Domes of Fire
David Eddings


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 widelyfeared) 

 warrior as a surrogate. Sir Sparhawk'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 strongwilled 

 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 

 Zem'och 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 was'an 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 - Gerich, 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 
beLs 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 harr 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 e 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.' 
> [fold] [ 
'How are your mothers?' hlana asked the young man. Everyone, perhaps 
> [fold] ] 
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 - ju'st 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, 
Eh'lana. 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 hrying 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 Gerich. Gerich'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? ThaCs 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 an) 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. Poke'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. 'Beveier 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 daughters 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 miss 
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. 'You'll hurt your hands,' Sparhawk cautioned. 'How dare he?' she 
exploded. 'How dare he?' 
'A bit abrupt,' perhaps,' Stragen noted cautiously. 
'You will ignore this churlish command, Sparhawk!' Ehlana ordered.
'I can't do that.' 


 'You are my husband and my subject! If Dolmant wants to see you, he'll ask 
my permission. this is outrageous!' 


 'The Archprelate does in fact have the authority tO summon the preceptor
of one of the Militant Orders to Chyrellos, your Majesty,' the Earl of 
Lenda diffidently told the fuming queen. 'You're wearing too many hats, 
Sparhawk,' Tynian told his friend. 'You should resign from a few of these 
exalted positions you hold.'


 'it's that devastating Personality of his,' Kalten said to Ulath, 'and all 
those unspeakable gifts. People just wither and die in his absence.'


 'I forbid it!' Ehlana said flatly. 'I have to obey him, Ehlana,' Sparhawk 
explained. 'i'm a Church Knight.' Her eyes narrowed. 'Very well then,' she 
decided, 'since Dolmant's feeling so authoritarian, we'll all obey his 
stupid command. We'll go to Chyrellos and set up shop in the Basilica. I'll 
let him know that I expect him to provide me with adequate facilities and 
an administrative staff - at his expense. He and I are going to have this 
out once and for all.' 


 'This promises to be one of the high points in the history of the Church,' 
Stragen observed. 'I'll make that pompous ass wish he'd never been born,' 
Ehlana declared ominously. Nothing Sparhawk might say could in any way 
change his wife's mind. If the truth were to be known, however, he did not 
really try all that hard, because he could see her point. Dolmant was being 
high-handed. He tended at times to run roughshod over the kings of Eosia 
and so the clash of wills between the Archprelate and the Queen of Elenia 
was probably inevitable. 'The unfortunate thing was that they were
genuinely fond of each other, and neither of them was opposing the other 
out of any petty vanity or pride. Dolmant was asserting the authority of 
the Church, and Ehlana that of the Elenian throne. They had become 
institutions instead of people. It was Sparhawk's misfortune to be caught 
in the middle. He was absolutely certain that the arrogant tone of the 
Archprelate's letter had not come from his friend but from some
half-drowsing scribe absent-mindedly scribbling formula phrases. What 
Dolmant had most probably said was something on the order of, 'Send a 
letter to Sparhawk and tell him I'd like to see him.' That was not, 
however, what had arrived in Cimmura. What had arrived had set Ehlana's 
teeth on edge, and she went out of her way to make the impending visit to 
Chyrellos as inconvenient for the Archprelate as she possibly could. Her 
first step was to depopulate the palace. Everybody had to join her 
entourage. The queen needed ladies-inwaiting. The ladies-in-waiting needed 



maids. They all needed grooms and footmen. Lenda and Platime, who were to 
remain in Cimmura to maintain the government, were left almost unassisted. 
'Looks almost like an army mobilising, doesn't it?' Kalten said gaily as 
they came down the palace stairs on the morning of their departure. 'Let's 
hope the Archprelate doesn't misunderstand,' Ulath murmured. 'He wouldn't 
really believe your wife was planning to lay siege to the Basilica, would 
he, Sparhawk?' Once they left Cimmura, the gaily-dressed Elenian Court 
stretched out for miles under a blue spring sky. Had it not been for the 
steely glint in the queen's eyes, this might have been no more than one of 
those 'outings' so loved by idle courtiers. Ehlana had 'suggested' that 
Sparhawk, as acting preceptor of the Pandion Order, should also be suitably 
accompanied. They had haggled about the number of Pandions he should take 
with him to Chyrellos. He had held out at first for Kalten, Berit and 
perhaps one or two others, while the queen had been more in favour of 
bringing along the entire order. They had finally agreed upon a score of 
black-armoured knights. It was impossible to make any kind of time with so 
large an entourage. They seemed almost to creep across the face of Elenia, 
plodding easterly to Lenda and then southeasterly toward Demos and 
Chyrellos. The peasantry took the occasion of their passing as an excuse 
for a holiday, and the road was usually lined with crowds of country people 
who had come out to gawk. 'It's a good thing we don't do this very often,' 
Sparhawk observed to his wife not long after they had passed the city oF 
Lenda. 'I rather enjoy getting out, Sparhawk.' The queen and princess Danae 
were riding in an ornate carriage drawn by six white horses. 'I'm sure you 
do, but this is the planting season. The peasants should be in the fields. 
Too many of these royal excursions could cause a famine.' 

 'You really don't approve of what I'm doing, do you, Sparhawk?' 

 'I understand why you're doing it, Ehlana, and you're probably right. 
Dolmant needs to be reminded that his authority isn't absolute, but I think 
this particular approach is just a little friVolous.' 

 'Of course it's frivolous, Sparhawk,' she admitted quite calmly. 'That's 
the whole point. In spite of all the evidence he's had to the contrary, 
Dolmant still thinks I'm' a silly little girl. I'm going to rub his nose in 
'silly' for a while. Then, when he's good and tired of it, I'll take him 
aside and suggest that it would be much easier on him if he took me 
seriously. That should get his attention. Then we'll be able to get down to 
business.' 

 'Everything you do is politically motivated, isn't it?' 

 'Well not quite everything, Sparhawk.' They stopped briefly in Demos, 'and 
Khalad and Talen took the royal couple, Kalten, Danae and Mirtai to visit 
their mothers. Aslade and Elys mothered everyone impartially. Sparhawk 
strongly suspected that this was one of the main reasons his wife quite 
often found excuses to travel to Demos. Her childhood had been bleak and 
motherless, and anytime she felt insecure or uncertain, some reason seemed 
to come up why her presence in Demos was absolutely necessary. Aslade's 
kitchen was warm, and its walls were hung with burnished copper pots. It 
was a homey sort of place that seemed to answer some deep need in the Queen 
of Elenia. The smells alone were enough to banish most of the cares of all 
who entered it. Elys, Talen's mother, was a radiant blonde woman, and 
Aslade was a kind of monument to motherhood. They adored each other. Aslade 
had been Kurik's wife, and Elys his mistress, but there appeared to be no 
jealousy between them. They were practical women, and they both realised 
that jealousy was a useless kind of thing that never made anyone feel good. 
Sparhawk and Kalten were immediately banished from the kitchen, Khalad and 
Talen were sent to mend a fence, and the Queen of Elenia and her Tamul 
slave continued their intermittent education in the art of cooking while 


Aslade and Elys mothered Danae. 'I can't remember the last time I saw 
a'queen kneading bread-dough,' Kalten grinned as he and Sparhawk strolled 
around the familiar dooryard. 'I think she's making pie-crusts,' Sparhawk 
corrected him. 'Dough is dough, Sparhawk.' 

 'Remind me never to ask you to bake me a pie.' 

 'No danger there,' Kalten laughed. 'Mirtai looks very natural, though. 
She's had lots of practice cutting things - and people - up. I just wish 
she wouldn't use her own daggers. You can never really be sure where 
they've been.'

 'She always cleans them after she stabs somebody.' 

 'It's the idea of it, Sparhawk,' Kalten shuddered. 'The thought of it 
makes my blood run cold.'

 'Don't think about it then.' 

 'You're going to be late, you know,' Kalten reminded his friend. 'Dolmant 
only gave you a week to get to Chyrellos. ' 

 'It couldn't be helped.' 

 'Do you want me to ride on ahead and let him know you're coming?'

 'And spoil the surprise my wife has planned for him? Don't be sily. 

They were no more than a league southeast of Demos the next morning when 
the attack came. A hundred men, peculiarly dressed with strange weapons, 

burst over the top of a low knoll bellowing war-cries. They thundered 
forward on foot for the most part, the ones on horseback appeared to be 
their leaders. The courtiers fled squealing in terror as Sparhawk barked 
commands to his Pandions. The twenty blackarmoured knights formed up around 
the queen's carriage and easily repelled the first assault. Men on foot are 
not really a match for mounted knights. 'what's that language?' Kalten 
shouted. 'Old Lamork, I think,' Ulath replied. 'It's a lot like Old 
Thalesian.' 

 'Sparhawk!' Mirtai barked. 'Don't give them time to regroup!' She pointed 
her blood-smeared sword at the attackers milling around at the top of the 
knoll. 'She's got a point,' Tynian agreed. Sparhawk quickly assessed the 
situation, deployed some of his knights to protect Ehlana and formed up the 
remainder of his force. 'Charge!' he roared. It is the lance that makes the 
armoured knight so devastating against foot-troops. The man on foot has no 
defence against it, and he cannot even flee. A third of the attackers had 
fallen in the initial assault, and a score fell victim to the lances during 
Sparhawk's charge. The knights then fell to work with swords and axes. 
Bevier's lochaber axe was particularly devastating, and he left wide tracks 
of the dead and dying through the tightly packed ranks of the now-confused 
attackers. It was Mirtai, however, who stunned them all with a shocking 
display of sheer ferocity. Her sword was lighter than the broadswords of 
the Church Knights, and she wielded it with almost the delicacy of 
Stragen's rapier. She seldom thrust at an opponent's body, but concentrated 
instead on his face and throat, and when necessary, his legs. Her thrusts 
were short and tightly controlled, and her slashes were aimed not at 
muscles, but rather at tendons. She crippled more than she killed, and the 
shrieks and groans of her victims raised a fearful din on that bloody 
field. The standard tactic of armoured knights when deployed against 
foot-troops was to charge with their lances first and then to use the 
weight of their horses to crush their unmounted opponents together so 
tightly that they became tangled with their comrades. Once they had been 
rendered more or less helpless, slaughtering them was easy work. 'Ulath!' 
Sparhawk shouted. 'Tell them to throw down their weapons!' 

 'I'll try,' Ulath shouted back. Then he roared something incomprehensible 


at the milling foot-troops. A mounted man wearing a grotesquely decorated 
helmet bellowed something in reply. 'That one with the wings on his helmet 
is the leader, Sparhawk,' ulath said, pointing with his bloody axe. 'What 
did he say?' Kalten demanded. 'He made some uncomplimentary remarks about 
my mother. Excuse me for a moment, gentlemen. I really ought to do 
something about that.' He wheeled his horse and approached the man with the 
winged helmet, who was also armed with a war axe. Sparhawk had never seen 
an axe-fight before, and he was somewhat surprised to note that there was 
far more finesse involved than he had imagined. Sheer strength accounted 
for much, of course, but sudden changes of the direction of swings implied 
a level of sophistication Sparhawk had not expected. Both men wore heavy 
round shields, and the defences they raised with them were more braced than 
might have been the case had they been attacking each other with swords. 
Ulath stood up in his stirrups and raised his axe high over his head. The 
warrior in the winged helmet raised his shield to protect his head, but the 
huge Thalesian swung his arm back, rolled his shoulder and delivered an 
underhand blow instead, catching his opponent just under the ribs. The man 
who seemed to be the leader of the attackers doubled over sharply, 
clutching at his stomach, and then he fell from his saddle. A vast groan 
rolled through the ranks of the attackers still on their feet, and then, 
like a mist caught by a sudden breeze, they wavered and vanished. 'where 
did they go?' Berit shouted, looking around with alarm. But no one could 
answer. Where there had been two score foot-troops before, there was now 
nothing, and a sudden silence fell over the field as the shrieking wounded 
also vanished. Only the dead remained, and even they were strangely 
altered. The bodies were pecu'liarly desiccated - dry, shrunken and 
withered. The blood which had covered their limbs was no longer bright red, 
but black, dry and crusty. What kind of spell could do that, Sparhawk?' 
Tynian demanded. 'I have no idea,' Sparhawk replied in some bafflement. 
'Someone's playing, and I don't think I like the game.'

 'Bronze!' Bevier exclaimed from nearby. The young Cyrinic Knight had 
dismounted and was examining the armour of one of the shrivelled dead. 
'They're wearing bronze armour, Sparhawk. Their weapons and helmets are 
steel, but this mail shirt's made out of bronze.' 

 'What's going on here?' Kalten demanded. 'Berit,' Sparhawk said, 'ride 
back to the mother house at Demos. Gather up every brother who can still 
wear armour. I want them here before noon.' 

 'Right,' Berit replied crisply. He wheeled his horse and galloped back the 
way they had come. Sparhawk looked around quickly. 'Up there,' he said, 
pointing at a steep hill on the other side of the road. 'Let's gather up 
this crowd and get them to the top of that hill. Put the courtiers and 
grooms and footmen to work. I want ditches up there, and I want to see a 
forest of sharpened stakes sprouting on the sides of that hill. I don't 
know where those men in bronze armour went, but I want to be ready in case 
they come back.' 

'You can't order me around like that!' an overdressed courtier exclaimed to 
Khalad in an outraged tone of voice. 'Don't you know who I am?' 

 'Of course I do,' Sparhawk's young squire replied in an ominous tone of 
voice. 'You're the man who's going to pick up that shovel and start 
digging. Or if you prefer, you can be the man who's crawling around on his 
hands and knees picking up his teeth.' Khalad showed the courtier his fist. 
The courtier could hardly miss seeing it, since it was about an inch in 
front of his nose. 'It's almost like old times, isn't it?' Kalten laughed. 
'Khalad sounds exactly like Kurik.' Sparhawk sighed. 'Yes,' he agreed 
soberly, 'I think he's going to work out just fine. Get the others, Kalten. 


We need to talk.' They gathered beside Ehlana's carriage. The queen was a 
bit pale, and she was holding her daughter in her arms. 'All right,' 
Sparhawk said. 'Who were they?' 


 'Lamorks, evidently,' Ulath said. 'I doubt that anybody else would be able 
to speak Old Lamork.' 


 'But why would they be speaking in that language?' Tynian asked. 'Nobody's 
spoken in Old Lamork for a thousand years.' 


 'And nobody's worn bronze armour for even longer,' Bevier added. 
'Somebody's using a spell I've never even heard of before,' Sparhawk said. 
'What are we dealing with here?'


 'isn't that obvious!' Stragen said. 'Somebody's reaching back into the 
past - the same way the Troll-Gods did in Pelosia. We've got a powerful 
magician of some kind out there who's playing games.'


 'It fits,' Ulath grunted. 'They were speaking an antique language, they 
had antique weapons and equipment, they weren't familiar with modern 
tactics, and somebody obviously used magic to send them back to wherever
they came from - except for the dead ones.' 


 'There's something else too,' Bevier added thoughtfully. 'They were
Lamorks, and part of the upheaval in Lamorkand right now revolves around 
the stories that Drychhtnath's returned. This attack makes it appear that
those stories aren't just rumours and wild concoctions dreamed up late at 
night in some ale-house. Could Count Gerrich be getting some help from a 
Styric magician? If Drychnath himself has actually been brought into the 
present, nothing's going to pacify the Lamorks. They go up in flames at 
just the mention of his name.' That's all very interesting, gentlemen,' 
Ehlana told them, 'but this wasn't just a random attack. We're a goodly 
distance from Lamorkand, so these antiques of yours went to a great deal of 
trouble to attack us specifically. The real question here is why?' 


 'We'll work on finding an answer for you, your Majesty,' Tynian promised 
her. Berit returned shortly before noon with three hundred armoured
Pandions, and the rest of the journey to Chyrellos had some of the air of a 
military expedition. Their arrival in the Holy City and their stately march 
through the streets to the Basilica was very much like a parade, and it 
caused quite a stir. The Archprelate himself came out onto a second-floor
balcony to watch their arrival in the square before the Basilica. Even from 
this distance, Sparhawk could clearly see that Dolmant's nostrils were 
white and his jaw was clenched. Ehlana's expression was regal and coolly 
defiant. Sparhawk lifted his daughter down from the carriage. 'Don't wander 
off,' he murmured into her small ear. 'There's `something I need to talk 
with you about.' 


 'Later,' she whispered back to him. 'i'll have to make peace between 
Dolmant and mother first.' 


 'That'll be a neat trick.' 


 'Watch, Sparhawk - and learn.' The Archprelate's greeting was chilly just 


 this side of frigid - and he made it abundantly clear that he was just 
dying to have a nice long chat with the Queen of Elenia. He sent for his 
first secretary, the Patriarch Emban, and rather airily dropped the problem 
of making arrangements for Ehlana's entourage into the fat churchman's lap. 
Emban scowled and waddled away muttering to himself. Then Dolmant invited 
the queen and her prince consort into a private audience chamber. Mirtai 
stationed herself outside the door. 'No hitting,' she told Dolmant and 
Ehlana as they entered. The small audience chamber was draped and carpeted 
in blue, and there were a table and chairs in the centre. 'Strange woman 
that one,' Dolmant murmured looking back over his shoulder at Mirtai. He 
took his seat and looked at Ehlana with a firm expression. 'Let's get down 
to business. Would you like to explain this, Queen Ellana?' 


 'Of course, Archprelate Dolmant.' She pushed his letter across the table 
to him. 'Just as soon as you explain this.' There was steel in her voice. 
He picked up the letter and glanced at it. 'It seems fairly 
straightforward. Which part of it didn't you understand?' Things went 
downhill from there rather rapidly. Ehlana and Dolmant were on the verge of 
severing all diplomatic ties when the 'Royal Princess Danae entered the 
room dragging the Royal Toy rollo by one hind leg. She gravely crossed the 
room, climbed up into the Archprelate's lap and kissed him. Sparhawk had 
received quite a few of the kind of kisses his daughter bestowed when she 
wanted something, and he was well-aware of just how devastatingly potent 
they were. Dolmant didn't really have much of a chance after that. 'I 
should have read through the letter before I had it dispatched, I suppose,' 
he admitted grudgingly. 'Scribes sometimes overstate things.' 

 'Maybe I over-reacted,' Ehlana conceded. 'I had a great deal on my mind.' 
Dolmant's excuse had the tone of a peace-offering. , 'I was irritable on 
the day when your letter arrived,' Ehlana countered. Sparhawk leaned back. 
The tension in the room had noticeably relaxed. Dolmant had changed since 
his elevation to the Archprelacy. Always before, he had been a 
self-effacing' man, so self-effacing in fact that his colleagues in the 
Hierocracy had not even considered him for 'the highest post in the Church 
until Ehlana had pointed out his many sterling qualities to them. The irony 
of that fact was not lost on Sparhawk. Now, however, Dolmant seemed to 
speak with two voices. The one was the familiar, almost colloquial voice of 
their old friend. The other was the voice of the Archprelate, authoritarian 
and severe. The institution of his office seemed to be gradually annexing 
their old friend. Sparhawk sighed. It was probably inevitable, but he 
regretted it all the same. Ehlana and the Archprelate continued to 
apologise and offer excuses to each other. After a while they agreed to 
respect one another, and they concluded their conference by agreeing to pay 
closer attention to little courtesies in the future. Princess Danae, still 
seated in the Archprelate's lap, winked at Sparhawk. There were quite a 
number of political and theological implications in what she had just done, 
but Sparhawk didn't really want to think about those. The reason for the 
peremptory summons which had nearly led to a private war between Ehlana and 
Dolmant had been the arrival of a high-ranking emissary from the Tamul 
Empire on the Daresian continent, that vast land-mass lying to the east of 
Zemoch. Formal diplomatic relations between the Elene Kingdoms of Eosia and 
the Tamul Empire of Daresia did not exist. The Church, however, routinely 
dispatched emissaries with ambassadorial rank to the imperial capital at 
Matherion, in some measure because the three western-most kingdoms of the 
empire were occupied by Elenes, and their religion differed only slightly 
from that of the Eosian Church. The emissary was a Tamul, a man of the same 
race as Mirtai, although she would have made at least two of him. His skin 
was the same golden bronze, his black hair touched with grey and his dark 
eyes were uptilted at the corners. 'He's very good,' Dolmant quietly 
cautioned them as they sat in one of the audience chambers while Emban and 
the emissary exchanged pleasantries near the door. 'In some ways he's even 
better than Emban. Be just a little careful oF what you say around him. 
Tamuls are quite sensitive to the nuances of language.' Emban escorted the 
silk-robed emissary to the place where they all sat. 'Your Majesty, I have 
the honour to present his Excellency, Ambassador Oscagne, representative of 
the imperial court at Matherion,' the little fat man said, bowing to 
Ehlana. 'I swoon in your Majesty's divine presence,' the ambassador 
proclaimed with a florid bow. 'you don't really, do you, your Excellency?' 
she asked Him with a little smile. Well, not really, of course,' he 
admitted with absolute aplomb. 'I thought it might be polite to say it, 


though. Did it seem unduly extravagant? I am unversed in the usages of your 
culture.' 

 'You'll do just fine, your Excellency,' she laughed. 'I must say, however, 
with your Majestys permission, that you're a devilishly attractive young 
lady. I've known a few queens in my time, and the customary compliments 
usually cost one a certain amount of wrestling with one's conscience.' 
Ambassador Oscagne spoke flawless Elenic. 'May I present my husband, Prince 
Sparhawk?' Ehlana suggested. 'The legendary Sir Sparhawk? Most assuredly, 
dear lady. I've traveLed half-round the world to make his acquaintance. 
Well met, Sir Sparhawk.' Oscagne bowed. 'your Excellency,' Sparhawk 
replied, also bowing. Ehlana then introduced the others, and the ongoing 
discharge of diplomatic pleasantries continued for the better part of an 
hour. Oscagne and Mirtai spoke at some length in the Tamul tongue, a 
language which Sparhawk found quite musical. 'Have we concluded all the 
necessary genuflections in courtesy's direction?' the ambassador asked at 
last. 'Cultures vary, of course, but in Tamuli three-quarters of an hour is 
the customary amount of time one is expected to waste on polite 
trivialities.' 

 'That seems about right to me too,' Stragen grinned. 'if we overdo our 
homage to courtesy, she becomes a bit conceited and expects more and more 
obeisance every time.' 

 'Well said, Milord Stragen,' Oscagne approved. 'The reason for my visit 
is fairly simple, my friends. I'm in trouble.' He looked around. 'I pause 
for the customary gasps of surprise while you try to adjust your thinking 

to accept the notion that anyone could possibly find any fault in so witty 
and charming a fellow as I.'

 'I think I'm going to like him,' Stragen murmured. 'You would,' Ulath 
grunted. The ambassador's flowery speech was contagious. 'I exaggerated 
slightly for effect,' Oscagne admitted. 'i'm not really in all that much 
trouble. It's just that his Imperial Majesty has sent me to Chyrellos to 
appeal for aid, and I'm supposed to couch the request in such a way that it 
won't humiliate him.' Emban's eyes were very, very bright. He was in his 
natural element here. 'I think the way we'll want to proceed here is to 
just lay the problem out on the table for our friends in bold flat terms,' 
he suggested, 'and then they can concentrate on the real issue of avoiding 
embarrassment to the imperial government. They're all unspeakably clever. 
I'm sure that if they put their heads together, they'll be able to come up 
with something.' 
Dolmant sighed. 'Was there no one else you could have selected for my 
job, Ehlana?' he asked plaintively. Oscagne gave the two of 
them a questioning look. 'It's a long story, your Excellency,' Emban told 
him. 'I'll tell you all about it someday when neither of us has anything 
better to do. Tell them what it is in Tamuli that's so serious that his 
Imperial Majesty had to send you here to look for help.' 

 'Promise not to laugh?' Oscagne said to Ehlana. 'i'll do my best to stifle 
my guffaws,' she promised. 'We've got a bit of civil unrest in Tamuli,' 
Oscagne told them. They all waited. That's it,' Oscagne confessed ruefully. 
'Of course I'm quoting the emperor verbatim - at his instruction. You'd 
almost have to know our emperor to understand. He'd sooner die than 
overstate anything. He once referred to a hurricane as a 'little breeze' 
and the loss of half his fleet as a minor inconvenience.' 
'Very well, your Excellency,' Ehlana said. 'Now we know how your emperor 
would characterize the problem. What words would you use to describe it?' 
'Well,' Oscagne said, 'since your Majesty is so kind as to ask, 
'catastrophic' does sort of leap to mind. We might consider 'insoluble', 


'cataclysmic', 'overwhelming' little things like that. I really think you 
should give some consideration to his Majesty's request, my friends, 
because we have some fairly strong evidence that what's happening on the 
Daresian continent may soon spread to Eosia as well, and if it does, it's 
probably going to mean the end of civilisation as we know it. I'm not 
entirely positive how you Elenes feel about that sort of thing, but we 
Tamuls are more or less convinced that some effort ought to be made to fend 
it ofF. It sets such a bad precedent when you start letting the world come 
to an end every week or so. It seems to erode the confidence people have in 
their governments for some reason.' 

CHAPTER 5 

Ambassador Oscagne leaned back in his chair. 'Where to begin?' he 
pondered. 'When one looks at the incidents individually, they almost 
appear trivial. It's the cumulative effect that's brought the empire to 
the brink of collapse.' 
'We can understand that sort of thing, your 
Excellency,' Emban assured him. 'The Church has been on the brink of 
collapse for centuries now. Our Holy Mother reels from crisis to crisis 
like a drunken sailor.' 
'Emban,' Dolmant chided gently. 
'Sorry,' the fat little churchman apologised. 
Oscagne was smiling. 'Sometimes it seems that 
way though, doesn't it, your Grace,' he said to Emban. 'i'd imagine that 
the government of the Church is not really all that much different from 
the government of the empire. Bureaucrats need crisis in order to survive. 
If there isn't a crisis oF some kind, someone might decide that a number 
of positions could be eliminated.' 
'i've noticed the same sort of thing myself,' Emban agreed. 
'I assure you, however, that what we have in Tamuli is not some absurd 
little flap generated for the purposes of making someone's position secure. 
I'm not exaggerating in the slightest when I say that the empire's on the 
brink of collapse.' His bronze face became thoughtful. 'We are not one 
homogeneous people as you here in Eosia are,' he began. 'There are five 
races on the Daresian continent. We Tamuls live to the east, there are 
Elenes in the west, Styrics around Sarsos, the Valesians on their island 
and the Cynesgans in the centre. It's probably not natural for so many 
different kinds of people to all be gathered under one roof. Our cultures 
are different, our religions are different, and each race is sublimely 
convinced that it's the crown of the universe.' He sighed. 'We'd probably 
have been better off if we'd remained separate.' 

 'But, at some time in the past someone grew ambitious?' Tynian surmised. 
'Far from it, Sir Knight,' Oscagne replied. 'You could almost say that we 
Tamuls blundered into empire.' He looked at Mirtai, who sat quietly with 
Danae in her lap. 'And that's the reason,' he said, pointing at the 
giantess. 
'It wasn't my fault, Oscagne,' she protested. 
'I wasn't blaming you personally, Atana,' he smiled. 'it's your people.' 
She smiled. 'I haven't heard that term since I was a child. No one's 
ever called me 'Atana' before.' 
'What's it mean?' Talen asked her curiously. 
'Warrior,' she shrugged. 
'warrioress, actually,' Oscagne corrected. He frowned. 'I 


don't want to be offensive, but your Elene tongue is limited in its ability 
to convey subtleties.' He looked at Ehlana. 'Has your Majesty noticed that 
your slave is not exactly like other women?' he asked her. 
'She's my friend,' Ehlana objected,'not my slave.' 
'Don't be ignorant, Ehlana,' Mirtai told her crisply. 'Of course I'm a 
slave. I'm supposed to be. Go on with your story, Oscagne. I'll explain 
it to them later.' 
'Do you reallythink they'll understand?' 
'No. But I'll explain it anyway.' 


 'And there, revered Archprelate,' Oscagne said to Dolmant, 'there lies the 
key to the empire. The Atans placed themselves in thrall to us some fifteen 
hundred years ago to prevent their homicidal instincts from obliterating 
there entire race. As a result, we Tamuls have the finest army in the world 


- even though we're basically a non-violent people. We tended to win those 
incidental little arguments with other nations which crop up from time to 
time and are usually settled by negotiation. In our view, our neighbours 
are like children, hopelessly incapable of managing their own affairs. The 
empire came into being largely in the interests of good order.' He looked 
around at the Church Knights. 'Once again, I'm not trying to be offensive, 
but war is probably the stupidest oF human .activities. There are much more 
efficient ways to persuade people to change their minds.' 
'Such as the threat to unleash the Atans?' Emban suggested slyly. 
'That does work rather well, your Grace,' Oscagne admitted. 'The 
presence of the Atans has usually been enough in the past to keep 
political discussion from becoming too spirited. Atans make excellent 
policemen. He sighed. 'You noted that slight qualification, I'm sure. I 
said, 'in the past.' Unfortunately, that doesn't hold true any more. An 
empire comprised of disparate peoples must always expect these little 
outbreaks of nationalism and racial discord. It's the nature of the 
insignificant to try to find some way to assert their own importance. 
It's pathetic, but racism is generally the last refuge of the 
unimportant. These outbreaks of insignificance aren't normally too 
widespread, but suddenly all of Tamuli is in the throes of an epidemic 
of them. Everyone's sewing flags and singing national anthems and 
labouring over well-honed insults to be directed at 'the yellow dogs'. 
That's us, of course.' He held out his hand and looked at it critically. 
'Our skins aren't really yellow, you know. They're more . . .' He 
pondered it. 
'Beige?' Stragen suggested. 'That's not too flattering either, Milord 
Stragen.' Oscagne smiled. 'Oh, well. Perhaps the emperor will appoint a 
special commission to define our skin tone once and for all.' He shrugged. 
'At any rate, incidental outbreaks of nationalism and racial bigotry would 
be no real problem for the Atans, even if they occurred in every town in 
the empire. It's the unnatural incidents that cause us all this concern.' 
'I thought there might be more,' Ulath murmured. 'At first, these 
demonstrations of magic were directed at the people themselves,' Oscagne 
went on. 'Every culture has its mythic hero - some towering personality who 
unified the people, gave them national purpose and defined their character. 
The modern world is complex and confusing, and the simple folk yearn for 
the simplicity of the age of heroes when national goals could be stated 
simply and everyone knew precisely who he was. Someone in Tamuli is 
resurrecting the heroes of antiquity.' Sparhawk felt a sudden chill. 
'Giants?' he asked. 'well.' Oscagne considered it. 'Perhaps that is' the 
proper term at that. The passage of the centuries blurs and distorts, and 


our cultural heroes tend to become larger than life. I suppose that when we 
think of them, we do think of giants. That's a very acute perception, Sir 
Sparhawk.' 

 'I can't actually take credit for it, your Excellency. The same sort of 
thing's been happening here.' Dolmant looked at him sharply. 'I'll explain 
later, Sarathi. Please go on, Ambassador Oscagne. You said that whoever's 

stirring things up in Tamuli started out by raising national heroes. That 
implies that it's gone further.' 

 'Oh, yes indeed, Sir Sparhawk. Much, much further. Every culture has its 
hobgoblins as well as its heroes. It's the hobgoblins we've been 
encountering - monsters, afreets, werewolves, vampires - all those things 
adults use to frighten children into good behaviour. Our Atans can't cope 
with that sort of thing. They're trained to deal with men, not with all the 
horors the creative genius of aeons has put together. That's our problem. 
We have nine different cultures in Tamuli, and suddenly each one of them 
has taken to pursuing its traditional historic goals. When we send in our 
Atans to restore order and to re-assert imperial authority, the horors rise 
up out of the ground to confront them. We can't deal with it. The empire's 
disintegrating, falling back into its component parts. His Imperial 
Majesty's government hopes that your Church can recognise a certain 
community of interest here. If Tamuli collapses back into nine warring 
kingdoms, the resulting chaos is almost certain to have its impact here in 
Eosia as well. It's the magic that has us so concerned. We can deal with 
ordinary insurrection, but we're unequipped to deal with a continent-wide 
conspiracy that routinely utilises magic against us. The Styrics at Sarsos 
are baffled. Everything they try is countered almost before they can set it 
in motion. We've heard stories about what happened in the City of zemoch, 
and it is to you personally that I must appeal, Sir Sparhawk. Zalasta of 
Sarsos is the pre-eminent magician in all of Styricum, and he assures us 
that you are the only man in all the world with enough power to deal with 
the situation.'

 'Zalasta may have an  exaggerated idea of my abilities,' Sparhawk said. 
%,YWeu'ykenomwethi Actually) your Excellency) I was only a very small part 
of what happened at Zemoch. When you get right down to it, I was hardly 
more than a channel for power I couldn't even begin to describe. I was the 
instrument of something else.' 

 'Be that as it may, you're stil our only hope. Someone is quite obviously 
conspiring to overthrow the empire. We must identify that someone. Unless 
we can get to the source of all of this and neutralise it, the empire will 
'collapse. Will you help us, Sir Sparhawk?' 

 'That decision's not mine to make, your Excellency. You must appeal to my 
queen and to Sarathi here. If they command me, I'll go to Tamuli. If they 
forbid it, I won't.' 

 'I'll direct my enormous powers of persuasion at them, then,' Oscagne 
smiled. 'But even assuming that I'm successful - and there's little doubt 
that I shall be we're still faced with an almost equally serious problem. 
We must protect his Imperial Majesty's dignity at all costs. An appeal from 
one government to another is one thing, but an appeal from His Majesty's 
government to a private citizen on another continent is quite another. That 
is the problem which must be addressed.' 

'I don't see that we have any choice, Sarathi,' Emban was saying gravely. 
It was late evening. Ambassador Oscagne had retired for the night, and the 
rest of them, along with Patriarch Ortzel of Kadach in Lamorkand, had 
gathered to give his request serious consideration. 'we may not entirely 


approve of some of the policies of the Tamul Empire, but its stability is 
in our vital interest just now. We're fully committed to our campaign in 
Render. If Tamuli flies apart, we'll have to pull most of our armies - and 
the Church Knights - out of Render to protect our interests in Zemoch. 
Zemoch's not much of a place, I'll grant you, but the strategic importance 
of its mountains can't be overstated. We've had a hostile force in those 
mountains for the past two thousand years, and that fact has occupied the 
full attention of our Holy Mother. If we allow some other hostile people to 
replace tHe Zemochs, everything Sparhawk achieved in Otha's capital is 
lost. We'll go right back to where we were six years ago. We'll have to 
abandon Render again and start mobilising to meet a new threat from the 
east.' 

 'You're stating the obvious, Emban,' Dolmant told him. 'I know, but 
sometimes it helps to lay everything out so that we can all look at it.' 
'Sparhawk,' Dolmant said then, 'if I were to order you to Matherion but 
your wife ordered you to stay home, what would you do?' 

 'i'd probably have to go into a monastery to pray for guidance For the 
next several years.' 

 'Our Holy Mother Church is overwhelmed by your piety, Sir Sparhawk.' 

 'I do what I can to please her, Sarathi. I am her true knight, after all.' 
Dolmant sighed. 'Then it all boils down to some sort of accommodation 
between Ehlana and me, doesn't it?' 

 'Such wisdom can only have come from God,' Sparhawk observed to his 
companions. 'Do you mind?' Dolmant said tartly. Then he looked at the Queen 
of Elenia with a certain resignation. 'Name your price, your Majesty.' 

 'I beg your pardon?' 

 'Let's not tiptoe around each other, Ellana. Your champion's put my back 
to the wall.' 

 'I know,' she replied, 'and I'm so impressed with him that I can barely 
stand it. We'll have to discuss this in private, revered Archprelate. We 
wouldn't want Sir Sparhawk to fully realise his true value, now would we? 
He might begin to get the idea that we ought to pay him what he's actually 
worth.' 

 'I hate this,' Dolmant said to no one in particular. 'I think we might 
want to touch briefly on something else,' Stragen suggested. 'The Tamul 
Ambassador's story had a certain familiar ring to it - or was I the only 
one who noticed that? We've got a situation going on in Lamorkand that's 
amazingly similar to what's happening in Tamuli. The Lamorks are all 
blithely convinced that Drychtnath's returned, and that's almost identical 
to the situation Oscagne described. Then, on our way here from Cimmura, we 
were set upon by a group of Lamorks who could only have come from 
antiquity. Their weapons were steel, but their armour was bronze, and they 
spoke Old Lamork. After Sir Ulath killed their leader, the ones who were 
still alive vanished. Only their dead remained, and they seemed to be all 
dried out.' 

 'And that's not all,' Sparhawk added. 'There were some bandits operating 
in the mountains of western Eosia. They were being led by some of Annias' 
former supporters, and they were doing all they could to stir up rebellious 
sentiments among the peasantry. Platime managed to get a spy into their 
camp, and he told us that the movement was being fuelled by Krager, 
Martel's old underling. After we rounded them up, we tried to question one 
of them about Krager, and that cloud we saw on our way to Zemoch engulfed 
the man and tore him all to pieces. There's something afoot here in Eosia, 
and it seems to be coming out of Lamorkand.' 

'And you think there's a connection?' Dolmant asked him. 'It's a logical 
conclusion, Sarathi. There are too many similarities to be safely ignored.' 


Sparhawk paused, glancing at his wife. 'This may cause a certain amount of 
domestic discontent, ' he said regretfully, 'but I believe we'd better 
think very seriously about Oscagne's request. Someone's harrowing the past 
to bring back people and things that have been dead for thousands of years. 
When we encountered this sort of thing in Pelosia, Sephrenia told us that 
only the Gods were capable of that.' 

 'Well, that's not entirely true, Sparhawk,' Bevier corrected him. 'She did 
say that a few of the most powerful Styric magicians could also raise the 
dead.' 

 'I think we can discount that possibility,' Sparhawk disagreed. 'Sephrenia 

and I were talking about it once, and she told me that in the forty 
thousand years of Styric history, there have only been two Styrics who had 
the capability, and then only imperfectly. This raising of heroes and 
armies is happening in nine nations in Tamuli and at least one here in 
Eosia. There are just too many similarities for it to be a coincidence, and 
the whole scheme - whatever its goal - is just too complex to have come 
from somebody who doesn't have an absolute grasp on the spell.'

 'The Troll-Gods?' Ulath suggested bleakly. 'I wouldn't discount the 
possibility. They did it once before, so we know that they have the 
capability. Right now, though, all we have are some suspicions based on 
some educated guesses. We desperately need information.' 

 'That's my department, Sparhawk,' Stragen told him 'Mine and Platime's. 
You're going to Daresia, I assume?'''' 

 'It's beginning to look that way.' Sparhawk gave his wife an apologetic 
look. 'i'd gladly let someone else go, but I'm afraid he wouldn't know what 
he's looking for.' 

 'i'd better go with you,' Stragen decided. 'I have associates there as 
well as here in Eosia, and people in our line of work can gather 
information much more quickly than your people can.' Sparhawk nodded. 
'Maybe we can start right there,' Ulath suggested. He looked at the 
Patriarch Ortzel. 'How did all these wild stories about Drychtnath get 
started, your Grace? Nobody's reputation really lasts for four thousand 
years, no matter how impressive he was to begin with.'

 'Drychnath is a literary creation, Sir Ulath,' the severe blond churchman 
replied, smiling slightly. Even as Dolmant's ascension to the throne had 
changed him, so Ortzel had been changed by living in Chyrellos. He no 
longer seemed to be the rigid, provincial man he had been in Lamorkand. 
Although he was by no means as worldly as' Emban, he had nonetheless 
reacted to the sophistication of his colleagues in the Basilica. He smiled 
occasionally now, and he appeared to be developing a sly, understated sense 
of humour. Sparhawk had met with him on several occasions since Dolmant had 
ordered the cleric to Chyrellos, and the big Pandion found that he was 
actually beginning to like the man. Ortzel still had his prejudices, of 
course, but he was now willing to admit that points of view other than his 
own might have some small validity. 'Somebody just made him up?' Ulath was 
saying incredulously. 'Oh, no. There was somebody named Drychtnath four 
thousand years ago. Probably some bully-boy with his brains in his biceps. 
I'd imagine that he was the usual sort - no neck, no forehead and nothing 
even remotely resembling intelligence between his ears. After he died, 
though, some poet struggling with failing inspiration seized on the story 
and embellished it with all the shopworn conventions of the heroic epic. He 
called it The DrychtnathaSaga, and Lamorkand would be far better off if the 
poet had never learned to read and write.' Sparhawk thought he detected 
some actual flashes of humour there. 'One poem could hardly have that kind 
of impact, your Grace,' Kalten said sceptically. 'you underestimate the 


power of a well-told story, Sir Kalten. I'll have to translate as I go 
along, but judge for yourselF.' Ortzel leaned back with his eyes 
half-closed. 'hearken unto a tale from the age of heroes,' he began. His 
harsh, rigid voice became softer, more sonorous as he recited the ancient 
poem. 'List, brave men of Lamorkland to the exploits of Drychtnath the 
smith, mightiest of all the warriors of yore. 'Now as all men know, the Age 
of Heroes was an age of bronze. Massive were the bronze swords and the axes 
of the heroes of yore, and mighty were the thews of the men who wielded 
them in joyous battle. And none there was in all the length and breadth of 
Lamorkland mightier than Drychtnath the smith. Tall was Drychnath and 
ox-shouldered, for his labour moulded him even as he moulded the glowing 
metal. Swords of bronze wrought he, and spears as keen as daggers, and axes 
and shields and burnished helms and shirts of maL which shed the foeman's 
blows as they were no more than gentle rain from on high. 'And lo, warriors 
from all of dark-forested Lamorkland gladly gave good gold and bright 
silver beyond measure in exchange for Drychtnath's bronze, and the mighty 
smith waxed in wealth and in strength as he toiled at his forge.' Sparhawk 
tore his eyes from Ortzel's face and looked around. The faces of his 
friends were all rapt. The Patriarch of Kadach's voice rose and fell in the 
stately cadences of bardic utterance. 'Lord,' Sir Bevier breathed as the 
patriarch paused, 'it's hypnotic, isn't it?' 

 'That's always been its danger,' Ortzel told him. 'The rhythm numbs the 
mind and sets the pulse to racing. The people of my race are susceptible to 
the emotionality of The Drychtnathasaga. An army of Lamorks can be whipped 
into a frenzy by a recitation of some of the more lurid passages.' 

 'Well?' Talen said eagerly. 'What happened?' Ortzel smiled rather gently 
at the boy. 'Surely so worldly a young thief cannot be stirred by some 
tired old poem?' he suggested slyly. Sparhawk nearly laughed aloud. Perhaps 
the change in the Patriarch of Kadach had gone further than he had 
imagined. 'I like a good story,' Talen admitted. 'i've never heard one told 
that way before, though.' 

 'It's called 'felicity of style',' Stragen murmured. 'Sometimes it's not 

so much what the story says, but how it says it.' 
'Well?' Talen insisted. 'What happened?' 
'Drychtnath discovered that a giant named Kreindl had forged a metal that 

could cut bronze like bUtter,' Ortzel replied. 'He went to Kreindl's lair 
with only his sledge-hammer for a weapon, tricked the secret of the new 
metal out of the giant and then beat out his brains with the sledge. Then 
he went home and began to forge the new metal - steel - and hammered it 
out into weapons. Soon every warrior in Lamorkand - or Lamorkland as they 
called it in those days - had to have a steel sword, and Drychtnath grew 
enormously wealthy.' He frowned. 'I hope you'll bear with me,' he 
apologised. 'Translating on the spot is a bit difficult.' He thought a 
while and then began again. 'Now it came to pass that the fame of the 
mighty smith Drychtnath spread throughout the land. Tall was he, a full ten 
span, tween, and broad were his shoulders. His thews were as the steel from 
his forge, and comely were his features. FUll many a maid of noble house 
yearned for him in the silences of her soul. 'Now as it chanced to happen 
in those far-off days of yore, the ruler of the Lamorks was the aged King 
Hyghdahl, whose snowy locks bespoke his wisdom. No son on life had he, but 
%a daughter, the child of his old, fair as morning dew and yclept Uts. And 
Hygdahl was sore troubled, for well he wot that when his spirit had been 
gathered to the bosom of Hrokka, strife and contention would wrack the 
lands of the Lamorks as the heroes vied with one another for his throne and 
for the hand of fair Uts in marriage, for such was the 


twin prize which would fall to the hand of the victor. And so resolved King 
Hygdahl at last to secure the future of realm and daughter with one stroke. 
And caused he to be sent word to every corner of his vasty realm. The fate 
of Lamorkland and of bright-eyed Uts would be decided by trial at arms. The 
mightiest hero in all the land would win wealth, wife and dominion by the 
strength of his hands.' Ortzel paused in his translation. 'What's a span?' 
Talen asked. 'Nine inches,' Berit replied. 'It's supposed to be as far as a 
man can stretch out the fingers of one hand.' Talen made the quick 
computation in his head. 'Seven and a half feet?' he said incredulously. 
'He was seven and a half feet tall?' 

 'It may be slightly exaggerated,' Ortzel smiled. 'Who is this Hrokka?' 
Bevier asked him. 'The Lamork War-God,' Ortzel explained. 'There was a 
period at the end of the bronze age when the Lamorks reverted to paganism. 
Obviously, Drychtnath won the trial-at-arms, and he didn't even kill too 
many other Lamorks in the process.' Then Ortzel took up his recitation. 
'And so it was that Drychtnath the smith, mighttest hero of antiquity, won 
the hand of bright-eyed Uts and became King Hygdahl's heir. 

'And when the wedding-feast was done, went Hygdahl's heir straightway to 
the King. 'Lord King,' quotha, 'since I have the honour to be the mightiest 
warrior in all the world, it is only meet that the world fall into my 
hands. To that end shall I bend mine efforts once Hrokka hath called thee 
home. I will conquer the world and subdue it and bend it to my will, and I 
will lead the heroes of Lamorkland e'en unto Chyrellos. There will I cast 
down the altars of the false God of that Church which doth, all womanly, 
hold strength in despite and weakens warriors with her drasty preaching. I 
spurn her counsel, and will lead the heroes of Lamorkland forth to bear 
back to our homes in groaning wains the loot of the world.' 

 'Happily heard Hygdahl the hero's words, for Hrokka, Sword-Lord of 
Lamorkland, glories in battleshlfe and doth inspire his children to love 
the sound of sword meeting sword and the sight of sparkling blood bedewing 
the grass. 'Go forth, my son, and conquer,' quotha, 'Punish the Peloi, 
crush the Cammorians, destroy the Deirans, and forget not to bring down the 
church which doth pollute the manhood of all Elenes with her counsels of 
peace and lowly demeanour.' 

