a blond, burly Deiran. Both were in full armour.

 

‘How are things in Render?’ Kalten asked them.

 

‘Hot, dry, dusty, hysterical,’ Tynian replied. ‘Render never changes. You know that.’

 

Bevier dropped to one knee before Ehlana. Despite the best efforts of his friends, the young Cyrinic Knight was stil painfully formal. ‘Your Majesty,’ he murmured respectfully.

 

‘Oh, do stand up, my dear Bevier,’ she smiled at him. ‘We’re friends, so there’s no need for that. Besides, you creak like a rusty iron-works when you kneel.’

 

‘Overtrained, perhaps, your Majesty,’ he admitted.

 

‘What are you two doing back here?’ Sparhawk asked them.

 

‘Carrying dispatches,’ Tynian replied. ‘Darrellon’s running things down there, and he wants the other preceptors kept abreast of things. We’re also supposed to go on to Chyrellos and brief the Archprelate.’

 

‘How’s the campaign going?’ Kalten asked them.

 

‘Badly,’ Tynian shrugged.’The Rendorish rebels aren’t really organised, so there aren’t any armies for us to meet. They hide amongst the population and come out at night to set fires and assassinate priests. Then they run back into their holes. We take reprisals the next day—burn vilages, slaughter herds of sheep and the like. None of it really proves anything.’

 

‘Do they have any kind of a leader as yet?’Sparhawk asked.

 

‘They’re stil discussing that,’ Bevier said dryly. ‘The discussions are quite spirited. We usually find several dead candidates in the alleys every morning.’

 

‘Sarathi blundered,’ Tynian said. Bevier gasped. ‘I’m not trying to offend your religious sensibilities, my young friend,’ Tynian said, but it’s the truth. Most of the clergymen he sent to Render were much more interested in punishment than in reconciliation. We had a chance for real peace in Render, and it fell apart because Dolmant didn’t send somebody down there to keep a leash on the missionaries.’ Tynian set his helmet on a table and unbuckled his sword-belt. ‘I even saw one silly ass in a cassock tearing the veils off women in the street. After the crowd seized him, he tried to order me to protect him. That’s the kind of priests the church has been sending to Render.’

 

‘What did you do?’ Stragen asked him.

 

‘For some reason I couldn’t quite hear what he was saying,’ Tynian replied. ‘All the noise the crowd was making, more than likely.’

 

‘What did they do to him?’ Kalten grinned.

 

‘They hanged him. Quite a neat job, actually.’

 

‘You didn’t even go to his defence?’ Bevier exclaimed.

 

‘Our instructions were very explicit, Bevier. We were told to protect the clergy against unprovoked attacks. That idiot violated the modesty of about a dozen Rendorish women. That crowd had plenty of provocation. The silly ass had it coming. If that crowd hadn’t hanged him, I probably would have. That’s what Darrellon wants us to suggest to Sarathi. He thinks the church should pull all those fanatic missionaries out of Render until things quiet down. Then he suggests that we send in a new batch—a slightly less fervent one.’ The Alcione Knight laid his sword down beside his helmet and lowered himself into a chair. ‘What’s been happening here?’ he asked.

 

‘Why don’t the rest of you fill them in?’ Sparhawk suggested. ‘There’s someone I want to talk with for a few minutes.’

 

He turned and quietly went back into the royal apartment. The person he wanted to talk with was not some court functionary, but rather his own daughter. He found her playing with her kitten. After some thought, her Royal little Highness had decided to name the small animal ‘Mmrr’, a sound which, when she uttered it, sounded so much like the kitten’s purr that Sparhawk usually couldn’t tell for sure which of them was making it. Princess Danae had many gifts.

 

‘We need to talk,’ Sparhawk told her, closing the door behind him as he entered.

 

‘What is it now, Sparhawk?’ she asked.

 

‘Tynian and Bevier just arrived.’

 

‘Yes. I know.’

 

‘Are you playing with things again? Are you deliberately gathering all our friends here?’

 

‘Of course I am, father.’

 

‘Would you mind telling me why?’

 

‘There’s something we’re going to need to do before long. I thought I’d save some time by getting everybody here in advance.’

 

‘You’d probably better tell me what it is that we have to do.’

 

‘I’m not supposed to do that.’