 'Now when word of Drychtnath's design reached the Basilica of Chyrellos, 
the Church was troubled and trembled in fear oF the mighty smith, and the 
princes of the Church took counsel one with the other and resolved to spit 
out the life of the noble smith, lest his design dispossess the Church and 
win her wealth to wend in wains Lamorkward, there to bedeck the highbdt 
walls of the conqueror's mead-hall. Conspired they then to send a warrior 
of passing merit' to the court of Hygdahl's heir to bring low the towering 
pride of dark-forested Lamorkland. In dissembling guise this traitorous 
warrior, a Deiran by birth - Starkad was his name - made his way to 
Drychnath's mead-hall, and mildly made he courteous greeting to Hygdahl's 
heir. And beseeched he the hero of Lamorkland to accept him as his vassal. 
Now Drychtnath's heart was so free of deceit and subterfuge that he could 
not perceive perfidy in others. Gladly did he accept Starkad's seeming 
friendship, and the two were soon as brothers even as Starkad had designed. 
'And as the heroes of Drychtnath's hall laboured, Starcad was ever at 
Drychtnath's right hand, in fair weather and foul, in battle and in the 
carouse which is battle's aftermath. Tales he spun which filled 
Drychtnath's heart with mirth, and for the love he bare his friend did the 
mighty smith gladly bestow treasures upon him, bracelets of bright gold and 
gems beyond price. Starkad accepted Drychtnath's gifts in seeming gratitude 
and ever, like the patient worm, burrowed he his way ever deeper into the 


hero's heart. 'And at the time of Hrokka's choosing was wise King Hygdahl 
gathered into the company of the Immortal Thanes in the Hall of Heroes, and 
then was Drychtnath king in Lamorkland. Well were laid his plans, and no 
sooner had the royal crown been placed upon his head than he gathered his 
heroes and marched north to subdue the savage Peloi. 'Many were the battles 
mighty Drychtnath waged in the lands of the Peloi, and great were the 
victories he won. And there it was in the lands of the horse-people that 
the design of the Church of Chyrellos was accomplished, for there, 
separated from their friends by legions of ravening Peloi, Drychtnath and 
Starkad wrought slaughter upon the foe, bathing the meadow's grass with the 
blood of their enemies. And there, in the full flower of his heroism, was 
mighty Drychtnath laid full low. Seizing upon a lull in the struggle when 
all stood somewhat apart to gather breath and strength to renew the 
struggle, the deceitful Deiran found his opportunity and drove his cursed 
spear, sharper 'than any dagger, full into his lord's broad back. 'And 
Drychtnath felt death's cold touch as Starkad's bright steel pierced him. 
And turned he then to face the man he had called friend and brother. 'Why?' 
quotha, his heart wrung more by the betrayal than by Starkad's stroke. ''It 
was in the name of the God of the Elenes,' quoth Starkad with hot tears 
streaming from his eyes, for in truth loved he the hero he had just slain. 
'Think not that it was I who have smitten thee to the heart, my brother, 
for it was not I, but our Holy Mother Church which hath sought thy life.' 
So saying, he raised once more his dreadful spear. 'Defend thyself, 
Drychtnath, for though I must slay thee, I would not murder thee.' Then 
raised noble Drychtnath his face. 'That will I not do,' quotha, 'for if my 
brother have need of my life, I give it to him freely.' 

 ''Forgive me,' quoth Starkad, raising again his deadly spear. ''That may I 
not do,' quoth the hero. 'My life mayest thou freely have, but never my 
forgiveness.' 

 ''So be it then,' quoth Starkad, and, so saying, plunged he his deadly 
spear full into Drychtnath's mighty heart. 'A moment only the hero stood, 
and then slowly, as falls the mighty oak, fell all the pride of Lamorkland, 
and the earth and the heavens resounded with his fall.' There were tears in 
Talen's eyes. 'Did he get away with it?' he demanded fiercely. 'I mean, 
didn't one of Drychtnath's other friends pay him back?' The boy's face 
clearly showed his eagerness to hear more. 'Surely you wouldn't want to 
waste your time with some tired, worn-out old story that's been around for 
thousands of years?' Ortzel said. He feigned some astonishment, but there 
was a sly twinkle in his eye. Sparhawk covered his own smile with his hand. 
Ortzel had definitely changed, all right. 'I don't know about Talen,' Ulath 
said, 'but I would.' There were obviously some strong similarities between 
the culture of present-day Thalesia and that of ancient Lamorkland. well, 
now,' Ortzel said, 'i'd say that some bargaining might be in order here. 
How many acts of contrition would the two of you be willing to give our 
Holy Mother in exchange for the rest of the story?' 

 ''Ortzel,' Dolmant reproved him. The Patriarch of Kadach held up one hand. 
'It's perfectly legitimate exchange, Sarathi,' he said. 'The Church has 
used it many times in the past. When I was a simple country pastor, I used 
this exact method to ensure regular attendance at services. My congregation 
was known far and wide for its piety - until I ran out of stories.' Then he 
'laughed. They were all a bit startled at that. Most of them were fairly 
sure that the stern, unbending Patriarch of Kadach didn't even know how. 'I 
was only teasing,' he told the young thief and the gigantic Thalesian. 'I 
wouldn't be too disappointed, however, if the two of you gave the condition 
of your souls some serious thought.' 

 'Tell the story,' Mirtai insisted. Mirtai was also a warrior, and also, it 


appeared, susceptible to a stirring tale. 'Do I sense the possibility of a 
convert here?' Ortzel asked her. 'What you're sensing is the possibility of 
failing health, Ortzel,' she said bluntly. Mirtai never used titles when 
she spoke to people. 'All right then,' Ortzel laughed again and continued 

with his translation. 'Hearken then, O men of Lamorkland, and hear how 
Starkad was paid. Some tears then shed he over his fallen brother, then 
turned he his raging wrath upon the Peloi, and they fled screaming from 
him. Straightway left he the strife-place and journeyed even to the Holy 
City of Chyrellos, there to advise the princes of the Church that their 
design was done. And when they had gathered all in the Basilica which is 
the crown of their o'erweening pride, recounted Starkad the sad tale of the 
fall of Drychtnath, mightiest hero of yore. 'And gloated then the soft and 
pampered princes of the Church at the hero's fall, thinking that their 
pride and power and position were safe, and spake they each in praise of 
Starkad and offered him good gold beyond measure for the deed he had done. 
'Cold, however, was the hero's heart, and he looked upon the little men he 
had served, recalling with ' tears the great man he had slain at their 
bidding. 'Lordlings of the Church,' quotha then. 'Think ye that mere gold 
will satisfy me as payment for what I have done in your behalf?' 

''But what else may we offer thee?' they asked in great perplexity. ''I 
would have Drychtnath's forgiveness,' quoth Starkad. ''But that we may not 
obtain for thee,' they said unto him, 'for dreaded Drychtnath lieth low in 
the House of the Dead from whence no man returneth. Pray, mighty hero, tell 
us what else we may offer thee in recompense for this great service thou 
hast provided us.' 

 ''But one thing,' quoth Starkad in deadly earnest. ''And that is what?' 
they asked. ' 

 ''your heart's blood,' quoth Starkad. And, so saying, sprang he to the 
massy door and chained it shut with chains of steel that none might escape 
him. Then drew he forth Soritha, Dread Drychtnath's bright blade, which he 
had brought with him to Chyrellos for just this purpose. And then took the 
hero Starkad his payment for the deed he had done on the plains of the 
Peloi. 'And when he had finished collecting that which was owed him, the 
Church of Chyrellos lay headless, for not one of her princes saw the 
setting of the sun that day, and sorrowing still that he had slain his 
friend, Starkad sadly took his leave of the Holy City and never returned 
there more. 'But it is ' said in dark-forested Lamorkland that the oracles 
and the auguries speak still of the mighty Drychtnath and of the day when 
the War-God Hrokka will relent and release the spirit of Drychtnath from 
his service as one of the Immortal Thanes in the hall of Heroes that he may 
come once more to Lamorkland to take up again that grand design. Then how 
the blood will flow, and then how the kings of the world will tremble as 
once again the world shakes beneath the mighty stride of Dread Drychtnath 
the Destroyer, and the crown and throne of the world shall lie in his 
immortal grip, as was from the beginning intended.' Ortzel's voice fell 
silent, indicating that he had reached the end. 'That's all?' Talen 
protested vehemently. 'I skipped over a great 'number of passages,' Ortzel 
conceded, 'battle descriptions and the like. The Lamorks of antiquity had 
an unhealthy fascination with certain kinds of numbers. They wanted to know 
how many barrels of blood, pounds of brains and yards of entrails were 
spilled out during the festivities.' 

 'But the story doesn't end right,' Talen complained. 'Drychtnath was the 
hero, but after Starkad murdered him, he turned into the hero. That isn't 
right. The bad people shouldn't be allowed to change over like that.' 
'That's a very interesting argument, Talen - particularly coming from you.' 


'i'm not a bad person, your Grace, I'm just a thief. It's not the same at 
all. At least the churchmen all got what was coming to them.' 

 'You have a long way to go with this one, Sparhawk,' Bevier observed. 'We 
all loved Kurik like a brother, but are we really sure that his son has the 
makings of a Church Knight in him?' 

 'i'm working on that,' Sparhawk replied. 'So that's what Drychtnath's all 
about. Just how deeply do the commons in Lamorkand believe in the story, 
your Grace?'

 'It goes deeper than belief, Sparhawk,' Ortzel replied. 'The story's in 
our blood. I'm wholly committed to the Church, but when I hear The 
Drychtnathasaga, I become an absolute pagan - for a while at least. ' 
'Well,' Tynian said, 'now we know what we're uP against. We have the same 
thing going on in Lamorkand as we have in Render. We've got heresies 
springing up all around us. It still doesn't solve our problem, though. How 
are Sparhawk and the rest of us going to be able to go to Tamuli without 
insulting the emperor?' 

 'i've solved that problem already, Tynian,' Ehlana told him. 

'I beg your Majesty's pardon?' 

 'It's so simple that I'm almost ashamed of you all that you didn't think 
of it first.' 

 'Enlighten us, your Majesty,' Stragen said. 'Make us blush for our 
stupidity.' ,'it's time for the western Elene Kingdoms to open 
communications with the Tamul Empire,' she explained. 'We are neighbours, 
after all. It's politically very sound for me to make a state visit to 
Matherion, and if you gentlemen are all very nice to me, I'll invite you to 
come along.' She frowned. 'That was the least of our problems. Now we'll 
have to address something far more seriOUS.' 

'And what is that, Ehlana?' Dolmant asked her. 'I simply don't have a thing 
to wear, Sarathi.' 

CHAPTER 6 

Sparhawk had learned to keep a tight rein on hiS emotions during the years 
since his marrage to the Queen of Elenia, but his smile was slightly fixed 
as the meeting broke up. Kalten fell in beside him as they all left the 
council chamber. 'I gather that you're less than pleased with our queen's 
solution to the problem,' he observed. Kalten was Sparhawk's boyhood 
friend, and he had learned how to read that battered face. 'You might say 
that, yes,' Sparhawk replied tightly. 'Are you open to a suggestion?'

 'I'll listen.' Sparhawk didn't want to make any promises at this point. 
'Why don't you and I go down into the crypt under the Basilica?' 

'Why?' 

 'I thought you might want to vent certain feelings 

before you and your wife discuss the matter. You're a bit savage when 
you're angry, Sparhawk, and I'm really very fond of your wife. If you call 
her an idiot to her face, you'll hurt her feelings.' 

'Are you trying to be funny?' 

 'Not in the least, my friend. I feel almost the same way about it as you 
do, and I've had a very colourful education. When you run out of 
swear-words, I'll supply some you might not have heard.' 

 'Let's go,' Sparhawk said, turning abruptly down a side corridor. They 
passed through the nave' quickly, perfunctorily genuflecting to the altar 
in passing, and descended into the crypt that contained the bones of 


several aeons' worth of Archprelates. 'Don't bang your fists on the walls,' 
Kalten cautioned as Sparhawk began' to pace up and down, swearing and 
waving his arms in the air. 'You'll break your knuckles.' 

 'it's a total absurdity, Kalten!' SParhawk said after he had shouted 
profanities for several minutes. 'it's worse than that, my friend. There's 
always room in the world for absurdities. They're sort of fun actually, but 
this is dangerous. We have no way of knowing what we're going to encounter 
in Tamuli. I love your wife dearly, but having her along is going to be 
inconvenient.'

 'inconvenient?' I'm trying to be polite. How does 'bloody hindering 
awkward' strike you?' 

 'it's closer.' 

 'you'll never persuade her to stay home though. I'd give that up as a lost 
cause beFore I even started. She's obviously made up her mind, and she 
outranks you. You probably ought to try to put the best face on it avoid 
the embarrassment of being told to ' shut your mouth and go to your room.' 
Sparhawk grunted. ' I think our best approach is to talk with Oscagne. 
We'll be taking the most precious thing in Elenia to the daresian continent 
where things are far from tranquil. Your wife's going there as a personal 
favour to the Emperor of Tamuli, so he's obligated to protect her. An 
escort of a few dozen legions of Atans meeting us at the Astel ,border 
might be looked upon as a sign of his majestys appreciation, wouldn't you 
say?' 

 ' That's really not a bad idea, Kalten.' I'm not totally stupid, Sparhawk. 
Now, Ehlana's going to expect you to rant and rave and wave your arms at 
her. She's ready for that, so don't do it. She is going along. We' lost 
that fight already, wouldn't you say?' 

 'Unless I chain her to the bed. 'There's an interesting idea.' 

 'Never mind.'

 'It's tactically unsound to fight a last stand unless you're trapped. Give 
her that victory, and then she'll owe you one. Use it to get her to agree 
not to do anything while we're in Tamuli without your express permission. 
That way we can keep her almost as safe as she'd be if she stayed home. 

There's a good chance that she'll be so happy that you didn't scream at her 
that she'll agree without thinking it all the way through. You'll be able 
to restrict her movements when we get there - at least enough to keep her 
out of danger.' 

 'Kalten, sometimes you amaze me,' Sparhawk told his friend. 'I know,' the 
blond Pandion replied. 'This stupidlooking face of mine is very useful 
sometimes.' 

 'Where did you ever learn so much about manipulating royalty?' 

 'i'm not manipulating royalty, Sparhawk. I'm manipulating a woman, and I'm 
an expert at that. Women are born negotiators. They love these little 
trades. If you go to a woman and say, 'I'll do this for you if you do that 
for me,' she'll almost always be willing to talk about it at least. Women 
always want to talk about things. If you keep your eye on what you really 
want, you'll almost always come out on top.' He paused. 'Metaphorically 
speaking of course,' he added. 

'What are you up to, Sparhawk?' Mirtai asked him suspiciously when he 
approached the suite of rooms Dolmant had provided for Ehlana and her 
personal retinue. Sparhawk carefully let the smug expression slide from his 
face and assumed one of grave concern instead. 'Don't try to be clever, 
Sparhawk,' she told him. 'if you hurt her, I'll have to kill you, you 
know.' 


 'i'm not going to hurt her, Mirtai. I'm not even going to yell at her.' 
'You're up to something, aren't you?' 

 'Of course I am. After you lock me inside, put your ear to the door and 
listen.' He gave her a sidelong look. 'But you do that all the time anyway, 
don't you?' She actually blushed. She jerked the door open. 'just get in 
there, Sparhawk!' she commanded, her face like a thundercloud. 'my, aren't 
we testy tonight?' 

'gO!' 

 'yes, ma'am.' Ehlana was ready for him, that much was fairly obvious. She 
was wearing a dressing-gown of a pale rose that made her look particularly 
appealing, and she had done things with her hair. There was a barely 
noticeable tightness about her eyes, though. 'Good evening, love,' Sparhawk 
said calmly. 'Tedious day, wasn't it? Conferences can be so exhausting at 
times.' He crossed the room, pausing to kiss her almost perfunctorily in 
passing, and poured himself a glass of Wine. I know what you're going to 
say, Sparhawk.' she said. 'Oh?' He gave her an innocent look. 'you're angry 
with me, aren't you?' 

 'No. Not really. What made you think I'd be angry?' She looked a bit less 
sure of herself. 'You mean you're not? I thought you'd be raging by now about 

 my decision to pay a state visit to Tamuli, I mean.' 

 'No, actually it's a very good idea. Of course we'll have to take a few 
precautions to ensure your safety, but we always have to do that, so we're 
sort of used to it, aren't we?' 

 'What kind of precautions are we talking about here?' Her tone was 
suspicious. 'Nothing all that extreme, dear. I don't think you should go 
walking in the forest alone or visiting thieves' dens without some sort of 
escort. I'm not talking about anything out of the ordinary, and you're used 
to certain restrictions on your movements already. We'll be in a strange 
country, and we don't know the people. I know that you'll trust me to sort 
of nose things out, and that you won't argue with me if I tell you that 
something's too dangerous. We can all live with that, I'm sure. You pay me 
to protect you, after all, so we won't have any silly little squabbles 
about security measures, now will we?' He kept his tone mild and sweetly 
reasonable, giving her no reason to raise any questions about exactly what 
he had in mind when he spoke of 'security measures.'

 'You know much more about that sort of thing than I do, my love,' she 
conceded, 'so I'll leave all that entirely in your hands. If a girl has a 
champion who just happens to be the greatest knight in the world, she'd be 
foolish not to pay attention to him, now wouldn't she?' 

 'My feelings exactly,' he agreed. It was a small victory, to be sure, but 
when one is dealing with a queen, victOries of any kind are hard to come 
by. 'Well,' she said, rising to her feet, 'since we're not going to fight, 
why don't we go to bed?' 

 'Good idea.' 

The kitten Talen had given to Princess Danae was named Mmrr, and Mmrr had 
one habit that particularly irritated Sparhawk. Kittens like to have 
company when they sleep, and Mmrr had found that when Sparhawk slept, he 
curled up slightly and that the space just behind his knees was a perfect 
place for her to nest. Sparhawk customarily slept with the covers pulled 
tightly around his neck, but that was no real problem. A cold, wet nose 
touched to the back of his neck caused him to flinch away violently, and 
that involuntary movement would always open just enough of a gap for an 
enterprising kitten. Mmrr found the whole process quite satisfactory and 
even rather amusing. Sparhawk, however, did not. It was shortly before dawn 
when he emerged from the bedroom, tousled, sleepy-eyed and just a bit out 


of sorts. Princess Danae wandered into the large central room absently 
dragging rollo behind her. 'Have you seen my cat?' she asked her father. 
'She's in bed with your mother,' he replied shortly. 'i should have known, 
I suppose. Mmrr likes the way mother smells. She told me so herself.' 
Sparhawk glanced around and then carefully closed the bedroom door. 'I need 
to talk with Sephrenia again,' he said. 'All right.' 


 'Not here, though. I'll find someplace.' What happened last night?' 
'We have to go to Tamuli.' I thought you were going to do something about 
drychtnath.' 

 'I am - in a way. It seems that there's something - or someone - over on 
the Daresian continent that's behind Drychtnath. I think we'll be able to 
find out more about him there than we ever would here. I'll make 
arrangements to have you taken back to Cimmura.' She pursed her small 
mouth. 'No, I don't think so,' she said. 'i'd better go along with you.' 
That's absolutely out of the question.' 

 'Oh, Sparhawk, do grow up. I'm going along because you're going to need me 
when we get there.' She negligently tossed rollo over into a corner. 'i'm 
also going because you can't stop me. Come up with some reason for it, 
Sparhawk. Otherwise you'll have to explain to mother how it is that I 
managed to get ahead of you when you all find me sitting in a tree 
alongside a road somewhere. Get dressed father, and go find a place where 
we can talk privately.' Some time later, Sparhawk and his daughter climbed 
a narrow, spiraLing wooden staircase that led to the cupola atop the dome 
of the Basilica. There was quite probably no more private place in the 
world, particularly in view of the fact that the wooden stairs leading up 
to the little bell-tower did not so much creak as they did shriek when 
anyone began to climb them. When they reached the unenclosed little house 
high above the city, Danae spent several minutes gazing out over Chyrellos. 
'You can always see so much better from up high like this,' she said. 'It's 
just about the only reason I've ever found for flying.' 

 'Can you really fly?' 
'Of course. Can't you?' 
'You know better, Aphrael.' 
'I was only teasing you, Sparhawk,' she laughed. 'Let's get started.' She 


sat down, crossed her legs and lifted her little face to sing that trilling 
song she had raised back in Cimmura. Then again, her eyes closed and her 
face went blank as the song died away. 'What is it this time, Sparhawk?' 
Sephrenia's voice was a bit tart. 'What's the matter, little mother?' 

 'Do you realise that it's the middle of the night here?' 
'It is?' 
'Of course it is. The sun's on your side of the world now.' 
'Astonishing - though I suppose it stands to reason if you think about it. 


Did I disturb you?' 
'Yes, as a matter of fact you did.' 
'What were you doing so late at night?' 
'None of your business. What do you want?' 
'We'll be coming to Daresia soon.' 
'What?' The emperor asked us to come - well, he asked me actually. The 

rest are sort of tagging along. Ehlana's going to make a state visit to 
Matherion to sort of give us all an excuse for being there.' 
'Have you taken leave of your senses? Tamuli's a very dangerous place 
right now.' 
'Probably not much more than Eosia is. We were attacked by ancient Lamorks 

on our way here to chyrellos from Cimmura.' 
'Perhaps they were just modern-day Lamorks dressed in ancient garb.' 
'I rather doubt that, Sephrenia. They vanished when their attack began to 


fail.' 

'All of them?' 

 'Except for the ones who were already dead. Would ' a little logic offend 
you?' 

 'Not unless you drag it out.' 

 'we're almost positive that the attackers really were ancient Lamorks, and 
Ambassador Oscagne told us that someone's been raising antique heroes in 
Daresia as well. Logic implies that this resurrection business is 
originating in Tamuli and that its goal is to stir up nationalistic 
sentiments in order to weaken the central governments - the empire in 
Daresia and the Church here in Eosia. If we're right about the source of 
all of this activity being somewhere in Tamuli, that's the logical place to 
start looking for answers. Where are you right now?' Vanion and I are at 
Sarsos in eastern Astel. You'd better come here, Sparhawk. These 
long-distance conversations tend to blur things.' Sparhawk thought for a 
moment, trying to remember the map of Daresia. 'We'll come overland then. 
I'll find some way to get the others to agree to that.' 
'Try not to take too long, Sparhawk. It's really very important that we 
talk face to face.' 
'Right. Sleep well, little mother.' 

 'I wasn't sleeping.' 

 'Oh? What were you doing?' 

 'Didn't you hear what she told you before, Sparhawk?' his daughter asked 
him. 'Which was what?' 

 'She told you that it was none of your business what she was doing.' 

'What an astonishingly good idea, your Majesty,' Oscagne said later that 
morning when they had all gathered once again in Dolmant's private 
audience-chamber. 'i'd have never thought of it in a million years. The 
leaders of the subject nations of Tamuli don't go to Matherion unless 
they're summoned by his Imperial Majesty.' 

 'The rulers of Eosia are less restrained, your Excellency,' Emban told 
him. 'They have total sovereignty.' 

 'Astonishing. Has your Church no authority over their actions, your 
Grace?' 

 'Only in spiritual matters, I'm afraid.' 

 'isn't that inconvenient?' 

 'You wouldn't believe how much, Ambassador Oscagne,' Dolmant sighed, 
looking at Ehlana reproachfully. 'Be nice, Sarathi,' she murmured. 'Then no 
one is really in charge here in Eosia? No one has the absolute authority to 
make final decisions?' 

 'It's a responsibility we share, your Excellency,' Ehlana explained. 'We 
enjoy sharing things, don't we Sarathi?' 

 'Of course.' Dolmant said it without much enthusiaSm. 'the 
rough-and-tumble, give-and-take nature of Eosian politics have a certain 
utility, Your Excellency,' Stragen drawled. 'Consensus politics gives us 
the advantage of bringing together a wide range of views.' 

 'in Tamuli, we feel that having only one view is far less confusing.' The 
Emperor's view? What happens when the emperor haPPens to be an idiot? Or a 
madman?' 

 'The government usually works around him,' Oscagne admitted blandly. 'Such 
imperial misfortunes seldom live very long for some reason, however.' 

 'Ah,' Stragen said. 'perhaps we should get down to work,' Emban said. He 
crossed the room to a large map of the known world hanging on the wall. 
'The fastest way to travel is by sea,' he noted. 'We could sail from Madel 
in Cammoria out through the Inner Sea and then around the southern tip of 


daresia and then up the east coast to Matherion.' 

'We?' Tynian asked. 'Oh, didn't I tell you?' Emban said. 'i'll be going 
along. Ostensibly, I'll be Queen Ehlana's spiritual advisor. In actuality, 
I'll be the Archprelate's personal envoy.' 

 'it's probably wiser to keep the Elenian flavour of the expedition,' 
Dolmant exPlained, 'for Public consumPtion, anyway. Let's not complicate 
things by sending two separate missions to Matherion simultaneously.' 
Sparhawk had to move quickly, and he didn't have much to work with. 
'TraveLing by ship has certain advantages,' he conceded, 'but I think 
there's a major drawback.'

 'Oh?' Emban said. It satisfies the requirements of a state visit, right 
enough, but it doesn't do very much to address our real reason for going to 
Tamuli. Your Excellency, what's likely to happen when we reach Matherion?' 
'The usual,' Oscagne shrugged. 'Audiences, banquets, reviewing troops, 
concerts, that giddy round of meaningless activity we all adore.' 
'Precisely,' Sparhawk agreed. 'And we won't really get anything done, will 
we?' 

 'Probably not.' 

 'But we aren't going to Tamuli for a month-long carouse. What we're really 
going there for is to find out what's behind all the upheaval. We need 
information, not entertainment, and the information's probably out in the 
hinterlands, not in the capital. I think we should find some reason to go 
across country.' It was a practical suggestion, and it rather neatly 
concealed Sparhawk's real reason for wanting to go overland. Emban's 
expression was pained. 'We'd be on the road for months that way.' 

 'We can get as much done as we'll accomplish in Matherion by staying home, 
your Grace. We have to get outside the Capital.' Emban groaned. 'You're 
absolutely bent on making me ride a horse all the way from here to 
Matherion, aren't you,, Sparhawk?' 

 'You could stay home, your Grace,' Sparhawk suggested. 'We could always 
take Patriarch Bergsten instead. He'd be better in a fight anyway.' 

 'That will do, Sparhawk,' Dolmant said firmly. 'Consensus politics are 
very interesting, Milord Stragen,' Oscagne observed. 'In Matherion, we'd 
have followed the course suggested by the Primate of Ucera without any 
further discussion. We try to avoid raising the possibility of alternatives 
whenever possible.' 

 'Welcome to Eosia, your Excellency,' Stragen smiled. 'Permission to 
speak?' Khalad said politely. 'Of course,' Dolmant replied. Khalad rose, 
went to the map and began measuring distance. 'A good horse can cover ten 
leagues a day, and a good ship can cover thirty - if the wind holds.' He 
frowned and looked around. 'Why is Talen never ' around when you need him?' 
he muttered. 'He can compute these numbers in his head. I have to count 
them up on my fingers.' 

 'He said he had something to take care of,' Berit told him. Khalad 
grunted. 'All we're really interested in is what's going on in Daresia, so 
there's no need to ride across Eosia. We could sail from Madel the way 
Patriarch Emban suggested, go out through the Inner Sea and then up the 
east coast of Zemoch to -' He looked at the map and then pointed. 'To 
Salesha here. That's nine hundred leagues - thirty days. If we were to 
follow the roads, it'd probably be the same distance overland, but that 
would take us ninety days. We'd save two months at least.' 

 'well,' Emban conceded grudgingly, 'that's something, anyway.' Sparhawk 
was fairly sure that they could save much more than sixty days. He looked 
across the room at his daughter, who was playing with her kitten under 
Murtai's watchful eye. Princess Danae was quite frequently present at 
conferences where she had no real business. People did not question her 


presence for some reason. Sparhawk knew that the Child Goddess Aphrael 
could tamper with the passage of time, but he was not entirely certain that 
she could manage it so undetectably in her present incarnation as she had 
when she had been flute. Princess Danae looked back at him and rolled her 
eyes upward with a resigned expression that spoke volumes about his limited 
understanding, and then she gravely nodded her head. Sparhawk breathed 
somewhat easier after that. 'Now we come to the question of the queen's 
security,' he continued. 'Ambassador Oscagne, how large a retinue could my 
wife take with her without raising eyebrows?' 

 'The conventions are a little vague on that score, Sir Sparhawk.' Sparhawk 
looked around at his friends. 'if I thought I could get away with it, I'd 
take the whole body of the militant orders with me,' he said. 'We've 
defined our trip as a visit, Sparhawk,' Tynian said, 'not an invasion. 
Would a hundred armoured knights alarm his Imperial Majesty, your 
Excellency?' 

 'It's a symbolic sort of number,' Oscagne agreed after a moment's 
consideration, 'large enough for show, but not so large as to appear 
threatening. We'll be going through Astel, and you can pick up an escort of 
Atans in the capital at Darsas. A sizeable escort for a state visitor 
shouldn't raise too many eyebrows.' 

 'Twenty-five knights from each order, wouldn't you think, Sparhawk?' 
Bevier suggested. 'The differences in our equipment and the colours of our 
surcoats would make the knights appear more ceremonial than utilitarian. A 
hundred Pandions by themselves might cause concern in some quarters.' 

 'Good idea,' Sparhawk agreed. 'You can bring more if you want, Sparhawk,' 
Mirtai told him. 'There are Peloi on the steppes of Central Astel. They're 
the descendants of Kring's ancestors. He might just want to visit his 
cousins in Daresia.' 

 'Ah yes,' Oscagne said, 'the Peloi. I'd forgotten that you had those 
wild-men here in Eosia too. They're an excitable and sometimes unreliable 
people. Are you certain that this Kring person would be willing to 
accompany us?' 

 'Kring would ride into fire if I asked him to,' Mirtai 

replied confidently. The Domi is much taken with our Mirtai, your 
Excellency,' Ehlana smiled. 'He comes to Cimmura three or four times a year 
to propose marriage to her.' 

 'the Peloi are warriors, Atana,' Oscagne noted. 'You would not demean 
yourself in the eyes of your people were you to accept him.' 

'Husbands take their wives more or less for granted, Oscagne,' Mirtai 
pointed out with a mysterious little smile. 'A suitor, on the other hand, 
is much more attentive, and I rather enjoy Kring's attentions. He writes 
very nice poetry. He compared me to a golden sunrise once. I thought that 
was rather nice.' 

 'you never wrote any poetry for me, Sparhawk,' Ehlana accused her husband. 
'the Elene language is limited, my Queen,' he responded. 'It has no words 
which could do you justice.' 

 'nice try,' Kalten murmured. 'I think we all might want to spend a bit of 
time on some correspondence at this point,' Dolmant told them. There are 
all sorts of arrangements to be made. I'll put a faSt ship at your 
disposal, Ambassador Oscagne. You'll want to advise your emperor that the 
Queen of Elenia's coming to call.' 

'With the Archprelate's permition, I'll communicate with my government by 
dispatch rather than in person. There are social and political 


peculiarities in various parts of the empire. I could be very helpful in 
smoothing her Majestys path if I went with her.' 
'I'll be very pleased to have a civilised man along, your Excellency,' 
Ehlana smiled. 'You have no idea what it'S like being surrounded by men 
whose clothes have been tailored by blacksmiths.' 
Talen entered the chamber with an excited 
expression on his face. Where have you been?' The question came from 
several parts of the room. 'It's such 

a comfort to be so universally loved that my 

activities arouse this breathless curiosity,' the boy said with an 
exaggerated and sardonic bow. 'i'm quite overwhelmed by this demonstration 
of affection.' Ambassador Oscagne looked quizzically at Dolmant. 'It would 
take far too long to explain, your Excellency,' Dolmant said wearily. 'Just 
keep a close watch on your valuables when that boy's in the room.' 
'Sarathi,' Talen protested. 'I haven't stolen a single thing for almost a 
week now.' 

'That's a start, I suppose,' Emban noted. 'Old habits die hard, your 
Grace,' Talen smirked. 'Anyway, since you're all dying to know, I was out 
in the city sort of nosing around, and I ran across an old friend. Would 
you believe that Krager's here in Chyrellos?' 

PART TWO 
Astel 
CHAPTER 7 

Komier, My wife's making a state visit to Matherion in Tamul. We've 
discovered that the present turmoil in Lamorkand is probably originating 
in Daresia, so we're using Ehlana's trip to give us the chance to go there 
to see what we can find out. I'll keep you advised. I'm borrowing 
twenty-five Genidian Knights from your local chapterhouse to serve as a 
part of the honour guard. I'd suggest that you do what you can to keep 
Avin Wargunsson from cementing any permanent alliances with Count Gerrich 
in Lamorkand. Gerich is rather deeply involved in some kind of grand' plan 
that goes far beyond the borders of Lamorkand itself. Dolmant probably 
wouldn't be too displeased if you, Darrellon and Abriel can contrive some 
excuse to go to Lamorkand and step on the fellow's neck. Watch out for 
magic, though. Gerich's getting help from somebody who knows more than 

he's supposed to. Ulath's sending you more details. - Sparhawk. 

isn't that just a little blunt, dear?' Ehlana said, reading over her 
husband's shoulder. She smelled very good. 'Komier's a blunt sort of 
fellow, Ehlana,' Sparhawk shrugged, laying down his quill, 'and I'm not 
really very good at writing letters.' 
'I noticed.' They were in their 
ornate apartments in one of the Church buildings adjoining the Basilica 
where they had spent the day composing messages to people scattered over 
most of the continent. Don't you have letters of your own to write?' 
Sparhawk asked his wife. 'I'm all finished. All I really had to do was 
send a short note to Lenda. He knows what to do.' She glanced across the 
room at Mirtai, who sat patiently snipping the tips off Mmrr's) claws. 
Mmrr was not taking it very well. Ehlana smiled. 'Mirtai's communication 
with Kring was much more direct. She called in an itinerant Peloi and told 


him to ride to Kring with her command to ride to Basne on the Zemoch-Astel 
border with a hundred of his tribesmen. She said that if he isn't waiting 
when she gets there, she'll take it to mean that he doesn't love her.'
Ehlana pushed her pale blonde hair back from her brow. 'Poor Kring,' 
Sparhawk smiled. 'She could raise him from the dead with a message like 
that. Do you think she'll ever really marry him?' 


 'That's very' hard to say, Sparhawk. He does have her attention, though.' 


There was a knock at the door, and Mirtai rose to let Kalten in. 
'It's a beautiful day out there,' the blond man told them. 
'We'll have good weather for the trip.' 


 'How are things coming along?' Sparhawk asked him. 'We're just about all 
ready.' Kalten was wearing a green brocade doublet, and he bowed 
extravagantly to the queen. 'Actually, we are ready. About 'the only things
happening now are the usual redundancies.' 


 'Could you clarify that just a bit, Sir Kalten?' Ehlana said. 
He shrugged. 'Everyone's going over all the things 
everyone else has done to make sure that nothing's been left out.' He 


sprawled in a chair. 'We're surrounded by busybodies, Sparhawk. Nobody 
seems to be able to believe that anybody else can do something right. If 
Emban asks me if the knights are all ready to ride about one more time, I 
think I'll strangle him. He has no idea at all about what's involved in
moving a large group of people from one place to another. Would you believe 
that he was going to try to put all of us on one ship? Horses and all?' 
'That might have been just a bit crowded,' Ehlana smiled. 'How many ships 
did he finally decide on?' 


 'i'm not sure. I still don't know for certain how many people are going. 
Your attendants are all absolutely convinced that you'll simply die without 
their company, my Queen. There are about forty or so who are making ' 
preparations for the trip.' 


 'you'd better weed them out, Ehlana,' Sparhawk suggested. 'I don't want to 
be saddled with the entire court.' 
'I will need a few people, Sparhawk - if only for the 

sake of appearances.' Talen came into the room. The gangly boy was wearing 
what he called his 'street clothes' - slightly mismatched, very ordinary 
and just this side of shabby. He's still out there,' he said, his eyes 
bright. 'who?' Kalten asked. 'Krager. He's creeping around Chyrellos like a 
lost puPPY looking for a home. Stragen's got people from the local thieves' 
community watching him. We haven't been able to figure out exactly what 
he's up to just yet. 'if Martel were still alive, I'd almost say he's 
doing the same sort of thing he used to do - letting himself be seen.' 

 'How does he look?' 

 'worse.' Talen's voice cracked slightly. It was still hovering somewhere 
between soprano and baritone. The years aren't treating Krager very well. 
His eyes look like they've been poached in bacon grease. He looks 
absolutely miserable. ' 
'I think I can bear Krager's misery,' Sparhawk 
noted. He's beginning to make me just a little tired, though. He's been 
sort of hovering around the edge of my awareness for the last ten years or 
more - sort of like a hangnail or an ingrown toenail. He always seems to be 
working for the other side, but he's too insignificant to really worry 
about.' 

 'Stragen could ask one of the local thieves to cut his throat,' Talen 
offered. Sparhawk considered it. 'Maybe not,' he decided. 'Krager's always 


been a good source of information. Tel Stragen that if the opportunity 
happens to come up, we might want to have a little chat with our old 
friend, though. The offer to braid his legs together usually makes Krager 
very talkative.' Ulath stopped by about a half hour later. 'Did you finish 
that letter to Komier?' he asked Sparhawk. 'He has a draft copy, Sir 
Ulath,' Ehlana replied for her husband. 'It definitely needs some polish.' 
'You don't have to polish things for Komier, your Majesty. He's used to 
strange letters. One of my Genidian brothers sent him a report written on 
human skin once.' She stared at him. 'He did what?' 

 'There wasn't anything else handy to write on. A Genidian Knight just 
arrived with a message for me from Komier, though. The knight's going back 
to Emsat, and he can carry Sparhawk's letter if it's ready to go.' 

 'It's close enough,' Sparhawk said, folding the parchment and dribbling 
candle wax on it to seal it. 'What did Komier have to say?' 

'It was good news for a change. All the Trolls have left Thalesia for some 

reason.' 
'Where did they go?' 
'Who knows? Who cares?' 
'The people who live in the country they've gone to might be slightly 

interested,' Kalten suggested. 'That's their problem,' Ulath shrugged. 
'It's funny, though. The Trolls don't really get along with each other. I 
couldn't even begin to guess at a reason why they'd all decide to pack up 
and leave at the same time. The discussions must have been very 
interesting. They usually kill each other on sight.' 
There's not much help I can give you, Sparhawk,' Dolmant' said gravely when 
the two of them met privately later that day. 'The Church is fragmented in 
Daresia. They don't accept the authority of Chyrellos, so I can't order 
them to assist you.' 
Dolmant's face was careworn, 'and his white cassock made his complexion 
look sallow. in a very real sense, Dolmant ruled an empire that stretched 
from Thalesia to Cammoria, and the burdens of his office bore down on him 
heavily. The change they had all noticed in their friend in the past 
several years derived more likely from that than from any kind of inflated 
notion of his exalted station. 'you'll get more co-operation in Astel than 
either Edam or Daconia,' he continued. 'The doctrine of the church of Astel 
is very close to ours - close enough that we even recognise Astellian 
ecclesiastical rank. Edam and Daconia broke away from the Astellian Church 
thousands of years ago and went their own ' way.' The Archprelate smiled 
ruefully. 'The sermons in ' those two kingdoms are generally little more 
than hysterical denunciations of the Church of Chyrellos 'and of me 
personally. They're anti-hierarchical, much like the Renders. If you' 
should happen to go into thOSe tWo kingdoms, you can expect the Church 
there to oppose you. The fact that you're a Church knight will be held 
against you rather than the reverse. The children there are all taught that 
the Knights of the Church have horns and tails. They'll expect you to burn 
churches, murder clergymen and enslave the people.' 

 'I'll do what I can to stay away from those places, Sarathi,' Sparhawk 
assured him. 'Who's in charge in Astel?' The Archimandrite of Darsas is 
nominally the head of the Astellian Church. It's an obscure rank 
approximately the equivalent of our 'patriarch. The Church of Astel's 
organised along monastic lines. They don't have a secular clergy there.' 
'Are there any other significant differences I should know about?' 

 'Some of the customs are different - liturgical variations primarily. I 
doubt that you'll be asked to conduct any services, so that shouldn't cause 
any problems. It's probably just as well. I heard you deliver a sermon 


once. ' Sparhawk smiled. 'We serve in different ways, Sarathi. Our Holy 
Mother didn't hire me to preach to people. How do I address the 
Archimandrite of Darsas - in case I meet him?' 

 'Call him 'your Grace', the same as you would a patriarch. He's an 
imposing man with a huge beard, and there's nothing in Astel that he 
doesn't know about. His priests are everywhere. The people trust them 
implicitly, and they all submit weekly reports to the Archimandrite. The 
Church has enormous power there.' 
'What a novel idea.' 
'Don't mistreat me, Sparhawk. Things haven't 
been going very well for me lately.' 

 'Would you be willing to listen to an assessment, Dolmant?' 
'Of me personally? probably not.' 
'I wasn't talking about that. You're too old to change, I expect. I'm 


talking about your policies in Render. Your basic idea was good enough, but 
you went at it the wrong way.' 
'Be careful, Sparhawk. I've sent men to monasteries 
permanently' for less than that.' 

 'Your policy of reconciliation with the Renders was very sound. I spent 
ten years down there, and I know 
how they think. The ordinary people in Render would really like to be 
reconciled with the Church - if for no other reason than to get rid of all 
the howling fanatics out in the desert. Your policy is good, but you sent 
the wrong people there to carry it out.' 

 'The priests I sent are all experts in doctrine, Sparhawk.' 
'That's the problem. You sent doctrinaire fanatics down there. All they 
want to do is punish the Renders for their heresy.' 

 'Heresy is a sort of problem, Sparhawk.'

 'The heresy of the Renders isn't theological, Dolmant. They worship the 
same God we do, and their body of religous belief is identical to ours. The 
disagreements between us are entirely in the field of Church government. 
The' Church was corrupt when the Renders broke away from us. The members of 
the Hierocracy were sending relatives to fill Church positions in Render, 
and those relatives were parasitic opportunists who were far more 
interested in lining their own purses than caring for the souls of the 
people. When you get right down to it, that's why the Renders started 
murdering primates and priests - and they're doing it for exactly the same 
reason now. You'll never reconcile the Renders to the Church if you try to 
punish them. They don't care who's gOVernIng our Holy Mother. They'll never 
see you personally, my friend, but they will see their local priest 
probably every day. If he spends all his time calling them heretics and 
tearing the veils off their women, they'll kill him. It's as simple as 
that.' Dolmants face was troubled. 'Perhaps I have blundered,' he admitted. 
'Of course if you tell anybody I said that, I'll deny it.' 

'naturally.' 

 'All right, what should I do about it?' Sparhawk remembered something 
then. 'There's a VICar in a poor church in Borrata,' he said. 'He's 
probably the closest thing to a saint I've ever seen, and I didn't even get 
his name. Berit knows what it is though. Disguise some investigators as 
beggars and send them down to Cammoria to observe him. He's exactly the 
kind of man you need.' 

 'Why not just send for him?' 

 'He'd be too tongue-tied to speak to you, Sarathi. He's what they had in 
mind when they coined the word 'humble'. Besides, he'd never leave his 
flock. If you order him to Chyrellos and then send him to Render, he'll 
probably die within six months. He's that kind of man.' Dolmant's eyes 


suddenly filled with tears. 'You trouble me, Sparhawk,' he said. 'You 
trouble me. That's the ideal we all had when we took holy orders.' He 
sighed. 'How did we all get so far away from it?' 

 'You got too much involved in the world, Dolmant,' Sparhawk told him 
gently. 'The church has to live in the world, but the world corrupts her 
much faster than she can redeem' it.' 

 'What's the answer to that problem, Sparhawk?' 
'I honestly don't know, Sarathi. Maybe there isn't any.' 


'Sparhawk.' It was his daughter's voice, and it was somehow inside his 
head. He was passing through the nave of the Basilica, and he quickly knelt 
as if in prayer to cover what he was really doing. 'What is it, Aphrael?' 
he asked silently. 'You don't have to genuflect to me, Sparhawk.' Her voice 
was amused. 'i'm not. If they catch me walking through the corridors 
holding long conversations with somebody who isn't there, they'll lock me 
up in an asylum.' 

 'You look very reverential in that position, though, I'm touched.' 
'Was there something significant, or are you just amusing yourself?' 
'Sephrenia wants to talk with you again.' 
'All right. I'm in the nave right now. Come down and meet me here. We'll 
go up to the cupola again.' 
'I'll meet you up there.' 
'There's only one stairway leading up there, Aphrael. We have to climb it.' 

 'You might have to, but I don't. I don't like going into the nave, 
Sparhawk. I always have to stop and talk with your God, and He's so tedious 
most of the time.' Sparhawk's mind shuddered back 'from the implications of 
that. The dried-out wooden stairs circling up to the top of the dome still 
shrieked their protest as Sparhawk mounted. It was a long climb, and he was 
winded when he reached the top. 'What took you so long?' Danae asked him. 
She wore a simple white smock. It was a little-girl sort of dress, so no 
one seemed to even notice that its cut was definitely Styric. 
'you enJoy saying things like that to me, don't you?' Sparhawk accused. 
'i'm only teasing, father,' she laughed. I hope no one saw you coming up 
here. I don't think the world's ready for a flying princess just yet.' 

 'no one saw me, Sparhawk. I've done ' this before, you know. Trust me.' 
_do I have any choice? Let's get to work. I've still got a lot left to do 
today if we're going to leave tomorrow morning.' She nodded and sat 
cross-legged near one of the huge ,beLs. She lifted her face again and 
raised that flute-like trill. Then her voice drifted off, and her face went 
blank. 'where have you been?' Sephrenia asked, opening , Danae's eyes to 
stare at her pupil.' He .sighed. 'if you two don't stop that, I'm going to 
go into another line of work.' 

 'Has Aphrael been teasing you again?' she asked. 'Of course she has. Did 
you know that she can fly?' 
'i've never seen her do it, but I'd assumed she could.' 

 'What did you want to see me about?' 

 'i've been hearing disturbing rumours. The northern Atans have been seeing 
some very large, shaggy creatures in the forests near their north coast.' 
'So that's where they went.' 

 'Don't be cryptic, dear one.' 
'Komier sent word to Ulath. It seems that the Trolls have all left 
Thalesia.' 

 'The Trolls!' she exclaimed. 'They wouldn't do that! Thalesia's their 
ancestral home.' 
'Maybe you'd better go tell the Trolls about that. Komier swears that 
there's not a single one of them left in Thalesia.' 


 'Something very, very strange is going on here, Sparhawk.' 
'Ambassador Oscagne said more or less the same thing. Can the Styrics 


there at Sarsos make any sense out of it yet?' 
'No. Zalasta's at his wits' end.' 
'Have you come up with any idea at all of who's behind it?' 
'Sparhawk, we don't even know what's behind it. We can't even make a guess 

about the species of whatever it is.' 

 'We sort of keep coming back to the idea that it's the Troll-Gods again. 
Something had to have enough authority over the Trolls to command them to 
leave Thalesia, and that points directly at the Troll Gods. Are we 
absolutely sure that they haven't managed to get loose?' 

 'It's not a good idea to discount any possibility when you're dealing with 
Gods, Sparhawk. I don't know the spell Ghwerig used when he put them inside 
the Bhelliom, so I don't know if it can be broken.' 
'Then it is possible.' 
That's what I just said, dear one. Have you seen that shadow - or the cloud 

-lately?' 
'No.' 
'Has Aphrael ever seen it?' 
'No.' 
'She could tell you, but I'd rather not have her exposed to whatever it 
is. Perhaps we can come up with a way to lure it out when you get here so 
that I can take a look at it. When are you leaving?' 

 'First thing tomorrow morning. Danae sort of told me that she can play 
with time the way she did when we were marching to Acie with Wargun's army. 
That would get us there faster, but can she do it as undetectably now as 
she did when she was Flute?' The beL behind the motionless form of his 
daughter gave a deep, soft-toned sound. 'Why don't you ask me, Sparhawk?' 
Danae's voice hummed in the bell-sound. 'it's not as if I weren't here, you 
know.'

 'How was I supposed to know that?' He waited. well?' he asked the 
still-humming bell. 'Can you?' 

 'well, of course I can, Sparhawk.' The Child Goddess sounded irritated. 
'Don't you know anything?' That will do,' Sephrenia chided. 'He's such a 
lump.' 

 'Aphrael. I said that will do. you will not be disrespectful to your 
father.' A faint smile touched the lips of the apparently somnolent little 
princess. 'Even if he is a hopeless lump.' 
'If you two want to discuss my failings, I'll go back downstairs so you can 
speak freely,' Sparhawk told them. 
'No, that's all right, Sparhawk,' Aphrael said lightly. 'we're all 
friends, so we shouldn't have any secrets from each other.' 

They left Chyrellos the following morning and rode south on the Arcian side 
of the Sarin river in bright morning sunshine with one hundred Church 
Knights in full armour riding escort. The grass along the riverbank was 
very green, and the blue sky was dotted with fluffy white clouds. After 
some discussion, Sparhawk and Ehlana had decided that the attendants she 
would need for the sake of appearances could be drawn for the most part 
from the ranks of the Church Knights. 'Stragen can coach them,' Sparhawk 
had told his wife. 'He's had a certain amount of experience, so he can make 
honest knights look like useless butterflies.' It had been necessary, 
however, to include one ladyin-waiting, Baroness Melidere, a young woman of 
Ehlana's own age with honey-blonde hair, deep blue eyes and an apparently 
empty head. Ehlana also took along a personal maid, a doe-eyed girl named 
Alcan. The two of them rode in the carriage with the Queen, Mirtai, Danae 


and Stragen, who, dressed in his elegant best, kept them amused with light 
banter. Sparhawk reasoned that between them, Stragen and Mirtai could 
provide his wife and daughter with a fairly significant defence if the 
occasion arose. Patriarch Emban was going to be a problem. Sparhawk could 
see that after they had gone no more than a few miles. Emban was not 
comfortable on a horse, and he filled the air with complaints as he rode. 
'That isn't going to work, you know,' Kalten observed about mid-morning. 
'Churchman or not, if the knights have to listen to Emban feel sorry for 
himself all the way across the Daresian continent, he's likely to have some 
kind of an accident before we get to Matherion. I'm ready to drown him 
right now myself, and the river's very handy.' Sparhawk thought about it. 
He looked at the queen's carriage. 'That landau's not quite big enough,' he 
told his friend. 'I think we need something grander. Six horses are more 
impressive than four anyway. See if you can find Bevier.' 
When the olive-skinned Arcian rode forward, Sparhawk explained the 
situation. 'if we don't get Emban off that horse, it's going to take us a 
year to cross daresia. Are you still on speaking terms with your cousin 
Lycien?' 

 'Of course. We're the best of friends.' 
'why don't you ride on ahead and have a chat with him? We need a large 
carriage - roomy enough for eight with six horses probably. We'll put Emban 
and Ambassador Oscagne in the carriage with my wife and her entourage. Ask 
your cousin to locate one for us.' 
'That might be expensive, Sparhawk,' Bevier said dubiously. That's all 
right, Bevier. The Church will pay for it. After a week on horseback, Emban 
should be willing to sign for anything that doesn't wear a saddle. Oh, as 
long as you're going there anyway, have our ships moved upriver to Lycien's 
docks. Madel's not so attractive a city that any of us would enjoy a stay 
there all that much, and Lycien's docks are more conveniently arranged.' 
'Do we need anything else, Sparhawk?' Bevier asked. 'Not that I can think 
of. Feel free to improvise, 'though. Add anything you can think of on your 
way to Madel. 'For once, we have a more or less unlimited budget at our 
disposal. The coffers of the Church are wide open to us.' 
'I wouldn't tell that to Stragen or Talen, my friend,' Bevier laughed. 
'i'll be at Lycien's house. I'll see you when you get there.' He wheeled 
his horse and rode south at a gallop. 'Why didn't you just have him pick up 
another carriage for Emban and Oscagne?' Kalten asked. 'Because I don't 
want to have to defend two when we get to Tamuli.' 

 'Oh. That makes sense - sort of.' They arrived at the house of Sir 
Bevier's cousin the Marquis Lycien, late one afternoon, and met Bevier and 
his stout, florid-faced kinsman in the gravelled court in front of Lycien's 
opulent home. The Marquis bowed deeply to the Queen of Elenia and insisted 
that she accept his hospitality during her stay in Madel. Kalten dispersed 
the knights in Lycien's park-like grounds. 'Did you find a carriage?' 
Sparhawk asked Bevier. Bevier nodded. 'It's large enough for our purposes,' 
he said a bit dubiously, 'but the cost of it may turn Patriarch Emban's 
hair white.' 

 'I wouldn't be too sure,' Sparhawk said. 'Let's ask him.' They crossed the 
gravelled court to where the Patriarch of Ucera stood beside his horse, 
clinging to his saddle-horn with a look of profound misery on his face. 
'Pleasant little ride, wasn't it, your Grace?' Sparhawk asked the fat man 
brightly. Emban groaned. 'I don't think I'll be able to walk for 

a week.' 
'Of course we were only strolling,' Sparhawk continued. 'We'll have to 
move along much faster when we get to Tamuli.' He paused. 'May I speak 


frankly, your Grace?' 


 'You will anyway, Sparhawk,' Emban said sourly. 'Would you really pay any 
attention to me if I objected?' 


 'Probably not. You're slowing us down, you know.' 


 'Well, excuse me.' 


 'You're not really built for horseback riding, Patriarch Emban. Your 
talent's in your head, not your backside. Emban's eyes narrowed with 
hostility. 'Go on,' he 


said in an ominous tone of voice. 'Since we're in a hurry, we've decided to 
put wheels under you. Would you be more comfortable in a cushioned 
carriage; your Grace?' 


 'Sparhawk, I could kiss you!' 


 'i'm a married man, your Grace. My' wife might misunderstand. For security 
reasons, one carriage is far better than two, so I've taken the liberty of 
locating one that's somewhat larger than the one Ehlana rode down from 
Chyrellos. You wouldn't mind riding with her, would you? We thought we'd 
put you and Ambassador Oscagne in the carriage with my queen and her 
attendants. Would that be satisfactory?' 


 'Did you want me to kiss the ground you're standing on, Sparhawk?' 


'Oh, that won't be necessary, your Grace. All you really have to do is 
sign the authorisation for the carriage. This is urgent Church business, 
after all, so the purchase of the carriage is fully justified, wouldn't you 
say?' 


 'where do I sign?' Emban's expression was eager. 'A carriage that large is 
expensive, your Grace, Sparhawk warned him. 'i'd pawn the Basilica itself 
if it'd keep me out of that saddle.' 


 'you see?' Sparhawk said to Bevier as they walked away. 'That wasn't hard 
at all, was it?' 


 'How did you know he'd agree so quickly?' 
'Timing, Bevier, timing. Later 
on, he might have objected to the price. You need to ask that sort of 
question while the man you're asking is still in pain.' 


 'You're a cruel fellow, Sparhawk,' Bevier laughed. 'All sorts of people 
have said that to me from time to time,' Sparhawk replied blandly. 


'My people will finish loading the supplies for your voyage today, 
Sparhawk,' Marquis Lycien said as they rode toward the riverside village 
and its wharves on the edge of his estate. 'You'll be able to sail with the 
morning tide.
'You're a true friend, my lord,' Sparhawk told him. 'You're always 
here when we need you.' 


 'You're exaggerating my benevolence, Sir Sparhawk,' Lycien laughed. 'i'm 
making a very handsome profit by outfitting your vessels.' 


 'I like to see friends get on in the world.' Lycien looked back over his 
shoulder at the Queen of Elenia, who rode a grey palfrey some distance to 
the rear. 'You're the luckiest man in the world, Sparhawk,' he observed. 
'Your wife is the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.' 


 'i'll tell her you said that, Marquis Lycien. I'm sure she'll be pleased.' 
Ehlana and Emban had deCided to accompany them as they rode down to the 
Marquis' enclave on the river, Ehlana to inspect the accommodations aboard 
ship, and Emban to have a look at the carriage he had just purchased. The 
flotilla moored to Lycien's wharves consisted of a dozen large, well-fitted 
vessels, ships which made the merchantmen moored nearby look scruffy by 
comparison. Lycien led the way through the village which had grown up
around the wharves toward the river, which sparkled in the morning sun. 



'Master Cluff!' the voice was not unlike a fog-horn. Sparhawk turned in his 
saddle. 'Well strike me down if it isn't Captain Sorgi!' he said with 
genuine pleasure. He liked the blunt, silvery-haired sea captain with whom 
he had spent so many hours. He swung down from Faran's back and warmly 
clasped his friend's hand. 'I haven't seen you in a dog's age, Master 
Cluff,' Sorgi said expansively. 'Are you still running from those cousins?' 
Sparhawk pulled a long face and sighed mournfully. It was just too good an 
opportunity to pass up. 'No,' he replied in a 'broken voice, 'not any more, 
I'm afraid. I made the mistake of staying in an ale-house in Apalia up in 
northern Pelosia for one last tankard. The cousins caught up with me 
there.' 

'Were you able to escape?' Sorgi's face mirrored his concern. 

'There were a dozen of them, Captain, and they were on me before I could 
even move. They clapped me in irons and took me to the estate of the ugly 
heiress I told you about.' They didn't force you to marry her, did they?' 
Sorgi asked, sounding shocked. . 'i'm afraid so, my friend,' Sparhawk said 
in a tragic voice. 'That's my wife on that grey horse there.' He pointed at 
the radiant Queen of Elenia. Captain Sorgi stared, his eyes growing wider 
and his mouth gaping open. 'Horrible, isn't it?' Sparhawk said with a 
brokenhearted catch in his voice. 

CHAPTER 8 

Baroness Melidere was a pretty girl with hair the colour of honey and eyes 
as blue as a summer sky. She did not have a brain in her head - at least 
that was what she wanted people to believe. In actuality, the Baroness was 
probably more clever than most of the people in Ehlana's court, but she 
had learned early in life that people with limited intelligence feel 
threatened by pretty, clever young women, and she had perfected a vapid, 
empty-headed smile, a look of blank incomprehension and a silly giggle. 
She erected these defenses as the situation required and kept her own 
counsel. Queen Ehlana saw through the subterfuge and even encouraged it. 
Melidere was very observant and had excellent hearing. People tend not to 
pay much attention to brainless girls, and they say things in their 
presence they might not ordinarily say. Melidere always reported these 
conversational lapses back to the queen, and so Ehlana found the Baroness 
useful to have around. Melidere, however, drove Stragen absolutely wild. 
He knew with complete certainty that she could not be as stupid as she 
appeared, but he could never catch her off Guard. Alcan, the queen's maid, 
was quite another matter. Her mind was very ordinary, but her nature was 
such that people automatically loved her. She was sweet, gentle and very 
loving. She had brown hair and enormous, soft brown eyes. She was shy and 
modest and seldom spoke. Kalten looked upon her as his natural prey, much 
as the wolf looks upon deer with a proprietary sense of ownership. Kalten 
was fond of maids. they did not usually threaten him, and he could 
normally proceed with them without any particular fear of failure. The 
ship in which they sailed from Madel that spring was well-appointed. It 
belonged to the Church and it had been built to convey high-ranking 
churchmen and their servants to various parts of Eosia. There is a certain 
neat, cosy quality about ship cabins. They are uniformly constructed of 
dark-stained wood, the oily stain being a necessary protection for wood 
which is perpetually exposed to excessive humidity. The furniture is 
stationary, resisting all efforts to rearrange it, since it is customarily 
bolted to the floor to prevent its migration from one part of the cabin to 


another in rough weather. Since the ceiling of a ship's cabin is in 
reality the underside of the deck overhead where the sailors are working, 
the dark supporting beams are subStantial. In the particular vessel upon 
which the Queen' of Elenia and her entourage sailed, there was a large 
cabin in the stern with a broad window running across the back of the 
ship. It was a sort of floating audience chamber, and it was ideally 
suited for gatherings. Because of the window at the back, the cabin was 
light and airy, and, since the vessel was moved by her sails, the wind 
always came from astern, and it efficiently carried the smell of the 
bilges forward for the crew to enjoy in their cramped quarters in the 
forecastle. On the second day out, Sparhawk and Ehlana dressed themselves 
in plain, utilitarian garments and went up to what had come to be called 
'the throne-room' from their private cabin just below. Alcan was preparing 
Princess Danae's breakfast over a cunning little utensil which was part 
lamp and part stove. Alcan prepared most of Danae's meals, since she 
accepted the child's dietary prejudices without question. There was a 
polite knock, and then Kalten and Stragen entered. Kalten bore himself 
strangely, half crouched, twisted off to one side and quite obviously in 
pain. 'What happened to you?' Sparhawk asked him. 'I tried to sleep in a 
hammock,' Kalten groaned. 'Since we're at sea, I thought it was the thing 
to do. I think I've ruined myself, Sparhawk.' Mirtai rose from her chair 
near the door. 'Stand still,' she peremptorily ordered the blond man. 
'What are you doing?' he demanded suspiciously. 'Be quiet.' She ran one 
hand up his back, gently probing with her fingertips. 'Lie down on the 
floor,' she commanded, 'on your stomach.' 

 'Not very likely.' 

 'Do you want me to kick your feet out from under you?' 
Grumbling, he painfully lowered himself to the deck. 
'is this going to hurt?' he asked. 'It won't hurt me a bit,' she assured 
him, removing her sandals. 'Try to relax.' Then she started to walk on him. 
There were crackling noises and loud pops. There were also gasps and cries 
of pain as Kalten writhed under her feet. She finally paused, thoughtfully 
probing at a stubborn spot between his shoulder blades with her toes. Then 
she rose up on her toes and came down quite firmly. Kalten's shriek was 
strangled as his breath whooshed 

out, and the noise that came from his back was very loud, much like the 
sound which might come from a tree trunk being snapped in two. He lay face 
down, gasping and groaning. 'Don't be such a baby,' Mirtai told him 
heartlessly. 'Get up.' 

 'I can't. You've killed me.' She picked him up by one arm and set him on 
his feet. 'Walk around,' she commanded him. 'Walk? I can't even breathe.' 
She drew one of her daggers. 'All right. All right. Don't get excited. I'm 
walking.' 

 'Swing your arms back and forth.' 

'Why?' 
'just do it, Kalten. You've got to loosen up those muscles.' He walked back 
and forth, swinging his arms and gingerly turning his head back and forth. 
'You know, I hate to admit it, but I do feel better - much better 
actually.' 

 'Naturally.' She put her dagger away. 'You didn't have to be so rough, 
though.' 
'I can put you back into exactly the same condition as you were when you 
came in, if you'd like.' 
'No. That's quite all right, Mirtai.' He said it very quickly and backed 
away from her. Then; always the opportunist, he sidled up to Alcan. 'Don't 


you feel sorry for me?' he asked in an insinuating voice. 'Kalten!' Mirtai 
snapped. 'No!' 

 'I was only -' She smacked him sharply on the nose with two fingers, much 
as one would do to persuade a puppy to give up the notion of chewing on a 
pair of shoes. That hurt,' he protested putting his hand to his nose. 'It 
was meant to. Leave her alone.' 
'Are you going to let her do that, Sparhawk?' Kalten appealed to his 
friend. do as she says,' Sparhawk told him. 'Leave the girl alone.' 

 'your morning's not going too well, is it, Sir Kalten?' Stragen noted. 
Kalten went off to a corner to sulk. The others drifted in, and they all 
sat down to the breakfast two crewmen brought from the galley. Princess 
Danae sat alone near the large window at the stern where the salt-tinged 
breeze would keep the smell of pork sausage from her delicate nostrils. 
After breakfast, Sparhawk and Kalten went up on deck for a breath of air 
and stood leaning on the port rail watching the south coast of Cammoria 
slide by. The day was particularly fine. The sun was very bright, and the 
sky very blue. There was a good following breeze, and their ship, her white 
sails spread wide, led the small flotilla across the white-cap-speckled 
sea. 'The captain says that we should pass Miruscum about noon,' Kalten 
said. 'We're making better time --than we expected.' 

 'We've got a good breeze,' Sparhawk agreed. 'How's your back?' 
'Sore. I've got bruises from my hips to my neck.' 
'At least you're standing up straight.' Kalten grunted sourly. 'Mirtai's 


very direct, isn't she? I still don't know exactly what to make of her. 
What I mean is, how are we supposed to treat her? She's obviously a woman.' 
'You've noticed.' 

 'Very funny, Sparhawk. What I'm getting at is the fact that you can't 
really treat her like a woman. She's as big as Ulath, and she seems to 
expect us to accept her as a comrade in arms.' 

'So?' 
'It's unnatural.' 
'just treat her as a special case. That's what I do. It's 


easier than arguing with her. Are you in the mood for a bit of advice?' 
'That depends on the advice.' 

 'Mirtai feels that it's her duty to protect the royal family and she's 
extended that to include my wife's maid. I'd strongly recommend that you 
curb your instincts. We don't fully understand Mirtai, and so we don't know 
exactly how far she'll go. Even if Alcan seems to be encouraging you, I 
wouldn't pursue the matter. It could be very dangerous.' 

 'The girl likes me,' Kalten objected. 'I've been around long enough to 
know that.' 
'You might be right, but I'm not sure if that'll make any difference to 
Mirtai. Do me a favour, Kalten. Just leave the girl alone.' 

 'But she's the only one on board ship,' Kalten protested. 'You'll live.' 
Sparhawk turned and saw Patriarch Emban and Ambassador Oscagne standing 
near the stern. They were an oddly matched pair. The Patriarch of Ucera had 
laid aside his cassock for the voyage and wore instead a brown jerkin over 
a plain robe. He was very nearly as wide as he was tall, and he had a 
florid face. Oscagne, on the other hand, was a slight man with fine bones 
and little flesh. His skin was a pallid bronze colour. Their minds, 
however, were very similar. They were both consummate politicians. Sparhawk 
and Kalten drifted back to join them. 'All power comes from the throne in 
Tamuli, your Grace,' Oscagne was explaining. 'Nothing is done there except 
at the express instruction of the emperor.' 

 'We delegate things in Eosia, your Excellency,' Emban told him. 'We pick a 
good man, tell him what we want done and leave the details up to him.' 


'We've tried that and it doesn't really work in our culture. Our religion 
is fairly superficial, and it doesn't encourage the kind of personal 
loyalty Yours does.' 

 'your emperor has to make all the decisions?' Emban asked a bit 
incredulously. 'How does he find the time!' Oscagne smiled. 'No, no, your 
Grace. Day-to-day decisions are all taken care of by custom and tradition. 
We're great believers in custom and tradition. It's one of our more serious 
failings. Once a Tamul moves out of those realms, he's obliged to 
improvise, and that's when he usually gets into trouble. His improvisations 
always seem to be Guided by self-interest, for some reason. We've 
discovered that it's best to discourage these expeditions into free 
decision-making. By definition, the emperor is all-wise anyway, so it's 
probably best to leave these things in his hands.' 

 'A standard definition isn't always very accurate, your Excellency. 
'All-wise' means different things when it's applied to different people. We 
have one ourselves. We like to say that the Archprelate is guided by the 
voice' of God. There have been a number of Archprelates in the past who 
didn't listen very well, though.' 

 'We've noticed the same sort of thing, your Grace. The definition 'all 
wise' does seem to have a wide range of meaning. To be honest with you, my 
friend, we've had some frightfully stupid emperors from time to time. We're 
rather fortunate just now though. Emperor Sarabian is moderately 
accomplished.'

 'What's he like?' Emban asked intently. 'He's an institution, 
unfortunately. He's as much at the mercy of custom and tradition as we are. 
He's obliged to speak in formulas, so it's almost impossible to get to know 
him.' The ambassador smiled. 'The visit of Queen Ehlana may just jerk him 
into humanity. He'll have to treat her as an equal - for political reasons 
and he was raised to believe that he didn't have any equals. I hope your 
lovely blonde queen is gentle with him. I think I like him - or I would if 
I could get past all the formalities - and it would just be too bad if she 
happened to say something that stopped his heart.' 

 'Ehlana knows exactly what she's doing every minute of the day, your 
Excellency,' Emban assured him. 'You and I are babies compared to her. You 
don't have to tell her I said that, Sparhawk.' 

 'What's my silence worth to you, your Grace?' Sparhawk grinned. ,Emban 
glowered at him for a moment. 'What are we likely to encounter in Astel, 
your Excellency?' 

 'Tears, probably,' Oscagne replied. 'I beg your pardon?' 

 'The Astels are an emotional people. They cry at the drop of a 
handkerchief. Their culture is much like that of the kingdom of Pelosia. 
They're tediously devout and invincibly backward. It's been demonstrated to 
them over and over again that serfdom is an archaic, inefficient 
institution, but they maintain it anyway - largely at the connivance of the 
serfs themselves. Astellian nobles don't exert themselves in any way, so 
they have no concept of the extent of human endurance. Their serfs take 
advantage of that outrageously. Astellian serfs have been known to collapse 
from sheer exhaustion at the very mention of such unpleasant words as 
'reaping' or 'digging' . The weepy nobles are tender-hearted, so the serfs 
get away with it almost every time. Western Astel's a silly place filled 
with silly people. That changes as one moves east.' 

 'One would hope so. I'm not certain just how much silliness I can -' It 
was that same flicker of darkness at the very edge of Sparhawk's vision, 
and it was accompanied by that same chill. Patriarch Emban broke off 
turning his head quickly to try to see it more clearly. 'What? - ?' 

 'it'll pass,' Sparhawk told him tersely. 'try to concentrate on it, your 


Grace, and you as well, if you don't mind, your Excellency.' They were' 
seeing the shadow for the first time, and their initial reactions might be 
useful. Sparhawk watched them closely as they tried to turn their heads to 
look directly at the annoying darkmess just beyond the range of sight. Then 
the shadow was gone. 'All right,' Sparhawk said crisply, 'Exactly what did 
you see?' 

 'I couldn't see anything,' Kalten told him. 'It was like having someone 
trying to sneak up behind me.' Although Kalten had seen the cloud several 
times, this was the first time he had encountered the shadow. 'What was it, 
Sir Sparhawk?' Ambassador Oscagne asked. 'I'll explain in a moment, your 
Excellency. Please try to remember exactly what you saw and felt.' 

 'It was something dark,' Oscagne replied, 'very dark. It seemed to be 
quite substantial, but somehow it was able to move just enough to stay 
where I couldn't quite see it. No matter how quickly I turned my head or 
moved my eyes, it was never where I could see it directly. It felt as if it 
were standing just behind my head.' Emban nodded. 'And it made me feel 
cold.' He shuddered. 'i'm still cold, as a matter of fact.' 

 'It was unfriendly, too,' Kalten added. 'Not quite ready to attack, but 
very nearly.' 

 'Anything else?' Sparhawk asked them. 'Anything at all - no matter how 
small.' 

 'There was a peculiar odour,' Oscagne told him. Sparhawk looked at him 
sharply. He had never noticed that. 'Could you describe it at all, your 
Excellency?' 

 'I seemed to catch the faintest smell of tainted meat a haunch or a side 
that had been left hanging for perhaps a week too long.' Kalten grunted. 'I 
caught that too, Sparhawk just for a second, and it left a very bad taste 
in my mouth.' Emban nodded vigorously. 'i'm an expert on flavours. It was 
definitely rotten meat.' 

 'We were sort of standing in a semi-circle,' Sparhawk mused, 'and we all 
saw - or sensed - it right behind us. Did any of you see it behind anybody 
else?' They all shook their heads. 'Would you please explain this, 
Sparhawk?' Emban said irritably. ''In just a moment, your Grace.' Sparhawk 
crossed the deck to a sailor who was splicing a loop into the bight of a 
rope. He spoke with the tar-smeared man for a few minutes and then 
returned. 'He saw it too,' he reported. 'Let's spread out and talk with the 
rest of the sailors on deck. I'm not being deliberately secretive, 
gentlemen, but let's get what information we can from the sailors before 
they forget the incident entirely. I'd like to know just how widespread 
this visitation was.' It was about a half hour later when they gathered 
again near the aft companionway, and they had all begun to exhibit a kind 
of excitement. 'One of the sailors heard a kind of crackling noise like a 
large fire,' Kalten reported. 'I talked to one fellow, and he thought there 
was a kind of reddish tinge to the shadow,' Oscagne added. 'No,' Emban 
disagreed. 'It was green. The sailor I talked with said that it was 
definitely green.' 

 'And I spoke with a man who'd just come up on deck, and he hadn't seen or 
felt a thing,' Sparhawk added. This is all very interesting, Sir Sparhawk,' 
Oscagne said, 'but could you please explain it to us?' 

 'Kalten already knows, your Excellency,' Sparhawk replied. 'It would 
appear that we've just been visited by the Troll-Gods.' 

 'Be careful, Sparhawk,' Emban warned, 'you're walking on the edge of 
heresy.' 

 'The Church Knights are permitted to do that, your Grace. Anyway, that 
shadow's followed me before, and Ehlana's seen it too. We'd assumed it was 
because we were wearing the rings. The stones in the rings were fashioned 


from shards of the Bhelliom. The shadow seems to be a little less selective 
now.' 

 'That's all it is? just a shadow?' Oscagne asked him. Sparhawk shook his 
head. 'It can also show up as a very dark cloud, and everybody can see 
that.' 

 'But not the things that are concealed in it,' Kalten added. 'Such as 
what?' Oscagne asked. Sparhawk gave Emban a quick sidelong glance. 'It 
would start an argument, your Excellency, and we don't really want to spend 
the morning in a theological debate, do we?' 

 'i'm not all that doctrinaire, Sparhawk,' Emban protested. 'What would be 
your immediate response if I told you 

that humans and Trolls are related, your Grace?' 

 'i'd have to investigate the condition of your soul.' 

 'Then I'd probably better not tell you the truth about our cousins, 
wouldn't you say? Anyway, Aphrael told us that the shadow - and later the 
cloud - were manifestations of the Troll-Gods.' 

 'Who's Aphrael?' Oscagne asked. 'We had a tutor in the Styric arts when we 
were novices, your Excellency,' Sparhawk explained. 'Aphrael is her 
Goddess. We thought that the cloud was somehow related to Azash, but we 
were wrong about that. The reddish colour and the heat 'that one sailor 
sensed was Khwaj, the God of Fire. The greenish colour and that rotten 
meat-smell was Ghnomb, the God of Eat.' Kalten was frowning. 'I thought it 
was just one of those things you might expect from sailors,' he said, 'but 
one fellow told me that he had some rather overpowering thoughts about 
women while the shadow was lurking behind him. Don't the Trolls have a God 
of maiting?' 

 'I think so,' Sparhawk replied. 'Ulath would know.' 

 'This is all very interesting, Sir Sparhawk,' Oscagne said dubiously) but 
I don't quite see its relevance.' 

 'You've . been encountering supernatural incidents that seem to be 
connected to the turmoil in Tamuli, your Excellency. There's almost exactly 
the same sort of disturbances cropping up in Lamorkand, and the same Sort 
of unnatural events accompanying them. We were questioning a man who knew 
some things about it once, and the cloud engulfed him and killed him before 
he could talk. That strongly suggests some kind of connection. The shadow 
may have been present in Tamuli as well, but no one would have recognised 
it for what it really is.' 

 'Zalasta was right then,' Oscagne murmured. 'You are the man for this 
job.' 

 'The Troll-Gods are following you again, Sparhawk,' Kalten said. 'What is 
this strange fascination they seem to have with you? We can probably 
discount your looks - but then again, maybe not. They're used to Trolls, 
after all.' Sparhawk looked meaningfully at the ship rail. 'How would you 
like to run alongside the ship for a while, Kalten?' 

 'No, that's all right, Sparhawk. I got all the exertion I need for the day 
when Mirtai decided to use me for a rug.' The wind held, and the sky 
remained clear. They rounded the southern tip of Zemoch and sailed up the 
east coast in a northeasterly direction. Once, when Sparhawk and his 
daughter were standing in the bow, he decided to satisfy a growing 
curiosity. 'How long have we actually been at sea, Danae?' he asked her 
directly. 'five days,' she replied. 'It seems like two weeks or more.' 
'Thank you, father. Does that answer your question about how well I can 
manage time?' 

 'We certainly haven't eaten as much in five days as we would have in two 
weeks. Won't our cooks get suspicious?' 


 'Look behind us, father. Why do you suppose all those fish are gleefully 
jumping out of the water? And what are all those seagulls doing following 
us?' 

 'Maybe they're feeding.' 

 'Very perceptive, Sparhawk, but what could possibly be out there for that 
many of them to eat? Unless, of course, somebody's been throwing food to 
them off the aft deck.' 

 'When do you do that?' 

 'At night,' she shrugged. 'The fish are terribly grateful. I think they're 
right on the verge of worshipping me.' She laughed. 'I've never been 
worshipped by fish before, and I don't really speak their language very 
well. It's mostly bubbles. Can I have a pet whale?' 

 'No. You've already got a kitten.' 

'I'll pout.' 

 'It makes you look silly, but go ahead if you feel like it. ' 

 'Why can't I have a whale?' 

 'Because they can't be housebroken. They don't make good pets.' 

 'That's a ridiculous answer, Sparhawk.' 

 'It was a ridiculous request, Aphrael.' 

The port of Salesha at the head of the Gulf of Daconia was an ugly city 
that reflected the culture which had prevailed in Zemoch for nineteen 
hundred years. The Zemochs appeared to be confused by what had happened in 
their capital six years before. No matter how often they were assured that 
Otha and Azash were no more, they still tended to start violently at sudden 
loud noises, and they generally reacted to any sort of surprise by running 
away. 'i'd strongly advise that we spend the night on board our ships, your 
Majesty,' Stragen advised the queen after he had made a brief survey of the 
accommodations available in the city. 'I wouldn't kennel dogs in the finest 
house in Salesha.' 

 'That bad?' she asked. 'Worse, my Queen.' And so they stayed on board and 
set out early the following morning. The road they followed north was truly 
bad, and the cariage in which the queen and her entourage rode jolted and 
creaked as their column wound up into the low range of mountains lying 
between the coast and the town of Basne. After they had been travelling for 
no more than an hour, Talen rode forward. As the queen's page, it was , one 
of the boy's duties to carry messages for her. Talen was not alone on his 
horse this time, however. Sparhawk's daughter rode behind him, her arms 
about his waist and her cheek resting against his back. 'She wants to ride 
with you,' Talen told Sparhawk. 'your wife, Emban and the ambassador are 
talking politics. The princess kept yawning in their faces until the queen 
gave her permission to get out of the carriage.' Sparhawk nodded. The 
suddenly-acquired timidity of the Zemochs made this part of the trip fairly 
safe. He reached over and lifted his daughter onto Faran's back in front of 
his saddle. 'I thought you liked politics,' he saiD to her after Talen had 
returned to his post beside the carriage. 'Oscagne's describing the 
organisation of the Tamul Empire,' she replied. 'I already know about that. 
He's not making too many mistakes.' 

 'Are you going to shrink the distance from here to -Basne?' 

 'Unless you enjoy long, tedious journeys through baring terrain. Faran and 
the other horses appreciate my shortening things up a bit, don't you 
Faran?' The big roan nickered enthusiastically. 'He's such a nice horse,' 
Danae said, leaning back against her father's armoured chest. 'Faran? He's 
a foul-tempered brute.' 

 'That's because you expect him to be that way, father. He's only trying to 
please you.' She rapped on his armour. 'i'm going to have to do something 


about this,' she said. 'How can you stand that awful smell?' 

 'You get used to it.' The Church Knights were all wearing full armour, and 
brightly-coloured pennons snapped from their lances. Sparhawk looked around 
to be sure no one was close enough to overhear them. 'Aphrael,' he said 
quietly, 'can you arrange things so that I can see real time?' 

 'Nobody can see time, Sparhawk.' 
'You know what I mean. I want to see what's really going on, not the 


illusion you create to keep what you're doing a secret.' 
'Why?' 
'I like to know what's going on, that's all.' 
'You won't like it,' she warned. 'i'm 'a Church Knight. I'm supposed to do 

things I don't like.' 

 'if you insist, father.' He was not entirely certain what he had expected 
some jerky, accelerated motion, perhaps, and the voices of his friends 
sounding like the tWittering of birds as they condensed long conversations 
into little bursts of unintelligible babble. That was not what happened, 
however. Faran's gait became impossibly smooth. The big horse seemed almost 
to flow across the ground - or, more properly, the ground seemed to flow 
back beneath his hooves. Sparhawk swallowed hard and looked around at his 
companions. Their faces seemed blank, wooden, and their eyes half-closed. 
'They're sleeping just now,' Aphrael explained. 'They're all quite 
comfortable. They believe that they've had a good supper and that the sun's 
gone down. I fixed them a rather nice camp-site. Stop the horse, father. 
You can help me get rid of the extra food.' 

 'Can't you just make it vanish?' 
'And waste it?' She sounded shocked. 'The birds and animals have to eat 


too, you know.' 
'How long is it really going to take us to reach Basne?' 
'Two days. We could go faster if there was an emergency, but there's 

nothing quite that serious going on just now.' Sparhawk reined in, and he 
followed his little daughter back to where the pack animals stood 
patiently. 'you're keeping all of this in your head at the same time?' he 
asked her. 'It's not that difficult, Sparhawk. You just have to pay 
attention to details, that's all.' 

 'you sound like Kurik.' 

 'He'd have made an excellent God, actually. Attention to detail is the 
most important lesson we learn. Put that beef shoulder over near that tree 
with the broken-oFf top. There's a bear-cub back in the bushes who got 
separated from his mother. He's very hungry.' 

 'Do you keep track of every single thing that's happening around you?' 
well somebody has to, Sparhawk.' 

The Zemoch town of Basne lay in a pleasant valley where the main east-west 
road forded a small, sparkling river. It was a fairly important trading 
centre. Not even Azash had been able to curb the natural human instinct to 
do business. There was an encampment just outside of town. Sparhawk had 
dropped back to return Princess Danae to her mother, and he was riding 
beside the carriage as they started down into the valley. Mirtai seemed 
uncharacteristically nervous as the carriage moved down toward the 
encampment. 'It appears that your admirer has obeyed your summons, Mirtai,' 
Baroness Melidere observed brightly. 'Of course,' the giantess replied. 'It 
must be enormously satisfying to have such absolute control over a man.' 

 'I rather like it,' Mirtai admitted. 'How do I look? Be honest, Melidere. 
I haven't seen Kring for months, and I wouldn't want to disappoint him.' 
'You're lovely, Mirtai.' 

 'You're not just saying that?' 


 'Of course not.' 

 'What do you think, Ehlana?' the Tamul woman appealed to her owner. Her 
tone was a bit uncertain. 'You're ravishing, Mirtai.' 
'I'll know better when I see his face.' Mirtai paused. 'Maybe I should 
marry him,' she said. 'I think I'd feel much more secure if I had my brand 
on him.' She rose, opening the cariage door and leaning out to pull her 
tethered horse up from behind the carriage and then quite literally flowed 
onto his back. Mirtai never used a saddle. 'Well,' she sighed, 'I guess I'd 
better go down there and find out if he still loves me.' And she tapped her 
heels into her horse's flanks and galloped on down into the valley to meet 
the waiting Domi. 

CHAPTER 9 

The Peloi were nomadic herders from the marches of eastern Pelosia. They 
were superb horsemen and savage warriors. They spoke a somewhat archaic 
form of Elenic, and many of the words in their tongue had fallen out of 
use in the modern language. Among those words was 'Domi', a word filled 
with profoundest respect. It meant 'Chief' - sort of - although, as Sir 
Ulath had once said, it lost a great deal in translation. The current Domi 
of the Peloi was named Kring. Kring was a lean man of slightly more than 
medium height. As was customary among the men of his people, he shaved his 
head, and there were savage-looking saber scars on his scalp and face, an 
indication that the process of rising to a position of leadership among 
the Peloi involved a certain amount of rough-and-tumble competition. He 
wore black leather clothing, and a lifetime spent on horseback had made 
him bandy-legged. He was a fiercely loyal friend, and he had worshipped 
Mirtai from the moment he had first seen her. Mirtai did not discourage 
him, although she refused to commit herself. They made an odd-looking 
couple, since the Atan woman towered more than a foot over her ardent 
suitor. Peloi hospitality was generous, and the business of 'taking salt 
together' usually involved enormous amounts of roasted meat, during the 
consumption of which the men 'spoke of affairs', a phrase with many 
implications ranging in subject matter from the weather to formal 
declarations of war. After they had eaten, Kring described what he had 
observed during the ride of the hundred Peloi across Zemoch. 'It never 
really was a kingdom, friend Sparhawk,' he said. 'Not the way we 
understand the word. There are too many different kinds of people living 
in Zemoch for them all to come together under one roof. The only thing 
that kept them united was their fear of Otha and Azash. Now that their 
emperor and their God aren't there any more, the Zemochs are just kind of 
drifting apart. There's not any sort of war or anything like that. It's 
just that they don't stay in touch with each other any more. They all have 
their own concerns, so they don't really have any reason to talk to each 
other.' 

 'is there any kind of government at all?' Tynian asked the shaved-headed 
Domi. 'There's a sort of a framework, friend Tynian,' Kring replied. They 
were sitting in a large, open pavilion in the centre of the Peloi 
encampment feasting on roast ox. The sun was just going down and the 
shadows of the peaks lying to the west lay long across the pleasant valley. 
There were lights in the windows of Basne a half mile or so away. 'The 
departments of Otha's government have all moved to Gama Dorit,' Kring 
elaborated. 'Nobody will even go near the city of Zemoch any more. The 
bureaucrats in Gama Dorit spend their time writing directives, but their 
messengers usually just stop in the nearest village, tear up the 
directives, wait a suitable period of time, and then go back and tell their 


employers that all is going well. The bureaucrats . are happy, the 
messengers don't have to travel very far, and the people go on about their 
business. Actually, it's not a bad form of government.' 

 'And their religion?' Sir Bevier asked intently. Bevier was a devout young 
knight, and he spent a great deal of his time talking and thinking about 
God. His companions liked him in spite of that. 'They don't speak very much 
about their beliefs, friend Bevier,' Kring replied. 'It was their religion 
that 'got them into trouble in the first place, so they're a bit shy about 
discussing the matter openly. They grow their crops, tend their sheep and 
goats and let the Gods settle their own disputes. They're not a threat to 
anybody any more . ' 

 'Except for the fact that a disintegrated nation is an open invitation to 
anyone nearby with anything even remotely resembling an army,' Ambassador 
Oscagne added. 'Why would anyone want to bother, your Excellency?' Stragen 
asked him. 'There's nothing in Zemoch of any value. The thieves there have 
to get honest jobs in order to make ends meet. Otha's gold appears to have 
been an illusion. It all vanished when Azash died.' He smiled sardonically. 
'And you have no idea of how chagrined any number of people who'd supported 
the Primate of Cimmura were when that happened.' 

 ' Something rather peculiar happened to Kring's face. 'The savage horsemen 
whose very name struck fear into the hearts of his neighbour went first 
pale, then bright red. Mirtai had emerged from the women's pavilion to 
which Peloi custom had relegated her and the others. Strangely, Queen 
Ehlana had not even objected, a fact that caused Sparhawk a certain 
nervousness. Mirtai had taken advantage of the accommodations within the 
pavilian to make herself 'presentable'. Kring, quite obviously, was 
impressed. you'll excuse me,' he said, rising quickly ' and moving directly 
toward the lode-star of his life. 'I think we're in the presence of a 
legend in the making,' Tynian noted. 'The Peloi will compose songs about 
Kring and Mirtai for the next hundred years at least.' He looked at the 
Tamul ambassador. 'is Mirtai behaving at all the way other Atan women do, 
your Excellency? She obviously likes Kring's attentions, but she simply 
won't give him a definite answer.' 

 'The Atana's doing what's customary, Sir Tynian,' Oscagne replied. 'Atan 
women believe in long, leisurely courtships. They find being pursued 
entertaining, and most men turn their attention to other matters after the 
wedding. For this period of time in her life, she knows that she's the 
absolute centre of the Domi's attention. Women, I'm told, appreciate that 
sort of thing.'

 'She wouldn't just be leading him on, would she?' Berit asked. 'I like the 
Domi, and I'd hate to see him get his heart broken.' 
'Oh, no, Sir Berit. She's definitely interested. If she found his 
attentions annoying, she'd have killed him a long time ago.' 

 'Courtship among the Atans must be a very nervous business,' Kalten 
observed. 'Oh, yes,' Oscagne laughed. 'A man must be very careful. If he's 
too aggressive, the woman will kill him, and if he's not aggressive enough, 
she'll marry someone else.' 

 'That's very uncivilised,' Kalten said disapprovingly. 'Atan women seem to 
enjoy it, but then, women are more elemental than we are.' 

They left Basne early the following morning and rode eastward toward Esos 
on the border between Zemoch and the kingdom of Astel. It was a peculiar 
journey for Sparhawk. It took three days, he was absolutely certain of 
that. He could clearly remember every minute of those three days and every 
mile they travelled. And yet his daughter periodically roused him when he 
was firmly convinced that he was sleeping in a tent, and he would be 


startled to find that he was dozing on Faran's back instead and that the 
position of the sun clearly indicated that what had appeared to be a full 
day's travel had taken less than six hours. Princess Danae woke her father 
for a very practical reason during what was in reality no more than a 
one-day ride. The addition of the Peloi had greatly increased the amount of 
stores that had to be carefully depleted each 'night', and Danae made her 
father help her dispose of the excess. 'What did you do with all the 
supplies when we were travelling with Wargun's army?' Sparhawk asked her on 
the second 'night' which actually consumed about a half hour during the 
early afternoon of that endless day. 'I did it the other way,' she 
shrugged. 'Other way?' 

 'I just made the excess go away.' 
'Couldn't you do that this time too?' 
'Of course, but then I couldn't leave it for the animals. Besides, this 


gives you and me the chance to talk when nobody's around to hear us. Pour 
that sack of grain under those bushes, Sparhawk. There's a covey of quail 
back in the grass. They haven't been eating very well lately, and the 
chicks are growing very fast) right now. ' 

 ' was there something you wanted to talk about?' he asked her, slitting 
open the grain sack with his dagger. nothing special,' she said. 'I just 
like talking with you, and you're usually too busy.' 

 'And this gives you a chance to show off too, doesn't it?' 

 'I suppose it does, yes. It's not all that much fun being a Goddess if you 
can't show off just a little bit now and then.' I love you,' he laughed. . 
'Oh, that's very nice, Sparhawk!' she exclaimed happily. 'Right from the 
heart and without even thinking about it. Would you like to have me turn 
the grass lavender for you - just to show my appreciation.' 
I'll settle for a kiss. Lavender grass might confuse the horses.' They 
reached Esos that evening. The Child Goddess so perfectly melded real and 
apparent time that they fitted together seamlessly. Sparhawk was a Church 
Knight, and he had been trained in the use of magic, but his imagination 
shuddered back from the kind of power possessed by this whimsical little 
divinity' who, she had announced during the confrontation with Azash in the 
City of Zemoch, had willed herself into existence, and who had decided 
independently to be reborn as his daughter. They set up for the night some 
distance from town, and after they had eaten, Talen and Stragen took 
Sparhawk aside. 'What's your feeling about a bit of reconnoitring?' Stragen 
asked the big Pandion. 
'What did you have in mind?' 

 'Esos is a fair-sized town,' the blond Thalesian replied, 'and there's 
sure to be a certain amount of organisation among the thieves there. I 
thought the three of us might be able to pick up some useful information by 
getting in touch with their leader.' 

 'Would he know you?' 
'I doubt it. Emsat's a long way away from here.' 


'What makes you think he'd want to talk with you?' 
'Courtesy, Sparhawk. Thieves and murderers are 

exquisitely courteous to each other. It's healthier that way.' 
'if he doesn't know who you are, how will he know 

that he's supposed to be courteous toward you?' 
'There are certain signals he'll recognise.' 
'You people have a very complex society, don't you?' 
'All societies are complex, Sparhawk. It's one of the 


burdens of civilisation.' 

 'Someday you'll have to teach me these signals.' 

'No, I don't think so.' 

'Why not?' 

 'Because you're not a thief. It's another of those complexities we were 
talking about. The point of all of this is that all we have to work with is 
the ambassador's rather generalised notion of what's going on. I think I'd 
like something a bit more specific,' wouldn't you?' 

 'That I would, my friend.' 

 'Why don't we drift on into Esos and see what we can find out then?' 

 'Why don't we?' The three of them changed into nondescript clothing and 
rode away from the encampment, circling around to the west' to approach the 
town from that direction. As they approached, Talen looked critically at 
the fortifications and the unguarded gate. 'They seem a little relaxed when 
you consider how close they are to the Zemoch border,' he observed. 'Zemoch 
doesn't pose much of a threat any more,' Stragen disagreed. 'Old customs 
die hard, Milord Stragen, and it hasn't been all that long since Otha was 
frothing at the frontier with Azash standing right behind him.' I doubt 
that these people found Azash to be all that impressive,' Sparhawk said. 
'Otha's God didn't have any reason to come this way. He was looking west, 
because that's where Bhelliom was.' I .suppose you're right,' Talen 
conceded. Esos was not a very large town, perhaps about the size of the 
city of Lenda in central Elenia. There was a kind of archaic quality about 
it, though, since there had been a town on this spot since the dawn of 
time. The cobbled streets were narrow and crooked, and they wandered this 
way and that without any particular reason. 'How are we going to find the 
part of town where your colleagues stay?' Sparhawk asked Stragen. 'We can't 
just walk up to some burgher and ask him where we'll find the thieves, can 
we?' 

 'We'll take care of it,' Stragen smiled. 'Talen, go ask some pickpocket 
where the thieves' den is around here. ' 

 'Right,' Talen grinned, slipping down from his horse. 'That could take him 
all night,' Sparhawk said. 'Not unless he's been struck blind,' Stragen 
replied as the boy moved off into a crowded byway. 'I've seen six 
pickpockets since we came into town, and I wasn't even looking very hard.' 
He pursed his lips. 'Their technique's a little different here. It probably 
has to do with the narrow streets.' 

 'What would that have to do with it?' 

 'People jostle each other in tight quarters,' Stragen shrugged. 'A 
pickpocket in Emsat or Cimmura could never get away with bumping into a 
client the way they do here. It's more efficient, I'll grant you, but it 
establishes bad work-habits.' Talen returned after a few minutes. 'It's 
down by the river,' he reported. 'inevitably,' Stragen said. 'Something 
seems to draw thieves to rivers. I've never been able to figure out why.' 
Talen shrugged. 'It's probably so that we can swim 

for it in case things go wrong. We'd better walk. Mounted men attract too 
much attention. There's a stable down at the end of the street where we can 
leave the horses.' They spoke briefly with the surly stableman and then 
proceeded on foot. The thieves' den in Esos was in a shabby tavern at the 
rear of a narrow cul-de-sac. A crude sign depicting a bunch of grapes hung 
from a rusty hook just over the door, and a pair of burley loafers sprawled 
on the doorstep drinking ale from battered tankards. 'We're looking for a 
man named Djukta,' Talen told them. 'What was it about?' one of the loafers 


growled suspiciously. 'Business,' Stragen told him in a cold tone. 'Anybody 
could say that,' the unshaven man said, rising to his feet with a thick 
cudgel in his hand. 'This is always so tedious,' Stragen sighed to 
Sparhawk. Then his hand flashed to the hilt of his rapier, and the slim 
blade came whistling out of its sheath. 'Friend,' he said to the loafer, 
'unless you want three feet of steel between your breakfast and your 
supper, you'll stand aside.' The needle-like point of the rapier touched 
the man's belly suggestively. The other ruffian sidled off to one side, his 
hand reaching furtively toward the handle of his dagger. 'I wouldn't,' 
Sparhawk warned him in a dreadfully quiet voice. He pushed his cloak aside 
to reveal his mail-shirt and the hilt of his broadsword. 'i'm not entirely 
positive where your breakfast or your supper are located just now, 
neighbour, but I'll probably be able to pick them out when your guts are 
lying in the street.' The fellow froze in his tracks, swallowing hard. The 
knife,' Sparhawk grated. 'Lose it.' The dagger clattered to the 
cobblestones. i'm so happy that we could resolve this little problem 
without unpleasantness,' Stragen drawled. 'Now why don't we all go inside 
so you can introduce us to Djukta?' The tavern had a low ceiling and the 
floor was covered with mouldy straw. It was lit by a few crude lamps that 
kburned melted tallow. 

djukta was by far the hairiest man Sparhawk had ever seen. His arms and 
hands seemed to be covered with curly black fur. Great wads of hair 
protruded from the neck of his tunic, his ears and nostrils looked like 
bird's nests, and his beard began just under his lower eyelids. 'What's 
this?' he demanded, his voice issuing from somewhere behind his shaggy rug 
of a face. 'They made us let them come inside, Djukta,' one of the men from 
the doorway whined, pointing at Stragen's rapier. Djukta's piggish eyes 
narrowed dangerously. 'Don't be tiresome,' Stragen told him, 'and pay 
attention. I've given you the recognition signal twice already, and you 
didn't even notice.' 