 

‘You never pay any attention to any of the other rules.’

 

‘This is different, father. We’re absolutely not supposed to talk about the future. If you think about it for a moment, I’m sure you’ll see why. Ouch!’ Mmrr had bitten her finger. Danae spoke sharply with the kitten a series of little growls, a meow or two and concluding with a forgiving purr. The kitten managed to look slightly ashamed of itself and proceeded to lick the injured finger.

 

‘Please don’t talk in cat, Danae,’ Sparhawk said in a pained tone. ‘If some chambermaid hears you, it’ll take us both a month to explain.’

 

‘Nobody’s going to hear me, Sparhawk. You’ve got something else on your mind, haven’t you?’

 

‘I want to talk with Sephrenia. There are some things I don’t understand, and I need her help with them.’

 

‘I’ll help you, father.’

 

He shook his head. ‘Your explanations of things always leave me with more questions than I had when we started. Can you get in touch with Sephrenia for me?’

 

She looked around. ‘It probably wouldn’t be a good idea here in the palace, father,’ she told him. ‘It involves something that might be hard to explain if someone overheard us.’

 

‘You’re going to be in two places at the same time again?’

 

‘Well—sort of.’ She picked up her kitten. ‘Why don’t you find some excuse to take me out for a ride tomorrow morning? We’ll go out of the city and I can take care of things there. Tell mother that you want to give me a riding lesson.’

 

‘You don’t have a pony, Danae.’

 

She gave him an angelic smile. ‘My goodness,’ she said, ‘that sort of means that you’re going to have to give me one, doesn’t it?’ He gave her a long, steady look. ‘You were going to give me a pony eventually anyway, weren’t you, father?’ She gave it a moment’s thought. ‘A white one, Sparhawk,’ she added. ‘I definitely want a white one.’ Then she snuggled her kitten against her cheek, and they both started to purr.

 

Sparhawk and his daughter rode out of Cimmura not long after breakfast the following morning. The weather was blustery, and Mirtai had objected rather vociferously until Princess Danae told her not to be so fussy. For some reason, the word ‘fussy’ absolutely enraged the Tamul giantess. She stormed away, swearing in her own language. It had taken Sparhawk hours to find a white pony for his daughter, and he was quite convinced after he had that it was the only white one in the whole town. When Danae greeted the stubby little creature like an old friend, he began to have a number of suspicions.

 

Over the past couple of years, he and his daughter had painfully hammered out a list of the things she wasn’t supposed to do. The process had begun rather abruptly in the palace garden one summer afternoon when he had come around a box hedge to find a small swarm of fairies pollinating flowers under Danae’s supervision. Although she had probably been right when she had asserted that fairies were really much better at it than bees, he had firmly put his foot down. After a bit of thought this time, however, he decided not to make an issue of his daughter’s obvious connivance in obtaining a specific pony. He needed her help right now, and she might point out with a certain amount of justification that to forbid one form of what they had come to call ‘tampering’ while encouraging another was inconsistent.

 

‘Is this going to involve anything spectacular?’ he asked her when they were several miles out of town.

 

‘How do you mean, spectacular?’

 

‘You don’t have to fly or anything, do you?’

 

‘It’s awkward that way, but I can if you’d like.’

 

‘No, that’s all right, Danae. What I’m getting at is would you be doing anything that would startle travellers if we went out into this meadow a ways and you did whatever it is there?’

 

‘They won’t see a thing, father,’ she assured him. ‘I’ll race you to that tree out there.’ She didn’t even make a pretence of nudging her pony’s flanks, and despite Faran’s best efforts, the pony beat him to the tree by a good twenty yards. The big roan warhorse glowered suspiciously at the short-legged pony when Sparhawk reined him in.

 

‘You cheated,’ Sparhawk accused his daughter.

 

‘Only a little.’ She slid down from her pony and sat cross-legged under the tree. She lifted her small face and sang in a trilling, flute-like voice. Her song broke off, and for several moments she sat blank-faced and absolutely immobile. She did not even appear to be breathing, and Sparhawk had the chilling feeling that he was absolutely alone, although she clearly sat not two yards away from him.