 'I noticed, but coming in here with a sword in your hand isn't the best 
way to get things off to a 'good start.' 

'We were a little pressed for time. I think we're being followed.' Stragen 

sheathed his rapier. 'You're not from around here, are you?' 
'no. We're from Eosia.' 
'You're a long way from home.' 
'That was sort of the idea. Things were getting unhealthy back there.' 

'What line are you in?' 

 'We're vagabonds 
at heart, so we were seeking fame and fortune on the 
highways and byways of Pelosia. A high-ranking churchman suddenly fell ill 
and died while we were talking business with him, and the Church Knights 
decided to investigate the causes of his illness. My friends and I decided 
to find fresh scenery to look at right about then.' 

 'Are those Church Knights really as bad as they say?' 
'Worse, probably. The three of us are all that's left of a band of 


thirty,.' 
'Are you planning to go into business around here?' 
'We haven't decided yet. We thought we'd look things 

over first - and make sure that the knights aren't still following us.' 
'Do you feel like telling us your names?' 
'Not particularly. We're not sure we're going to stay and there's not much 

point in making up new names if we're not going to settle down.' Djukta 


laughed. 'if you aren't sure you're going into business, what's the reason 
for this visit?' 

 'Courtesy, for the most part. It's terribly impolite not to pay a call on 
one's colleagues when one's passing through a town, and we thought it might 
save a bit of time' if you could spare a few minutes to give us a rundown 
on local practices in the field of law-enforcement.' 

 'I've never been to Eosia, but I'd imagine that things like that are 
fairly standard. Highwaymen aren't held in high regard.' we're so 
misunderstood,' Stragen sighed. 'They have the usual sheriffs and the like, 
I suppose?' There are sheriffs right enough,' Djukta said, 'but they don't 
go out into the countryside very often in this part of Astel. The nobles 
out there more or less police their own estates. The sheriffs are usually 
involved in collecting taxes, and they aren't all that welcome when they 
ride out of town.' That's useful. All we'd really have to deal with would 
be poorly-trained serfs who fare better at catching diidcen-thieves than at 
dealing with serious people. Is that more or less the way it is?' Pjukta 
nodded. 'The good part is that these serfsheriffs won't go past the borders 
of their own estate.' That's a highwayman's dream,' Stragen grinned. not 
entirely,' Djukta disagreed. 'It's not a good idea to make too much noise 
out there. The local sheriff wouldn't chase you, but he would send word to 
the Atan garrison up in Canae. A man can't run far enough or fast enough to 
get away from the Atans, and nobody's ever taught them how to take 
prisoners.' That could be a drawback,' Stragen conceded. 'is there anything 
else we should know about?' did you ever hear of Ayachin?' 

'I can't say that I have.' 

'That could get you into all kinds of trouble. 'Who is he?' Djukta turned 
his head. 'Akros,' he called, 'come here 

and tell our colleagues here about Ayachin.' He shrugged and spread his 
hands. 'i'm not too well-versed in ancient history,' he explained. 'Akros 
used to be a teacher before he got caught stealing from his employer. He 
may not be too coherent. He has a little problem with drink.' Akros was a 
shabby-looking fellow with bloodshot 

eyes and a five-day growth of beard. 'What was it you wanted, Djukta?' he 
asked, swaying on his feet. 'Sort through what's left of your brain and 
tell our friends here what you can remember about Ayachin.' The drunken 
pedagogue smiled, his bleary eyes coming alight. He slid into a chair and 
took a drink from his tankard. 'i'm only a little drunk,' he said, his 
speech slurred. 'That's true,' Djukta told Stragen. 'When he's really 

drunk, he can't even talk.' 

 'How much do you gentlemen know of the history of Astel?' Akros asked 
them.. 'Not too much,' Stragen admitted. 'I'll touch the high spots then.' 
Akros leaned back in his chair. 'It was in the ninth century that one of 
the Archprelates in Chyrellos decided that the Elene faith ought to be 
re-united - under his domination, naturally. ' 

 'Naturally,' Stragen smiled. 'It always seems to get down to that, doesn't 
it?' Akros rubbed at his face. 'i'm a little shaky on this, so I might 
leave some things out. This was before the founding of the Church knights, 
so this Archprelate forced the Kings of Eosia to provide him with armies, 
and they marched through Zemoch. That was before Otha was born, so Zemoch 
wasn't much of a barrier. The Archprelate was interested in religious 
unity, but the noblemen in his army were more interested in conquest. They 


ravaged the kingdom of Astel until Ayachin came.' Talen leaned forward, his 
eyes bright. It was the boy's one weakness. A good story could paralyze 
him. Akros took another drink. 'There are all sorts of conflicting stories 
about who Ayachin really was,' he continued. 'Some say he was a prince, 
some that he was a baron, and there are even those who say he was only a 
serf. Anyway, whoever he was, he was a fervent patriot. He roused such 
noblemen as hadn't yet gone over to . the invaders, and then he did 
something no one had ever dared do before. He armed the serfs. The campaign 
'against the invaders lasted for years, and after a fairly large battle 
that he seemed to lose, Ayachin fled southward, luring the Eosian armies 
into the Astel marshes in the south of the kingdom. He'd made secret 
alliances with patriots in Edam, and there was a huge army lining the 
southern fringe of the marshes. Serfs who lived in the region guided 
Ayachin's armies through the bogs and quicksand, but the Eosians tried to 
just bull their way through, and most of them drowned, pulled under by all 
that muck. The few who reached the far side were slaughtered by the 
combined forces of Ayachin and his Edomish allies. He was a great national 
hero for a time, of course, till the nobles who had been outraged because 
he'd armed the serfs conspired against him, and he was eventually murdered. 
' 

 'why do these stories always have to end that way?' Talen complained. 'Our 
young friend here is a literary critic,' Stragen said. 'He wants his 
stories to all have happy endings.' The ancient history is all well and 
good,' Djukta growled, 'but the point of all this is that Ayachin's 
returned - or so the serfs say.' 

 'It's a part of the folk-lore of Astel,' Akros said. 'Serfs 

used to tell each other that someday a great crisis would arise, and that 
Ayachin would rise from the grave to lead them again.' 

Stragen sighed. 'Can't anyone come up with a new story?' 
'What's that?' Djukta asked him. 

'Nothing, really. There's a similar story making the rounds in Eosia. Why 
would this concern us if we decided to go into business around here?' 
'Part of that folk-lore Akros was telling' you about is something that 
makes everybody's blood run cold. The serfs believe that when Ayachin 
returns, he's going to emancipate them. Now there's a hot-head out there 
stirring them up. We don't know his real name, but the serfs call him 
'Sabre'. He's going around telling them that he's actually seen Ayachin. 
The serfs are secretly gathering weapons - or making them. They sneak out 
into the forests at night to listen to this 'Sabre' make speeches. You 
should probably know that they're out there, since it might be dangerous if 
you happened upon them unexpectedly.' Djukta scratched at his shaggy beard. 
'I don't normally feel this way, but I wish the government would catch this 
Sabre fellow and hang him or something. He's got the serfs all worked up 
about throwing off the oppressors, and he's not too specific about which 
oppressors he means. He could be talking about the Tamuls, but many of his 
followers think he's talking about the upper classes. Restless serfs are 
dangerous serfs. Nobody knows how many of them there really are, and if 
they begin to get wild ideas about equality and justice, God only knows 
where it might end.' 

Chapter 10 

%'We'd go a long way toward understanding the situation if we could 


pinpoint just exactly what he is after, Emban added. 'Opportunity,' Ulath 
suggested. 'if everything's all settled and the wealth and power have all 
been distrib-uted, there's nothing left for the people coming up the 
ladder. The only way they can get their share is to turn everything upside 
down and shake it a few times.' 

 'That is a brutal political theory, Sir Ulath,' Oscagne said 
disapprovingly. 'It's a brutal world, your Excellency,' Ulath shrugged. 

'i'd have to disagree,' Bevier stubbornly asserted. 'Go right ahead, my 
young friend,' Ulath smiled. 'I don't mind all that much when people 
disagree with me.' 

 'There is such a thing as genuine political progress. The people's lot is 
much better now than it was five hundred years ago.'

 'Granted, but what's it going to be like next year?' 

Ulath leaned back in his saddle, his blue eyes speculative. 'Ambitious 
people need followers, and the best way to get people to follow you is to 
promise them that you're going to correct everything that's wrong with the 
world. The promises are all very stirring, but only babies expect leaders 
to actually keep them.' 

 'You're a cynic, Ulath.' 

 'I think that's the word people use, yes. 

The weather grew increasingly threatening as the morning progressed. A 
thick bank of purplish cloud marched steadily in from the west, and there 
were flickers of lightning along the horizon. 'It's going to rain, isn't 
it?' Tynian asked Khalad. Khalad looked pointedly toward the cloud-bank. 
'That's a fairly safe bet, Sir Knight,' the young man replied. 'How long 
until we start to get wet?' 

 'An hour or so - unless the wind picks up.' 

 'What do you think, Sparhawk?' Tynian asked. 'Should we look for some kind 
of shelter?' There was a far-off rumble of thunder from the west. 'I think 
that answers that question,' Sparhawk decided. 'Men dressed in steel don't 
have any business being out in a thunderstorm.' 

 'Good point,' Tynian agreed. He looked around. 'The next question is 
where? I don't see any woods around.' we might have to set up the tents.' 
That's awfully tedious, Sparhawk.' 

 'So's being fried in your armour if you get struck by lightning.' kring 
came riding back toward the main column with a small, two-wheeled carriage 
following him. The man in the cariage was blond, plump and soft-looking. He 
wore clothing cut in a style which had gone out of fashion in the west 
forty years ago. 'This is the landowner Kotyk,' the Domi said to Sparhawk. 
'He calls himself a baron. He wanted to meet you.' 

 'I am overwhelmed to meet the stalwarts of the church, Sir Knights,' the 
plump man gushed. we are honoured, Baron Kotyk,' Sparhawk replied, 
inclining his head politely. 'My manor house is nearby,' Kotyk rushed on, 
'and I do' foresee unpleasant weather on the horizon. Might I offer my poor 
hospitality?' 

 'As I've told you so many times in the past, Sparhawk,' Bevier said 
mildly, 'you have but to put your trust in God. He will provide.' Kotyk 
looked puzzled. 'A somewhat feeble attempt at humour, my Lord,' Sparhawk 
explained. 'My companions and I were just discussing our need for shelter. 
Your most generous offer solves a rather vexing problem for us.' Sparhawk 
was not familiar with local customs, but the Baron's ornate speech hinted 
at a somewhat stiff formality. 'I note that you have ladies in your 
company,' Kotyk observed, looking toward the carriage in which Ehlana rode. 


'Their comfort must be our first concern. We can become better acquainted 
once we are safely under my roof.' 
'We shall be guided by you, my Lord,' Sparhawk 

agreed. 'I pray you, lead us whither you will, and I shall inform the 
ladies of this fortuitous encounter.' If Kotyk wanted formal, Sparhawk 
would give him formal. He wheeled Faran and rode back along the column. 
'Who's the fat fellow in the carriage, Sparhawk?' Ehlana asked. 'Speak not 
disparagingly of our host, light of my life.' 

'Aren't you feeli'ng well?' 
'The fat fellow has just offered us shelter from that thunderstorm 

snapping at our heels. Treat him with gratitude if not respect.' 
'What a nice man.' 
'It might not be a bad idea for us to sort of keep your identity to 

ourselves. We don't know exactly what we're walking into. Why don't I just 
introduce you as an aristocrat of some kind, and -' 
'A Margravine, I think,' she improvised. 'Margravine Ehlana of Cardos.' 
'Why Cardos?' 
'It's a nice district with mountains and a beautiful coastline. Absolutely 
perfect climate and industrious, law-abiding people.' 

 'You're not trying to sell it to him, Ehlana.' But I need to know the 
pertinent details so that I can gush suitably.' Sparhawk sighed. 'All 
right, my Lady, practise gushing then, and come up with suitable stories 
for the others.' He looked at Emban. 'Are your morals flexible enough to 
stand a bit of falsehood, your Grace?' Sparhawk asked. 'That depends on 
what you want me to lie about, Sparhawk.' 

 'It won't exactly be a lie, your Grace,' Sparhawk smiled. 'if we demote my 
wife, you'll be the ranking member of our party. The presence of Ambassador 
Oscagne here suggests a high-level visit of some sort. I'll just tell Baron 
Kotyk that you're the Archprelate's personal emissary to the Imperial 
court, and that the Knights are your escort instead of the Queen's.' That 
doesn't stretch my conscience too far,' Emban grinned. 'Go ahead, Sparhawk. 
You lie, and I'll swear to it. Say whatever you have to. That storm is 
coming this way very fast.' Talen,' Sparhawk said to the boy, who was 
riding beside the carriage, 'sort of move up and down the column and let 
the knights know what we're doing. A . misplaced 'your Majesty'' or two 
could expose us all as frauds.' 

' 

 'your husband shows some promise, Margravine Ehlana,' Stragen noted. 'Give 
me some time to train him a bit, 'and I'll make an excellent swindler of 
him. His instincts are good, but his technique's a little shaky.' 

 'Baron Kotyk's manor house was a palatial residence in a park-like 
setting, and there was a fair-sized village at the foot of the hill upon 
which it stood. There were a number of large out-buildings standing to the 
rear of the main house. 'Fortunately, Sir Knights, I have ample room for 
even so large a party as yours,' the baron told them. The quarters for the 
bulk of your men may be a bit 'crude, though, I'm afraid. They're 
dormitories for .fire harvest crews. ' 

 ' we're Church Knights, my Lord Kotyk,' Sparhawk replied. 'We're 
accustomed to hardship.' -'' Kotyk sighed. 'We have no such institution 
here,' he mourned. 'There are so many things lacking in our poor, backward 
country.' They approached the manor house by a long, white-travelled drive 
lined on both sides by lofty elms and halted at the foot of the broad stone 
stairs leading up to an arched front door. The baron climbed heavily down 


from his carriage and handed his reins to one of the bearded serfs who had 
rushed from the house to meet them. 'I pray you, gentles all,' he said, 
'stand not on ceremony. Let us enter ere the approaching storm descend upon 
us.' Sparhawk could not be certain if the Baron's stilted speech was a 
characteristic of the country, a personal idiosyncracy, or a nervous 
reaction to the rank of his visitors. He motioned to Kalten and Tynian. 
'See to it that the knights and the Peloi are settled in,' he told them 
quietly. 'Then join us in the house. Khalad, go with them. Make sure that 
the serfs don't just leave the horses standing out in the rain.' The door 
to the'manor house swung wide, and three ladies dressed in antiquated gowns 
emerged. One was tall and angular. She had a wealth of dark hair and the 
lingering traces of youthful beauty. The years had not been kind to her, 
however. Her rigid, haughty face was lined, and she had a noticeable 
squint. The other two were both blonde, flabby, and their features clearly 
revealed a blood relationship to the baron. Behind them came a pale young 
man. dressed all in black velvet. He seemed to have a permanent sneer 
stamped on his face. His dark hair was done in long curls that cascaded 
down his back in an artfully-arranged display. After the briefest of 
introductions Kotyk led them all 

inside. The tall, dark-haired lady was the baron's wife, Astansia. The two 
blondes were, as Sparhawk had guessed, his sisters, Ermude the elder and 
Katina the younger. The pale young man was Baroness Astansia's brother, 
Elron, who she proudly advised them was a poet in a voice hovering on the 
verge of adoration. 'Do you think I could get away with pleading a sick 
headache?' Ehlana murmured to Sparhawk as they followed the baron and his 
family down a long, tapestry-lined coridor toward the centre of the house. 
'This is going to be deadly, I'm afraid.' 

 ''If I have to put up with it, so do you,' Sparhawk whispered. 'We need 
the baron's roof, so we'll have to endure his hospitality.' She sighed. 'It 
might be a little more endurable if the whole place didn't reek of cooked 
cabbage.' They were led into a 'sitting-room' that was only slightly 
smaller than the throne-room in Cimmura, a musty-smelling room filled with 
stiff, uncomfortable chairs and divans and carpeted in an 
unwholesomelooking mustard yellow. 'We are so isolated here,' Katina sighed 
to the Baroness Melidere, 'and so dreadfully out of fashion. My poor 
brother tries as best he can to keep abreast of what's happening in the 
west, but our remote location imprisons us and keeps visitors from our 
door. Ermude and I have tried over and over to persuade him to take a house 
in the capital where we can be near the centre of things, but she won't 
hear of it. The estate came to my brother by marriage, and his wife's so 
terribly provintial. Would you believe that my poor sister and I are forced 
to have our gowns made up by serfs?' . Melidere , put her palms to her 
cheeks in feigned . horor. 'My goodness!' she exclaimed. Katina reached for 
her handkerchief as tears of misery began to roll down her cheeks. 
'Wouldn't your Atan be more comfortable with the soldiers, Margravine?' 
Baroness Astansia was asking ,looking with some distaste at Mirtai. 

I rather doubt it,Baroness,' Ehlana replied, 'and even if she were, I 
wouldn't be. I have powerful enemies, my Lady, and my husband is much 
involved in the affairS of Elenia. The queen relies heavily upon him, and 
so I must look to my own defences.' 

 'I'll admit that your Atan is imposing, Margravine,' Astansia sniffed, 
'but she's still only a woman, after all.' Ehlana smiled. 'You might tell 
that to the ten men she's already killed, Baroness,' she replied. The 
Baroness stared at her in horror. 'The Eosian continent has a thin veneer 


of civilisation, my Lady,' Stragen advised her, 'but underneath' it all, 
we're really quite savage.' 
'It's a tedious journey, Baron Kotyk,' Patriarch Emban 

said, 'but the Archprelate and the emperor have been in communication with 
each other since the collapse of Zemoch, and they both feel that the time 
has come to exchange personal envoys. Misunderstandings can arise in the 
absence of direct contact, and the world has seen enough of war for a 
while.' 

 'A wise decision, your Grace.' Kotyk was quite obviously overwhelmed by 
the presence of people of exalted station in his house. 'I have some small 
reputation in the capital, Sir Bevier,' Elron was saying in a lofty tone of 
voice. 'My poems are eagerly sought after by the intelligentsia. They're 
quite beyond the grasp of the unlettered, however. I'm particularly noted 
for my ability to convey colours. I do think that colour is the very soul 
of the real world. I've been working on my Ode to Blue for the past six 
months.' 

 'Astonishing perseverance,' Bevier murmured. 

'I try to be as thorough as possible,' Elron declared. 'I've already 
composed two hundred and sixty-three stanzas, and there's no end in sight, 
I'm afraid.' Bevier sighed. 'As a Knight of the Church, I have little time 
for literature,' he mourned. 'Because of my vocation, I must concentrate on 
military texts and devotional works. Sir Sparhawk is more worldly than I, 
and his descriptions of people and places verge sometimes on the poetic.' 
'I should be most interested,' Elron lied, his face revealing a 
professional's contempt for the efforts of amateurs. 'Does he touch at all 
on colour?' 

 'More with light, I believe,' Bevier replied, 'but then they're the same 
thing, aren't they? Colour doesn't exist without light. I remember that 
once he described a street in the city of Jiroch. The city lies on the 
coast of Render where the sun pounds the earth like a hammer. Very early in 
the morning, before the sun rises, and when the night is just beginning to 
fade, the sky has the colour of forged steel. It casts no shadows, and so 
everything seems etched by that sourceless grey. The All untaught, they 
move with a grace beyond the capability of dancers. Their silent, 
beautiful' procession marks each day's beginning as, like shadows, they 
greet the dawn in a ritual as old as time. Have you ever seen that peculiar 
light before the sun rises, Elron?' 

 'I seldom rise before noon,' the young man said stiffly. 'You should make 
an effort to see it sometime,' Bevier sugggested mildly. 'An artist should 
be willing to make some sacrifices for his art, after all.' 

I trust you'llexcuse me,' the young fellow with the dark curls said 
brusquely. He bowed slightly and then left, a mortified expression 
replacing his supercilious sneer. That was cruel, Bevier,' Sparhawk chided, 
'and you put words in my mouth. I'll admit that you have a certain flair 
for language though.' : .'It had the desired effect, Sparhawk. If that 
conceited young ass had patronised me about one more time, i'd have 
strangled him. Two hundred some odd verses in an ode to the colour blue? 
What a donkey.' 

 'The next time he bothers you about blue, describe Bhelliom to him.' 
Bevier shuddered. 'Not me, Sparhawk. Just the thought of it makes my blood 
run cold.' Sparhawk laughed and went over to the window to look at the rain 
slashing at the glass. Danae came to his side and took his hand. 'Do we 
really have to stay here father?' she asked. 'These people turn my 


stomach.' 

 'We need some place to shelter' us from the rain, Danae.' 

 'I can make it stop raining, if that's all you're worried 

about. If one of those disgusting women starts talking baby-talk to me one 
more time, I'm going to turn her into a toad.' 

 'I think I have a better idea.' Sparhawk bent and 

picked her up. 'Act sleepy,' he instructed. Danae promptly went limp 'and 
dangled from his arms like a rag doll. 'You're overdoing it,' he told her. 
He crossed to the far side of the room, gently laid her on a divan and 
covered her with her traveling cloak. 'Don't snore,' he advised. 'You're 
not old enough to snore yet.' She gave him an innocent little look. 'I 
wouldn't do that, Sparhawk. Find my cat and bring her to me.' Then her 
smile turned hard. 'Pay close attention to our host and his family, father. 
I think you should see what kind of'people they really are.' 

'What are you up to!' 

 'Nothing. I just think you should see what they're really like.' 

 'I can see quite enough already.'No, not really. They're trying to be 
polite, so they're glossing over things. Let's take a look at the truth. 
For the rest of the evening, they'll tell you what they really think and 
feel.' 

 'i'd rather they didn't.' 

 'you're supposed to be brave, Sparhawk, and this 'horrid little family is 
typical of the gentry here in Astel. Once you understand them, you'll be 
able to see what's wrong with the kingdom. It might be useful.' Her eyes 
and face grew serious. 'There's something here, Sparhawk - something we 
absolutely have to know.' ,''What?' I'm not sure. Pay attention, father. 
Somebody's going to tell you something important tonight. Now go find my 
cat.' 

The supper they were offered was poorly prepared, and the conversation at 
the table was dreadful. Freed of constraintt by Danae's spell, the baron 
and his family said things' they might normally have concealed, and their 
spiteful, seLf-pitying vanity emerged all the more painfully under the 
influence of the inferior wine they all quaffed like common tavern 
drunkards. I was not intended for this barbaric isolation,' Katina confided 
to poor Melidere. 'Surely God could not have meant for me to bloom 
unnoticed so far from the balls and gaiety of the capital. We were cruelly 
decieved before my brothers marriage to that dreadful woman. Her Parents 
led us to believe that the estate ' would bring us wealth and position, but 
it scarcely provides enough to keep us in this hovel. There's no hope that 
we shall ever be able to afford a house in Darsas.' she buried her face in 
her hands. 'What shall become of me?' she waLed. 'The lights, the balls, 
the hordes of Morslrmry flocking to my door, dazzled by my wit and' 

 'Oh. don't cry, Katina,' Ermude waled. 'if you cry, I shall surely cry 
too.' The sisters were so similar in appearance that Sparhawk had some 
difficulty telling them apart. Their plumpness was more like dough than 
flesh. Their colourless hair was limp and uninspired, and their complexions 
were bad. Neither of them was really very clean. 'I try so hard to protect 
my poor sister,' Ermude blubbered to the long-suffering Melidere, 'but this 
dreadful place is destroying her. There's no culture here. We live like 
beasts - like serfs. It's so meaningless. Life should have meaning, but 
what possible meaning can there be so far from the capital? That horrid 
woman won't permit our poor brother to sell this desolate waste so that we 
can take a proper residence in Darsas. We're trapped here - trapped, I tell 


you - and we shall live out our lives in this hideous isolation.' Then she 
too buried her face in her hands and wept. Melidere sighed, rolling her 
eyes ceilingward. 'I have some influence with the governor of the 
district,' Baron Kotyk was telling patriarch Emban with pompous 
self-importance. 'He relies heavily on my judgement. We've been having a 
deuce of a time with the burghers in town - untitled rascals, every one of 
them - runaway serfs, if the truth were known. They complain bitterly at 
each new tax and try to shift the burden to us. We pay quite enough in 
taxes already, thank you, and they're the ones who are demanding all the 
services. What good does it do me if the streets in town are paved? It's 
the roads that are important. I've said that to his Excellency the governor 
over and over again.' The baron was deep in his cups. His voice was 
slurred, and his head wobbled on his neck. 'All the burdens of the district 
are placed on our shoulders,' he declared, his eyes filling with 
self-pitying tears. 'I must support five hundred idle serfs - serfs so lazy 
that not even flogging can get any work out of them. It's all so unfair. 
I'm an aristocrat, but that doesn't count for anything any more.' The tears 
began to roll down his cheeks, and his nose started to run. 'No one seems 
to realise that the aristocracy is God's special gift to mankind. The 
burghers treat us no better than commoners. Considering our divine origins, 
such disrespect is the worst form of impiety. I'm sure your Grace agrees.' 
The Baron sniffed loudly. Patriarch Emban's father had been a tavern-keeper 
in the city of Ucera, and Sparhawk was fairly sure that the fat little 
churchman most definitely did not agree. Ehlana had been trapped by the 
baron's wife, and she was beginning to look a little desperate. 'The 
estate's mine, of course,' Astansia declared in a coldly haughty voice. 'My 
father was in his dotage when he married me off to that fat swine.' She 
sneered. 'Kotyk only had those piggish little eyes of his on the income 
from my estate. My father was so impressed with the idiot's title that he 
couldn't see him for what he really is, a titled opportunist with two fat, 
ugly sisters hanging from his coat-tails.' She sneered, and then the sneer 
slid from her face, and the inevitable tears filled her eyes. 'I can only 
find solace for my tragic state in religion, my beloved brother's art and 
in the satisfaction I take in making absolutely sure that those two 
harridans never see the lights of Darsas. They'll rot here - right up until 
the moment my pig of a husband eats and' drinks himself to death. Then I 
shall turn them out with nothing but the clothes on their backs.' Her hard 
eyes became exultant. 'I can hardly wait,' she said fiercely. 'I shall have 
my revenge, and then my sainted brother and I can live here in perfect 
contentment.' Princess Danae crawled up into her father's lap. lovely 
people, aren't they?' she said quietly. 'Are you making all this up?' he 
asked accusingly. 'No, father, I can't do that. None of us can. People are 
what they are. We can't change them.' 

 'I thought you could do anything.' 
'There are limits, Sparhawk.' Her dark eyes grew hard again. 'I am going 


to do something, though.' 
'Oh?' 
'Your Elene God owes me a couple of favours. I did something nice for Him 

once.' 
'Why do you need His help?' 
'These people are Elenes. They belong to Him. I can't do anything to them 

without His permission. That's the worst form of bad manners.' 
'i'm an Elene, and you do things to me.' 
'You're Anakha, Sparhawk. You don't belong to anybody.' 
'That's depressing. I'm loose in the world with no 


God to guide me?' 

 'You don't need guidance. Advice sometimes, yes. Guidance, no.' 

 'Don't do anything exotic here,' he cautioned. 'We don't know exactly what 
we'll be dealing with when we get deeper into Tamuli. Let's not announce 
our presence until we have to.' Then his curiosity got the better of him. 
'Nobody's said anything very relevant yet.' 

 'Then keep listening, Sparhawk. It will come.' 

 'Exactly what were you planning to ask God to do to these people?' 
'Nothing,' she replied. 'Absolutely nothing at all. I 

won't ask Him to do a thing to change their circumstances. All I want Him 
to do is to make sure that they all live very, very long lives.' He looked 
around the table at the petulant faces of their host's family. 'You're 
going to imprison them here?' he accused. 'Chain five people who loathe 
each other together for all eternity so that they can gradually tear each 
other to pieces?' 

 'Not quite eternity, Sparhawk,' the little girl corrected, '- though it's 
probably going to seem that way to them.' 

 'That's cruel.'

 'No, Sparhawk. It's justice. These people richly deserve each other. I 
only want to be sure that they have a long time to enjoy each others' 
company.' 

'What's your feeling about a breath of fresh air?' Stragen asked, leaning 

over Sparhawk's shoulder. 'It's raining out there.' 

'I don't think you'll melt.' 

 'Maybe it's not a bad idea at that.' Sparhawk rose to his feet and carried 
his sleeping daughter back into the sitting room and the divan where Mmrr 
drowsed, purring absently and kneading one of the cushions with her 
needle-sharp claws. He covered them both and followed Stragen into the 
corridor. 'Are you feeling restless?' he asked the Thalesian. 'No, 
revolted. I've known some of the worst people in the world, my friend, and 
I'm no angel myself, but this little family -' He shuddered. 'Did you 
happen to lay in a store of poison while you were in Render?' 

 'I don't approve of poison.'

 'A bit short-sighted there, old boy. Poison's a tidy way to deal with 
intolerable people.' 

 'Annias felt much the same way, as I recall.' 

 'i'd forgotten about that,' Stragen admitted. 'I imagine that prejudiced 
you slightly against a very practical solution to a sticky problem. 
Something really ought to be done about these monsters, though.' 

 'it's already been taken care of. 'Oh? How?' I'm not at liberty to say.' 
they stepped out onto the wide veranda that ran across the back of the 
house and stood leaning on the railing looking out into the muddy back 
yard. 'it doesn't show any signs of letting up, does it?' Stragen said. 
'How long can it continue at this time of year?' 

 'You'll have to ask Khalad. He's the expert on the weather.' 

 'My Lords?' Stragen and Sparhawk turned. It was Elron, the baron's poetic 
brother-in-law. 'I came to assure you that my sister and I aren't 
responsible for Kotyk and his relatives,' he said. 'We were fairly sure 
that was the case, Elron,' Stragen murmured. 'All they had in the world was 
Kotyk's title. Their 

father gambled away their inheritance. It sickens me to have that clutch of 
out-at-the-elbows aristocrats lording it over us the way they do.' 

 'We've heard some rumours,' Stragen smoothly 


changed the subject. 'Some people in Esos were telling us that there was 
unrest among the serfs. We got some garbled account of a fellow called 
'Sabre' and another named Ayachin. We couldn't make any sense out of it.' 
Elron looked around in an over-dramatically conspiratorial fashion. 'It is 
not wise to mention those names here in Astel, Milord Stragen,' he said in 
a hoarse whisper that probably could have been heard across the yard. 'The 
Tamuls have ears everywhere.' 

 'The serfs are unhappy with the Tamuls?' Stragen asked with some surprise. 
'i'd have thought that they wouldn't't have had so far to look for someone 
to hate.' 

 'The serfs are superstitious animals, Milord,' Elron sneered. 'They can be 
led anywhere with a combination of religion, folklore and strong drink. The 
real movement is directed at the yellow devils.' Elron's eyes narrowed. 
'The honour of Astel demands that the Tamul yoke be thrown off. That's the 
real goal of the movement. Sabre is a patriot, a mysterious figure who 
appears out of the night to inspire the men of Astel to rise up and smash 
the oppressor's chains. He's always masked, you know.' 

 'I hadn't heard that.' 

 'Oh, yes. It's necessary, of course. Actually, he's a well-known personage 
who very carefully conceals his real identity and opinions. By day he's an 
idle member of the gentry, but at night, he's a masked firebrand, igniting 
the patriotism of his countrymen.' 

 'You have certain opinions, I gather,' Stragen assumed. Elron's expression 
grew cautious. 'i'm only a poet, Milord Stragen,' he said deprecatingly. 
'My interest is in the drama of the situation - for the purposes of my art, 
you understand.' 

'Oh, of course.' 
'Where does this Ayachin come in?' Sparhawk asked. 


'As I understand it, he's been dead for quite some time now.' 

 'There are strange things afoot in Astel, Sir Sparhawk,' Elron assured 
him. 'Things which have lain locked in the blood of all the Astels for 
generations. We know in our hearts that Ayachin is not dead. He can never 
die - not so long as tyranny is alive.' 
'Just as a practical consideration, Elron,' Stragen said 
in his most urbane manner, 'this movement seems to rely rather heavily on 
the serfs for manpower. What's 'in it for them? Why should men who are 
bound to the soil have any concern at all about who runs the government?' 
They're sheep. They'll stampede in any direction you want them to. All you 
have to do is murmur the word 'emancipation' and they'd follow you into the 
mouth of hell. ' 
'Then Sabre has no intention of actually freeing them?' 
Elron laughed. 'My dear fellow, why would any reasonable man want to do 
that? What's the point of liberating cattle?' He looked around furtively. 
'I must return before I'm missed. Kotyk hates me, and he'd like nothing 
better than the chance to denounce me to the authorities. I'm obliged to 
smile and be polite to him and those two overfed sows he calls his sisters. 
I keep my own counsel, gentlemen, but when the day of our liberation comes, 
there will be changes here - as God is my judge. Social change is sometimes 
violent, and I can almost guarantee that Kotyk and his sisters will not 
live to see the dawn of the new day.' His eyes narrowed with a kind of 
self-important secretiveness. 'But I speak too much. I keep my own counsel, 
gentlemen. I keep my own counsel.' He swirled his black cloak around him 
and crept back into the house, his head high and his expression resolute. 
'Fascinating young fellow,' Stragen observed. 'He 


makes my rapier itch for some reason.' Sparhawk grunted his agreement and 
looked up at the rainy night. 'I hope this blows over by morning,' he said. 
'i'd really like to get out of this sewer.' 

CHAPTER 11 

The following morning dawned blustery and unpromising. Sparhawk and his 
companions ate a hasty breakfast and made ready to depart. The baron and 
his family were not awake as yet, and none of his guests were in any mood 
for extended farewells. They rode out about an hour after sunrise and 
turned northeasterly on the Darsas road, moving at a distance-consuming 
canter. Although none of them mentioned it, they all wanted to get well 
out of the range of any possible pursuit before their hosts awakened. 
About mid-morning, they reached the white stone pillar that marked the 
eastern border of the baron's estate and breathed a collective sigh of 
relief. The column slowed to a walk, and Sparhawk and the other knights 
dropped back to ride alongside the carriage. Ehlana's maid, Alcan, was 
crying, and the queen and Baroness Melidere were trying to comfort her. 
'She's a very gentle child,' Melidere explained to Sparhawk. The horror of 
that sorry household has moved her to tears.' 

 'Did someone back there say something to you he shouldn't have?' Kalten 
asked the sobbing girl, his tone hard. Kalten's attitude toward Alcan was 
strange. Once he had been persuaded not to press his attentions on her, he 
had become rather fiercely protective. 'if anybody insulted you, I'll go 
back and teach him better manners.' 

 'No', my Lord,' the girl replied disconsolately. 'It was ' nothing like 
that. It's just that they're all trapped in that awful place. They hate 
each other, but they'll have to spend the rest of their lives together, and 

they'll go on cutting little pieces out of each other until they're all 
dead. ' 

 'Someone once told me that there's a certain kind of justice at work in 
situations like that,' Sparhawk observed, not looking at his daughter. 
'All right then, we all had the chance to talk with the members of our 
host's family individually. Did anyone pick up anything useful?' 

 'The serfs are right on the verge of open rebellion, my Lord,' Khalad 
said. 'I sort of drifted around the stable and other outbuildings and 
talked with them. The Barons' father was a kindly master, I guess, and the 
serfs loved him. After he died, though, Kotyk started to show his real 
nature. He's a brutal sort of man, and he's very fond of using the knout.' 
'What's a knout?' Talen asked. 'It's a sort of scourge,' his half-brother 
replied bleakly. 'A whip?' 

 'It goes a little further than that. Serfs are lazy, 

Sparhawk. There's no question about that. And they've perfected the art of 
either pretending to be stupid or feigning illness or injury. It's always 
been a sort of game, I guess. The masters knew what the serfs were up to, 
and the serfs knew that they weren't really fooling anybody. Actually, I 
think they all enjoyed it. Then, a few years ago, the masters suddenly 
stopped playing. Instead of trying to coax the serfs to work, the gentry 
began to resort to the knout. They threw a thousand years of tradition out 
the window and turned vicious overnight. The serfs can't understand it. 
Kotyk's not the only noble who's been mistreating his serfs. They say it's 
been happening all over western Astel. Serfs tend to exaggerate things, but 
they all seem to be convinced that their masters have set out on a course 


of deliberate brutality designed to eradicate traditional rights and to 
reduce the serfs to absolute slavery. A serf can't be sold, but a slave 
can. The one they call 'Sabre' has been making quite an issue of that. If 
you tell a man that somebody's planning , to sell his wife and children, 
you're going to get him just a little bit excited.' That doesn't match up 
too well with what Baron Kotyk was telling me,' Patriarch Emban put in. 
'The baron drank more than was really good for him last night, and he let a 
number of things slip that he otherwise might not have. It's his position 
that Sabre's primary goal is to drive the Tamuls out of Astel. To be honest 
with you, Sparhawk, I was a bit sceptical about what that thief in Esos 
said about this Sabre fellow, but he certainly has the attention of the 
nobles. He's been making an issue of racial and religious differences 
between Elenes and Tamuls. Kotyk kept referring to the Tamuls as 'godless 
yellow dogs'.'

 'We have Gods, your Grace,' Oscagne protested mildly. 'if you give me a 
few moments, I might even be 'able to remember some of their names.' 
'Our friend Sabre's been busy,' Tynian said. 'He's saying one thing to the 
nobles and another to the serfs.' 
'I think it's called talking out of both sides of your face at once,' Ulath 
noted. I believe the empire might want 
to give the discovery 'of Sabre's identity a certain priority,' Oscagne 
mused. 'It's embarrassingly predictable, but we brutal oppressors and 
godless yellow dogs always want to identify ring-leaders and troublemakers.' 

 'So that you can catch them and hang them?' Talen asked.' 

 'Not necessarily, young man. When a natural talent comes to the surface, 
one shouldn't waste it. I'm sure we find a use for this fellow's gifts.' 
'But he hates your empire, your Excellency,' Ehlana pointed out. 'That's no 
real drawback, your Majesty,' Oscagne smiled. 'The fact that a man hates 
the empire doesn't automatically make him a criminal. Anyone with any 
common sense hates the empire. There are days when even the emperor himself 
hates it. The presence of revolutionaries is a fair indication that 
something's seriously wrong in a given province. The revolutionary's made 
it his business to pinpoint the problems, so it's easier in the long run to 
just let him go ahead and fix things. I've known quite a few 
revolutionaries who made very good provincial governors.' 

 'That's an interesting line of thought, your Excellency,' Ehlana said, 
'but how do you persuade people who hate you to go to work for you?' 

 'You trick them, your Majesty. You just ask them if they think they can do 
any better. They inevitably think they can, so you just tell them to have a 
go at it. It usually takes them a few months to realise that they've been 
had. Being a provincial governor is the worst job in the world. Everybody 
hates you.' 

 'Where does this Ayachin fit in?' Bevier asked. 

'I gather he's the rallying point,' Stragen replied. 'Sort of the way 
Drychtnath is in Lamorkand.' 

 'A figurehead?' Tynian suggested. 'Most probably. You wouldn't really 
expect a ninthcentury hero to understand contemporary political reality.' 
'He's sort of an enigma, though,' Ulath pointed out. 

'The nobility believes he is one sort of man, and the serfs believe he's 
another. Sabre must have two different sets of speeches. Just exactly who 
was Ayachin anyway?' 

 'Kotyk told me that he was a minor nobleman who was very devoted to the 
Astellian Church,' Emban supplied. ''In the ninth century, there was a 


Church-inspired invasion from Eosia. Your thief in Esos was right about 

that part, at least. The Astels believe that our Holy Mother in Chyrellos 
is heretical. Ayachin's supposed to have rallied the nobles and finally won 
a great victory in the Astel marshes.' 

 'The serfs have a different story,' Khalad told them. 'They believe that 
Ayachin was a serf disguised as a nobleman and that his real goal was the 
emancipation of his class. They say that the victory in the marshes was the 
work of the serfs, not the nobility. Later, when the nobles found out who 
Ayachin really was, they had him murdered.' 

 'He makes a perfect figurehead then,' Ehlana said. 'He was so ambitious 
that he seems to offer something to everyone.' Emban was frowning. 'The 
mistreatment of the serfs doesn't make any sense Serfs aren't very 
industrious, but there are so many of them that all you have to do is pile 
on more people until you get the job done. If you maltreat them, all you 
really do is encourage them to turn on you. Even an idiot knows that. 
Sparhawk, is there some spell that might have induced the nobility to 
follow a course that's ultimately suicidal?'

 'None that I know of' Sparhawk replied. He looked around at the other 
knights, and they all shook their heads. Princess Danae nodded very 
slightly, however, indicating that there might very well be some way to do 
what Emban suggested. 'I wouldn't discount the possibilitty though, your 
Grace,' he added. 'just because none of us know the spell doesn't mean that 
there isn't one. If someone wanted turmoil here in Astel, there's probably 

nothing that would have suited his purposes better than a serf uprising, 
and if all the nobles started knouting their serfs at about the same time, 
it would have been a perfect way to set one off.' 

 'And this Sabre fellow seems to be responsible,' Emban said. 'He's 
stirring the nobles against the godless yellow dogs - sorry, Oscagne - and 
at the same time he's agitating the serfs against their masters. Was anyone 
able to pick up anything about him?' 

 'Elron was in his cups last night too,' Stragen said. 'He told Sparhawk 
and me that Sabre creeps around at night wearing a mask and making 
speeches.'

 'You're not serious!' Bevier asked incredulously. 'Pathetic, isn't it? 
We're obviously dealing with a juvenile mind here. Elron's quite 
overwhelmed by the melodrama of it all.' 

 'He would be,' Bevier sighed. 'It does sort of sound like the fabrication 
of a third-rate literary fellow, doesn't it?' Stragen smiled. 'That's 
Elron, all right,'' Tynian said. 'You're flattering him,' Ulath grUnted. 
'He trapped me in a corner last night and recited some of his verse to me. 
'Third-rate' is a gross overstatement of his talent.' 

Sparhawk was troubled. Aphrael had told him that someone at Kotyk's house 
would say something important, but, aside from the revelation of some 
fairly unsavoury personality defects, no one had directly told him anything 
of earth-shaking note. When he thought about it Aphrael had not, in fact 
promised that whatever was so important would be said to him. Quite 
possibly, it had been revealed to one of the others. He brooded about it. 
The simplest way to resolve the question would have been to ask his 
daughter, but to do that would once more expose him to some offensive 
comments about his limited understanding, so he decided that he'd much 
prefer to work it out for himself. Their map indicated that the journey to 
the capital at Darsas would take them ten days. It actually did not, of 
course. 'How do you deal with people who happen to see us when we're moving 


this way,' he asked Danae as they moved along at that accelerated pace 
later that day. He looked at his blank-faced uncomprehending friends. 'I've 
got a sort of an idea of how you convince the people who are travelling 
with us that we're just plodding along, but what about strangers?' 

 'We don't move this way when there are strangers around, Sparhawk,' she 
replied, 'but they wouldn't see us anyway. We're going too fast.' 

 'You're freezing time then, the same way Ghnomb did in Pelosia?'

 'No, I'm actually doing just the opposite. Ghnomb froze time and made you 
plod along through an endless second. What I'm doing is -' She looked 
speculatively at her father. 'I'll explain it some other time,' she 
decided. 'We're moving in little spurts, a few miles at a time. Then we 

amble along for a while, and then we spurt ahead again. Making it all fit 
together is really very challenging. It gives me something to occupy my 
mind during these long, boring journeys.'

 'Did that important thing you mentioned get said?' he asked her. 'Yes.' 
'What was it?' He decided that a small bruise on his dignity wouldn't 
really hurt all that much. 'I don't know. I know that it was important and 
that somebody was going to say it, but I don't know the details.' 

 'Then you're not omniscient.( 'I never said that I was.' 

 'Could it have come in bits and pieces? A word or two to Emban, a couple 
to Stragen and me and quite a bit more to Khalad? And then we sort of had 
to put them all together to get the whole message?' She thought about it. 
'That's brilliant, father!' she exclaimed. 'Thank you.' Their speculations 
earlier had borne some fruit after all. Then he pushed it a bit further. 
'is someone here in Astel changing the attitudes of the people?' 

 'Yes, but that goes on all the time.' 

'So when the nobility began to mistreat their serfs, it wasn't their own 
idea?' 

 'Of course not. Deliberate, calculated cruelty is very hard to maintain. 
You have to concentrate on it, and the Astels are too lazy for that. It was 
externally imposed.' 

 'Could a Styric magician have done it?'

 'One by one, yes. A Styric could have selected one nobleman and turned him 
into a monster.' She thought a moment. 'Maybe two,' she amended. 'Three at 
the most. There are too many variables for a human to keep track of when 
you get past that.' 

 'Then it's a God - or Gods - that made them all start mistreating their 
serfs here a few years back?' 

 'I thought I just said that.' He ignored that and went on. 'And the whole 
purpose of that was to make the serfs resentful and ready to listen to 
someone inciting them to revolution.' 

 'Your logic is blinding me, Sparhawk.' 

 'You can be a very offensive little girl when you set your mind to it, did 
you know that?' 

 'But you love me anyway, don't you? Get to the point, Sparhawk. It's 
almost time for me to wake the others.' 

 'And the sudden resentment directed at the Tamuls came from the same 
source, didn't it?' 

 'And probably at about the same time,' she agreed. 'It's easier to do it 
all at once. Going back into someone's mind over and over is so tedious.' A 
sudden thought came to him. 'How many things can you think about at the 
same time?' he asked her. 'I've never counted - several thousand, I'd 
imagine. Of course there aren't really any limits. I guess if I really 
wanted to, I could think about everything all at once. I'll try it sometime 


and let you know.' 
'That's really the difference between us, isn't it? You can think about 

more things at the same time than I can.' 
'Well, that's one of the differences.' 
'What's another?' 
'You're a boy, and I'm a girl.' 
'That's fairly obvious - and not very profound.' 
'You're wrong Sparhawk. It's much, much more profound than you could ever 

imagine.' 

After they crossed the river Antun, they entered a heavily forested region 
where rocky crags jutted uph above the treetops here and there. The weather 
continued blustery and threatening, though it did not rain. Kring's Peloi 
were very uncomfortable in the forest, and they rode huddled close to the 
Church Knights, their eyes a bit wild. 'We might want to remember that,' 
Ulath noted late that afternoon, jerking his chin in the direction of a 
pair of savage-looking, shaved-headed warriors following so closely behind 
Berit that their mounts were almost treading on his horse's hind hooves. 
what was that?' Kalten asked him. 'Don't take the Peloi into the woods.' 
Ulath paused and leaned back in his saddle. 'I knew a girl in Heid one 
summer who felt more or less the same way,' he reminisced. 'She was 
absolutely terrified of the woods. The young men of the town sort of gave 
up on her - even though she was a great beauty. Heid's a crowded little 
town, and there are always aunts and grandmothers and younger brothers 
underfoot in the houses. 'the young men have found that the woods offer the 
kind of privacy young people need from time to time, but this girl wouldn't 
go near the woods. Then I made an amazing discovery. The girl was afraid of 
the woods, but she was absolutely fearless where hay-barns were concerned. 
I tested the theory personally any number of times, and she never once 
showed the slightest bit of timidity about barns - or goatsheds either, for 
that matter.' 

 'I really don't get the connection,' Kalten said. 'We were talking about 
the fact that the Peloi are afraid of the woods. If somebody attacks us 
here in this forest, we're not going to have time to stop and build a barn 
for them, are we?' 

 'No, I suppose you're right there.' 
'All right, what is the connection then?' 
'I don't think there is one, Kalten.' 
'Why did you tell the story then?' 
'Well, it's an awfully good story' , don't you think?' Ulath sounded a bit 


injured. Talen came galloping forward. 'I think you'd better come back to 
the carriage, Sir Knights,' he laughed, trying without much success to 
control his mirth. 'What's the trouble?' Sparhawk asked him. 'We've got 
company' - well, not company exactly, but there's somebody watching us.' 
Sparhawk and the others wheeled their mounts and rode back along the column 
to the carriage. 'You've got to see this, Sparhawk,' Stragen said, trying 
to stifle his laughter. 'Don't be too obvious when you look, but there's a 
man on horseback on top of that crag off to the left side of the road.' 
Sparhawk leaned forward as if speaking to his wife and raised his eyes to 
look at the rocky crag jutting up from the forest floor. The rider was 
about forty Yards away, and he was outlined by the sunset behind him. He 
was making no attempt to conceal himself. He sat astride a black horse, and 
his clothing was all of the same hue. His inky cape streamed out from his 
shoulders in the stiff wind, and his broad-brimmed hat was crammed tightly 
down on his head. His face was covered with a bag-like black mask with two 
large, slightly off-centre eye holes in it. 'isn't that the most ridiculous 


thing you've ever seen in your life?' Stragen laughed. 'Very impressive,' 
Ulath murmured. 'At least he's impressed.' 
'I wish I had a crossbow,' Kalten said. 'Berit, do you think you could 
nick him a little with your longbow?' 
'It might be a little chancy in this wind, Kalten,' the young knight 
replied. 'It might deflect my arrow and kill him instead.' 

 'How long's he going to sit there?' Mirtai asked. 'Until he's sure that 
everybody in the column has seen him, I expect,' Stragen said. 'He went to 
a lot of trouble to deck himself out like that. What do you think, 
Sparhawk? Is that the fellow Elron told us about?' 

 'The mask certainly fits,' Sparhawk agreed. 'I wasn't expecting all the 
rest, though.'

 'What's this?' Emban asked. 'Unless Sparhawk and I are mistaken, your 
Grace, we are privileged to be in the presence of. a living legend. I think 
that's Sabre, the masked whatever-you-call-it, making his evening rounds.' 
'What on earth is he doing?' Oscagne sounded baffled. 'I imagine that he's 
out wronging rights, depressing the oppressed and generally making an ass 
of himself, your Excellency. He looks as if he's having a lot of fun, 
though.' The masked rider reared his horse dramatically, and 

his black cape swirled around him. Then he plunged down the far side of the 
crag and was gone. 'Wait,' Stragen urged before the others could move. 'For 
what?' Kalten asked. 'Listen.' From beyond the crag came the brassy note of 
a horn that trailed off into a distinctly unmusical squawk. 'He had to have 
a horn,' Stragen explained. 'No performance like that would ever be 
complete without a horn.' He laughed delightedly. 'Maybe if he practises, 
he'll even learn to carry a tune with it.' 

Darsas was an ancient city situated on the east bank of the Astel River. 
The bridge which approached it was a massive arch which had probably been 
in place for at least a thousand years, and most of the city's buildings 
showed a similar antiquity. The cobbled streets were narrow and twisting, 
following, quite probably, paths along which cows had gone to water aeons 
in the past. Although its antiquity seemed strange, there was still 
something profoundly familiar about Darsas. It was an almost prototyPical 
Elene town, and Sparhawk felt as if his very bones were responding to its 
peculiar architecture. Ambassador Oscagne led them through the narrow 
streets and cluttered bazaars to an imposing square at the centre of the 
city. He pointed out a fairy-tale structure with a broad gate, and soaring 
towers bedecked with brightly-coloured pennons. 'The royal palace,' he told 
Sparhawk. 'I'll st with Ambassador Fontan, our local man, and h' to see 
King Alberen. I'll only be a moment' he called to his friend. ips A bit of 
ceremony % the Tamul embassy, building adjoining by an ancienttally 
hairless and 'n of a' very old Juite formally, my, Ambassaitative here 

Sparhawk and Fontan exchanged polite bows. 'Have I your Highness' 
permission to present his Excellency to her Majesty, the Queen?' Oscagne 
asked. Tedious, isn't it Sparhawk?' Fontan asked in a voice as dry as dust. 
'Oscagne's a good boy. He was my most promising pupil, but his fondness for 
ritual and formula overcomes him at times.' 

 'I'll borrow a sword and immolate myself at once, Fontan,' Oscagne 
bantered. 'I've seen you fumbling with a sword, Oscagne,' Fontan replied. 
'if you're suicidally inclined, go molest a cobra instead.' If you try to 
do it with a sword, you'll take all week.' 

 'I gather that I'm watching a reunion of sorts,' Sparhawk smiled. 'I 
always like to lower Oscagne's opinion of himself, Sparhawk,' Fontan 


replied. 'He's brilliant, of course, but sometimes he lacks humility. Now, 
why don't you introduce me to your wife? She's much prettier than goy us, 
and the imperial messenger from Matherion rode three horses to death 
bringing me the emperor's instructions to be excruciatingly nice to her. 
We'll chat for a few moments, and then I'll take you to meet my dear, 
incompetent friend, the king. I'm sure he'll swoon at the unspeakable 
honour your queen's visit does him.' Ehlana was delighted to meet the 
ambassador. Sparhawk knew that to be true because she said so herself. she 
invited the ancient Tamul, the real ruler of Astel, to join her in the 
carriage, and the entire party moved rather inexorably on to the palace 
gates. -.The captain of the palace guard was nervous. When two hundred 
professional killers descend on one with fylacble pace, one is almost 
always nervous. Ambassador Fontan put him at his ease, and three messengers 
were dispatched to advise the king of their %I killed him and my brothers, 
I suppose it technically belongs to me - spoils of war, you understand.' 
'My goodness,' Baroness Melidere murmured, her blue eyes alight, 'I seem to 
be standing in the middle of a whole constellation of stars.' She seemed 
positively breathless. 'I wish she wouldn't do that,' Stragen complained. 
'What's the problem?' Kalten asked him. 'She makes it seem as if the light 
in her eyes is the sun streaming in through the hole in the back of her 
head. I'know she's far more clever than that. I hate dishonest people.' 
'You?' 

 'Let it lie, Kalten.' The throne-room of King Alberen of Astel was filled 
with an awed silence as the eminence of the visitors was revealed. King 
Alberen himself, an ineffectual-'looking fellow whose royal robes looked a 
size or so too large for him, seemed to shrink with each new title. 
Alberen, it appeared, had weak eyes, and his myopic gaze gave 'him the 
fearful, timid look of a rabbit or some other such small helpless animal 
which all other creatures look upon as a food source. The splendour of his 
throneroom seemed to shrink him all the more, the wide expanses of crimson 
carpets and drapes, the massive gilt and crystal chandeliers and marble 
columns providing an heroic setting which he could never hope to fill. 
Sparhawk's queen, regal and lovely, approached the throne on Ambassador 
Fontan's arm with her steelplated entourage' drawn up around her. King 
Alberen seemed a bit uncertain about the customary ceremonieS. As the 
reigning monarch of Astel, he was entitled to remain seated upon his 
throne, but the fact that his entire court genuflected as Ehlana passed 
intimidated him, and he rose to his feet and even stepped down from the 
dais to greet her. 'Now has our life seen its crown,' Ehlana proclaimed in 
her most formal and oratorical style, 'for we have, as God most surely must 
have decreed since time's beginning, come at last into the presence of our 
dear brother of Astel, whom we have longed to meet since our earlyest 
girlhood.' 

 'is she speaking for all of us?' Talen whispered to Berit. 'I didn't 
really have a girlhood, you know.' 
'She's using the royal plural,' Berit explained. 'The queen's more than 
one person. She's speaking for the entire kingdom.' 

 'We are honoured more than we can say, your Majesty,' Alberen faltered. 
Ehlana quickly assessed her host's limitations and smoothly adopted a less 
formal tone. She abandoned ceremony and unleashed her charm on the poor 
fellow. At the end of five minutes they were chatting together as if they 
had known each other all their lives. At the end of ten, he'd have given 
her his crown had she asked for it. After the obligatory 'exchanges, 

Sparhawk and the other members of Ehlana's entourage moved away from the 
throne to engage in that silly but necessary pastime known as 


'circulating.' They talked about the weather mostly. The weather is a 
politically correct topic. Emban and Archimandrite Morsel, the head of the 
Church of Astel, ex'changed theological platitudes without touching on 
those doctrinal differences which divided their two Churches. Morsel wore 
an elaborate mitre and intricately embroidered vestments. He also wore a 
full black beard that reached to his waist. Sparhawk had discovered early 
in life that a scowl was his best defence in such situations, and he 
customarily intimidated whole rooms-full of people who might otherwise 
inflict conversational inanities upon him. 'Are you in some kind of 
distress, Prince Sparhawk?' It was Ambassador Fontan. 'Your face has a 
decidedly dyspeptic cast to it.' 

 'It's entirely tactical, your Excellency,' Sparhawk replied. 'When a 
military man doesn't want to be pestered, he digs a ditch and lines the 
bottom and sides with sharpened stakes. A scowl serves the same purpose in 
social situations.'

 'You look bristly enough, my boy. Let's take a turn around the battlements 
and enjoy the view, the fresh air and the' privacy. There are things you 
should know, and this may be my only chance to get you alone. King 
Alberen's court is full of inconsequential people who would all die for the 
chance to be able to manoeuvre conversations around to the point where they 
can assert that they know you personally. You have quite a reputation, you 
know.'

 'Largely exaggerated, your Excellency.' 

 'You're too modest, my boy. Shall we go?' They left the throne-room 
unobtrusively and climbed several flights of stairs until they came out on 
the windswept battlements. Fontan looked down at the city spread below. 
'Quaint, wouldn't you say?'

 'Elene cities are always quaint, your Excellency,' Sparhawk replied. 
'Elene architects haven't had a new idea in the last five millennia.' 
'Matherion will open your eyes, Sparhawk. All right, then, Astel's right on 
the verge of flying apart. So's the rest of the world, but Astel's carrying 
it to extremes. I'm doing what I can to hold things together, but Alberen's 
so pliable that almost anyone can influence him. He'll literally sign 
anything anybody puts in front of him. You've heard about Ayachin, of 
course? And his running dog, Sabre?' Sparhawk nodded. 'I've got every 
imperial agent in Astel out 'trying to identify Sabre, but we haven't had 
much luck so far. He's out there blithely dismantling a system the empire 
spent centuries creating. We don't really know very much about him.' 

 'He's an adolescent, your Excellency,' Sparhawk said. 'No matter what his 
age, he's profoundly juvenile.' He briefly described the incident in the 
forest. 'That's helpful,' Fontan said. 'None of my people have ever been 
able to infiltrate one of those famous meetings, so we had no idea of what 
sort of fellow we were dealing with. He's got the nobility completely in 
his grasp. I stopped Alberen just in time a few weeks ago when he was on 
the verge of signing a proclamation which would have criminalised a serf if 
he ran away. That would have brought the kingdom down around our ears, I'm 
afraid. That's always been the serf's final answer to an intolerable 
situation. If he can run away and stay away for a year and a day, he's 
free. If you take that away from the serfs, they'll revolt, and a serf 
rebellion is too hideous a notion to even contemplate. ' it's quite 
deliberate, your Excellency,' Sparhawk advised him. 'Sabre's agitating the 
serfs as well. He wants a serf rebellion here in Astel. He's been using his 
influence over the nobility to persuade them to commit the exact blunders 
that will outrage the serfs all the more.' what's the man thinking of?' 
Fontan burst out. 'He'll drown Astel in blood.' Sparhawk made an intuitive 
leap at the point. 'I don't think he really cares about Astel, your 


Excellency. Sabre's no more than a tool for someone who has his eye on a 
much bigger goal.' 
'Oh? What's that?' 
I'm guessing, your Excellency, but I think there's somebody out there who 
wants the whole world, and he'd sacrifice Astel and every living person in 
it to get what he wants.' 


CHAPTER 12 


'It's hard to put your finger on it, Prince Sparhawk,' Baroness Melidere 
said that evening after the extended royal family had retired to their 
oversized apartment for the night. At 'the queen's insistence, Melidere, 
Mirtai and Alcan, her maid, had been provided with rooms in the apartment. 
Ehlana needed women around her for a number of reasons, some practical, 
some political and some very obscure. The ladies had removed their formal 
gowns, and, except for Mirtai, they wore soft pastel dressing gowns. 
Melidere was brushing Mirtai's wealth of blue-black hair, and the doe-eyed 
Alcan was performing the same service for Ehlana. 'i'm not sure exactly 
how to describe it,' the honeyblonde Baroness continued. 'It's a sort of 
generalised sadness. They all sigh a great deal.' 


 'I noticed that myself, Sparhawk,' Ehlana told her husband. 'Alberen
hardly smiles at all, and I can make anybody smile.' 


 'Your presence alone is enough to make us all smile, my Queen,' Talen told 
her. Talen was the queen's page, and he was also a member of the extended 
family. The young thief was elegant tonight, dressed in a plumcoloured 
velvet doublet and knee-britches in the same shade and fabric. 
Knee-britches were just coming into fashion, and Ehlana had tried her very 
best to get Sparhawk into a pair of them. He had categorically refused, and 
his wife had been obliged to settle for coercing her page into the 
ridiculous-looking garments. The plan is to make you a knight, Talen,' 
Melidere told the boy pointedly, 'not a courtier.' 


 'Stragen says it's always a good idea to have something to fall back on, 
Baroness,' he shrugged, his voice cracking and warbling somewhere between 
soprano and baritone. 'He would,' the Baroness sniffed. Melidere affected a 
strong disapproval of Stragen, but Sparhawk was not so sure about that. 
Talen and Princess Danae sat on the floor rolling a ball back and forth 
between them. Mmrr was participating in the game enthusiastically. 'They 
all seem to secretly believe that the world's 


going to come to an' end week after next,' the Baroness went on, slowly 
drawing her brush through Mirtai's hair. 'They're all bright and brittle on 
the surface, but once you get beneath that, there's the blackest 
melancholy, and they all drink like fish. I couldn't prove this, but I 
really think they all believe they're going to die very soon.' She lifted 
Mirtai's hair speculatively. 'I think I'll braid a gold chain into it, 
dear,' she told the giantess. 'No, Melidere,' Mirtai said firmly. 'i'm not 
entitled to wear gold yet.' 


 'Every woman's entitled to wear gold, Mirtai,' Melidere laughed, 'provided 
that she can charm it out of some 


man.' 


 'Not among my people,' Mirtai disagreed. 'Gold is for adults. Children 
don't wear it.'


 'You're hardly a child, Mirtai,' 


 'I am until I go through a certain ceremony. Silver, Melidere - or steel.' 
'You can't make jewellery out of steel.' 



 'You can if you polish it enough.' Melidere sighed. 'Fetch me the silver 
chains, Talen,' she said. At the moment, that was Talen's vocation. He 
fetched things. He didn't like it very much, but he did it - largely 
because Mirtai was bigger than he was. There was a polite knock at the 
door, and Talen veered over to answer it. Ambassador Oscagne entered. He 
bowed to Ehlana. 'I've spoken with Fontan, your Majesty,' he reported. 
'He's sending to the garrison at Canae for two Atan legions to escort us to 
Matherion. I'm sure we'll all feel more secure with them around us.' 
'What's a legion, your Excellency?' Talen asked, crossing the room to the 
jewellery cabinet. 'A thousand warriors,' Oscagne replied. He smiled at 
Ehlana. 'With two thousand Atans at your disposal, your Majesty' could 
conquer Edam. Would you like to establish a toe-hold on the Daresian 
continent? It won't really be all that inconvenient. We Tamuls will 
administer it for you for the usual fee, of course - and we'll send you 
glowing reports' at the end of each year. The reports will be a tissue of 
lies, but we'll send them anyway.' 

 'Along with the profits?' She actually sounded interested. 'Oh no, your 
Majesty,' he laughed. 'For some reason, not one single kingdom in the whole 
empire ever shows profit - except Tamul itself, of course.' 

 'Why would I want a kingdom that doesn't pay?' 
'Prestige, your Majesty, and vanity. You'd have another title and another 
crown.' 

 'I don't really need another crown, your Excellency. I've' only got one 
head. Why don't we just let the King of Edam keep his unprofitable 
kingdom?'

 'Probably a wise decision, your Majesty,' he agreed. 'Edom's a tedious 
sort of place. They grow wheat there, and wheat-farmers are a stodgy group 
of people all obsessively interested in the weather.' 

 'How long is it likely to be until those legions arrive?' Sparhawk asked 
him. 'A week or so. They'll come on foot, so they'll make better time than 
they would on horseback.'

 'isn't that the other way around, your Excellency?' Melidere asked him. 'I 
thought horses moved much faster than men on foot.' Mirtai laughed. 'Did I 
say something funny?' Melidere asked. 'When I was fourteen, a man down in 
Daconia insulted me,' the giantess told her. 'He was drunk. When he sobered 
up the next morning, he realised what he'd done and fled on horseback. It 
was about dawn. I caught up with him just before noon. His horse had died 
from exhaustion. I always felt sort of sorry for the horse. A trained 
warrior can run all day. A horse can't. A horse has to stop when he wants 
to eat, so he's not used to running for more than a few hours at a time. We 
eat while we're running) so we just keep on going.' 

 'What did you do to the fellow who insulted you?' Talen asked her. 'Do you 
really want to know?' 
'Ah - no, Mirtai,' he replied. 'Now that you mention it, probably not.' 

And so they had a week on their hands. Baroness Melidere devoted her time 
to breaking hearts. The young noblemen of King Alberen's court flocked 
around her. She flirted outrageously) made all sorts of promises none of 
which she kept - and occasionally allowed herself to be kissed in dark 
corners by persistent suitors. She had a great deal of fun and gathered a 
great deal of information. A young man pursuing a pretty girl will often 
share secrets with her, secrets which he should probably keep to himself. 
To the surprise of Sparhawk and his fellow knights, Sir Berit devastated 
the young ladies of the court quite nearly as much as the Baroness did the 
young men. 'It's absolutely uncanny,' Kalten was saying one evening. 'He 
doesn't really do anything at all. He doesn't talk to them, he doesn't 


smile at them, he doesn't do any of the things he's supposed to do. I don't 
know what it is, but every time he walks through a room, every young woman 
in the place starts to come all unraveled.'

 'He is a very handsome young man, Kalten,' Ehlana pointed out. 'Berit? He 
doesn't even shave regularly yet. 'What's that got to do with it? He's' 
tall, he's a knight, he has broad shoulders and good manners. He's also got 
the deepest blue eyes I've ever seen - and the longest eyelashes. '

 'But he's only a boy.' 

 'Not any more. You haven't really looked at him lately. Besides, the young 
ladies who sigh and cry into their pillows over him are quite young 
themselves.' 

 'What's really so irritating is the fact that he doesn't even know what 
effect he has on all those poor girls,' Tynian observed. 'They're doing 
everything but tearing their clothes off to get his attention, and he 
hasn't got the faintest notion of what's going on.' 

 'That's part of his charm, Sir Knight.' Ehlana smiled. 'if it weren't for 
that innocence of his, they wouldn't find him nearly so attractive. Sir 
Bevier here has much the same quality. The difference though, is that 
Bevier knows that he's an extraordinarily handsome young man. He chooses 
not to do anything about it because of his religious' convictions. Berit 
doesn't even know.' 

 'Maybe one of us should take him aside and tell him,' Ulath suggested. 
'Never mind.' Mirtai told him. 'He's fine just the way he is. Leave him 
alone.' 

 'Mirtai's right.' Ehlana said. 'Don't tamper with him, gentlemen. We'd 
like to keep him innocent for just a while longer.' A hint of mischief 
touched her lips. 'Sir Bevier, on the other hand, is quite another matter. 
'It's time for us to find him a wife. He'll make some girl an excellent 
husband.' Bevier smiled faintly. 'i'm already married, your Majesty - to 
the Church.' 

 'Betrothed perhaps, Bevier, but not yet married. Don't start buying 
ecclesiastical garb just yet, Sir Knight. I haven't entirely given up on 
you.' 

 'Wouldn't it be easier to start closer to home, your Majesty?' he 
suggested. 'if you feel the urge to marry someone off, Sir Kalten is 
readily at hand.' 

 'Kalten?' she asked incredulously. 'Don't be absurd, Bevier. I wouldn't do 
that to any woman.' 

 'Your Majesty.' Kalten protested. 'I love you dearly, Kalten,' she smiled 
at the blond Pandion, 'but you're just not husband material. I couldn't 
give you away. In good conscience I couldn't even order anyone to marry 
you. Tynian is remotely possible, but God intended you and Ulath to be 
bachelors.' 

 'Me?' Ulath said mildly. 'Yes,' she said, 'you.' The door opened, and 
Stragen and Talen entered. They were both dressed in the plain clothing 
they usually wore when making one of their sorties into the 

streets. 'Any luck?' Sparhawk asked them. 'We found him,' Stragen replied, 
handing his cloak to Alcan. 'He's not really my sort. He's a pickpocket by 
profession, and pickpockets don't really make good leaders. There's 
something fundamentally lacking in their character.' 

 'Stragen!' Talen Protested. 'You're not really a pickpocket, my young 
friend,' Stragen told him. 'That's only an interim occupation while you're 
waiting to grow up. Anyway, the local chief's named Kondrak. He could see 
that we all have a mutual interest in stable governments, I'll give him 


that. Looting houses when there's turmoil in the streets is a fast way to 
make a lot of money, but over the long run, a good thief can accumulate 
more in times of domestic tranquillity. Of course Kondrak can't make any 
kind of overall decision on his own. He'll have to consult with his 
counterparts in other cities in the empire.' 

 'That shouldn't take more than a year or so,' Sparhawk noted drily. 
'Hardly,' Stragen disagreed. 'Thieves move much more rapidly than honest 
men. Kondrak's going to send out word of what we're trying to accomplish. 
He'll put ' it in the best possible light, so there's a very good chance 
that 'the thieves of all the kingdoms in the empire will co-operate.' 

 'How will we know their decision?' Tynian asked him. 'I'll make courtesy 
calls each time we come to a fair-'. 

sized city,' Stragen shrugged. 'Sooner or later I'll get an official reply. 
It shouldn't take all that long. We'll certainly have a final decision by 
the time we reach Matherion.' He looked speculatively at Ehlana. 'Your 
Majesty's learned a great deal about the subterranean government in the 
past few years,' he noted. 'Do you suppose we could put that information on 
the level of a state secret? We're perfectly willing to co-operate and even 
assist on occasion, but we'd be much happier if the other monarchs of the 
world didn't know too much about the way we operate. Some crusader might 
decide to smash the secret government, and that would inconvenience us a 
bit.' 

 'What's it worth to you, Milord Stragen?' she teased him. His eyes grew 
very serious. 'It's a decision you'll have to make for yourself, Ehlana,' 
he told her, cutting across rank and customary courtesies. 'I've tried to 
assist you whenever I could because I'm genuinely fond of you. If you make 
a little conversational slip, though, and other monarchs find out things 
they shouldn't know, I won't be able to do that any more.' 

 'You'd abandon me, Milord Stragen?' 
'Never, my Queen, but my colleagues would have me killed, and I wouldn't 
really be of much use to you in that condition, now would I? 

Archimandrite Morsel was a large, impressive man with piercing black eyes 
and an imposing black beard. It was a forceful beard, an assertive beard, a 
beard impossible to overlook, and the Archimandrite used it like a 
battering ram. It preceded him by a yard wherever he went. It bristled when 
he was irritated - which was often and in damp weather it knotted up into 
snarls like half a mile of cheap fishing line. The beard waggled when 
Morsel talked, emphasising points all on its own. Patriarch Emban was 
absolutely fascinated by the Archimandrite's beard. 'It's like talking to 
an animated hedge,' he observed to Sparhawk as the two of them walked 
through the corridors of 'the palace toward a private audience with the 
Astellian ecclesiast. 'Are there any topics I should avoid, your Grace?' 
Sparhawk asked. 'i'm not familiar with the Church of Astel, and I don't 
want to start any theological debates.' 

 'Our disagreements with the Astels are in the field of Church government, 
Sparhawk. Our purely theological differences are very minor. We have a 
secular clergy, but their Church is monastically organised. Our priests are 
just priests, theirs are also monks. I'll grant you that it's a fine 
distinction, but it's a distinction nonetheless. They also have many, many 
more priests and monks than we do - probably about a tenth of the 
population.' 

'That many?' 
'Oh, yes. Every noble mansion in Astel has its own private chapel and its 
own priest, and the prieSt 'assists' in making decisions.' 


 'Where do they find so many men willing to enter the priesthood?' 

 'From the ranks of the serfs. Being a clergyman has its drawbacks, but 
it's better than being a serf.' 

 'I suppose the Church would be preferable.' 

 'Much. Morsel will respect you, because you're a member of a religious 
order. Oh, incidentally, since you're the interim preceptor of the Pandion 
Knights, you're technically a patriarch. Don't be surprised if he addresses 
you as 'your Grace.' They were admitted into Morsel's chambers by a 
long-bearded monk. Sparhawk had noticed that all Astellian clergymen wore 
beards. The room was small and panelled in dark wood. The carpet was a deep 
maroon, and the heavy drapes at the windows were black. There were books 
and scrolls and dog-eared sheets of parchment everywhere. 'Ah, Emban,' 
Morsel said. 'What have you been up tO? ''Mischief, Morsel. I've been out 
proselytising among the heathens.' 

 'Really? Where did you find any here? I thought most heathens lived in the 
Basilica in Chyrellos. Sit down, gentlemen. I'll send for some wine and we 
can debate theologY.' 

 'you've met Sparhawk?' Emban asked as they all took chairs before an open 
window where the breeze billowed the black drapes. 'Briefly,' Morsel 
replied. 'How are you today, your Highness?' well. And you, your Grace?' 
'Curious, more than anything. Why are we engaging in private 
consultations?' 

 'We're all clergymen, your Grace,' Emban pointed out. 'Sparhawk wears a 
cassock made of steel most of the time, but he is of the clergy. We've come 
to discuss something that probably concerns you as much as it does us. I 
think I know you well enough to know that you've got a practical side 
that's not going to get sidetracked by the fact that you think we genuflect 
wrong.' 

 'What's this?' Sparhawk asked. 'We kneel on our right knee,' Emban 
shrugged. 'These poor, benighted heathens kneel on the left.' 

 'Shocking,' Sparhawk murmured. 'Do you think we should come here in force 
and compel them to do it right?' 

 'You see?' Emban said to the Archimandrite. 'That's 

exactly what I was talking about. You should fall to your knees and thank 
God that you're not saddled with Church Knights, Morsel. I think most of 
them secretly worship Styric Gods.' 

 'Only the Younger Gods, your Grace,' Sparhawk said mildly. 'We've had our 
differences with the Elder Gods.' 

 'He says it so casually,' Morsel shuddered. 'if you think we've exhausted 
the conversational potential of genuflectory variation, Emban, why don't 
you get to the point?' 

 'This is in strictest confidence, your Grace, but our mission here to 
Tamuli's not entirely what it seems. It was Queen Ehlana's idea, of course. 
She's not the sort to go anywhere just because somebody tells her to - but 
all of this elaborate fol-de-rol was just a subterfuge to hide our real 
purpose, which was to put Sparhawk on the Daresian Continent. The world's 
coming apart at the seams, so we've decided to let him fix it.' 

 'I thought that was God's job.' 

 'God's busy just now, and He's got complete confidence in Sparhawk. All 
sorts of Gods feel that way about him, I understand.' Morsel's eyes 
widened, and his beard bristled. 'Relax, Morsel,' Emban told him. 'We of 
the Church are not required to believe in other Gods. All we'have to do is 
make a few allowances for their speculative existence.' 

 'Oh, that's different. If this is speculation, I suppose it's all right.' 
'There's one thing that isn't speculation, your Grace,' Sparhawk said. 


'You've got trouble here in Astel.' 
'You've noticed. Your Highness is very perceptive.' 
'You may not have been advised, since the Tamuls are trying to keep it on 

a low key, but very similar things are afoot in many other Daresian 
kingdoms, and we're beginning to encounter the same sort of problem in 
Eosia.' 

 'I think the Tamuls sometimes keep secrets just for the fun of it,' Morsel 
grunted. 'I have a friend who says the same thing about our Eosian Church,' 
Sparhawk said cautiously. They had not yet fully explored the 
Archimandrite's political opinions. A wrong word or two here would not only 
preclude any possibility of obtaining his help, but might even compromise 
their mission. 'Knowledge is power,' Emban said rather sententiously, 'and 
only a fool shares power if he doesn't have to. Let me be blunt, Morsel. 
What's your opinion of the Tamuls?' 

 'I don't like them.' Morsel's response was to the point. 'They're 
heathens, they're members of an alien race, and you can't tell what they're 
thinking.' 

 'Sparhawk's heart sank. 'I have to admit, though, that when they absorbed 
Astel into their empire, it was the best thing that ever happened to us. 
Whether we like them or not is beside the point. Their passion for order 
and stability has averted war time and time again in my own lifetime. There 
have been other empires in ages past, and their time of ascendancy was a 
time of unmitigated horror and suffering. I think we'll candidly have to 
admit that the Tamuls are history's finest imperialists. They don't 
interfere with local customs or religions. They don't disrupt the social 
structure, and they function through the established governments. Their 
taxes, however much we complain about them, are really minimal. They build 
good roads and encourage trade. Aside from that, they generally leave 'us 
alone. About all they really insist upon is that we don't go to war with 
each other. I can live with that - although some of my predecessors felt 
dreadfully abused because the Tamuls wouldn't let them convert their 
neighbours by the sword.' Sparhawk breathed a little easier. 'But I'm 
straying from the point here,' Morsel said. 'You were suggesting a 
world-wide conspiracy of some kind, I think.' 

 'Were we suggesting that, Sparhawk?' Emban asked. 'I suppose we were, your 
Grace.' 
'Do you have anything concrete upon which to base this theory, Sir 

Sparhawk?' Morsel asked. 'Logic is about all, your Grace.' 
'I'll listen to logic - as long as she doesn't contradict my beliefs.' 
'if a series of events happens in one place and it's identical to a series 

of events taking place in another, we're justified in considering the 

possibility of a common source, wouldn't you say?' 
'On an interim basis, perhaps.' 
'It's about all we have to work with at the moment, your Grace. The same 

sort of thing could happen at the same time in two different places and 
still be a coincidence, but when you get up to five or ten different 
occurrences, coincidence sort of goes out the window. This current upheaval 
involving Ayachin and the one they call Sabre here in Astel is almost 
exactly duplicated in the kingdom of Lamorkand in Eosia, and Ambassador 
Oscagne assures us that the same sort of thing's erupting in other Daresian 
kingdoms as well. It's always the same. First there are the rumours that 
some towering hero of antiquity has somehow returned. Then some firebrand 
emerges to keep things stirred up. Here in Astel, you've got the wild 
stories about Ayachin. In Lamorkand, they talk about Drychtnath. Here you 
have a man named Sabre, and in Lamorkand they've got one named Gerrich. I'm 
Fairly sure we'll find the same sort of thing in Edam, Daconia, Arjuna and 


Cynesga. Oscagne tells us that their national heroes are putting in an 
appearance as well.' Sparhawk rather carefully avoided mentioning Krager. 
He was still not entirely certain where Morsel's sympathies lay. 'You build 
a good case, Sparhawk,' Morsel conceded. 'But couldn't this master plot be 
directed at the Tamuls? They aren't widely loved, you know.' 

 'I think your Grace is overlooking Lamorkand,' Emban said. 'There aren't 
any Tamuls there. I'm guessing, but I'd say that the master plot - if 
that's what we want to call it - is directed at the Church in Eosia as 
opposed to the empire here.' 

 'Organised anarchy perhaps?' 

 'I believe that's a contradiction in terms, your Grace,' Sparhawk pointed 
out. 'i'm not sure that we're far enough along to deal with causes yet, 
though. Right now we're trying to sort through effects. If we're correct in 
assuming that this plot is all coming from the same person, then what we're 
seeing is someone who's got a Wric plan with common elements which he 
modifies to fit each particular culture. What we really want to do is to 
identify this Sabre fellow.' 

 'So that you can have him killed?' Morsel's tone was accusing. 'No, your 
Grace, that wouldn't be practical. If we kill him, he'll be replaced by 
someone else - somebody we don't know. I want to know who he is, and what 
he is and everything I can possibly find out about him. I want to know how 
he thinks, what drives him and what hiS personal motivations are. If I know 
all of that, I can neutralise him without killing him. To be completely 
honest with you, I don't really care about Sabre. I want the one who's 
behind him.' Morsel seemed shaken. 'This is a dreadful man, Emban,' he said 
in a hushed tone. 'implacable is the word, I think.' 

 'if we can believe Oscagne - and I think we can, someone's using the 
arcane arts in this business,' Sparhawk told them. 'That's why the Church 
Knights were created originally. It's our business to deal with magic. Our 
Elene religion can't cope with it because there's no place in our faith for 
it. We had to go outside the faith to the Styrics - to learn how to 
counteract magic. It opened some doors we might have preferred had been 
left closed, but that's the price we had to pay. Somebody or something - on 
the other side's using magic of a very high order. I'm here to stop him to 

 kill him if need be. Once he's gone, the Atans can deal with Sabre. I 
know an Atan, and if her people are at all like her, I know we can count on 
them to be thorough.' 

 'You trouble me, Sparhawk,' Morsel admitted. 'Your devotion to your duty's 
almost inhuman, and your resolve goes even beyond that. You shame me, 
Sparhawk.' He sighed and sat tugging at his beard, his eyes lost in 
thought. finally, he straightened. 'All right, Emban, can we suspend the 
rules?' 

'I didn't quite follow that.' 

 'I wasn't going to tell you this,' the Archimandrite said, 'first of all 
because it'll probably raise your doctrinal hackles, but more importantly 
because I didn't really want to share it with you. This implacable Sparhawk 
of yours has convinced me otherwise. If I don't tell you what I know, he'll 
dismantle Astel and everyone in it to get the information, won't you, 
Sparhawk?' 

 'i'd really hate that, your Grace.' 
'But you'd do it anyway, wouldn't you?' 
'if I had to.' Morsel shuddered. 'You're both churchmen, so I'm going to 


invoke the rule of clerical confidentiality. You haven't changed the 
requirements of that in Chyrellos yet, have you, Emban?' 
'Not unless Sarathi did it since I've been gone. At any rate, you have our 
word that neither of us will reveal anything you tell us.' 


 'Except to another clergyman,' Morsel amended. 'I'll go that far.' 

 'All right,' Emban agreed. Morsel leaned back in his chair, stroking his 
beard. 'The Tamuls have no real conception of how powerful the Church is in 
the Elene kingdoms here in Western Daresia,' he began.'in the first place, 
their religion's hardly more than a set of ceremonies. Tamuls don't even 
think about religion, so they can't understand the depth of the faith in 
the hearts of the devout - and the serfs of Astel are quite likely the most 
devout people on earth. They take all of their problems to their priests and 

 not only their own problems, but their neighbours' as well. The serfs 
are everywhere and they see everything, and they tell their priests.'

 'I think it was called tale-bearing when I was in the ' seminary,' Emban 
noted. we had a worse name for it during our novitiate,' Sparhawk added. 
'All sorts of unpleasant accidents used to happen on the training-field 
because of it.' nobody likes a snitch,' Morsel agreed, but like it or not, 
the Astellian clergy knows everything that happens in the kingdom literally 

 everything. We're sworn to keep these secrets, of course, but we 
feel that our primary responsibility is to the spiritual health of our 
flock. Since a large proportion of our priests were originally serfs, they 
simply don't have the theological training to deal with complex spiritual 
problems. We've devised a way to provide them with the advice they need. 
The serf-priests do not reveal the names of those who have come to them, 
but they do take serious matters to their superiors, and their superiors 
bring those matters to me.' 

 'I have no real difficulty with that,' Emban said. 'As long as the names 
are kept secret, the confidentiality hasn't been violated.' 
'We'll get on well together, Emban.' Morsel smiled briefly. 'The serfs 
look upon Sabre as a liberator.' 

 'So we gathered,' Sparhawk told him. 'There seems to be a certain lack of 
consistency in his speeches, though. He tells the nobles that Ayachin wants 
to throw off the Tamul yoke, and then he tells the serfs that Ayachin's 
real goal is the abolition of serfdom. Moreover, he's persuaded the nobles 
to become very brutal in their dealings with the serfs. That's not only 
disgusting, it's irrational. The nobles should be trying to enlist the 
serfs, not alienate them. Viewed realistically, Sabre's no more than an 
agitator, and he's not even particularly subtle. He's a political 
adolescent.' 

 'That's going a little far, Sparhawk,' Emban protested. 'How do you 
account for his success then? An idiot like that could never persuade the 
Astels to accept his word.' 

 'They're not accepting his word. They're accepting Ayachin's.' 
'Have you taken leave of your senses, Sparhawk?' 


'No, your Grace. I mentioned before that someone on the other side's been 
using magic. This is what I was talking about. The people here have 
actually been seeing Ayachin himself.' 

 'That's absurd!' Morsel seemed profoundly disturbed. Sparhawk sighed. 'For 
the sake of your Grace's theological comfort, let's call it some kind of 
hallucination a mass illusion created by a clever charlatan, or some 
accomplice dressed in archaic clothing who appears suddenly in some 
spectacular fashion. Whatever its source, if what's happening here is 
anything like what's happening in Lamorkand, your people are absolutely 
conwinced that Ayachin's returned from the grave. Sabre probably makes a 
speech - a rambling collection of disconnected platitudes - and then this 
hallucination appears in a flash of light and a clap of thunder and 
confirms all his pronouncements. That's a guess, of course, but it's 
probably not too far off the mark.' 


 'It's an elaborate hoax then?' 
'if that's what you want to believe, your Grace.' 
'But you don't believe it's a hoax, do you, Sparhawk?' 
'I've been trained not to actively disbelieve things, your Grace. Whether 


the apparition of Ayachin is real or some trick is beside the point. It's 
what the people believe that's important, and I'm sure they believe that 
Ayachin's returned and that Sabre speaks for him. , That's what makes Sabre 
so dangerous. With the apparition to support him, he can make people 
believe anything. That's why I have to find out everything about him that I 
can. I have to be able to know what he's going to do so that I can counter 
him.' 

 'I'm going to behave as if I believe what you've just told me, Sparhawk,' 
Morsel said in a troubled voice. 'I really think you need some spiritual 
help, though.' His face grew grave. 'We know who Sabre is,' he said 
finally. we've known for over a year now. At first we thought as you do that 

 he was no more than a dielinkd fanatic with a taste for melodrama. We 
expected the Tamuls to deal with him, so we didn't think we had to do 
anything ourselves. I've had some second thoughts on that score of late, 
though. On the condition that neither of you will reveal anything I say 
except to another clergyman, I'll tell you who he is. Do I have your word 
on that condition?' 

 'You have, your Grace,' Emban swore. 'And you, Sparhawk?' 

'Of course.' 
'Very well, then. Sabre's the younger brother-in-law of a minor nobleman 
who has an estate a few leagues to the east of Esos.' It all fell into 
place in Sparhawk's mind with a loud clank. 'The nobleman is a Baron Kotyk, 
a silly, ineffectual fool. Sabre's a melodramatic adolescent named Elron.' 

CHAPTER 13 

'That's impossible!' Sparhawk exclaimed. Morsel was taken aback by his 
sudden vehemence. 'We have more than ample evidence, Sir Sparhawk. The 
serf who reported the fact has known him since childhood. You've met 
Elron, I gather.' 

 'We took shelter from a storm in Baron Kotyk's house,' Emban explained. 
'Elron could be Sabre, you 'know, Sparhawk. He's certainly got the right 
kind of mentality. Why are you so certain he's not the one?' 

'he couldn't have caught up with us,' Sparhawk said lamely. Morsel looked 
baffled. we saw Sabre in the woods on our way here,' Emban told him. 'It 
was the sort of thing you'd expect - a masked man in black on a black horse 
outlined against the sky - silliest thing I ever saw. We weren't really 
moving all that fast, Sparhawk. Elron could have caught up with us quite 
easily.' Sparhawk could not tell him that they had, in fact, been moving 
far too rapidly for anyone to have caught them - not with Aphrael tampering 
with time and distance the way she had been. He choked back his objections. 
'It just surprised me, that's all,' he lied. 'Stragen and I spoke with 
Elron the night we were there. I can't believe he'd be out stirring up the 

serfs. He had nothing but contempt for them.' 

 'A pose, perhaps?' Morsel suggested. 'Something to conceal his real 
feelings?' I don't think he's capable of that, your Grace. He was too 
ingenuous for that kind of subtlety.' 

 'Don't be too quick to make judgements, Sparhawk,' Emban told him. 'if 
there's magic involved, it wouldn't make any difference what kind of man 


Sabre is, would it? Isn't there some way he could be rather tightly 
controlled?' 

 'Several, actually,' Sparhawk admitted. 'i'm a little surprised you didn't 
consider that yourself. You're the expert on magic. Elron's personal 
beliefs are probably beside the point. When he's speaking as Sabre, it's 
the man behind him - our real adversary who's talking.' 

 'I should have thought of that.' Sparhawk was angry with himself for 
having overlooked the obvious - and the equally obvious explanation for 
Elron's ability to overtake them. Another God could certainly compress time 
and distance the same way Aphrael could. 'Just how widespread is this 
contempt , for the serfs, your Grace?' he asked Morsel. 'Unfortunately, 
it's almost universal, Prince Sparhawk,' Morsel sighed. 'The serfs are 
uneducated and superstitious, but they're not nearly as stupid as the 
nobility would like to believe. The reports I've received tell me that 
Sabre spends almost as much time denouncing the serfs as he does the Tamuls 
when he's speaking to the nobility. 'Lazy' is about the kindest thing he 
says about them. He's managed to half-persuade the gentry that the serfs 
are in league with the Tamuls in some vast, dark plot with its ultimate 
goal being the emancipation of the serfs and the redistribution of the 
land. The nobles are responding predictably. First they were goaded into 
hating the Tamuls, and then they were led to believe that the serfs are in 
league with the Tamuls and that their estates and positions are threatened 
by that alliance. They don't dare confront the Tamuls directly because of 
the Atans, so they're venting their hostility on their own serfs. There 
have been incidents of unprovoked savagery upon a class of people who will 
march en masse into heaven at the final judgement. The Church is doing what 
she can, but there's only so far we can go in restraining the gentry.'

 'You need some Church Knights, your Grace,' Sparhawk said in a bleak tone 
of voice. 'We're very good in the field of justice. If you take a 
nobleman's knout away from him and apply it to his own back a few times, he 
tends to see the light very quickly.' 

 'I wish that were possible here in Astel, Sir Sparhawk,' Morsel replied 
sadly. 'Unfortunately-' It was the same chill, and that same annoying 
flicker at the edge of the eye. Morsel broke off and looked around quickly, 
trying to see what could not really be seen. 'What -?' he started. 'It's a 
visitation, your Grace,' Emban told him, his voice tense. 'Don't dislocate 
your neck trying to catch a glimpse of it.' He raised his voice slightly. 
'Awfully good to see you again, old boy,' he said.'We were beginning to 
think you'd forgotten about us. Was there something you wanted in 
particular? Or were you just yearning for our company? We're flattered, of 
course, but we're a little busy at the moment. Why don't you run along and 
play now? We can chat some other time.' The chill quite suddenly turned 
hot, and the flicker darkened. 'Are you insane, Emban?' Sparhawk choked. 

'I don't think so,' the fat little Patriarch said. 'Your flickering friend 
- or friends - are irritating me, that's all.' The shadow vanished, and the 
air around them returned to normal. what was that all about?' Morsel 
demanded. The Patriarch of Ucera just insulted a God - several Gods, 
probably,' Sparhawk replied through clenched teeth. 'For a moment there,'we 
all hovered on the brink of obliteration. Please don't do that again, Emban 

- at least not without consulting me first.' He suddenly laughed a bit 
sheepishly. 'Now I know exactly how Sephrenia felt on any number of 
occasions. I'll have to apologise to her the next time I see her.' Emban 
was grinning with delight. 'I sort of caught them off balance there, didn't 
I?' 
'Don't do it again, your Grace,' Sparhawk pleaded. 'I've seen what Gods 


can do to people, 'and I don't want to be around if you really insult 

them.' 

 'Our God protects me.' 

 'Annias was praying to our God when Azash wrung him out like a wet rag, 
your Grace. It didn't do him all that much good, as I recall.' 

 'That was really stupid, you know,' Emban said then. 'i'm glad you realise 
that.' 

 'Not me, Sparhawk. I'm talking about our adversary. Why did it reveal 
itself ' at this particular moment? It should have kept its flamboyant 
demonstration to itself 

and just listened. It could have found out what our plans are. Not only 
that, it revealed itself to Morsel. Until it appeared, he only had our word 
for the fact of its existence. Now he's seen it for himself.' 

 'Will someone please explain this?' morsel burst out. 'It was the 
Troll-Gods, your Grace,' Sparhawk told him. 'That's absurd. There's no such 
thing as a Troll, so how can they have Gods?' 

 'This may take longer than I'd thought,' Sparhawk muttered half to 
himself. 'As a matter of fact, your Grace, there are Trolls.' 

 'Have you ever seen one?' Morsel challenged. 'Only one your Grace. His 
name was Ghwerig. He was dwarfed, so he was only about seven feet tall. He 
was still very difficult to kill.' 

 'You killed him?' Morsel gasped. 'He had something I wanted,' Sparhawk 
shrugged. 'Ulath's seen a lot more of them than I have, your Grace. He can 
tell you all about them. He even speaks their language. I did for a while 
myself, but I've probably forgotten by now. Anyway, they have a language, 
which means that they're semi-human, and that means that they have Gods, 
doesn't it?' Morsel looked helplessly at Emban. 'Don't ask me, my friend,' 
the fat Patriarch said. 'That's a long way out of my theological depth.' 
'For the time being, you'll have to take my word for it,' Sparhawk told 
them. 'There are Trolls, and they do have Gods - five of them - and they 
aren't very nice. That shadow Patriarch Emban just so casually dismissed 
was them - or something very much like them - and that's what we're up 
against. That's what's trying to bring down the empire and the Church both 

 our churches, probably. I'm sorry I have to put it to you so abruptly, 
Archimandrite Morsel, but you have to know what you're dealing with. 
Otherwise, you'll be totally defenceless. You don't have to believe what I 
just told you, but you'd better behave as if you did, because if you don't, 
your Church doesn't have a chance of surviving. 