 

‘What is it, Sparhawk?’ Danae’s lips moved, but it was Sephrenia’s voice that asked the question, and when Danae opened her eyes, they had changed. Danae’s eyes were very dark, Sephrenia’s were deep blue, almost lavender.

 

‘I’ve missed you, little mother,’ he told her kneeling and kissing the palms of his daughter’s hands.

 

‘You called me from half-way round the world to tell me that? I’m touched, but . . .’

 

‘It’s something a little more, Sephrenia. We’ve been seeing that shadow again—the cloud too.’

 

‘That’s impossible.’

 

‘I sort of thought so myself, but we keep seeing them all the same. It’s different, though. It feels different for one thing, and this time it’s not just Ehlana and I who see it. Stragen and Ulath saw it too.’

 

‘You’d better tell me exactly what’s been happening, Sparhawk.’

 

He went into greater detail about the shadow and then briefly described the incident in the mountains near Cardos. ‘Whatever this thing is,’ he concluded, ‘it seems very intent on keeping us from finding out what’s going on in Lamorkand.’

 

‘Is there some kind of trouble there?’

 

‘Count Gerrich is raising a rebellion. He seems to think that the crown might fit him. He’s even going so far as to claim that Drychtnath’s returned. That’s ridiculous, isn’t it?’

 

Her eyes grew distant. ‘Is this shadow you’ve been seeing exactly the same as the one you and Ehlana saw before?’ she asked.

 

‘It feels different somehow.’

 

‘Do you get that same sense that it has more than one consciousness in it?’

 

‘That hasn’t changed. It’s a small group, but it’s a group all the same, and the cloud that tore the Earl of Bolton to pieces was definitely the same. Did the Troll-Gods manage to escape from Bhelliom somehow?’

 

‘Let me think my way through it for a moment, Sparhawk,’ she replied. She considered it for a time. In a curious way she was impressing her own appearance on Danae’s face. ‘I think we may have a problem, dear one,’ she said finally.

 

‘I noticed that myself, little mother.’

 

‘Stop trying to be clever, Sparhawk. Do you remember the Dawn-men who came out of that cloud up in Pelosia?’

 

Sparhawk shuddered. ‘I’ve been making a special point of trying to forget that.’

 

‘Don’t discount the possibility that the wild stories about Drychtnath may have some basis in fact. The Troll-Gods can reach back in time and bring creatures and people forward to where we are now. Drychtnath may very well indeed have returned.’

 

Sparhawk groaned. ‘Then the Troll-Gods have managed to escape, haven’t they?’

 

‘I didn’t say that, Sparhawk. Just because the TrollGods did this once doesn’t mean that they’re the only ones who know how. For all I know, Aphrael could do it herself.’ She paused. ‘You could have asked her these questions, you know.’

 

‘Possibly, but I don’t think I could have asked her this one, because I don’t think she’d know the answer. She doesn’t seem to be able to grasp the concept of limitations for some reason.’

 

‘You’ve noticed,’ she said dryly.

 

‘Be nice. She’s my daughter, after all.’

 

‘She was my sister first, so I have a certain amount of seniority in the matter. What is it that she wouldn’t be able to answer?’

 

‘Could a Styric magician—or any other magician—be behind all this? Could we be dealing with a human?’

 

‘No, Sparhawk, I don’t think so. In forty thousand years there have only been two Styric magicians who were able to reach back into time, and they could only do it imperfectly. For all practical purposes what we’re talking about is beyond human capability.’

 

‘That’s what I wanted to find out for sure. We’re dealing with Gods then?’

 

‘I’m afraid so, Sparhawk, almost certainly.’

 

 

Chapter 4

 

Preceptor Sparhawk: It is our hope that this finds you and your family in good health. A matter of some delicacy has arisen, and we find that your presence is required here in Chyrellos. You are therefore commanded by the Church to proceed forthwith to the Basilica and to present yourself before our throne to receive our further instruction. We know that as a true son of the Church you will not delay. We shall expect your attendance upon us within the week. Dolmant, Archprelate.

 

Sparhawk lowered the letter and looked around at the others.

 

‘He gets right to the point, doesn’t he?’ Kalten observed. ‘Of course Dolmant never was one to beat around the bush.’

 

Queen Ehlana gave a howl of absolute fury and began beating her fists on the council table and stamping her feet on the floor.