The Atans arrived a few days later. A hush fell over the 'city of Darsas as 
the citizens scurried for cover. No man is so entirely' guiltless in his 
own soul that the sudden appearance of a few thousand police does not give 
him a qualm or two. The Atans were superbly conditioned giants. The two 
thousand warriors of both sexes ran in perfect unison as they entered the 
city four abreast. They wore short leather kirtles, burnished steel 
breastplates and black half-boots. Their bare limbs gleamed Solder in the 
morning sun as they ran, and their faces were stern and unbending. Though 
they were obviously soldiers, there was no uniformity in their weapons. 
They carried a random collection of swords, short spears and axes, as well 
as other implements for which Sparhawk had no names. They all had several 
sheathed daggers strapped tightly to their arms and legs. They wore no 
helmets, but had slender gold circlets about their heads instead. 'Lord,' 
Kalten breathed to Sparhawk as the two of them stood on the palace 
battlements to watch the arrival of their escort, 'i'd really hate to come 
up against that lot on a battlefield. just looking at them makes my blood 


run cold.' 

 'I believe that's the idea, Kalten,' Sparhawk said. 'Mirtai's impressive 
all by herself, but when you see a couple of thousand of them like this, 
you begin to understand how the Tamuls were able to conquer a continent 
without any particular difficulty. I'd imagine that whole armies simply 
capitulated when they saw them coming.' The Atans entered the square in 
front of the palace and formed up before the residence of the Tamul 
Ambassador. A huge man went to Ambassador Fontan's door, his pace quite 

clearly indicating that if the door were not opened for him, he would walk 
right through it. 'Why don't we go down?' Sparhawk suggested. 'I 

expect that Fontan will be bri'nging that fellow to call in a few moments. 
Watch what you say, Kalten. Those people strike me as a singularly 

humourless group. I'm sure they'd miss the point of almost any joke.' 
'Really,' Kalten breathed his agreement. The party accompanying the Queen 
of Elenia gathered in her Majesty's private quarters and stood about rather 
nervously awaiting the arrival of the Tamul Ambassador and his general. 
Sparhawk watched Mirtai rather closely to see what her reaction might be 
upon being re-united with her people after so many years. She wore clothing 
he had not seen her wear before, clothing which closely resembled that worn 
by her countrymen. In place of the steel breastplate, however, she wore a 
tight-fitting, sleeveless black leather jerkin, and the band about her brow 
was of silver rather than gold. Her face was serene, seeming to show 
neither anticipation nor nervous apprehension. She merely waited. Then 
Fontan and Oscagne arrived with the tallest man Sparhawk had ever seen. 
They introduced him as Atan Engessa. The word 'Atan' appeared to be not 
only the name of the people, but some kind of title as well. ' Engessa was 
well over seven feet tall, and the room seemed to shrink as he entered. His 
age, probably because of his race, was indeterminate. He was lean and 
muscular, and his expression sternly unyielding. His face showed no 
evidence that he had ever smiled. immediately upon his entrance into the 
room, he went directly to Mirtai, as if none of the rest of them were even 
in the room. He touched the fingertips of both hands to his steel-armoured 
chest and inclined his .head to her. 'Atana Mirtai,' he greeted her 
respectfully. 'Atan Engessa,' she replied, duplicating his gesture of 
greeting. Then they smoke to each other at some length in the Tamul tongue. 
' What are they saying?' Ehlana asked Oscagne, who Walked to where they all 
stood. it's a ritual of greeting, your Majesty,' Oscagne replied. 'There 
are a great many formalities involved when Atans meet. The rituals help to 
hold down the bloodshed, I believe. At the moment, Engessa's questioning 
Mirtai concerning her status as a child - the silver headband, you 
understand. It's an indication that she hasn't yet gone through the Rite of 
Passage.' He paused and listened for a moment as Mirtai spoke. 'She's 
explaining that she's been separated from humans since childhood and hasn't 
had the opportunity to participate in the ritual as yet.' 

 'Separated from humans?' Ehlana objected. 'What does she think we are?' 

 'Atans believe that they are the only humans in the world. I'm not sure 
exactly what they consider us to be.' The ambassador blinked. 'Has she' 
really killed that many people?' he asked with some surprise. 'Ten?' 
Sparhawk asked. 'She said thirty-four.' 

 'That's impossible!' Ehlana exclaimed. 'She's been A member of my court 
for the past seven years. I'd have known if she'd killed anyone while she 
was in my service.' 

 'Not if she did it at night, you wouldn't, my Queen,' Sparhawk disagreed. 


'She locks us in our rooms every night. She says that it's for our own 
protection, but maybe it's really so that she can go out looking for 
entertainment. Maybe we should change the procedure when we get home. Let's 
start locking her up for the night instead of the other way around.' 
'She'll just kick the door down, Sparhawk.' 

 'That's true, I suppose. We could always chain her to the wall at night, I 
guess.' 
'Sparhawk.' Ehlana exclaimed. 'We can talk about it later. Here comes 
Fontan and General Engessa.' 

 'Atan Engessa, Sparhawk,' Oscagne corrected. 
'Engessa wouldn't even recognise the title of general. He's a warrior - an 
'Atan'. That's all the title he seems to need. If you call him 'General', 
you'll insult him, and that's not a good idea.' Engessa had a deep, quiet 
voice, and he spoke the Elenic language haltingly and with an exotic 
accent. He carefully repeated each of their names when Fontan introduced 
them, obviously committing them to memory. He accepted Ehlana's status 
without question, although the concept of a queen must have been alien to 
him. He recognised Sparhawk and the other knights as warriors, and 
respected them as such. The status of Patriarch Emban, Talen, Stragen and 
Baroness Melidere obviously baffled him. He greeted Kring, however, with 
the customary Peloi salute. 'Atana Mirtai advises me that you seek marriage 
with her,' he said. 'That's right,' Kring replied a bit pugnaciously. 'Have 
you any objections?' 

 'That depends. How many have you killed?' 
'More than I can conveniently count.' 
'That could mean two things. Either you have slain many, or you have a 


poor head for figures.' 
'I can count past two hundred,' Kring declared. 'A respectable number. You 

are Domi among your people?' 
'I am.' 
'Who cut your head?' Engessa pointed at the scars on Kring's scalp and 

face. 'A friend. We were discussing each others' qualifications for 

leadership.' 
'Why did you let him cut you?' 
'I was busy. I had my saber in his belly at the time, and I was probing 

around for various things inside him.' 
'Your scars are honourable then. I respect them. Was he a good friend?' 

Kring nodded. 'The best. We were like brothers.' 
'You spared him the inconvenience of' growing old.' 
'I did that, all right. He never got a day older.' 
'I take no exception to your suit of Atana Mirtai,' Engessa told him. 'She 

is a child with no family. As the first adult Atan she has met, it is my 

responsibility to serve as her father. Have you an Oma?' 
'Sparhawk serves as my Oma.' 
'I would be honoured, Atan. May I also call you friend?' 
'I also would be honoured, friend Kring. Hopefully, your Oma and I will be 

able to arrange the day when you and Atana Mirtai will be branded.' 
'May God speed the day, friend Engessa.' 
'I feel as if I've just witnessed something from the dark ages,' Kalten 

whispered to Sparhawk. 'What do you think would have happened if they'd 

taken a dislike to each other?' 
'It probably would have been messy.' 
'When do you want to leave, Ehlana, Queen of Elenia?' Engessa asked. 

Ehlana looked at her friends questioningly. 'Tomorrow?' she suggested. 'You 
should not ask, Ehlana-Queen,' Engessa reprimanded her firmly. 'Command. If 
any object, have Sparhawk-Champion kill them.' 


 'We've been trying to cut back on that, Atan Engessa,' she said. 'It's 

always so hard on the carpeting.' 
'Ah,' he said. 'I knew there was a reason. Tomorrow then?' 
'Tomorrow, Engessa.' 
'I will await you at first light, Ehlana-Queen.' And he turned on his heel 

and marched from the room. 'Abrupt sort of fellow, isn't he?' Stragen 
noted. 'He doesn't waste any words,' Tynian agreed. 'A word with you, 
Sparhawk?' Kring said. 'Of course.' 

 'You will serve as my Oma, won't you?' 
'Of course.' 
'Don't pledge too many horses.' Kring frowned. 'What did he mean when he 


was talking about branding?' Sparhawk suddenly remembered. 'It's an Atan 
wedding custom. During the ceremony the happy couple is branded. Each wears 
the mark of the other.' 

 'Branded?' 
'So I understand.' 
'What if a couple doesn't get along? 'I imagine they cross out the brand. 


'How do you cross out a brand?' 
'Probably with a hot iron. Are you still bent on marriage, Kring?' 
'Find out where the brand goes, Sparhawk. I'll know better once I have 

that information.' 
'I gather there are places where you'd rather not be branded?' 
'Oh, yes. There are definitely places, Sparhawk.' 

They left Darsas at first light the following morning and rode eastward 
toward Pela on the steppes of central Astel. The Atans enclosed the column, 
loping easily to match the speed of the horses. Sparhawk's concerns about 
the safety of his queen diminished noticeably. Mirtai had very briefly even 

 peremptorily - advised her owner that she would travel with her 
countrymen. She did not precisely ask. A rather peculiar change had come 
over the golden giantess. That wary tension which had always characterised 
her seemed to have vanished. 'I can't exactly put my finger on it,' Ehlana 
confessed about mid-morning when they were discussing it. 'She just doesn't 
seem quite the same.' 

 'She isn't, your Majesty,' Stragen told her. 'She's come home, that's all. 
Not only that, the presence of adults allows her to take her natural place 
in her own society. She's still a child - in her own eyes at least. She's 
never talked about her childhood, but I gather it wasn't a time filled with 
happiness and security. Something happened to her parents, and she was sold 
into slavery.' 

 'All of her people are slaves, Milord Stragen,' Melidere objected. 'There 
are different kinds of slavery, Baroness. The slavery of the Atan race by 
the Tamuls is institutionalised. Mirtai's is personal. She was taken as a 
child, enslaved and then forced to take her own steps to protect herself. 
Now that she's back among the Atans, she's able to recapture some sense of 
her childhood.' He made a wry face. 'I never had that opportunity, of 
course. I was born into a different kind of slavery, and killing my father 
didn't really liberate me.' 

 'You concern yourself overmuch about that, Milord Stragen,' Melidere told 
him. 'You really shouldn't make the issue of your unauthorised conception 
the central fact of your whole existence, you know. There are much more 
important things in life.' Stragen looked at her sharply, then laughed, hiS 
expression a bit sheepish. 'Do I really seem so selfpitying to you, 
Baroness?' 

 'No, not really, but you always insist on bringing it up. Don't worry at 
it so much, Milord. It doesn't make any difference to the rest of us, so 


why brood about it?' 

 'You see, Sparhawk,' Stragen said. 'That's exactly what I meant about this 
girl. She's the most dishonest person I've ever known.' 

 'milord Stragen.' Melidere protested. 'But you are, my dear Baroness,' 
Stragen grinned. 'You don't lie with your mouth, you lie with your entire 
person. You pose as someone whose head is filled with air, and then you 
puncture a facade I've spent a lifetime building with one single 
observation., 'Unauthorised conception' indeed. You've managed to 
trivialise the central tragedy of my entire life.' 
'Can you ever forgive me?' Her eyes were wide and dishonestly innocent. 
'I give up,' he said, 
throwing his hands in the air in mock surrender. 'Where was i? Oh yes, 
Mirtai's aPParent change of personality. I think the Rite of Passage among 
the Atans is very significant to them, and that's another reason our 
beloved little giantess is reverting to the social equivalent of baby-talk. 
Engessa's obviously going to put her through the rite when we reach her 
homeland, so she's enjoying the last few days of childhood to the hilt.' 

'Can I ride with you, Father?' Danae asked. 'if you wish.' The little 

princess rose from her seat in the carriage, handed Rollo to Alcan and Mmrr 
to Baroness Melidere and held out her hands to Sparhawk. He lifted her to 
her usual seat in front of his saddle. 'Take me for a ride, Father,' she 
coaxed in her most little-girl tone. 'We'll be back in a bit,' Sparhawk 
told his wife and cantered away from the carriage. 

'Stragen can be so tedious at times,' Danae said tartly. 'i'm glad 

Melidere's the one who's going to have to modify him.' 

 'What?' Sparhawk was startled. 'Where are your eyes, father?' 

 'I wasn't actually looking. Do they really feel that way about each 
other?'

 'She does. She'll let him know how he feels when she's ready. What 
happened in Darsas?' Sparhawk wrestled with his conscience a bit at that 
point., 'Would you say that you're a religious personage?' he asked 
carefully. That's a novel way to put it.' 

 'Just answer the question, Danae. Are you or are you not affiliated with a 
religion?' 

 'Well, of course I am, Sparhawk. I'm the focus of a religion.' 

 'Then in a general sort of way, you could be defined as a clergyman - uh person?' 

'W 

 hat are you getting at, Sparhawk?' 

 'Just say yes, Danae. I'm tiptoeing around the edges of violating an oath, 
and I need a technical excuse for it.' 

 'I give up. Yes, technically you could call me a church personage - it's a 
different church, of course, but the definition still fits.' 

 'Thank you. I swore not to reveal this except to another clergyman personage. 

 You're a clergyperson, so I can tell you.' 

 'That's sheer sophistry, Sparhawk.' 

 'I know, but it gets me off the hook. Baron Kotyk's brother-in-law, Elron, 
is Sabre.' He gave her a suspicious look. 'Have you been tampering again?' 
'Me?' 

 'You're starting to stretch the potentials of coincidence a bit, Danae,' 
he said. 'You knew what I just told you all along, didn't you?' 

 'Not the details, no. What you call 'omniscience' is a human concept. It 
was dreamed up to make people think that they couldn't get away with 
anything. I get hints - little flashes' of things, that's all. I knew there 


was something significant in Kotyk's house, and I knew that if you and the 

others listened carefully, you'd hear about it.' 

'It's like intuition then?' 

 'That's a very good word for it, Sparhawk. Ours is a little more developed 
than yours, and we pay close attention to it. You humans tend to ignore it 

- particularly you men. Something else happened in Darsas, didn't it?' He 
nodded. 'That shadow put in another appearance. Emban and I were talking 
with Archimandrite Morsel, and we were visited. 'Whoever's behind this is 
very stupid, then. 'The Troll-Gods? Isn't that part of the definition of 
them?' 
'We're not absolutely certain it's the Troll-Gods, Sparhawk.' 

 'Wouldn't you know? I mean, isn't there some way you can identify who's 
opposing You?' She shook her head. 'i'm afraid not, Sparhawk. We can 
conceal ourselves from each other. The stupidity of that appearance in 
Darsas certainly suggests the TrollGods, though. We haven't been able to 
make them understand why the sun comes up in the east as yet. They know 
it's going to come up every morrting, but they're never sure just exactly 
where.' 

 'You're exaggerating.' 

 'Of course I am.' She frowned. 'Let's not set our feet in stone on the 
idea that we're dealing with the TrollGods just yet, though. There are some 
very subtle differences - of course that may be the result of their 
encounter with you in the Temple of Azash. You frightened them very much, 
you know. I'd be more inclined to suspect an alliance between them and 
somebody else. I think the Troll-Gods would be more direct. If there is 
somebody else involved, he's just a bit childish. He hasn't been out in the 
world. He surrounded himself with people who aren't bright, and he's 
judging all humans by his worshipers. That appearance at Darsas was really 
a blunder, you know. He didn't have to do it, and all he really did was to 
confirm what you'd already told that clergyman - you did tell him what's 
happening, didn't you?' Sparhawk nodded. we really need to get to Sarsos 
and talk with Sephrenia. ' 

 'you're going to speed up the journey again then?' 

 'I think I'd better. I'm not entirely sure what the ones on the other side 
are doing yet, but they're starting to move faster for some reason, so we'd 
better see what we can do to keep up. Take me back to the carriage, 
Sparhawk. Stragen's probably finished showing off hiS education by now, and 
the smell of your armour's beginning to make me nauseous.' 

Although there was a community of interest between the three disparate 
segments of the force escorting the Queen of Elenia, Sparhawk, Engessa and 
Kring decided to make some effort to keep the Peloi, the Church Knights and 
the Atans more or less separate from each other. Cultural differences 
obviously made a general mingling unwise. The possibilities for 
misunderstandings were simply too numerous to be ignored. Each leader 
stressed the need for the strictest of courtesy and formality to his 
forces, and the end result was a tense and exaggerated stiffness. In a very 
real sense, the Atans, the Peloi and the knights were allies rather than 
comrades. The fact that very few of the Atans spoke Elenic added to the 
distance between the component parts of the small army moving out onto the 
treeless expanse of the steppes. They encountered the eastern Peloi some 
distance from the town of Pela in central Astel. Kring's ancestors had 
migrated from this vast grassland some three thousand' years earlier, but 
despite the separation of time and distance, the two branches of the Peloi 
family were remarkably similar in matters of dress and custom. The only 
really significant difference seemed to be the marked preference of the 


eastern Peloi for the javelin as opposed to the sabre favoured by Kring's 
people. After a ritual exchange of greetings and a somewhat extended 
ceremony during which Kring and his eastern cousin sat cross-legged on the 
turf 'taking salt together and talking of affairs' while two armies warily 
faced each other across three hundred yards of open grass. The decision not 
to go to war with each other today was apparently reached, and Kring led 
his new-found friend and kinsman to the carriage to introduce him all 
around. The Domi of the eastern Peloi was named Tikume. He was somewhat 
taller than Kring, but his head was also shaved, a custom among those 
horsemen dating back to antiquity. Tikume greeted them all politely. 'It is 
passing strange to see Peloi allied with foreigners,' he noted. 'Domi Kring 
has told me of the conditions which prevail in Eosia, but I had not fully 
realised that they had led to such peculiar arrangements. Of course he and 
I have not spoken together for more than ten years.' 

 'You've met before, Domi Tikume?' Patriarch Emban asked with a certain 
surprise. 'Yes, your Grace,' Kring replied. 'Domi Tikume journeyed to 
Pelosia with the King of Astel some years back. He made a point of looking 
me up.' 

 'King Alberen's father was much wiser than his son,' Ticume explained, 
'and he read a great deal. He saw many similarities between Pelosia and 
Astel, so he paid a state visit to King Saros. He invited me to go along.' 
His expression became one of distaste. 'I might have declined if I'd known 
he was going to travel by boat. I was sick every day for two months. Domi 
Kring and I got on well together. He was kind enough to take me' with him 
to the marshes to hunt ears.' 

 'Did he share the profits with you, Domi Tikume?' Ehlana asked him. what 
was that, queen Ehlana?' Tikume looked baffled. Kring, however, laughed 
nervously and flushed just a bit. Then Mirtai strode up to the cariage. 'is 
this the one?' Tikume asked Kring. Kring nodded happily. 'isn't she 
stupendous?'

 'Magnificent,' Tikume agreed fervently, his tone almost reverential. Then 
he dropped to one knee. 'Dona,' he greeted her, clasping both hands in 
front of his face. Mirtai looked inquiringly at Kring. 'It's a Peloi word, 
beloved,' he explained. 'It means 'Domi's mate'.' 

 'That hasn't been decided yet, Kring,' she pointed out. 'Can there be any 
doubt, beloved?' he replied. , Tikume was still down on one knee. 'You 
shall enter our camp with all honours, Dona Mirtai,' he declared, 'for 
among our people, you are a queen. All shall kneel to you, and all shall 
give way to you. Poems and songs shall be composed in your honour, and rich 
gifts shall be bestowed upon you.' 

 'Well, now,' Mirtai said. 'Your beauty is clearly divine, Dona Mirtai,' 
Tikume continued, warming to his subject. 'Your very presence brightens a 
drab world and puts the sun to shame. I am awed at the wisdom of my brother 
Kring in having selected you as his mate. Come straightaway to our camp, 
divine one, so that my people may adore you.' 

 'My goodness,' Ehlana breathed. 'Nobody's ever said anything like that to 
me.' 

 'We just didn't want to embarrass you, my Queen,' Stragen told her 
blandly. 'We feel that way about you of course, but we didn't want to be 
too obvious about it.' 

 'Well said,' Ulath approved. Mirtai looked at Kring with a new interest. 
'Why didn't you tell me about this, Kring?' she asked him. 'I thought you 
knew, beloved.' 

 'I didn't,' she replied. Her lower lip pushed forward slightly in a 
thoughtful kind of pout. 'But I do now,' she added. 'Have you chosen an Oma 
as yet?' 


 'Sparhawk serves me in that capacity, beloved.' 
'Why don't you go have a talk with Atan Engessa, Sparhawk!' she suggested. 
'Tell him for me that I do not look upon Domi Kring's suit with disfavour.' 
'That's a very good idea, Mirtai,' Sparhawk replied. 'i'm surprised I 
didn't think of it myself.' 

CHAPTER 14 

The town of Pela in central Astel was a major trading centre where 
merchants and cattle-buyers came from all parts of the empire to do 
business with the Peloi herdors. It was a shabby-looking, unfinished sort 
of place. Many of its buildings were no more than ornate fronts with large 
tents erected behind them. No attempt had ever been made to pave its 
rutted streets, and the passage of strings of wagons and herds of cattle 
raised a cloud of dust that entirely obscured the town most of the time. 
Beyond the poorly-defined outskirts lay an ocean of tents, the portable 
homes of the nomadic Peloi. Tikume led them through the town and on out to 
a hill-top where a number of brightly-striped pavilions encircled a large 
open area. A canopy held aloft by poles shaded a place of honour at the 
very top of the hill, and the ground beneath that canopy was carpeted and 
strewn with cushions and furs. Mirtai was the absolute centre of 
attention. Her rather scanty marching clothes had been covered with a 
purple robe that reached to the ground, an indication of her near-royal 
status. Kring and Tikume formally escorted her to the ceremonial centre of 
the camp and introduced her to Tikume's wife, Vida, a sharp-faced woman 
who also wore a purple robe and looked at Mirtai with undisguised 
hostility. Sparhawk and the rest joined the Peloi leaders in the shade as 
honoured guests. The face of Tikume's wife grew darker and darker as Peloi 
warriors vied with each other to heap extravagant compliments upon Mirtai 
as they were presented to Kring and his purported bride-to-be. There were 
gifts and a number of songs praising the beauty of the golden giantess. 
'How did they find time to make up songs about her?' Talen quietly asked 
Stragen. 'i'd imagine that the songs have been around for a long time,' 
Stragen replied. 'They've substituted Mirtai's name, that's all. I expect 
there'll be poems as well. I know a third-rate poet in Emsat who makes a 
fairly good living writing poems and love-letters for young nobles too 
lazy or uninspired to compose their own. There's a whole body of 
literature with blank spaces in it that serves in such situations.' 

 'They just fill in the blanks with the girl's name?' Talen demanded 
incredulously. 'It wouldn't really make much sense to fill them in with 
some other girl's name, would it?' 

 'That's dishonest!' Talen exclaimed. 'What a novel attitude, Talen,' 
Patriarch Emban laughed, 'particularly coming from you.' 

 'You aren't supposed to cheat when you're telling a girl how you feel 
about her,' Talen insisted. Talen had begun to notice girls. They had been 
there all along, of course, but he had not noticed them before, and he had 
some rather surprisingly strong convictions. It is to the credit of his 
friends that not one of them laughed at his peculiar expression of 
integrity. Baroness Melidere, however, impulsively embraced him. 'What was 
that all about?' he asked her a little suspiciously. 'Oh, nothing,' she 
replied, touching a gentle hand to his cheek. 'When was the last time you 
shaved?' she asked him. 'Last week sometime, I think - or maybe the week 
before.' 

 'You're due again, I'd say. You're definitely growing up, Talen.' The boy 

flushed slightly. Princess Danae gave Sparhawk a sly little smirk. After 


the gifts and the poems and songs came the demonstrations of prowess. 
Kring's tribesmen demonstrated their proficiency with their sabres.
Tikume's men did much the same with their javelins, which they either cast 
or used as short lances. Sir Berit unhorsed an equally youthful Cyrinic 
Knight, and two blond-braided Genidians engaged in a fearsomely realistic 
mock axe-fight. 'It's all relatively standard, of course, Emban,' 
Ambassador Oscagne said to the Patriarch of Ucera. The friendship of the 
two men had progressed to the point where they had begun to discard titles. 
'Warrior cultures almost totally circumscribe their lives with ceremonies.' 
Emban smiled. 'I've noticed that, Oscagne. Our Church Knights are the most 
courteous and ceremonial men I know.' 


 'Prudence, your Grace,' Ulath explained cryptically. 'You'll get used to 
that in time, your Excellency,' Tynian assured the ambassador. 'Sir Ulath 
hates to waste words.' 


 'I wasn't being mysterious, Tynian,' Ulath told him. 'I was only pointing 
out that you almost have to be polite to a man who's holding an axe.' Atan 
Engessa rose and bowed a bit stiffly to Ehlana. 'May I test your slave, 
Ehlana-Queen?' he asked. 'How exactly do you mean, Atan Engessa?' she asked
warily. 'She approaches the time of the Rite of Passage. We must decide if 
she is ready. I will not harm her. These others are demonstrating their 
skill. Atana Mirtai and ,I will participate. It will be a good time for the 
test.' 


 'As you think best, Atan,' Ehlana consented, 'as long as the Atana does 
not object.' 


 'if she is truly Atan, she will not object, Ehlana-Queen.' He turned 
abruptly and crossed to where Mirtai sat with the Peloi. 'Mirtai's 
certainly the centre of things today,' Melidere observed. 'I think it's 
very nice,' Ehlana said. 'She keeps herself in the background most of the 
time. She's entitled to a bit of attention.' 


 'It's political, you realise,' Stragen told her. 'Tikume's people are 
showering Mirtai with attention for Kring's benefit.' 


 'I know, Stragen, but it's nice all the same.' She looked speculatively at 
her golden slave. 'Sparhawk, I'd take it as a personal favour if you'd 
actively pursue the marriage-negotiations with Atan Engessa. Mirtai
deserves some happiness.' 


 'I'll see what I can arrange for her, my queen.' Mirtai readily agreed to 
Engessa's proposed test. She rose gracefully to her feet, unfastened the 
neck of her purple robe and let it fall. The Peloi gasped. Their women-folk
were customarily dressed in far more concealing garments. The sneer on the 
face of Tikume's wife Vida, however, was a bit wan. Mirtai was 
significantly female. She was also fully armed, and that also shocked the 
Peloi. She and Engessa moved to the area in front of the canopy, curtly 
inclined their heads to each other and drew their swords. Sparhawk thought 
he knew the differences between contest and combat, but what followed 
blurred that boundary for him. Mirtai and Engessa seemed to be fully intent 
on killing each other. Their swordsmanship was superb, but their manner of 
fencing involved a great deal more physical contact than did western-style 
fighting. 'It looks like a wrestling-match with swords,' Kalten observed to 
Ulath. 'Yes,' Ulath agreed. 'I wonder if a man could do that in an 
axe-fight. If you could kick somebody in the face the way she just did and 
then follow up with an axestroke, you could win a lot of fights in a 
hurry.' 


 'I knew she was going to do that to him,' Kalten chuckled as Engessa 
landed flat on his back in the dust. 'She did it to me once.' Engessa,
however, did not lie gasping on the ground as Kalten had. He rolled away 
from Mirtai instead and came to his feet with his sword still in his hand. 



He raised his blade in a kind of salute and then immediately attacked 
again. 

The 'test' continued for several more minutes until a watching Atan sharply 
banged his fist on his breastplate to signal the end of the match. The man 
who had signailed was much older than his compatriots, or so it seemed. His 
hair was white. Nothing else about him seemed any different, however. 
Mirtai and Engessa bowed formally to each other, and he returned her to her 
place where she once again drew on her robe and sank down onto a cushion. 
Vida no longer sneered. 'She is fit,' Engessa reported to Ehlana. He 
reached up under his breastplate and tenderly touched a sore-spot. 'More 
than fit,' he added. 'She is a skilled and dangerous opponent. I am proud 
to be the one she will call father. She will add luster to my name.' 

 'We rather like her, Atan Engessa,' Ehlana smiled. 'i'm so glad you agree 
with us.' She let the full impact of that devastating smile wash over the 
stern-faced Atan, and hesitantly, almost as if it were in spite of himself, 
he smiled back. 'I think he lost two fights today,' Talen whispered to 
Sparhawk. 'So it would seem,' Sparhawk replied. 'We can never catch up with 
them, friend Sparhawk,' Tikume said that evening as they all relaxed on 
carpets near a flaring campfire. 'These steppes are open grasslands with 
only a few groves of trees. There isn't really any place to hide, and you 
can't ride a horse through tall grass without leaving a trail a blind man 
could follow. They come out of nowhere, kill the herders and run off the 
cattle. I followed one of those groups of raiders myself. They'd stolen a 
hundred cattle, and they left a broad trail through the grass. After a few 
miles, the trail just ended. There was no sign that they'd dispersed. They 
just vanished. It was as if something had reached down and carried them off 
into the sky.' 

 'Have there been any other disturbances, Domi?' Tynian asked carefully. 
'What I'm trying to say is, has there been unrest of any kind among your 
people? Wild stories? rumours? That sort of thing?' 

 'No,'friend Tynian.' Ticume smiled. 'We are an openfaced people. We do not 
conceal our emotions from each other. I'd know if there were something 
afoot. I've heard about what's been happening over around Darsas, so I know 
why you ask. Nothing like that is happening here. We don't worship our 
heroes the way they do, we just try to be like them. Someone's stealing our 
cattle and killing our herdsmen.' He looked a bit accusingly at Oscagne. 'I 
would not insult you for all the world, your Honour,' he said, 'but you 
might suggest to the emperor that he would be wise to have some of his 
Atans look into it. If we have to deal with it ourselves, our neighbours 
won't like it very much. We of the Peloi tend to be a bit indiscriminate 
when someone steals our cattle.' 

 'I'll bring the matter to his Imperial Majesty's attention,' Oscagne 
promised. 'Soon, friend Oscagne,' Tikume recommended. 'Very soon.' 

'She's a highly-skilled warrior, Sparhawk-Knight,' Engessa was saying the 
following morning as the two sat by a small fire. 'Granted,' Sparhawk 
replied, 'but by your own traditions, she's still a child.' 

 'That's why it's my place to negotiate for her,' Engessa pointed out. 'if 
she were adult, she would do it herself. Children sometimes do not know 
their own worth.' 

 'But a child cannot be as valuable as an adult.' 
'That's not always entirely true, Sparhawk-Knight. The younger a woman, 
the greater her price.' 
'Oh, this is absurd,' Ehlana broke in. The negotiations were of a delicate 
nature and would normally have taken place in private. 'Normally', however, 


did not always apply to Sparhawk's wife. 'Your offer's completely 
unacceptable, Sparhawk.' 

 'Whose side are you on, dear?' he asked her mildly. 'Mirtai's my friend. I 
won't permit you to insult her. Ten horses indeed. I could get that much 
for Talen.' 

 'Were you planning to sell him too?' 

 'I was just illustrating a point.' Sir Tynian had also stopped by. Of all 
of their group, he was closest to Kring, and he keenly felt the 
responsibilities of friendship. 'What sort of offer would your Majesty 
consider properly respectful?' he asked Ehlana. 'Not a horse less than 
sixty,' she declared adamantly. 'Sixty.' Tynian exclaimed. 'You'll 
impoverish him. What kind of a life will Mirtai have if you marry her off 
to a pauper?'

 'Kring's hardly a pauper, Sir Knight,' she retorted. 

'He still has all that gold King Saros paid him for those Zemoch ears.' 
'But that's not his gold, your Majesty,' Tynian pointed out. 'It belongs to 
his people.' Sparhawk smiled and motioned with his head to 

Engessa. Unobtrusively, the two stepped away from the fire. 'i'd Guess that 
they'll settle on thirty, Atan Engessa,' he tentatively suggested. 'Most 
probably,' Engessa agreed. 'It seems like a fair number to me. Doesn't it 
to you?' It hovered sort of on the verge of an offer. 'It's more or less 
what I had in mind, SparhawkKnight.' 

 'Me too. Done then?' 

 'Done.' The two of them clasped hands. 'Should we tell them?' the Atan 
asked, the faintest hint of a smile touching his face. 'They're having a 
lot of fun,' Sparhawk grinned. 'Why don't we let them play it out? We can 
find out how close our guess was. Besides, these negotiations are very 
important to Kring and Mirtai. If we were to agree in just a few minutes, 
it might make them feel cheapened.' 

 'You have been much in the world, SparhawkKnight,' Engessa observed. 'You 
know well the hearts of men - and of women.' 

 'No man ever truly knows the heart of a woman, Engessa-Atan,' Sparhawk 
replied ruefuly. The negotiations between Tynian and Ehlana had reached the 
tragic stage, each of them accusing the other of ripping out hearts and 
similar extravagances. Ehlana's performance was masterful. The Queen of 
Elenia had a strong flair for histrionics, and she was a highly skilled 
orator. She extemporised at length upon Sir Tynian's disgraceful 
niggardliness, her voice rising and falling in majestic cadences. Tynian, 
on the other hand, was coolly rational, although he too became emotional at 
times. Kring and Mirtai sat holding hands not far away, their eyes filled 
with concern as they hung breathlessly on every word. Tikume's Peloi 
encircled the haggling pair, straining to hear. It went on for hours, and 
it was nearly sunset when Ehlana and Tynian finally reached a grudging 
agreement - thirty horses - and concluded the bargain by spitting in their 
hands and smacking their palms together. Sparhawk and Engessa formalised 
the agreement in the same fashion, and a tumultuous cheer went up from the 
rapt Peloi. It had been a highly entertaining day all round, and that 
evening's celebration was loud and long. 'i'm exhausted,' Ehlana confessed 
to her husband after they had retired to their tent for the night. 'Poor 
dear,' Sparhawk commiserated. 'I had to step in, though. You were just 
being too meek, Sparhawk. You'd have given her away. It's a good thing I 
was there. You'd never have managed to reach that kind of agreement.' 

 'I was on the other side, Ehlana, remember?' 
'That's what I don't understand, Sparhawk. How could you treat poor Mirtai 



so disgracefully?' 
'Rules of the game, love. I was representing Kring.' 
'i'm still very disappointed in you, Sparhawk.' 
'Well, fortunately, you and Tynian were there to get it all done properly. 

Engessa and I couldn't have done half so well.' 
'It did turn out rather well, didn't it - even though it took us all day.' 
'You were brilliant, my love, absolutely brilliant.' 

'I've been in some very shabby places in my life, Sparhawk,' Stragen said 
the next morning, 'but Pela's the absolute worst. It's been abandoned 
several times, did you know that? Maybe abandoned isn't the right word. 
'Moved' is probably closer to the truth. Pela exists wherever the Peloi 
establish their summer encampment. ' 

 'i'd imagine that sends the map-makers into hysterics.' 
'More than likely. It's a temporary town, but it absolutely reeks of 


money. It takes a great deal of ready cash to buy a cattle-herd.' 
'Were you able to make contact with the local thieves?' 
'They contacted us actually,' Talen grinned. 'A boy no more than eight 

lifted Stragen's purse. He's very good - except that he doesn't run very 
well. I caught him within fifty Yards. After we'd explained who we were, he 
was very happy to take us to see the man in charge.' 

 'Has the thieves' council made any decision as yet?' Sparhawk asked 
Stragen. 'They're still mulling it over,' Stragen replied. 'They're a bit 
conservative here in Daresia. The notion of cooperating with the 
authorities strikes them as immoral for some reason. I sort of expect an 
answer when we get to Sarsos. The thieves of Sarsos carry a great deal of 
weight in the empire. Did anything meaningful happen while we were gone?' 
'Kring and Mirtai got betrothed.' That was quick. I'll have to congratulate 
them.' 

 'Why don't you two get some sleep,' Sparhawk suggested. 'We'll be leaving 
for Sarsos tomorrow. Tikume's going to ride along with us to the edge of 
the steppes. I think he'd like to go a bit farther, but the Styrics at 
Sarsos make him nervous.' He rose to his feet. 'Get some sleep,' he told 
them. 'I want to go have a talk with Oscagne. ' The Peloi encampment was 
quiet. It was early summer now, and the midday heat kept the nomads inside 
their tents. Sparhawk walked across the hard-packed earth toward the tent 
shared by Ambassador Oscagne and Patriarch Emban. His chain-mail jingled as 
he walked. Since they were in a secure encampment, the knights had decided 
to forego the discomfort of their formal' armour. He found them sitting 
beneath a canopy at the side of their tent eating a melon. 'Well-met, Sir 
Knight,' Oscagne said as the Pandion approached. 'That's an archaic form of 
greeting, Oscagne,' Emban told him. 'i'm an archaic sort of fellow, Emban.' 
'I was curious about something,' Sparhawk said, joining them on the shaded 
carpet. 'It's a characteristic of the young, I suppose,' Oscagne smiled. 
Sparhawk let that pass. 'This part of Astel seems quite different from what 
we ran into farther west,' he observed. 'Yes,' Oscagne agreed. 'Astel's the 
melting-pot that gave rise to all Elene cultures - both here in Daresia and 
in Eosia as well.' 

 'We might want to argue about that some day,' Emban murmured. 'Daresia's 
older, that's all,' Oscagne shrugged. 'That doesn't necessarily mean that 
it's better. Anyway, what you've seen of Astel so far is very much like 
what you'd encounter in the Elene Kingdom of Pelosia, wouldn't you say?' 
'There are similarities, yes,' Sparhawk replied. 'The similarities will 
stop when we reach the edge of the steppes. The western two-thirds of Astel 
are Elene. From the edge of the steppes to the Atan border, Astel's 
Styric.' 


'How did that happen?' Emban asked. 'The Styrics in Eosia are widely 
dispersed. They live in their own villages and follow their own laws and 
customs.' 

 'How cosmopolitan are you feeling today, Emban?' 

 'You're planning to insult my provincialism, I take it.' 

 'Not too much, I hope. Your prototypical Elene is a bigot.' Oscagne held 
up one hand. 'Let me finish before you explode. Bigotry's a form of 
egotism, and I think you'll have to concede that Elenes have a very high 
opinion of themselves. They seem to feel that God smiles particularly for 
them.' 

 'Doesn't He?' Emban feigned surprise. 'Stop that. For reasons only God can 
understand, the Styrics particularly irritate the Elenes.'

 'I have no trouble understanding it,' Emban shrugged. 'It's their superior 
attitude. They treat us as if we were children.' 

 'From their perspective, we are, your Grace,' Sparhawk told him. 'Styrics 
have been civilised for forty thousand years. We got started somewhat 
later.' 

 'For whatever the reason,' Oscagne continued, 'the initial impulse of the 
Elenes has been to drive the Styrics out - or to kill them. That's why the 
Styrics migrated to Eosia much earlier than you Elenes did. They were 
driven into the wilderness by Elene prejudice. Eosia was not the only 
wilderness, however. There's another that exists along the Atan border, and 
many Styrics fled there in antiquity. After the Empire was formed, we 
Tamuls asked the Elenes to stop molesting the Styrics living around 
Sarsos.' 

 'Asked?' 

 'We were quite fir - and we did have all )those Atans with nothing else to 
do. We've agreed to let the Elene clergy deliver thunderous denunciations 
from the pulpit, but we garrison enough Atans around Sarsos to keep the two 
peoples separate. It's quieter that way, and we Tamuls are extraordinarily 
fond of quiet. I think you gentlemen are in for a surprise when we reach 
Sarsos. It's the only truly Styric city in the entire world. It's an 
astonishing place. God seems to smile in a very special way there.'

 'you keep talking about God, Oscagne,' Emban noted. 'I thought a 
preoccupation with God was an Elene conceit.' 

 'You're more cosmopolitan than I thought, your Grace.' 

 'just exactly what do you mean when you use the word God, your 
Excellency?' 

 'We use the term generically. Our Tamul religion isn't very profound. We 
tend to think that a man's relationship with his God - or Gods - is his own 
affair.' 

 'That's heresy, you know. It would put the Church out of business.' 
'That's all right, Emban,' Oscagne smiled. 'Heresy's encouraged in the 
Tamul Empire. It gives us something to talk about on long, rainy 
afternoons.' 

They rode out with a huge Peloi escort the following morning. The party 
moving northeasterly looked not so much like an army on the march as it did 
a migration. Kring and Tikume rode more or less by themselves for the next 
several days, renew' ing their blood-ties and discussing an exchange of 
breeding-stock. Sparhawk attempted an experiment during the ride from Pela 
to the edge of the steppes, but try though he might, he could not detect 
any traces of Aphrael's tampering with time and distance. The Child Goddess 
was simply too skilled and her manipulations too seamless for him to detect 
them. Once, when she had joined him on Faran's back, he raised an issue 


that had been troubling him. 'i'm not trying to pry, but it seems that it's 
been about fifty days since we landed at Salesha. How long has it really 
been?' 

 'Quite a bit less than that, Sparhawk,' she replied. 

'Half that long at most.' 

 'I was sort of looking for an exact answer, Danae.' 

 'i'm not very good with numbers, father. I know the difference between a 
few and a lot, and that's all that's really important, isn't it?' 

 'It's a bit imprecise, wouldn't you say?' 

 'is precision all that important to you, Sparhawk?'

 'You can't begin to think logically without precision, Danae.' 

 'Don't think logically then. Try being intuitive for a change. You might 
even find that you like it.' 

 'How long, Danae?' he insisted. 'Three weeks,' she shrugged. 'That's a 
little better.' 

 'Well - more or less.' The edge of the steppes was marked by a dense 
forest of pale-trunked birches, and Tikume and his tribesmen turned back 
there. Since it was late in the day, the royal escort made camp on the edge 
of the forest so that they might follow the shaded road leading off through 
the trees in the full light of day. After they had settled down and the 
cooking fires were going, Sparhawk took Kring and they went looking for 
Engessa. 'We have a peculiar situation here, gentlemen,' he told them as 
they walked together near the edge of the forest. 'How so, 
Sparhawk-Knight?' Engessa asked. 'We've got three different kinds of 
warrior in this group, and I'd imagine there are three different approaches 
to engagement. We should probably discuss the differences so that we won't 
be working at crosspurposes if trouble arises. The standard approach of the 
Church Knights is based on our equipment. We wear 'armour, and we ride 
large horses. Whenever there's trouble, we usually just smash the centre of 
an opposing army.' 

we prefer to peel an enemy like an apple,' Kring said. we ride around his 
force very fast and slice off bits and pieces as we go.'

 'We fight on foot,' Engessa supplied. 'We're trained to be 
self-sufficient, so we just rush the enemy and engage him hand-to-hand.' 

'Does that work very well?' Kring asked him. 'It always has,' Engessa 
shrugged. 'if we happen to run into any kind of trouble, it probably 
wouldn't be a good idea for us all to dash right in,' Sparhawk mused. 'We'd 
be stumbling all over each other. See what you think of this. If a force of 
any significant size tries to attack us, Kring and his men circle around 
behind them, I form up the knights and charge the centre and Atan Engessa 
spreads his force out along a broad front. The enemy will sort of fold in 
behind the knights after we bash a hole in their centre. They always do for 
some reason. Kring's attacks along the rear and the flanks will add to 
their confusion. They'll be disorganised and most of them will be cut off 
from their leaders in one way or another. That would be a good time for 
Engessa to attack. The best soldiers in the world don't function too well 
when nobody's close enough to give orders.' 

 'It's a workable tactic,' Engessa conceded. 'It's a bit surprising to find 
that other people in the world know how to plan battles too.' 

 'The story of man has been pretty much the story of one long battle, Atan 
Engessa,' Sparhawk told him. 'We're all experienced at it, so we devise 
tactics that take advantage of our strengths. Do we want to do it the way I 
suggested?' Kring and Engessa looked at each other. 'Almost any plan will 


work,' Kring shrugged, 'as long as we all know what we're doing.' 

 'How will we know when you're ready for us to attack?' Engessa asked 
Sparhawk. 'My' friend Ulath has a horn,' Sparhawk replied. 'When he blows 
it once, my knights will charge. When he blows it twice, Kring's men will 
start peeling off the rear elements. When we've got the enemy's full 
attention', I'll have Ulath blow three times. That's when you'll want to 
charge.' Engessa's eyes were alight. 'It's the sort of strategy that 
doesn't leave very many survivors among the enemy, Sparhawk-Knight,' he 
said. 'That was sort of the idea, Engessa-Atan.' 

The birch forest lay on a long, gradual slope rising from the steppes of 
central Astel to the rugged foothills on the Atan border. The road was 
broad and well-maintained, though it tended to wander a great deal. 
Engessa's unmounted Atans ranged out about a mile on each side of the road, 
and for the first three days they reported no sightings of men, although 
they did encounter large herds of deer. Summer had not yet dried the 
lingering dampness from the forest floor, and the air in the sun-dappled 
shade was cool and moist, still smelling of new growth and renewal. Since 
the trees obstructed their vision, they rode cautiously. They set up their 
nighttime encampments while the sun was still above the horizon, and 
erected certain 'rudimentary fortifications to prevent surprises after 
dark. On the morning of their fourth day in the forest, Sparhawk rose early 
and walked through the first steel-grey light of dawn to the line where the 
horses were picketed. He found Khalad there. Kurik's eldest son had snubbed 
Faran's head up close to a birch tree and was carefully inspecting the big 
roan's hooves. 'I was just going to do that,' Sparhawk said quietly. 'He 
seemed to be favouring his left forehoof yesterday.' 

 'Stone bruise,' Khalad said shortly. 'You know, Sparhawk, you might want 
to give some thought to putting him out to pasture when we get back home. 
He's not a colt any more, you know.' 

 'Neither am I, when you get right down to it. Sleeping on the ground's not 
nearly as much fun as it used to be.' 

'You're just getting soft.' 

 'Thanks. Is this weather going to hold?'

 'As nearly as I can tell, yes.' Khalad lowered Faran's hoof to the ground 
and took hold of the snubbing rope. 'No biting,' he cautioned the horse. 
'if you bite me, I'll kick you in the ribs.' Faran's long face took on an 
injured expression. 'He's an evil-tempered brute,' Khalad noted, 'but he's 
far and away the smartest horse I've ever come across. You should put him 
to stud. It might be interesting to train intelligent colts for a change. 
Most horses aren't really very bright.' 

 'I thought horses were among the cleverest of animals.' 

 'That's a myth, Sparhawk. If you want a smart animal, get yourself a pig. 
I've never yet been able to build a pen that a pig couldn't think his way 
out of.' 

 'They're built a little close to the ground for riding. Let's go see how 
breakfast's coming.' 

 'Who's cooking this morning?' 

 'Kalten, I think. Ulath would know.' 

 'Kalten? Maybe I'll stay here and eat with the horses.'

 'I'm not sure that a bucketful of raw oats would taste all that good.' 
'i'd put it up against Kalten's cooking any day, my Lord.' They rode out 
shortly after the sun ' rose, and proceeded through the cool, sun-speckled 
forest. The birds seemed to be everywhere, and they sang enthusiastically. 
Sparhawk smiled as he remembered how Sephrenia had once punctured his 
illusion that' birdsong was an expression of a love for music. 'Actually 


they're warning other birds to stay away, dear one,' she had said. 'They're 
claiming possession of nesting-sites. It sounds very pretty, but all 
they're really saying is, 'My tree. My tree. My tree.' Mirtai came back 
along the road late that morning running with an effortless stride. 
'Sparhawk,' she said quietly when she reach'd the carriage, 'Atan Engessa's 
scouts report that there are people up ahead.' 

 'How many?' he asked, his tone suddenly all business. 'We can't be 
certain. The scouts didn't want to be seen. There are soldiers of some kind 
out there, and they seem to be waiting for us.' 

 'Berit,' Sparhawk said to the young knight, 'why don't you ride on ahead 
and ask Kalten and the others to join us? Don't run. Try to make it look 
casual.'

 'Right.' Berit rode forward at a trot. 'Mirtai,' the big knight said, 
trying to keep his voice calm, 'is there any kind of defensible position 
nearby?' 

 'I was just coming to that,' she replied. 'There's a kind of hill about a 
quarter of a mile ahead. It sort of juts up from the floor of the forest boulders 

 mostly. They're covered over with moss.'

 'Could we get the carriage up there? She shook her head. 'You get to walk 
then, my Queen,' he said to his wife. 'We don't know that they're hostile, 
Sparhawk,' Ehlana objected. 'That's true,' he conceded, 'but we don't know 
that they aren't either, and that's far more important.' Kalten and the 
others came back along the column with Kring and Engessa. 'Are they doing 
anything at all, Atan Engessa?' Sparhawk asked. 'Just watching, 
Sparhawk-Knight. There are more of 

them than we thought at first - a thousand at least probably a lot more.' 
'It's going to be tricky with all these trees,' Kalten pointed out. 'I 
know,' Sparhawk grunted. 'Khalad, how close is it to noon?' 

 'About another hour, my Lord,' Khalad replied from the carriage driver's 
seat. 'Close enough then. There's a hill just up ahead. We'll ride on to it 
and make some show of stopping for our midday meal. Our friends here in the 
carriage will sort of stroll up to the top. The rest of us will spread out 
around the base of the hill. We'll build fires and rattle pots and pans 
together. Ehlana, be silly. I want you and the Baroness to do a lot of 
laughing up there on that hilltop. Stragen, take some men and erect a 
pavilion of some kind up there. Try to make it look festive. Move some 
rocks out of your way and sort of pile them up around the hilltop. 'A siege 
again, Sparhawk?' Ulath said disapprovingly. 

'Have you got a better idea?' 

 'Not really, but you know how I feel about sieges.' 

 'Nobody said you had to like it, Ulath,' Tynian told him. 'Spread the 
word,' Sparhawk told them, 'and let's try 

to make it all look very casual.' They were tense as they proceeded along 
the road at a leisurely-appearing pace. When they rounded a bend and 
Sparhawk saw the hill, he immediately approved of its strategic potential. 
'It was one of those rock-piles that inexplicably rear up out of forests 
the world over. It was a conical heap of rounded boulders perhaps forty 
feet high, green with moss and totally devoid of trees or brush. It stood 
about two hundred yards to the left of the road. Talen rode to its base, 
dismounted, scampered up to the top and looked around. 'It's perfect, my 
Queen,' he shouted back down. 'You can see for miles up here. It's just 
what you were looking for.' 


 'That's a nice touch,' Bevier noted, 'assuming that our friends out there 
speak Elenic, of course.' Stragen came forward from the line of pack-horses 
carrying a lute. 'A little finishing touch, my Queen,' he smiled to Ehlana. 
'Do you play, Milord?' she asked him. 'Any gentleman plays, your Majesty.' 
'Sparhawk doesn't.' 

 'We're still working on a definition of Sparhawk, Queen Ehlana,' Stragen 
replied lightly. 'We're not altogether certain that 'gentleman' really fits 
him - no offence intended of course, old boy,' he hastily assured the 
black-armoured Pandion. 'A suggestion, Sparhawk?' Tynian said. 'Go ahead.' 
'We don't know anything about those people out there, but they don't know 
anything about us either or at the most, very, very little.' 

 'That's probably true.' just because they're watching doesn't mean they're 

planning an immediate attack - if they're even planning 'to attack at all. 
If they are, they could just sit and wait until we're back on the road 
again.' 

'All right.' 

 'But we're travelling with some giddy noblewomen begging your Majesty's 
pardon - and noblewomen don't really need reasons for the things they do.' 
Your popularity isn't growing in certain quarters, Sir Tynian,' Ehlana said 
ominously. 'i'm crushed, but couldn't your Majesty decide - on '' a whim that 

 you absolutely adore this place and that you're bored with riding in a 
cariage? Under those .. ')'' circumstances, wouldn't it be natural for you 
to order a halt for the day?' 

 'it's not bad, Sparhawk,' Kalten said. 'While we're all lunching, we can 
sort of unobtrusively fortify that hill a little better. Then, after a few 
hours, when it's obvious that we aren't going any further today, we can set 
up the usual evening camp - field fortifications and the like. We're not on 
any specific timetable, so a half a day lost isn't going to put us behind 
any sort of schedule. The queen's safety's a lot more important than speed 
right now, wouldn't you say?' 

 'You know how I'm going to answer that, Kalten.' 

 'I was sure I could count on you.' 

 'It's good, Sparhawk-Knight,' Engessa approved. 'Give my scouts one whole 
night to work with, and we'll not only know how many are out there, but 
their names as well.' 

 'Break a wheel,' Ulath added. 'What was that, Sir Knight?' Ambassador 
Oscagne asked, looking perplexed. 'That would give us another exc' use for 
stopping,' the Thalesian replied. 'if the carriage broke down, we'd have to 
stop.' 

 'Can you fix a wheel, Sir Ulath?' 

 'No, but we can rig some kind of a skid to get us by until we can find a 
blacksmith.' 

 'Wouldn't a skid make the cariage jolt and bump around a great deal?' 
Patriarch Emban asked with a pained look. 'Probably,' Ulath shrugged. 'i'm 
almost certain we can find some other reason to stop, Sir Knight. Have you 
any idea of how uncomfortable that would be?' 

'I didn't really give it much thought, your Grace,' Ulath replied blandly. 
'But then, I won't be riding in the carriage, so it wouldn't bother me in 
the slightest.' 

CHAPTER 15 

The addition of a dozen female Atans added to the subterfuge of a courtly 
gathering on the hilltop, although it was difficult to persuade the Atan 


girls that their faces would not break if they smiled or that the Gods had 
')isued no commandment against laughing. Berit and a number of other 
youthful knights entertained the ladies. 'while casually clearing 
inconvenient - and not a few convenient - bushel-basket sized rocks from 
the kind of , natural amphitheatre at the top of the hill. The back-side ' 
of the pile of boulders was more precipitous than the front, and the rim of 
the hilltop on that side formed a very defensible wall. 
%. a9ue rock to form a crude kind of breastwork around 
The young knights piled up 'the other three sides. It was all very casual, 
but within ) an hour some fairly substantial fortifications had been 
erected'' )'There were many cooking-fires around the base of the 

'hill, and their smoke laid a kind of blue haze out among the white tree 
trunks. There was a great deal of clanking ' ) and rattling and shouting 
back and forth as the oddly assorted 
force made some show of preparing a meal. 
The Atans gathered up large piles of firewood chopped in ten-foot lengths 

- and all of the cooks stated 'a preference for wood chips for their fires 
rather '');)than trunks. It was therefore necessary to chop at the ends 
of the birch logs, and there were soon neat piles of ten-foot steaks 
surrounding the hill, ready for use either as firewood or as poles spaced 
out at regular intervals that could be erected in a few minutes. The 
knights and the Peloi tethered their horses nearby and lounged 
around the foot of the hill while the Atans were evenly dispersed a bit 
further out under the trees. Sparhawk stood at the top of the hill 
surveying the progress of the work below. The ladies were gathered under a 
broad canopy erected on poles in the centre of the depressed basin on the 
hilltop. Stragen was strumming his lute and singing to them in his deep 
rich voice. 'How's it going down there?' Talen asked, coming up to where 
Sparhawk stood. 'It's about as secure as Khalad can make it without being 
obvious about it,' Sparhawk replied. 'He's awfully good, isn't he?' Talen 
said with a certain pride. 'Your brother? Oh, yes. Your father trained him 
very well.' 
'It might have been nice to grow up with my brothers. Talen sounded a bit 
wistful. He shrugged. 'But then...' he peered out at the forest. 'Any word 
from Engessa?' 

 'Our friends are still out there.' 
'They're going to attack, aren't they?' 
'Probably. You don't gather that many armed men in one place without 


having something military in mind.' 
'I like your plan here, Sparhawk, but I think it's got a hole in it.' 
'Oh?' 

 'Once they finally realise that we aren't going to move from this spot, 
they might decide to wait and then come at us after dark. Fighting at 
night's a lot different from doing it in the daytime, isn't it?' 

 'Usually, yes, but we'll cheat.' Talen gave him a quizzical look. 'There 

are a couple of spells that brighten things up when you need to see.' 
'I keep forgetting about that.' 
'You might as well get used to it, Talen,' Sparhawk told him with a faint 

smile. 'When we get back home, 

you're going to start your novitiate.'.., When did we decide that?' just 
now. You're old enough, and if you keep on growing the way you have been 
lately, you'll be big enough.' is magic hard to learn?' you have to pay 
attention. It's all done in Styric, and Styric's a tricky language. If you 
use the wrong word, all sorts of things can go wrong.' 


 'Thanks, Sparhawk. That's all I need - something else 'to worry about.' 
'We'll talk with Sephrenia when we get to Sarsos. maybe she'll agree to 
train you. Flute likes you, so she'll forgive you if you make any 
mistakes.' 

 'What's Flute got to do with it?' 

 ' If Sephrenia trains you, you'll be submitting your requests to Aphrael.' 
requests?' That's what magic is, Talen. You ask a God to do 

' something for you.' 

 'Praying?' the boy asked incredulously. 'Sort of.'.'. does Emban know that 
you're praying to a Styric ' Goddess!' 

 'More than likely. The Church chooses to ignore the fact, though - for 
practical reasons.' 

 'he's a hypocrite then.' , ''.'' 

 'I wouldn't mention that to Emban, if I were you. ' let me get this 
straight. If I get to be a Church Knight, I'll be worshipping Flute?' 
'praying to her, Talen. I didn't say anything about worshipping.' praying, 
worshipping, what's the difference?' 

 ''Sephrenia will explain it.' 

 '.'')'~-'-'she's in Sarsos, you say? ' 

 'I didn't say that.' Sparhawk silently cursed his'careless tongue. 'Yes, 
as a matter of fact you did.' 

 'All right, but keep it to yourself.' 

 'That's why we came overland, isn't it?' 

 'One of the reasons, yes. 'Haven't you got something else to do?' 

 'Not really, no.' 

 'Go find something - because if you don't, I will.' 

 'You don't have to get all huffy.' Sparhawk gave him a steady stare. 'All 
right, all right, don't get excited. I'll go entertain Danae and her cat.' 
Sparhawk stood watching the boy as he returned to the festivities under the 
canopy. It was obviously time to start being a little careful around Talen. 
He was dangerously intelligent, and a slip of the tongue might give away 
things that were supposed to be kept private. The discussion had raised an 
issue, however. Sparhawk went back to the group gathered on the hilltop and 
took Berit aside. 'Go tell the knights that if those people out there 
decide to wait until after dark to attack, I'll take care of giving us 
light to work by. If we all try 'to do it at the same time, we might 
confuse things.' Berit nodded. Sparhawk considered it further. 'And I'll go 
talk with Kring and Engessa,' he added. 'We don't want the Atans and the 
Peloi going into a panic if the sky suddenly lights up along about midnight 
tonight.' 

 'is that what you're going to do?' Berit asked. 'It usually works out 
about the best in cases like this. One big light's easier to control than 
several hundred little ones - and it disrupts the enemy's concentration a 
lot more.' Berit grinned. 'It would be a little startling to be creeping 
through the bushes and have the sun come 'back up again, wouldn't it?' 

 'A lot of battles have been averted by lighting up the night, Berit, and a 
battle averted is sometimes even better than one you win.' I'll remember 
that, Sparhawk.' 

The afternoon wore on, and the party on the hilltop became a little 
strained. There were only so many things to laugh at, and only so many 
jokes to tell. The warriors round the base of the hill either spent their 
time attending to equipment or pretending to sleep. 


out near the road, Sparhawk met with the others about mid-afternoon. 'If 
they don't know by now that we aren't going any further today, they aren't 
very bright,' Kalten noted. ,'We do look a bit settled in, don't we?' Ulath 
agreed. 'A suggestion, Sparhawk?' Tynian offered. 'Why do you always say 
that?' 

 'Habit, I suppose. I was taught to be polite to my elders. Even the best 
of spells isn't going to give us the same kind of light we'll have before 
the sun goes down. We know they're out there, we're in position and we're ' 
tested. Why don't we push things a bit? If we can force them to attack now, 
we can fight them in daylight.'. How are you going to make somebody attack 
when he doesn't want to?' Patriarch Emban asked. '.''We start making 
obvious preparations, your Grace,' Tynian replied. 'It's logical to start 
on the field fortifications 'about now anyway. Let's put up the palisade 
around the foot of the hill, and start digging ditches.' And felling 
trees,' Ulath added. 'We could clear away some avenues leading out into the 
woods and pile the tree trunks up where they'll hinder anybody 'trying to 
come through the forest. If they're going to attack, let's make them attack 
across open ground.' It took a surprisingly short time. The logs for the 
fence around the base of the hill were already sharpened and stacked in 
neat piles where they were handy. Digging them in was an easy matter. The 
birch trees in the forest were all no more than ten inches thick at the 
base, and they fell quickly to the axes of the warriors and were dragged 
into the surrounding forest to form large, jumbled piles which would be 
virtually impossible to penetrate, even for men on foot. Sparhawk and the 
others went back up to the hilltop to survey their preparations. 'Why don't 
they attack us now, before we're ready?' Emban tensely asked the knights. 
'Because it takes time to organise an attack, your Grace,' Bevier 
explained. 'The scouts have to run back and tell the generals what we're 
doing, the generals have to sneak through the woods to have a look for 
themselves, and then they all have to get together and argue about what 
they're going to do. They were planning an ambush. They aren't really ready 
to attack fortified positions. The business of adjusting one's thinking to 
a different tactical situation is what takes the longest.' 

 'How long?' 
'It depends entirely on the personality of the man in charge. If his mind 
was really set on an ambush, it could take him as long as a week.' 

 'He's dead then, Bevier-Knight,' Engessa told the Cyrinic tersely. 'As 
soon as we saw the warriors in the woods I dispatched a dozen of my people 
to the garrison at Sarsos. If our enemy takes more than two days to make up 

his mind, he'll have five thousand Atans climbing his back.' 

 'Sound thinking, Atan Engessa,' Tynian approved. He pondered it. 'A 
thought, Sparhawk. If our friend out there gets all caught up in 
indecision, we can just continue to strengthen our defences around this 
hill ditches, sharpened stakes, the usual encumbrances. Each improvement we 
add will make him think things over that much longer - which will give us 
time to add more fortifications, which will make him think all the more. If 
we can keep him thinking for two days, the Atans from Sarsos will come up 
behind him and wipe out his force before he ever gets around to using it.' 
'Good point,' Sparhawk agreed. 'Let's get to it.' 

 'I thought that being a military person just involved banging on people 
with axes and swords,' Emban conceded. 'There's a lot of that involved too, 
your Grace,' Ulath smiled, 'but it doesn't hurt to outsmart your enemy a 
little too.' He looked at Bevier. 'Engines?' he asked. Bevier blinked. 
Ulath's cryptic questions always took him by surprise for some reason. 'As 
long as we have some time on our hands, we could erect some catapults on 


the hilltop. Attacking through a rain of boulders is' always sort of 
distracting. Getting hit on the head with a fifty pound rock always seems 
to break a man's concentration for some reason. if we're going to set up 
for a siege, we might as well do it right.' He looked around at them. 'I 
still don't like Sieges though,' he added. 'I want everybody to understand 
that.' 

The warriors set to work, and the ladies and the young men attending them 
renewed their festivities, although their hilarity was even more forced 
now. Sparhawk and Kalten were re-enforcing the breastworks atop the hill. 
Since his wife and daughter were going to be inside those fortifications, 
their strength was a matter of more than passing interest to the prince 
consort. The party under the pavilion had begun to show gaps, and Stragen 
was increasingly obliged to fill them with his lute. 'He's going to wear 

out his fingers,' Kalten grunted, lifting another large rock into place. 
'Stragen enjoys attention,' Sparhawk shrugged. 'He'll keep playing until 
the blood runs out from under his fingernails if there's anybody around to 
listen.' Stragen's lute took up a very old air, and he began to sing 

again.. Sparhawk didn't really have much of an ear for music, but he had to 
admit that the Thalesian thief had a beautiful voice. And then Baroness 
Melidere joined in. Her voice was a rich contralto that blended smoothly 
with Stragen's baritone. Their duet was perfectly balanced, smooth and rich 
with the dark tones of their deeper voices. Sparhawk smiled to himself. The 
baroness was continuing her campaign. Once Aphrael had alerted him to the 
blonde girl's designs on Stragen, Sparhawk could see dozens of artful 
little ploys she was using to keep her intended victim's attention. He 
almost felt sorry for Stragen, but he concluded that Melidere would be good 
for him. The pair concluded their duet to loud applause. Sparhawk glanced 
toward the pavilion and saw Melidere lay one lingering hand almost 
caressingly on Stragen's wrist. Sparhawk knew just how potent those 
accidental-seeming contacts were. lilias had explained it to him once, and 
lillias had been the world's champion seductress - as probably half the men 
in Jiroch could have sworn to. Then Stragen turned to another traditional 
air, and a new voice lifted in song. Kalten dropped the rock he had been 
lifting. It fell onto his foot, but he did not even wince. The voice was 
that of an angel, high, sweet, and as clear as' glass. It soared 
effortlessly toward the upper reaches of the soprano range. It was a lyric 
voice, uncontaminated by the subtle variations of the coloratnra, and it 
seemed as untaught as bird-song. It was Ehlana's maid, Alcan. The doe-eyed 
girl, always so quiet and unassuming, stood in the centre of the Pavilion, 
her face luminous as she sang. Sparhawk heard Kalten snuffle, and he was 
astonished to see great tears streaming down his friend's face as the blond 
Pandion wept unashamed. Perhaps his recent conversation with the Child 
Goddess had alerted Sparhawk to the potentials of intuition, and he 
suddenly knew, without knowing exactly how he knew, that two campaigns were 
in progress - and, moreover, that the one being waged by Baroness Melidere 
was the more overt and blatant. He carefully concealed a smile behind his 
hand. 'Lord, that girl's got a beautiful voice!' Kalten said in stunned 
admiration as Alcan concluded her song. 'God!' he said then, doubling over 
to clutch at the foot he had unwittingly injured five minutes earlier. The 
work progressed until sunset, and then the combined army pulled back behind 
the reinforced palisade and waited. Sir Bevier and his Cyrinic Knights 
retired to the hilltop, where they completed the construction of their 
catapults. Then they amused themselves by lobbing large rocks into the 


forest seemingly at random. 'What are they shooting at, Sparhawk?' Ehlana 
asked after supper. The trees,' he shrugged. The trees aren't threatening 
us.' 

 'No, but there are probably people hiding among them. The boulders falling 
out of the sky should make them a little jumpy.' He smiled. 'Actually, 
Bevier's men are testing the range of the engines, dear. If our friends in 
the forest decide to attack down those avenues we've provided for them, 
Bevier wants to know exactly when to start shooting.' 

 'there's a great deal more involved in being a soldier than just keeping 
your equipment clean, isn't there?' 

 'i'm glad you appreciate that, my Queen.' 
'Shall we go to bed then?' 
'Sorry, Ehlana,' he replied, 'but I won't be sleeping tonight. If our 


friend out there makes up his mind and attacks, there are some things I'll 
have to do rather quickly.' He looked around. 'Where's Danae?' 
'She and Talen are over there watching Bevier's people throw rocks at the 
trees.' 

 'I'll go get her. You'll probably want to keep her close to you tonight.' 
He crossed the basin to where Bevier was directing the activities of his 
knights. 'Bed-time,' he told his daughter, lifting her into his arms. She 
pouted a little at that, but raised no other objections. When Sparhawk was 
about half-way back to his wife's tent, he slowed. 'How much of a stickler 
are you for formality, Aphrael?' he asked. 'A few genuflections are nice, 
father,' she replied, 'but I can live without them - in an emergency.' 
'Good. If 'the attack comes tonight, we're going to need some light to see 
them by.' 

 'How much light?' 
'Sort of noonish would be good.' 


'I can't do that, Sparhawk. Do you have any idea of how much trouble I'd 
get into if I made the sun rise when it wasn't supposed to?' 

 'I wasn't really suggesting that. I just want enough light so that people 
can't sneak up on us through the shadows. The spell's a fairly long one 
with a lot of formalities involved and many, many specifics. I may be a 
little pressed for time, so would you be terribly offended if I just asked 
you for light and left the details up to you?' 

 'It's highly irregular, Sparhawk,' she chided him primly. 'I know, but 
just this once maybe? 'Oh, I guess so, but let's not make a habit of it. I 
do have a reputation to maintain, after all.' 

 'I love you,' he laughed. 'Oh, if that's the case, it's perfectly all 
right then. We can bend all sorts of rules for people who really love us. 
Just ask for light, Sparhawk. I'll see to it that you get lots and lots of 
light.' 

The attack came shortly before midnight. It began with a rain of arrows 
lofting in out of the darkness, followed quickly by attacks on the Atan 
pickets. That last proved to be what might best be described as a tactical 
blunder. The Atans were the finest foot-soldiers in the world, and they 
welcomed hand-to-hand combat. Sparhawk could not clearly see the attacking 
force from his vantage-point on the hilltop, but he firmly controlled his 
curiosity and held off on illuminating the battlefield until such time as 
the opposing force was more fully engaged. As they had anticipated, their 
enemies used the cover of these first probing moves to attack the log-jams 
designed to impede their progress through the belts of trees set off by Sir 
Ulath's avenues radiating out from the base of the hill like the spokes of 


a huge wheel. As it turned out, Bevier's Cyrinics had not been lobbing 
rocks out into the forest entirely for the fun of it. They had rather 
precisely pin-pointed the range of those jumbles of fallen trees with their 
catapults, and they hurled basketfuls of fist-sized rocks into the air to 
rain down on the men attempting to tear down the barricades or to widen the 
narrow gaps which had been deliberately left to permit the Peloi to ride 
out in Search of entertainment. A two-pound rock falling out of the sky 
will not crush a man, but it will break his bones, and after ten minutes or 
so, the men out in the woods withdrew. 'I confess it to you, 
Sparhawk-Knight,' Engessa said gravely, 'I had thought your elaborate 
preparations a bit silly. Atans do not fight so. Your approach does have 
certain advantages, though.' 

 'Our societies are different, Atan Engessa. Your people live and fight in 
the wilderness where enemies are encountered singly or in small groups. Our 
wildermess has been tamed, so our enemies come at us in large numbers. We 
build forts to live in, and over the centuries we've devised many means to 
defend those forts.' 

 'When will you make the light come?' 

 'At a time when it's most inconvenient for our enemy. I want him to commit 
a large part of his force and to have them fully engaged before I sweep 
away the darkmess. He won't expect that, and it takes time to get orders 
through to men who are already fighting. We should be able to eliminate a 
sizeable part of his army before he can pull them back. Defensive warfare 
has certain advantages if you make the proper preparations.' 

 'Ulath-Knight does not like it.' 

 'Ulath doesn't have the patience for it. Bevier's the expert on defence. 
He'd be perfectly willing to wait for ten years if need be for the enemy to 
come to him on' his terms.' 

 'What will the enemy do next? We Atans are not accustomed to interrupted 
fights.' 

 'He'll draw back and shoot arrows at us while he thinks things over. Then 
he'll probably try a direct assault down one of those avenues.' 

 'Why only one? Why not attack from all directions at once?' 

 'Because he doesn't know how much we can hurt him yet. He'll have to find 
that out first. He'll learn in time, but it's going to cost him a great 
deal to get his education. After we've killed about half of his soldiers, 
he'll do one of two things. He'll either go away, or he'll throw everything 
he's got at us from all sides at once.' 

'And then?' 

 'Then we'll kill the rest of his soldiers and be on our way,' Sparhawk 
shrugged. 'Assuming that everything goes the way we've planned, of course.' 

At two hundred paces and with only starlight to see by, the figures were 
hardly more than shadows. They marched out into the centre of one of 
Ulath's corridors and halted while others filed out to join them and to 
form up into a kind of massed formation. 'I can't believe that!' Kalten 
exclaimed, gaping at the shadowy soldiers at the end of the corridor. 'is 
something wrong, Sir Kalten?' Emban's voice was a little shrill. 'Not in 
the least, your Grace,' Kalten replied gaily. 'It's just that we're dealing 
with an idiot.' He turned his head slightly. 'Bevier,' he called, 'he's 
forming up his troops on the roDd to march them into place.' 

 'You're not serious!'. 'May all of my toenails fall out if I'm not.' 
Bevier barked a number of commands, and his knights swung the catapults 
around to bring them to bear on the unseen avenue leading toward the road. 
'Give the word, Sparhawk,' the young Cyrinic called. 'We're going on down 
now,' Sparhawk called back. You can start as soon as we reach the bottom. 


We'll wait so that you can pound them for a while, and then we'll charge. 
We'd take it as a kindness if you'd stop about then.' Bevier grinned at 
him. 'Look after my wife while I'm gone.' 

 'Naturally.' Sparhawk and the other warriors began to climb down the hill. 
'I'll break my men into two groups, friend Sparhawk,' Kring said. 'We'll 
circle around and come up onto the road about a half mile behind them on 
either side. We'll wait )for your signal there.' 

 'Don't kill all of them.' Engessa cautioned. 'My Atans grow sulky if 
there's fighting and they aren't allowed to participate. ' They reached the 
bottom of the hill, and Bevier's catapults began to thud, launching large 
rocks this time. There were sounds from off in the direction of the road 
indicating that the Cyrinic Knights had found the proper range. 'Luck, 
Sparhawk,' Kring said tersely and melted off 

into the shadows. 'Be careful, Sir Knights,' Khalad cautioned them. 'Those 
tree-stumps out there are dangerous in the dark.' 

 'It won't be dark when we charge, Khalad,' Sparhawk assured him. 'I've 
made some arrangements.' Engessa slipped quietly through an opening in the 
palisade to join his warriors out in the forest. 'is it just my 
imagination, or does it seem to the rest of you that we're dealing with 
someone who's not really very sophisticated?' Tynian said. 'He doesn't seem 
to have any conception of modern warfare or modern technology.' 

 'I think the word you're groping for is 'stupid', Tynian,' Kalten 
chuckled. 'i'm not so sure,' Tynian frowned. 'It was too dark for me to 
make out very much from the hilltop, but it looked almost as if he were 
forming up his troops into a phalanx. Nobody's done that in the west for 
over a thousand years.' 

 'It wouldn't be very effective against mounted knights, would it?' Kalten 
asked. 'i'm not so sure. It would depend on how long his spears are and the 
size of those overlapping shields. He could give us trouble.' 

 'Berit,' Sparhawk said, 'go back up the hill and tell Bevier to shift his 
catapults a bit. I'd like the enemy formation broken up.' 

 'Right.' The young knight turned and scrambled back on up the hill. 'if he 
is using a phalanx formation,' Tynian continued, 'it means that he's never 
come up against mounted troops before and that he's used to fighting in 
open country.' Bevier's catapults began to hurl boulders at the shadowy 
formation at the far end of the cleared avenue. 'Let's get started,' 
Sparhawk decided. 'I was going to wait a while, but let's see what we're up 
against.' He hauled himself up onto Faran's back and led the knights to a 
position outside the palisade. Then he drew in a deep breath. 'We could use 
a bit of light now, Divine One.' He cast the thought out without even 
bothering to frame it in StyriCk. 'That's really improper, Sparhawk,' 
Aphrael's voice in his ear was tart. 'You know I'm not supposed to respond 
to prayers in Elenic.' 

 'You know both languages. What difference does it make?' 

 'It's a question of style, Sparhawk.' 

 'I'll try to do better next time.' 

 'i'd really appreciate it. How's this?' It' began as a kind of pulsating 
lavender glow along the northern horizon. Then long streaks of pure, 
multicoloured light spread upward in seething, curtain-like sheets, 
wavering, undulating like a vast curtain shimmering against the night sky. 
'What is it?' Khalad exclaimed. The northern lights,' Ulath grunted. 'I've 
never seen them this far south - or quite so bright. I'm impressed, 
Sparhawk.' The shimmering curtain of light, rising and falling, crept up 
and up into the darkness, erasing the stars and filling the night with 
rainbow light. A huge groan of consternation and awe rose from the army 


massing near the road. Sparhawk looked intently down the stump-dotted 
avenue. The soldiers facing them wore antique armour - breastplates, 
horse-hair crested helmets and large, round shields. They wore short' 
swords and carried twelve-foot spears. Their front rank had evidently been 
formed with overlapping shields and advanced spears. Bevier's catapults, 
however, had broken those tightly-packed ranks, and the rain of boulders 
continued to smash down among men so jammed together they could not flee. 
Sparhawk watched grimly for a few moments. 'All right, Ulath,' he said at 
last, 'sing the Ogre's song for them.' Ulath grinned and lifted his curled 
Ogre-horn to his lips and blew a single, deep-toned blast. The massed 
foot-troops, their ranks broken by the catapults and their minds filled 
with wonder and dismay by the sudden brilliant light covering half the sky, 
were in no way prepared to meet the awesome charge of the armoured knights 
and their massive horses. There was a resounding crash, and the front ranks 
of the massed foot-soldiers fell beneath the churning hooves of the 
war-horses. The knights discarded their lances, drew their swords and axes 
and fell to work, carving great swathes through the tightly-packed ranks. 
'Ulath!' Sparhawk bellowed. 'Turn loose the Peloi!' Sir Ulath blew his 
Ogre-horn again - twice this time. The Peloi war-cries were shrill and 
ululating. Sparhawk glanced quickly along the road. The warriors Kring's 
Peloi were attacking were not the same as the ones facing the knights. 
Sparhawk had led a charge against infantry, men in breastplates and 
horse-hair crested helmets who fought on foot. Kring was attacking mounted 
men, men wearing flowing robes and cloth head-coverings, all armed with 
curved swords much like the Peloi sabres. Quite obviously, the attacking 
force was comprised of two different elements. There would be time later to 
ponder those differences. Right now, they were all very busy. Sparhawk 
swung his heavy broadsword rhythmically in huge overhead strokes that 
sheared down into the sea of horsehair-crested helmets surrounding him. He 
continued for several minutes until the sounds from along the road 
indicated that the Peloi were fully engaged. 'Sir Ulath' he roared. 'Ask 
the Atans to join US!' The Ogre-horn sang again - 'and again - and yet once 
again. Sounds of fighting erupted back among the trees. Enemy soldiers who 
had fled the charge of the knights and the slashing attack of the Peloi 
found no sanctuary in the woods. Engessa's Atans, ' silent and deadly, 
moved through the eerie, multi-coloured light streaming down from the 
pulsating sky, seeking and destroying. 'Sparhawk!' Kalten shouted. 'Look!' 
Sparhawk jerked his head around, and his heart froze. 'I thought that thing 
was dead!' Kalten exclaimed. The figure was robed and hooded all in black, 
and it was astride a gaunt horse. A kind of greenish nimbus surrounded it, 
and waves of implacable hatred seemed to shimmer out from it. Sparhawk 
looked a bit more closely and then let out his breath relieved. 'It's not a 
Seeker,' he told Kalten. 'It's got human hands. It's probably the one we've 
been fighting, though.' Then another man in black rode out from farther 
back in the trees. This one wore exaggeratedly dramatic clothing. He had on 
a black, wide-brimmed hat and wore a black bag with ragged eye-holes over 
his head. 'Has this all been some sort of joke?' Tynian demanded. 'is that 
who I think it is?' 

 'i'd guess that it's the one in the robe who's been in charge,' Ulath 
said. 'I doubt that Sabre could successfully herd goats.' 

 'Savour thine empty victory, Anakha,' the hooded figure called in a 
hollow, strangely metallic voice. 'I did but test thee that I might discern 
thy strength - and thy weaknesses. Go thy ways now. I have learned what I 
needed to learn. I will trouble thee no further - for now. But mistake me 
not, oh man without destiny, we will meet anon, and in our next meeting 
shall I try thee more significantly.' Then Sabre and his hooded companion 


wavered and vanished. The wailing and groaning of the wounded enemies all 
around them suddenly broke off. Sparhawk looked around quickly. The 
strangely-armoured foot-troops he and his friends had been fighting were 
all gone. Only the dead remained. Back along the road in either direction, 
Kring's Peloi were reining in their horses In amazement. The troops they 
had engaged had vanished as well, and startled exclamations from back among 
the trees indicated that the Atans had also been bereft of enemies. 
''What's going on here?' Kalten exclaimed. 'i'm not sure,' Sparhawk 
replied, 'but I am sure that I don't like it very much.' He swung down from 
his saddle and turned one of the fallen enemies over with his foot. The 
body was little more than a dried husk, browned, Withered and totally 
desiccated. It looked very much like the body of a man who had been dead 
for several centuries at least. 'We've encountered it once before, your 
Grace,' Tynian was explaining to Patriarch Emban. It was nearly morning, 
and they were gathered once again atop the rocky hill. 'Last time it was 
antique Lamorks. I don't know what kind of antiques these were.' He looked 
at the two mummified corpses the Atans had brought up the hill. 'This one 
is a Cynesgan,' Ambassador Oscagne said, pointing at one of the dead men. 
'Looks almost like a Render, doesn't he?' Talen observed. 'There would be 
certain similarities,' Oscagne agreed. 'Cynesga is a desert, much like 
Render, and there are only so many kinds of clothing suitable for such a 
climate.' The dead man in question was garbed in a flowing, loose-fitting 
robe, and his head was covered with a sort of cloth binding that flowed 
down to protect the back of his neck. 'They aren't very good fighters,' 
Kring told them. They all sort of went to pieces when we charged them.' 
'What about the other one, your Excellency?' Tynian asked. 'These ones in 
armour were very good fighters.' The Tamul Ambassador's eyes grew troubled. 
'That one's a figment of someone's imagination,' he declared. 'I don't 
really think so, your Excellency,' Sir Bevier disagreed. 'The men we 
encountered back in Eosia had been drawn from the past. They were fairly 
exotic, I'll grant you, but they had been living men once. Everything we've 
seen here tells us that we've run into the same thing again. This fellow's 
most definitely not an maginary soldier. He did live once, and what he's 
wearing was his customary garb.' 

 'it's impossible,' Oscagne declared adamantly. Just for the sake of 
speculation, Oscagne,' Emban said, 'let's shelve the word 'impossible' for 
the time being. Who would you say he was if he weren't impossible?' 

 'It's a very old legend,' Oscagne said, his face stil troubled. 'We're 
told that once, a long, long time ago, there were people in Cynesga who 
pre-dated the current inhabitants. The legend calls them the Cyrgai. Modern 
Cynesgans are supposed to be their degenerate descendants. ' 

 'They look as if they come from two different parts of the world,' Kalten 
noted. 'Cyrga, the city of the Cyrgai, was supposed to lie in the central 
highlands of Cynesga,' Oscagne told him. 'It's higher than the surrounding 
desert, and the legend says there was a large, spring-fed lake there. The 
stories say that the climate there was markedly different from that of the 
desert. The Cyrgai wouldn't have needed protection from the sun the way 
their bastard offspring would have. I'd imagine that there were indications 
of rank and status involved as well. Given the nature of the Cyrgai, they'd 
have definitely wanted to keep their inferiors from wearing the Cyrgai 
costume.' 

 'They lived at the same time then?' Tynian asked. 'The legends are a 
little vague on that score, Sir Tynian. Evidently there was a period when 
the Cyrgai and the Cynesgans co-existed. The Cyrgai would certainly have 
been dominant, though.' He made a face. 'Why am I talking this way about a 
myth?' he said plaintively. 'This is a fairly substantial myth, Oscagne,' 


Emban said, nudging the mummified Cyrgai with his foot. 'I gather that 
these fellows had something of a reputation?' 

 'Oh, yes,' Oscagne said with distaste. 'They had a hideous culture - all 
cruelty and militarism. They held themselves aloof from other peoples in 
order to avoid what they called contamination. They were said to be 
obsessively concerned with racial purity, and they were militantly opposed 
to any new ideas.' 

 'That's a futile sort of obsession,' Tynian noted. 'Any time you engage in 
trade, you're going to encounter new ideas.' 

 'The legends tell us they understood that, Sir Knight Trade was 
forbidden.' 

 'No commerce at all?' Kalten asked incredulously. Oscagne shook his head. 
'They were supposed to be totally self-sufficient. They even went so far as 
to forbid the possession of gold or silver in their society.' 

 'Monstrous!' Stragen exclaimed. 'They had no money at all?' 

 'iron bars, we're told - heavy ones, I guess. It tended to discourage 
trade. They lived only for war. All the men were in the army, and all the 
women spent their time having babies. When they grew too old to either 
fight or bear children, they were expected to kill themselves. The legends 
say that they were the finest soldiers the world has ever known.' 

 'The legends are exaggerated, Oscagne,' Engessa told him. 'I killed five 
of them myself. They spent a great deal of time flexing their muscles and 
posing with their weapons when they should have been paying attention to 
business.' The ancients were very formal, Atan Engessa,' Oscagne ' 
murmured. 'Who was the fellow in the robe?' Kalten asked. 'The one who 
seemed to be trying to pass himself off as a Seeker?'

 'i'd Guess that he holds a position 'somewhat akin to Gerrich in Lamorkand 
and to Sabre in Western Astel,' Sparhawk surmised. 'I was a little 
surprised to see Sabre here,' he added. He had to step rather carefully 
here. Both he and Emban were sworn to secrecy on the matter of Sabre's real 
identity. 'Professional courtesy, no doubt,' Stragen murmured. 'The fact 
that he was here sort of confirms our guess that all these assorted 
upheavals and disturbances are tied together. There's somebody in back of 
all this somebody we haven't seen or even heard of yet. We're going to have 
to catch one of these intermediaries of hiS and wring some information out 
of him sooner or later.' The blond thief looked around. 'What now?' he 
asked. 'How long did you say it would be until the Atans arrive from 
Sarsos, Engessa?' Sparhawk asked the towering Atan. 'They should arrive 
sometime the day after tomorrow, Sparhawk-Knight.' The Atan glanced toward 
the east. 'Tomorrow, that is,' he corrected, 'since it's already starting 
to get light.' 

 'We'll care for our wounded and wait for them then,' Sparhawk decided. 'I 
like lots of friendly faces around me in times like this.'

 'One question, Sparhawk-Knight,' Engessa said. 'Who is Anakha?'

 'That's Sparhawk,' Ulath told him. 'The Styrics call him that. It means 
'without destiny.' 

 'All men have a destiny, Ulath-Knight.' 
'Not Sparhawk, apparently, and you have no idea how nervous that makes the 
Gods.' 

As Engessa had calculated, the Sarsos garrison arrived about noon the 
following day, and the hugely increased escort of the Queen of Elenia 
marched easterly. Two days later, they crested a hill and gazed down at a 
marble city situated in a broad green field backed by a dark forest 
stretching to the horizon. Sparhawk had been sensing a familiar presence 
since early that morning, and he had ridden on ahead eagerly. Sephrenia was 


sitting on her white palfrey beside the road. She was a small, beautiful 
woman with black hair, snowy skin and deep blue eyes. She wore a white robe 
of a somewhat finer weave than the homespun she had normally worn in Eosia. 
'Hello, little mother,' he smiled, saying it as if they had been apart for 
no more than a week. 'You've been well, I trust?' He removed his helmet. 
'Tolerable, Sparhawk.' Her voice was rich and had that familiar lilt. 'Will 
you permit me to greet you?' he asked in that formal manner all Pandions 
used when meeting her after a separation. 'Of course, dear one.' Sparhawk 
dismounted, took her wrists and turned her hands over. Then he kissed her 
palms in the ritual Styric greeting. 'And will you bless me, little 
mother?' he asked. She fondly placed her hands on his temples and spoke her 
benediction in Styric. 'Help me down, Sparhawk,' she commanded. He reached 
out and put his hands about her almost child-like waist. Then he lifted her 
easily from her saddle. Before he could set her down, however, she put her 
arms about his neck and kissed him full on the lips, something she had 
almost never done before. 'I've missed you, my dear one,' she breathed. 
'You cannot believe how I've missed you.' 

PART THREE 

Atan 

CHAPTER 16 

The carriage came around a bend in the road and approached the spot where 
dSparhawk and Sephrenia waited. Ehlana was talking animatedly to Oscagne 
and Emban, but she broke off suddenly, her eyes wide. 'Sephrenia?' she 
gasped. 'It is!It's Sephrenia.' Royal dignity went out the window as 
she scrambled down from the carriage. 'Brace yourself,' Sparhawk cautioned 
with a gentle smile. Ehlana ran to them, threw her arms around 
Sephrenia's neck and kissed her, weeping for joy. ' The queen's tears were 
not the only ones shed that afternoon. Even the hard-bitten Church Knights 
were misty-eyed for the most part. Kalten went even further and wept 
openly as he knelt to receive Sephrenia's blessing. 'The Styric woman has 
a special significance, Sparhawk-Knight?' Engessa asked curiously. 'A very 
special significance, Atan Engessa,' Sparhawk replied, watching his 
friends clustered around the small woman. 'She ' touches our hearts in a 
profound way. We'd probably take the world apart if she asked us to. That's 
a very great authority, Sparhawk-Knight.' Engessa said it with some 
approval. Engessa respected authority. 'It is indeed, my friend,' 

Sparhawk agreed, 'and that's only the least of her gifts. She's wise and 
beautiful, and I'm at least partially convinced that she could stop the 
tides if she really wanted to.' 

 'She is quite small, though,' Engessa noted. 'Not really. In our eyes 
she's at least a hundred feet tall - maybe even two hundred.' 

 'The Styrics are a strange people with strange powers, but I had not heard 
of this ability to alter their size before.' Engessa was a profoundly 
literal man, and hyperbole was beyond his grasp. 'Two hundred, you say?' 
'At least, Atan. Sephrenia was completely caught up in the outpouring of 
affection, and so Sparhawk was able to observe her rather closely. She had 
changed. She seemed more open, for one thing. No Styric could ever 
completely lower his defences among Elenes. Thousands of years of prejudice 
and oppression had taught them to be wary - even of those Elenes they loved 
the most. Sephrenia's defensive shell, a shell she had kept in place around 
her for so long that she had probably not even known it was there, was gone 


now. The doors were all open. There was something more, however. Her face 
had been luminous before, but now it was radiant. A kind of regretful 
longing had always seemed to hover in her eyes, and it was gone now. For 
the first time in all the years Sparhawk had known her, Sephrenia seemed 
complete and totally happy. 'Will this go on for long, Sparhawk-Knight?' 
Engessa asked politely. 'Sarsos is close at hand, but. :.' He left the 
suggestion hanging. 'I'll talk with them, Atan. I might be able to persuade 
them that they can continue this later.' Sparhawk walked toward the excited 
group near the carriage. 'Atan Engessa just made an interesting 
suggestion,' he said to them. 'It's a novel idea, of course, but he pointed 
out that we could probably do all of this inside the walls of Sarsos since 

 it's so close anyway.' 

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

 'I've been working on that, little mother,' Ehlana smiled. 'The question I 
was really asking was whether or not you ladies would like to ride on into 
the city, or would you like to have us set up camp for the night.' 
'Spoil-sport,' Ehlana accused. 'We really should go on down,' Sephrenia 
told them. 'Vanion's waiting, and you know how cross he gets when people 
aren't punctual.' 

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

 'Hardly. He's quite vigorous, actually. Very vigorous at times. He'd have 
come with me to meet you, but he sprained his ankle yesterday. He's being 
terribly brave about it, but it hurts him more than he's willing to admit.' 
Stragen stepped up and effortlessly lifted her up into ,the carriage. 'What 
should we expect in Sarsos, dear sister?' he asked her in his flawless 
Styric. Ehlana gave him a startled look. 'You've been hiding things from 
me, Milord Stragen. I didn't know you spoke StyriC.' 

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

 'I think you'd better be prepared for some surpriSeS, Stragen,' Sephrenia 
told him. 'All of you should.' what sort of surprises?' Stragen asked. 
'Remember that I'm a thief, Sephrenia, and surprises are very bad for 
thieves. Our veins tend to come untied when we're startled.' 

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

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

 'Are you open to a suggestion, my friend?' Oscagne asked. 'I'll listen.' 
'i'd recommend that you look upon your visit to Sarsos as a holiday, and 
put your theology on a shelf someplace. Look all you want, but let the 
things you don't like pass without comment. The empire would really 
appreciate your co-operation in this, Emban. Please don't stir up the 
Styrics. They're a very prickly people with capabilities we don't entirely 
understand. Let's not precipitate avoidable explosions.' Emban opened his 
mouth as if to retort, but then his eyes grew troubled, and he apparently 
decided against it. Sparhawk conferred briefly with Oscagne and 


Sephrenia and decided that the bulk of the Church Knights should set up 
camp with the Peloi outside the city. It was a precaution designed to avert 
incidents. Engessa sent his Atans to their garrison just north of the city 
wall, and the party surrounding Ehlana's cariage entered through an 
unguarded gate. 'What's the trouble, Khalad?' Sephrenia asked Sparhawk's 
squire. The young man was looking around, frowning. 'It's really none of my 
business, Lady Sephrenia,' he said, 'but are marble buildings really a good 
idea this far north? Aren't they awfully cold in the winter time?' 

 'He's so much like his father,' she smiled. 'I think you've exposed one of 
our vanities, Khalad. Actually, the buildings are made of brick. The 
marble's just a 

sheathing to make our city impressive.' 
'Even brick isn't too good at keeping out the cold, Lady Sephrenia.' 
'It is when you make double walls and fill the space between those walls 

with a foot of plaster.' 
'That would take a lot of time and effort.' 
'You'd be amazed at the amount of time and effort people will waste for 

the sake of vanity, Khalad, and we can always cheat a little, if we have 
to. Our Gods are fond of marble buildings, and we like to make them feel at 
home.' 

 'Wood's still more practical,' he said stubbornly. 'i'm sure it is, 
Khalad, but it's so commonplace. We like to be different.' 

 'It's different, all right.' Sarsos even smelled different. A faint miasma 
hung over every Elene city in the world, an unpleasant blend of sooty 
smoke, rotting garbage and the effluvium from poorly-constructed and 
infrequently drained cesspools. Sarsos, on the other hand, smelled of trees 
and roses..It was summer, and there were small parks and rose ' bushes 
everywhere. Ehlana's expression grew speculative. With a peculiar flash of 
insight, Sparhawk foresaw a vast programme of public works looming on the 
horizon for the capital of Elenia. The architecture and layout of the city 
was subtle and highly sophisticated. The streets were broad and, except 
where the inhabitants had decided otherwise for assthetic reasons, they 
were straight. The buildings were all sheathed in marble, and they were 
fronted by graceful white pillars. This was most definitely not an Elene 
city. The citizens looked strangely un-Styric. Their kinsmen in the west 
all wore robes of lumpy white homespun. The garb was so universal as to be 
a kind of identifying badge. The Styrics of Sarsos, however, wore Silks and 
linens. White still appeared to be the preferred colour, but there were 
other hues as well, blue and green and yellow, and not a few garments were 
a brilliant scarlet. Styric women in the west were very seldom seen, but 
they were much more in evidence here. They also wore colourful clothing and 
flowers in their hair. More than anything, however, there was a marked 
difference in attitude. The Styrics of the west were timid, sometimes as 
fearful as deer. They were meek - a meekmess designed to soften Elene 
aggressiveness, but that very attitude quite often inflamed the Elenes all 
the more. The Styrics of Sarsos, on the other hand, were definitely not 
meek. They did not keep their eyes lowered or speak in soft, hesitant 
voices. They were assertive. They argued on street corners. They laughed 
out loud. They walked along the broad avenues of their city with their 
heads held high as if they were actually proud to be Styric. The one thing 
that bespoke the difference more than anything else, however, was the fact 
that the children played in the parks without any signs of fear. Emban's 
face had grown rigid, and his nostrils were pinched-in with anger. Sparhawk 
knew exactly why the Patriarch of Ucera was showing so much resentment. 
Candour compelled him to privately admit that he shared it. All Elenes 


believed that Styrics were an inferior race, and despite their 
indoctrination, the Church Knights still shared that belief at the deepest 
level of their minds. Sparhawk felt the thoughts rising in him unbidden. 
How dare these puffed-up, loudmouthed Styrics have a more beautiful city 
than any the Elenes could construct? How dare they be prosperous? How dare 
they be happy? How dare they strut through these streets behaving for all 
the world as if they were every bit as good as Elenes? Then he saw Danae 
looking at him sadly, and he pulled his thoughts and unspoken resentments 
uP short. He took hold of those unattractive emotions firmly and looked at 
them. He didn't like what he saw very much. So long as Styrics were meek 
and submissive and lived in misery in rude hovels, he was more than willing 
to leap to their defence, but when they brazenly looked him squarely in the 
eye with unbowed heads and challenging expressions, he found himself 
wanting to teach them lessons. 'difficult, isn't it, Sparhawk?' Stragen 
said wryly. 'My bastardy has always made me feel a certain kinship with the 
downtrodden and despised. I found the towering humility of our Styric 
brethren so inspiring that I even went out of my way to learn their 
language. I'll admit that the people here set my teeth on edge, though. 
They all seem so disgustingly self-satisfied.'. 'Stragen, sometimes you're 
so civilised you make me sick. ' my, aren't we touchy today?' 

 'sorry. I just found something in myself that I don't like. It's making me 
grouchy.' Stragen sighed. 'We should probably never look into our own 
hearts, Sparhawk. I don't think anybody likes everything he finds there.' 
Sparhawk was not the only one having trouble with the City of Sarsos and 
its inhabitants. Sir Bevier's face reflected the fact that he was feeling 
an even greater resentment than the others. His expression was shocked, 
even outraged. Heard a story once,' Sir Ulath said to him in that 
disarmingly reminiscent fashion that always signalled louder than words 
that Ulath was about to make a point. That was one of Sir Ulath's 
characteristics. He almost never spoke unless he was trying to make a 
point. 'It seems that there was a Deiran, an Arcian and a Thalesian. It was 
a long time ago, and they were all speaking in their native dialects. 
Anyway, they got to arguing about which of their modes of speech was God's 
own. They finally agreed to go to Chyrellos and ask the Archprelate to put 
the question directly to God himself.' 

 'And?' Bevier asked him. 'Well, sir, everybody knows that God always 
answers the Archprelate's questions, so the word finally came back and 
settled their argument once and for all.' 

'Well?' 
'Well what?' 
'What is God's native dialect?' 
'Why, Thalesian, of course. Everybody knows that Bevier.' Ulath was the 


kind of man who could say that with a perfectly straight face. 'It only 
stands to reason, though. God was a Genidian Knight before he decided to 
take the universe in hand. I'll bet you didn't know that, did you?' Bevier 
stared at him for a moment, and then began to 

laugh a bit sheepishly. Ulath looked at Sparhawk, and one of his eyelids 

closed in a slow, deliberate wink. Once again Sparhawkk felt obliged to 
reassess his Thalesian friend. Sephrenia had a house here in Sarsos, and 
that was another surprise. There had always been a kind of possessionless 
transience about her. The house was quite large, and it was set apart in a 
kind of park where tall old trees shaded gently-sloping lawns and gardens 
and sparkling fountains. Like all the other buildings in Sarsos, 
Sephrenia's house was constructed of marble, and it looked very familiar. 


'You cheated, little mother,' Kalten accused her as he helped her down from 
the carriage. 'I beg your pardon?' 

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

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

'You're a' member of the council here?' He sounded a bit surprised. 'Of 
course. I am the high priestess of Aphrael, after all. ' 

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

 'What makes you think I came from Eosia?' 

'You didn't?'

 'Of course not - and the council here in Sarsos isn't just the local 
government. We make the decisions for all Styrics, no matter where they 
are. Shall we go inside? Vanion's waiting.' She led them up the marble 
stairs to a broad, intricately engraved bronze door, and they went on into 
the house. The building was constructed around an interior Courtyard, a 
lush garden with a marble fountain in the centre. Vanion half-lay on a 
divan-like chair near the fountain with his right leg propped up on a 
number of cushions. His ankle was swathed in bandages, and he had a 
disgusted expression in his face. His hair and beard were silvery now, and 
he looked very distinguished. His face was unlined, however. The cares that 
had weighed him down had been lifted, but that would hardly account for the 
startling change in him. Even the effects of the dreadful weight of the 
swords he had forced Sephrenia to give him had somehow been erased. His 
face looked younger than Sparhawk had ever seen it. He lowered the scroll 
he had been reading. 'Sparhawk,' he said irritably, 'where have you been?' 
'i'm glad to see you too, my Lord,' Sparhawk replied. Vanion looked at him 
sharply and then laughed, his face a bit sheepish. 'I guess that was a 
little ungraciOUS, wasn't it?' 

 'Crotchety, my Lord,' Ehlana told him. 'Definitely crotchety.' Then she 
cast dignity aside, ran to him and threw her arms about his neck. 'We are 
displeased with you, my Lord Vanion,' she said in her most imperious 
manner. Then she kissed him soundly. 'You have deprived us of your counsel 
and your company in our hour of need.' She kissed him again. 'It was 
churlish of you in the extreme to absent yourself from our side without our 
permission.' She kissed him yet again. 'Am I being reprimanded or re-united 
with my Queen?' he asked, looking a bit confused. 'A little of each, my 
Lord,' she shrugged. 'I thought I'd save some time and take care of 
everything all at once. I'm really very, very glad to see you again, 
Vanion, but I was most unhappy when you crept away from Cimmura like a 
thief in the night.' 

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

 'Stragen,' she said, 'hush.'

 'I took him away from Cimmura for his health, Sephrenia told her. 'He was 
dying there. I had a certain personal interest in keeping him alive, so I 
took him to a place where I could nurse him back to health. I badgered 

Aphrael unmercifully for a couple of years, and she finally gave in. I can 
make a serious pest of myself when I want something, and I really wanted 
Vanion.' She made no attempt to conceal her feelings now. The years of 
unspoken love between her and the Pandion Preceptor were out in the open. 
She also made no effort to conceal what was quite obviously in both the 


Styric and the Elene cultures a scandalous arrangement. She and Vanion were 
openly living in sin, and neither of them showed the slightest bit of 
remorse about it. 'How's the ankle, dear one?' she asked him. 'It's 
swelling up again.' 

 'Didn't I tell you to soak it in ice when it did that?' 
'I didn't have any ice.' 
'make some, Vanion. You know the spell.' 
'The ice I make doesn't seem as cold as yours, Sephrenia.' His voice was 


plaintive. 'Men!' she cried in seeming exasperation. 'They're all such 
babies!' She bustled away in search of a basin. 'You followed that, didn't 
you, Sparhawk?' Vanion said. 'Of course, my Lord. It was very smooth, if I 
may say SO.' Thank you. 'What was that all about?' Kalten asked. 'You'd 
never understand, Kalten,' Sparhawk replied. 'Not in a million years,' 
Vanion added. 'How did you sprain your ankle, Lord Vanion?' Berit asked. 'I 
was proving a point. I advised the Council of Styricum that the young men 
of Sarsos were in extremely poor physical condition. I had to demonstrate 
by outrunning the whole bloody town. I was doing fairly well until I 
stepped in that rabbit-hole.'.That's a real shame, Lord Vanion,' Kalten 
said. 'As far as I know, that's the first contest you ever lost.' Who said 
I lost? I was far enough ahead and close enough to the finish line that I 
was able to hobble on and win. The Council's going to at least think about 
some military training for the young men.' He glanced at Sparhawk's squire. 
'Hello, Khalad,' he said. 'How are your mothers?' 

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

 'Khalad.' Ehlana protested. 'Wasn't I supposed to say that, your Majesty? 
We all thought that's what you had in mind when we left Cimmura.' 
'Well - sort of, I guess - but you're not supposed to come right out and 
say it like that.' 

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

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

 'What's been going on in Eosia since I left?' Vanion demanded. 'It was 
just a small misunderstanding between Sarathi and me, my Lord Vanion,' 
Ehlana replied. 'Khalad was exaggerating. He does that quite often - when 
he's not busy insulting the Church and State at the same time.' 

 'We may just have another Sparhawk coming uP here,' Vanion grinned. 'God 
defend the Church,' Emban said. 'And the crown,' Ehlana added. Princess 
Danae pushed her way through to Vanion. She was carrying Mmrr, her hand 
wrapped around the kitten's middle. Mmrr, had a resigned expression on her 
harry face, and her legs dangled ungr' acefully. 'Hello, Vanion,' Danae 
said, climbing up into his lap and giving him an offhand sort of kiss. 
'You've grown, Princess,' he smiled. 

'Did you expect me to shrink?' 

 'Danae.' Ehlana scolded. 'Oh, mother, Vanion and I are old friends. He 
used to hold me when I was a baby.' Sparhawk looked carefully at his 
friend, trying to decide whether or not Vanion knew about the little 
princess. Vanion's face, however, revealed nothing. 'I've missed you,) 
Princess,' he said to her. 'I know. Everybody misses me when I'm not 
around. Have you met Mmrr yet? She's my cat.' Talen gave her to me. Wasn't 
that nice of him?' 

'Very nice, Danae.' 

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

 'Oh? Why's that, Princess?' 

 'Because I'm going to marry him when I grow up, and I'd like to have all 
that training nonsense out of the way. Would you like to hold my cat?' 
Talen blushed and laughed a bit nervously, trying to pass off Danae's 
announcement as some sort of little-girl whim. His eyes looked a bit wild, 
however. you should never warn them like that, Princess,' baroness Melidere 
advised. 'You're supposed to wait and tell them at the last possible 
minute.' 

 'Oh. Is that the way it's done?' Danae looked at Talen. 'Why don't you 
forget what I just said then?' she sugGested. 'i'm not going to do anything 
about it for the next ten or twelve years anyway.' She paused. 'Or eight, 
maybe. There's no real point in wasting time, is there?' Talen was staring 
at her with the first faint hints of terror in his eyes. 'She's only 
teasing you, Talen,' Kalten assured the boy. 'And even if she isn't, I'm 
sure she'll change her mind'before she gets to the dangerous age.'

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

That evening, after arrangements had been made and the crowd had been 
mostly dispersed to nearby houses, Sparhawk sat in the cool garden at the 
centre of the house with Sephrenia and Vanion. Princess Danae sat on the 
ledge surrounding the fountain watching her kitten. Mmrr had discovered 
that there were goldfish swimming in the pool, and she sat with her tail 
twitching and her eyes wide with dreadful intent. 'I need to know something 
before I start,' Sparhawk said, looking directly at Sephrenia. 'How much 
does he know?' He pointed at Vanion. just about everything, I'd say. I have 
no secrets from 

him.' 

 'That's not too specific, Sephrenia.' Sparhawk groped for a way to ask the 
question without revealing too much. 'Oh, do get to the point, Sparhawk,' 
Danae told him. 'Vanion knows who I am. He had a little trouble with it at 
first, but he's more or less reconciled to the idea now.'

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

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

 'Does Ehlana suspect?' Vanion asked seriously. 'Of course she doesn't,' 
the Child Goddess replied. 'Sparhawk and I decided that right at the 
beginning. Tell them what's been happening, Sparhawk - and don't be all 
night about it. Mirtai's bound to come looking for me soon.' 

 'It must be pure hell,' Vanion said sympathetically to his friend. 'Not 
entirely. I have to watch her, though. Once she had a swarm of fairies 
pollinating all the flowers in the palace garden.' 

 'The bees are too' slow,' she shrugged. 'Maybe so, but people expect the 
bees to do it. If you turn the job over to the fairies, there's bound to be 
talk.' Sparhawk leaned back and looked at Vanion. 'Sephrenia's told you 
about the Lamorks and Drychtmath; hasn't she?' ,'Yes. It's not just wild 
stories, is it?' Sparhawk shook his head. 'No. We encountered some 
bronze-age Lamorks outside of Demos. After Ulath brained their leader, they 
all vanished - except for the dead. Oscagne's convinced that it's a 
diversion of some kind - rather like the games Martel was playing to keep 


us out of Chyrellos during the election of the Archprelate. We've been 
catching glimpses of Krager, and that lends some weight to Oscagne's 
theory, but you always taught us that it's a mistake to try to fight the 
last war over again, so I'm not locking myself into the idea that what's 
happening in Lamorkand is purely diversionary. I can't really accept the 
notion that somebody would go to all that trouble to keep the Church 
Knights out of Tamuli - not with the Atans already here.' Vanion nodded. 
'You're going to need someone to help you when you get to Matherion, 
Sparhawk. Tamul culture's very subtle, and you could make some colossal 
blunders without even knowing it.' Thanks, Vanion.' 

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

 'Oh, yes,' Danae said. 'I had to kiss them both into submission before I 
could make peace between them.' who'd be the best to send, Sephrenia?' 
Vanion asked. 'Me. 'That's out of the question. I won't be separated from 
you again.' 

 'That's very sweet, dear one. Why don't you come along then?' He seemed to 
hesitate. 'I -' 

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

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

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

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

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

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

 'Oh, no, Sparhawk,' Vanion told him. 'The council's very important. 
Styricum's a Theocracy, and the council's composed of the high priests and 

 prieSteSSeS - Of the Younger Gods.' 

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

 'It's another name for the Council.' 

 'There are a thousand Younger Gods?' Sparhawk was a bit surprised at that. 
'Well, of course there are, Sparhawk,' Aphrael told him. 'Everybody knows 
that.' 

 'Why a thousand?' 

 'It's a nice number with a nice sound to it. In Styric it's Age' rBluon.' 
'i'm not familiar with the word.' 

 'It means ten times ten times ten - sort of. We had quite an argument with 
one of my cousins about it. He had a pet crocodile, and it had bitten off 
one of his fingers. He always had trouble counting after that. He wanted us 
to be AgerBlican - nine times nine times nine, but we explained to him that 
there were already more of us than that, and that if we wanted to be 


AgerBlican, some of us would have to be obliterated. We asked him if he'd 
care to volunteer to be one of them, and he dropped the idea.'.'Why would 
anyone want to have a pet crocodile?'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 'Any ideas?' Vanion asked his friend. 'Several,' Sparhawk grunted, 'and 
none of them very pleasant. Do you remember that shadow I told you about? 
The one that was following me all over Eosia after I killed Ghwerig?' 
Vanion nodded. 'We've been seeing it again, and this time everybody can see 
it.' 

 'That doesn't sound too good.' 

 'No, it doesn't. Last time, that shadow was the Troll-Gods. ' Vanion 
shuddered, and then the both of them looked at Sephrenia. 'isn't it nice to 
be needed?' Danae said to her sister. 'I'll talk with Zalasta,' Sephrenia 
sighed. 'He's been keeping abreast of things here in Sarsos for the 
emperor. He probably knows a great deal about this, so I'll have him stop 
by tomorrow.' There was a loud splash. 'I told you that was going to 
happen, Mmrr,' Danae said smugly to the wild-eyed kitten struggling to stay 
afloat in the fountain. Mmrr's problems were multiplied by the fact that 
the goldfish were ferociously defending their domain by bumping her paws 
and tummy with their noses. 'Fish her out, Danae,' Sparhawk told her. 
'She'll get me all wet, father, and then mother will scold me. Mmrr got 
herself into that fix. Now let her get herself out.' 

 'She'll drown.' 

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

 'She's what?'

 'Cat-paddling. You couldn't really call it dogpaddling, could you? She's 
not a dog, after all. We Styrics talk about cat-paddling all the time, 
don't we, Sephrenia?' 
'I never have,' Sephrenia murmured. 

CHAPTER 17 

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

 'I was doing just fine until now. Please ask your cat not to use me for a 

pin-cushion.' 
'She does it because she loves you.' 
'That fills my heart. I'd still rather have her keep her claws to herself, 

though.' 
'is he always like this in the morning, mother?' 
'Sometimes,' Ehlana laughed, embracing the little girl. 'I think it 

depends on what he had for supper.' Mmrr began to purr. Adult cats purr 
with a certain decorous moderation. Kittens don't. On this particular 
morning, Danae's small cat sounded much like an approaching thunderstorm or 
a gUst-mill with an offcentre wheel. 'I give up,' Sparhawk said. He threw 
back the covers, climbed out of bed and pulled on a robe. 'There's no 
sleeping with the three of you around,' he accused them. 'Coming, Rollo?' 
His wife and daughter gave him a quick, startled glance then exchanged a 
worried look. Sparhawk scooped up Danae's stuffed toy and ambled out of the 
room, holding it by one hind leg. He could hear Ehlana and Danae whispering 
as he left. He plumped the toy into a chair. 'It's absolutely impossible, 
Rollo, old boy,' he said, making sure that his women-folk could hear him. 
'I don't know how you can stand it.' There was a profound silence from the 
bedroom. 'I think you and I should go away for a while, my friend,' 
Sparhawk went on. 'They're starting to treat us like pieces of furniture.' 
Rollo didn't say anything,' but then Rollo seldom did. Sephrenia, who was 
standing in the doorway, however, seemed a bit startled. 'Aren't you 
feeling well, Sparhawk?' 

 'i'm fine, little mother. Why do you ask?' He hadn't really expected 
anyone to witness a ' performance intended primarily for his wife and 
daughter. 'You do realise that you're talking to a stuffed toy, don't you?' 
Sparhawk stared at Rollo in mock surprise. 'Why, believe you're right, 
Sephrenia. How strange that didn't notice that. Maybe it has something to 
do with being rousted out of bed at the crack of dawn.' No matten how hard 
he tried to put a good face on this, it wasn't going to go very well. 'What 
on earth are you talking about, Sparhawk?' 

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

 'Ah - Prince Sparhawk?' It was Ehlana's maid Alcan. She had come into the 
room unnoticed, and her huge eyes were concerned. 'Are you all right?' 
Things were deteriorating all around Sparhawk. 'It's a long, long story, 


Alcan',' he sighed. 'Have you seen the princess, my Lord?' Alcan was 
looking at him strangely. 'She's in bed with her mother.' There was really 
not much left for him to salvage from the situation. 'i'm going to the 
bath-house - if anybody cares.' And he stalked from the room with the 
tatters of his dignity trailing along behind him. 

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

 'They're definitely Trolls, though?' Tynian asked him. Zalasta nodded. 'No 
other creature looks quite like a Troll.' 

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

 'There have also been sightings of Dawn-men,' Zalasta' reported. 'What are 
they, learned one?' Patriarch Emban asked him. 'Man-like creatures from the 
beginning of time, your Grace. They're a bit bigger than Trolls, but not as 
intelligent. They roam in packs, and they're very savage.' 

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

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

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

 'They were fearsome warriors,' Zalasta said. They might have impressed 
their contemporaries,' Kalten disagreed, 'but modern tactics and weapons 
and equipment are a bit beyond their capabilities. Catapults and the charge 
of armoured knights seemed to baffle them.' 

 'Just exactly who are the Cyrgai, learned one?' Vanion 

asked. 

'I gave you the scrolls, Vanion,' Sephrenia said, didn't you read them?' 
'I haven't got that far yet. Styric's a difficult language to read. 
Somebody should give some thought to simplifying your alphabet.' 

 'Hold it,' Sparhawk interupted. He looked at Sephrenia. 'I've never seen 
you read anything,' he accused her. 'You wouldn't let Flute even touch a 
book. 'Not an Elene book, no.' 

 'Then you can read?' 
'in Styric, yes.' 
'Why didn't you tell us?' 
'Because it wasn't really any of your business, dear one.' 
'You lied!' That shocked him for some reason. 'No, as a matter of fact I 


didn't. I can't read Elene largely because I don't want to. It's a 
graceless language, and your writings are ugly - like spiders' webs.' 
'You deliberately led us to believe that you were too simple to learn how 

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

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

 'I don't know why you're yelling at me,' he protested mildly, kissing her 
palms. 'I've always believed you were a fairly nice lady - ' he kissed her 
palms again, 'for a Styric, that is.' She jerked her hands out of his grasp 
and then saw the grin on his face. 'You're impossible,' she said, also 
suddenly smiling. 'We were talking about the Cyrgai, I believe,' Stragen 
said smoothly. 'just exactly who are they?' , 'They're extinct, 
fortunately,' Zalasta replied. 'They were of a race that appears to, have 
been unrelated to the other races of Daresia - neither Tamul nor Elene, and 
certainly not Styric. Some have suggested that they might be distantly 
related to the Valesians.' 

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

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

 'Nice group,' Talen murmured. 'They conquered and enslaved their 
neighbours, of course - mostly desert nomads of indeterminate race and 
there was a certain amount of interbreeding, soldiers being what they are.' 
'But that was perfectly all right, wasn't it?' Baroness Melidere added 
tartly. 'Rape is always permitted, isn't it?' 

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

 'What a refreshing idea,' she murmured. 'So was the woman, of course. 
Despite all their best efforts, however, the Cyrgai did produce a number of 
offspring of mixed race. In their eyes, that was an abomination, and the 
half-breeds were killed whenever possible. In time, however, Cyrgon 
apparently had a change of heart. He saw a use for these half-breeds. They 
were given some training and became a part of the army. They were called 
'Cynesgans', and in time they came to comprise that part of the army that 


did all of the dirty work and most of the dying. Cyrgon had a goal, you see 

- the usual goal of the militaristically inclined.' 
'World domination?' Vanion suggested. 'Precisely. The Cynesgans were 
encouraged to breed, and the Cyrgai used them to expand their frontiers. 
They soon controlled all of the desert and began pushing at the frontiers 
of their neighbours. That's where we encountered them. The Cyrgai weren't 
really prepared to come up against Styrics.' 

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

 'Wait a minute,' Kalten objected. 'We encountered Cyrgai just to the west 
of here. How did they get across the line?' They were from the past, Sir 
Kalten,' Zalasta explained, spreading his hands. 'The line didn't exist for 
them, because the eagle had not yet made his flight when they marched 
north.' Kalten scratched his head and sat frowning. 'i'm not really all 
that good at logic,' he confessed, 'but isn't there a hole in that 
somewhere?' Bevier was also struggling with it. 'I think I see how it 
works,' he said a little dubiously, 'but I'll have to go over it a few 
times to be sure. 'Logic can't answer all the questions, Sir Bevier,' Emban 
advised. He hesitated. 'You don't have to tell Dolmant I said that, of 
course,' he added. 'It may be that the enchantment's no longer in force,' 

Sephrenia suggested to Zalasta. 'There's no real need for it, since the 
Cyrgai are extinct.' 

 'And no way to prove it either,' Ulath added, 'one way or the other.' 
Stragen suddenly laughed. 'He's right, you know,' he said. 'There might' 
very well be this dreadful curse out there that nobody even knows about 
because the people it's directed at all died out thousands of years ago. 
What finally happened to them, learned one?' he asked Zalasta. 'You said 
that they were extinct.' 

 'Actually, Milord Stragen, they bred themselves out of existence.'

 'isn't that a contradiction?' Tynian asked him. 'Not really. The Cynesgans 
had been very nearly wiped out, but now they were of vital importance, 
since they were the only troops at Cyrgon's disposal who could cross the 
frontiers. He directed the Cyrgai to concentrate on breeding up new armies 
of these formerly despised underlings. The Cyrgai were perfect soldiers who 
always obeyed orders to the letter. They devoted their attention to the 
Cynesgan women even to the exclusion of their own. By the time they 
realised their mistake, all the Cyrgai women were past child-bearing age. 


Legend had it that the last of the Cyrgai died about ten thousand years 
ago.' 

 'That raises idiocy to an art-form, doesn't it?' Stragen observed. Zalasta 
smiled a thin sort of smile. 'At any rate, what used to be Cyrga is now 
Cynesga. It's occupied by a defective, mongrel race that manages to survive 
only because it sits astride the 'major trade routes between the Tamuls of 
the east and the Elenes of the west. The rest of the world looks upon these 
heirs of the invincible Cyrgai with the deepest contempt. They're sneaky, 
cowardly, thieving and disgustingly servile - a fitting fate for the 
offspring of a race that once thought it was divinely destined to rule the 
world.' 

 'History's such a gloomy subject,' Kalten sighed. 'Cynesga's not the only 
place where the past is returning to haunt us,' Zalasta added. 'We've 
noticed,' Tynian replied. 'The Elenes in western Astel are all convinced 
that Ayachin's returned. ' Then you've heard of the one they call Sabre?' 
Zalasta asked. 'We ran across him a couple of times,' Stragen laughed. 'I 
don't think he poses much of a threat. He's an adolescent poseur.'

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

 'I've encountered them,' Zalasta said wryly. 'Kimear of Daconia and Baron 
Parok, his spokesman, are a bit more serious, though. Kimear was one of 
those men on horseback who emerge from time to time in Elene societies. He 
subdued the other two Elene Kingdoms in western Astel and founded one of 
those empires of a thousand years that spring up from time to time and 
promptly fall apart when the founder dies. The hero in Edam is Incetes' - a 
bronze-age fellow who actually managed to hand to Cyrgai their first 
defeat. The one who does his talking for him calls himself Rebel. That's 
not his real name, of course. Political agitators usually go by assumed 
names. Ayachin, Kimear and Incetes appeal to the very simplest of Elene 
emotional responses - muscularity, Primarily. I wouldn't offend you for the 
world, my friends, but you Elenes seem to like to break things and burn 
down other people's houses. 'It's a racial flaw,' Ulath conceded. 'The 
Arjuni present us with slightly different problems,' Zalasta continued. 
'They're members of the Tamul race, and their deep-seated urges are a bit 
more sophisticated. Tamuls don't want to rule the world, they just want to 
own it.' He smiled briefly at Oscagne. 'The Arjuni aren't very attractive 
as representatives of the race, though. Their hero is the fellow who 
invented the slave-trade. ' Mirtai's breath hissed sharply, and her hand 
went to her dagger. 'is there some problem, Atana?' Oscagne asked her 
mildly. 'I've had experience with the slave-traders of Arjuna, Oscagne,' 
she replied shortly. 'Someday I hope to have more, and I won't be a child 
this time.' Sparhawk realised that Mirtai had never told them the story of 
how she had become a slave. 'This Arjuni hero's of a somewhat more recent 
vintage than the others,' Zalasta continued. 'He was of the twelfth 
century. His name was SheSian.' 

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

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

 'Our people still sing songs about it,' Engessa said in an almost dreamy 
fashion. 'Bad?' Emban asked Oscagne. 'Unbelievable,' Oscagne replied. 'The 
silly ass who authorised the expedition didn't realise that when you 


command the Atans to do something, you have to specifically prohibit 
certain measures. The fool simply turned them loose. They actually hanged 
the King of Arjuna himself and then chased all his subjects into the 
southern jungles. It took us nearly two hundred years to coax the Arjuni 
down out of the trees. The economic upheaval was a disaster for the entire 
continent.' 

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

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

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

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


'Something's happening that I don't understand, Sparhawk,' Danae murmured 
quietly a bit later. Sparhawk had retired to one corner of Sephrenia's 
little garden with one of Vanion's Styric scrolls and had been trying to 
puzzle out the Styric alphabet. Danae had found him there and had climbed 
up into his lap. 'I thought you were all-wise,' he said. 'isn't that 
supposed to be one of your characteristics?' 

'Stop that. Something's terribly wrong here.' 

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

 'Whatever gave you that idea?' 

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

'What's that got to do with it?' 

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

 'You don't understand Styrics at all, do you? That's 

the most tedious idea I've ever heard of - a whole village of people who 

all worship the same God? How boring.'

 'Elenes do it.' 

 'Elenes eat pigs too.' 

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

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

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

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

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

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

 'What do you want me to look for?' 

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

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

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

The council of the Thousand met in a stately marble building at the very 
centre of Sarsos. It was an imposing, even intimidating building that 
shouldered its way upward arrogantly. Like all public buildings, it was 
totally devoid of any warmth or humanity. It had wide, echoing marble 
corridors and huge bronze doors designed to make people feel tiny and 
insignificant. The actual meetings took place in a large, semicircular hall 
with tier upon tier of marble benches stairstepping up the sides. There 


were ten of those tiers naturally, and the seats on each tier were evenly 
spaced. It was all very logical. Architects are usually logical, since 
their buildings tend to collapse if they are not. At Sephrenia's 
suggestion, Sparhawk and the other Elenes wore simple white robes to avoid 
those unpleasant associations in the minds of Styrics when they are 
confronted by armoured Elenes. The knights, however, wore chain-mail and 
swords under their robes. The chamber was about half-full, since at any 
given time a part of the council was off doing other things. The members of 
the Thousand sat or strolled about talking quietly with each other. Some 
moved purposefully among their colleagues, talking earnestly. Others 
laughed and joked. Not a few were sleeping. Zalasta led them to the front 
of the chamber where chairs had been placed for them in a kind of 
semicircle. 'I have to take my seat,' Sephrenia told them quietly. 'Please 
don't take immediate action if someone insults you. There's several 
thousand years of resentment built up in this chamber, and some of it's 
bound to spill over.' She crossed the chamber to sit on one of the marble 
benches. Zalasta stepped to the centre of the room and stood silently, 
making no attempt to call the assemblage to ord'er. The traditional 
courtesies were obscure here. Gradually, the talking tapered off, and the 
Council members took their seats. 'if it please the Council,' Zalasta said 
in Styric, 'we are honoured today by the presence of important guests.' 

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

This promises to be moderately unpleasant,' Stragen murmured. 'Our Styric 
cousins seem to be as capable of boorishness as we are.' Zalasta ignored 
the ill-mannered speaker and continued. 'Sarsos is subject to the Tamul 
Empire,' he reminded them, 'and we benefit enormously from that 
relationship.' 

 'And the Tamuls make sure we pay for those benefits,' another member 
called. Zalasta ignored that as well. 'i'm sure you'll all join with me in 
welcoming First Secretary Oscagne, the Chief of the Imperial Foreign 
Service.' 

 'I don't know what makes you so sure about that, Zalasta,' someone shouted 
with a raucous laugh. Oscagne rose to his feet. 'i'm overwhelmed by this 
demonstration of affection,' he said dryly in perfect Styric. There were 
cat-calls from the tiers of seats. The catcalls died quite suddenly when 
Engessa rose to his feet and stood with his arms folded across his chest. 
He did not even bother to scowl at the unruly councillors. 'That's better,' 
Oscagne said. 'I'm glad that the legendary courtesy of the Styric people 
has finally asserted itself. If I may, I'll briefly introduce the members 
of our party, and then we'll place an urgent matter before you for your 
consideration.' He briefly introduced Patriarch Emban. An angry mutter 
swept through the chamber. 'That's directed at the Church, your Grace,' 

Stragen told him, 'not at you personally.' When Oscagne introduced Ehlana, 
one council member on the top tier whispered a remark to those seated near 
him which elicited a decidedly vulgar laugh. Mirtai came to her feet like 
an uncoiling spring, her hands darting to her sheathed daggers. Engessa 
said something sharply to her in the Tamul tongue. she shook her head. Her 
eyes were blazing and her jaw was set. She drew a dagger. Mirtai may not 
have understood Styric, but she did understand the implications of that 
laugh. Sparhawk rose to his feet. 'It's my place to respond, Mirtai,' he 
reminded her. 'You will not defer to me?'

 'Not this time, no. I'm sorry, but it's a sort of formal occasion, so'we 


should observe the niceties.' He turned to look up at the insolent Styric 
in the top row. 'Would you care to repeat what you just said a little 
louder, neighbour?' he asked in Styric. 'if it's so funny, maybe you should 
share it with us.' 

 'Well, what do you know,' the fellow sneered, 'a talking dog.' Sephrenia 
rose to her feet. 'I call upon the Thousand to observe the traditional 
moment of silence,' she declared in Styric. 'Who died?' the loud-mouth 
demanded. 'You did, Camriel,' she told him sweetly, 'so our grief will not 
be excessive. This is Prince Sparhawk, the man who destroyed the Elder God 
Azash, and you've just insulted his wife. Did you want the customary burial 
assuming that we can find enough of you to commit to the earth when he's 
done with you?' Camriel's jaw had dropped, and his face had gone 

dead white. The rest of the Council also visibly shrank back. 'His name 
still seems to carry some weight,' Ulath noted to Tynian. 'Evidently. Our 
insolent friend up there seems to be having long, gloomy thoughts about 
mortality.' 

 'Councilor Camriel,' Sparhawk said quite formally, let us not interrupt 
the deliberations of the Thousand 'with a purely personal matter. I'll look 
you up after the meeting, and we can make the necessary arrangements.' 
'What did he say?' Ehlana whispered to Stragen. 'The usual, your Majesty. I 
expect that Councillor Camriel's going to remember a pressing engagement on 
the other side of the world at any moment now.' 

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

 'How dare you speak to me so, Michan?' 

 'You seem dazzled by the fact that one of the Gods is slightly fond of 
you, Camriel,' Michan drawled, 'and you overlook the fact that we all share 
that peculiar eminence here. My God loves me at least as much as your God 
loves you.' Michan paused. 'Probably more, actually. I'd guess that your 
God's having second thoughts about you at the moment. You must be a 
terrible embarrassment to him. But you're wasting valuable time. As soon as 
this meeting adjourns, I expect that Prince Sparhawk will come looking for 
you - with a knife. You do have a knife some place nearby, don't you, your 
Highness?' Sparhawk grinned and opened his robe slightly to reveal his 
sword-hilt. 'Splendid, old fellow,' Michan said. 'i'd have been glad to 
lend you mine, but a man always works better with his own equipment. 
Haven't you left yet, Camriel? If you plan to live long enough to see the 
sun go down, you'd best get cracking.' Councillor Camriel fled. 'What 
happened?' Ehlana demanded impatiently. 'if we choose to look at it in a 
certain light, we could consider the Councillor's flight to be a form of 
apology,' Stragen told her. 'We do not accept apologies,' Mirtai said 
implacably. 'May I chase him down and kill him, Ehlana?' 

'Why don't we just let him run for a'while, Mirtai?' the queen decided. 
'How long?' 

 'How long would you say he's likely to run, Milord?' Ehlana asked Stragen. 
'The rest of his life probably, my queen.' 

 'That sounds about right to me.' 

The response of the Thousand to Zalasta's description of the current 
situation was fairly predictable, and the fact that all of the speeches 
showed evidence of much polishing hinted strongly that there had been few 


surprises in his presentation. The Thousand seemed to be divided into three 
factions. Predictably, there were a fair number of councillors who took the 
position that the Styrics could defend themselves and that they had no real 
reason to become involved. Styrics had strong suspicions where Elene 
promises were concerned, since Elene rulers tended to forget promises made 
to StyriCS after a crisis had passed. A second faction was more moderate. 
They pointed out the fact that the crisis here concerned the Tamuls rather 
than the Elenes, and that the presence of a small band of Church Knights 
from Eosia was really irrelevant. As the silvery-haired Michan pointed out, 
'The Tamuls may not be our friends in every sense of the word, but at least 
they're not our enemies. Let's not overlook the fact that their Atans keep 
the Astels, the Edomish and the Dacites from our doorstep.' Michan was 
highly respected, and his opinion carried great weight in the council. 
There was a third faction as well, a vocal minority SO rabidly anti-Elene 
that they even went so far as to suggest that the interests of Styricum 
might be better served by an alliance with the perpetrators of the 
outrages. Their speeches were not really intended to be taken seriously. 
The speakers had merely sesed this opportunity to list long catalogues of 
grievances and to unleash diatubes of hatred and vituperation. 'This is 
starting to get tiresome,' Stragen finally said to Sparhawk, rising to his 
feet. 'What are you going to do?' 

 'Do? Why, I'm going to respond, old boy.' He stepped to the centre of the 
floor and stood resolutely in the face of their shouts and curses. The 
noise gradually subsided, more because those causing it had run out of 
things to say than because anyone was really curious about what this 
elegant blond Elene had to say. 'i'm delighted to discover that all men are 
equally contemptible,' Stragen told them, his rich voice carrying to every 
corner of the hall. 'I had despaired of ever finding a flaw in the Styric 
character, but I find that you're like all other men when you're gathered 
together into a mob. The outspoken and unconcealed bigotry you have 
revealed here this afternoon has lifted my despair and filled my heart with 
joy. I swoon with delight to find this cesspool of festering nastiness 
lurking in the Styric soul, since it proves once and for all that men are 
all the same, regardless of race.' There were renewed shouts of protest. 
The protests were laced with curses this time. Once again Stragen waited. 
'i'm disappointed in you, my dear brothers,' he told them finally. 'An 
Elene child of seven could curse more inventively. Is this really the best 
the combined wisdom of Styricum can come up with? Is 'Elene bastard' really 
all you know how to say? It doesn't even particularly insult me, because in 
my case it happens to be true.' He looked around, his expression urbane and 
just slightly superior. 'i'm also a thief and a murderer, and I have a 
large number of unsavoury habits. I've committed crimes for which there 
aren't even names, and you think your pallid, petty denunciations could 
distress me in any way? Does anyone have a meaningful accusation before I 
examine your failings?' 

 'You've enslaved us!' someone bellowed. 'Not me, old boy,' Stragen 
drawled. 'You couldn't give me a slave. You have to feed them, you know even 

 when they're not working. Now then, let's step right along here. We've 
established the fact that I'm a thief and a murderer and a bastard, but 
what are you? Would the word 'snivellers' startle you? You Styrics whine a 
great deal. You've carefully stored up an inventory of the abuses you've 
suffered in the past several thousand years and you take a perverted 
pleasure in sitting in dark, smelly corners regurgitating them all, chewing 
them over and over like mouthfuls of stale vomit. You try to blame Elenes 
for all your troubles. Does it surprise you to discover that I feel no 
guilt about the plight of the Styrics? I have more than enough guilt' for 


things I have done without beating my breast about things that happened a 
thousand years before I was born. Frankly, my- friends, all these martyred 
expressions bore me. Don't you ever get tired of feeling sorry for 
yourselves? I'm now Going to offend you even more by getting right to the 
point. If you want to snivel, do it in your own time. We're offering you 
the'opportunity to join with us in facing a common enemy. It's just a 
courtesy, you ,understand, because we don't really need you. Keep that 
firmly in view. We don't need you. Actually, you'll encumber us. I've heard 
a few intellectual cripples here Suggest an alliance with our enemy. What 
makes you think he'd want you as allies? The Elene peasantry would probably 
be overjoyed if you tried, though, because that would give them an excuse 
to slaughter Styrics from here to the straits of Thalesia. Joining with us 
won't ensure a lessening of Elene prejudice, but joining with our enemies 
will almost guarantee that ten years from now there won't be a live Styric 
in any Elene kingdom in the world.' He scratched thoughtfully at his chin 
and looked around. 'I guess that more or less covers everything,' he said. 
'Why don't you talk it over amongst yourselves? My friends and I will be 
leaving for Matherion tomorrow. You might want to let us know what you've 
decided before we go. That's entirely up to you, of course. Words couldn't 
begin to express our indifference to the decisions of such an insignificant 
people.' He turned and offered his arm to Ehlana. 'Shall we leave, your 
Majesty?' he suggested. 'What did you say to them, Stragen?' 

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

 'All in one speech?' 

 'He was brilliant, your Majesty,' Oscagne said enthusiastically. 'He said 
some things to the Styrics that have needed saying for a long, long time.' 
'I have certain advantages, your Excellency,' Stragen smiled. 'My 
character's so questionable that nobody expects me to be polite. ' 
'Actually, you're exquisitely courteous,' Bevier disagreed. 'I know, Sir 
Bevier, but people don't expect it of me, so they can't bring themselves to 
believe it.' 

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

 'You said many things that simply aren't true, you know,' Sephrenia 
accused him. 'Of course I did. It was a political speech, little mother. 
Nobody expects a politician to tell the truth.' 

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

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

 'About what you'd expect, your Excellency,' Zalasta replied. 'Milord 
Stragen cut the ground out from under the Styric tradition of self-pity. 
It's very hard to play the martyr when you've just been told that it makes 
you look like a silly ass. There's a fit of towering resentment brewing 


among the Thousand. We Styrics are terribly fond of feeling sorry for 
ourselves, and that's been ruined now. No one ever really considered 
joining with the enemy - even if we knew who he was - but Stragen 
effectively bludgeoned us into going even further. Neutrality's out of the 
question now, since the Elene peasants would come to view neutrality as 
very nearly the same thing as actually joining with our unknown opponent. 
The Thousand will assist you, your Excellency. They'll do all they can do if 

 only to protect our brothers and sisters in Eosia.' 

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

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

 'Might I be of some assistance?' Zalasta offered. 'I really rather doubt 
it, learned one. As soon as it gets dark, Talen and I have to pay a visit 
to the thieves of Sarsos.' 

 'There are no thieves in Sarsos, Stragen!' Stragen and Talen looked at 
each other, and then they burst out with howls of cynical laughter. 

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

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

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

 'That should pass after we get to know him better.' There was a knock at 
the door. 'Are you busy?' Mirtai called. 'What would we be doing at this 
hour?' Ehlana called back impishly. 'Do you really want me to tell you, 
Ehlana? Talen's here. He has something you might want to know.'

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

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

CHAPTER 18 

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

 'And who's going to see to mother's safety while you're amusing yourself 
here, father?' Danae asked him. 'She's surrounded by an army, Danae.' 
'You're her champion, father. Is that just some hollow title you can lay 
aside when something more amusing than protecting her life comes up?' 
Sparhawk stared helplessly at his daughter. Then he slammed his fist 
against the wall in frustration. 'You'll break your hand,' Sephrenia 


murmured. They were in the kitchen. Sparhawk had risen early and gone 
looking for his tutor to..advise her of Talen's discovery and of his own 
plans to make Krager answer for a long, long list of transgressions. 
Danae's presence was really not all that surprising. 'Why didn't you rack 
him to death when you had your hands on him in Chyrellos, dear one?' 
Sephrenia asked calmly. 'Sephrenia!' Sparhawk was more startled by the 
coldblooded way she said it than by the suggestion itself. 'Well, you 
should have, Sparhawk. Then he wouldn't keep coming back to haunt us like 
this. You know what Ulath always says. Never leave a live enemy behind you. 
' 

 'You're starting to sound like an Elene, little mother.' 
'Are you trying to be insulting?' 
'Did banging your hand like that bring you to your senses, father?' Danae 


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

 'Can you really make somebody's hair bleed?' his daughter asked him. 'i'm 
not really sure. After I finally catch up with Krager, I'll let you know.' 
He nursed his sore knuckles. 'I Guess we really should get on to Matherion. 
Sephrenia, just how healthy is Vanion, really?' 

 'Would you like a personal testimonial?' she asked him archly. 'That's 
none of my business, little mother. All I'm really asking is whether or not 
he's fit to) travel.' 

 'Oh, yes,' she smiled. 'More than fit.' 
'Good. I'll be delighted to hand the rewards and satisfactions of 
leadership back to him.' 
'No. Absolutely not.' 

'I beg your pardon?' 

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

Then you'll both be able to come with us to Matherion?' 
':'')'!')''')''''Of course they will, Sparhawk,' Danae told him. 'We 

decided that a long time ago.' 
'It would have been nice if somebody'd thought to tell me about it.' 
'Why? you don't have to know everything, father. Just do as we tell you to 

do.' 

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

 'Sparhawk.' Danae gasped. He grinned at her. 'Zalasta will be coming with 
us as well,' Sephrenia said. 'He's been summoned back to Matherion anyway, 
and we really need his help.' Sparhawk frowned. 'That might cause some 
problems, little mother. Ehlana doesn't trust him.' 

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

 'Has mother given you any reason for these suspicions?' Danae asked 
intently. 'Hate at first sight, maybe,' Sparhawk shrugged. 'His reputation 
as the wisest man in the world probably didn't help matters. She was 
probably predisposed to dislike him even before she met him.' 

 'And of course he's Styric.' There was a brittle edge to Sephrenia's 
voice. 'You know Ehlana better than that, Sephrenia. I think it's time we 


got you out of Sarsos. Some of the local opinions are starting to cloud 
your thinking.'

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

 'Antae? I thought he was your friend.' 

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

' 

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

 'is there anything else about me you'd like to change, Sir Knight?' He 
looked her up and down gravely. 'You're really very small, you know. Have 
you ever considered growing just a bit?' She almost retorted, but then she 
suddenly laughed. 'You can be the most disarming man in the world, 
Sparhawk.' 

 'I know. That's why people love me so much.' 

 'Now do you see why I'm so fond of these great Elene oafs?' Sephrenia said 
lightly to her sister. 'Of course,' Aphrael replied. 'It's because they're 
like big, clumsy puppies.' Her dark eyes grew serious. 'Not too many people 
know who I really am,' she mused. you two and Vanion are about the only 
ones who recognise me in this incarnation. I think it might be a good idea 
if we kept it that way. Our enemy - whoever he' is - might make a slip or 
two if he doesn't know I'm around.' 

 'you'll want to tell Zalasta though, won't you?' Sephrenia asked her. 'Not 
yet, I don't think. He doesn't really need to know, so let's just keep it 
to ourselves. When you trust someone, you're putting yourself in the 
position of also trusting everybody he trusts, and sometimes that includes 
people you don't even know. I'd rather not do that just yet.' 

 'She's growing very skilled at logic,' Sparhawk observed. 'I know,' 
Sephrenia sighed. 'She's fallen in with evil companions, I'm afraid.' 

They left Sarsos later that morning, riding out through the east gate to be 
joined by the Church Knights, the Peloi and Engessa's two legions of Atans. 
The day was fair and warm, and the sky intensely blue. The newlyrisen sun 

stood above the range of jagged, snow-capped peaks lying to the east. The 
peaks reared upward, and their soaring flanks were wrapped in the deep blue 
shadows of morning. The country lying ahead looked wild and rugged. Engessa 
was striding along beside Sparhawk, and his bronze face had a somewhat 
softer expression than it normally wore. He gestured toward the peaks. 
'Atan, Sparhawk-Knight,' he said, 'my homeland.' 

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

'Fifteen years.' 

 'That's a long exile.' 

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


Sparhawk-Knight?' the Atan said. 'i'd say so,' Sparhawk agreed. 'Our people 
have many different customs, but we seem to have stepped around most of 
those.' Engessa smiled slightly. 'You conducted yourself wel during our 
discussions concerning Atana Mirtai and Domi Kring.' 

 'Reasonable men can usually find reasons to get along with each other.,' 

'Elenes set great store in reason, do they not?' 
'It's one of our quirks, I suppose.' 
'I'll explain something about one of our customs to you, Sparhawk-Knight. 

I may not say it too clearly, because I am clumsy in your language. I'll 

rely on you to explain it to the others.' 
'I'll do my very best, Atan Engessa.' 
'Atana Mirtai will go through the Rite of Passage while she is in Atan.' 

'I was fairly sure she would.' 

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

 'I will, Engessa-Atan.' The Atana will come to you when she is ready. It 
is her right to choose those who will support her. Some of her choices may 
surprise you, but among my people, it is considered an honour to be 
chosen.' we will look upon it so, Engessa-Atan.' Sparhawk briefly advised 
the others that Mirtai would be calling a meeting at a time of her own 
choosing, but he did not go into too much detail, since he himself did not 
know exactly what to expect. That evening the Atan giantess moved quietly 
through the camp, her manner uncharacteristically diffident. She did not, 
as they might have expected, peremptorily command them to attend, but 
rather she asked, one might almost say pleaded, and her eyes were very 
vulnerable. Most of her choices were the ones Sparhawk would have expected. 
They were the people who had been closest to Mirtai during her most recent 
enslavement. There were some surprises, however. She invited a couple of 
Pandions Sparhawk had not even known she was acquainted with as well as a 
couple of Kring's Peloi and two Atan girls from Engessa's legions. She also 
asked Emban and Oscagne to hear her story. They gathered around a large 
fire that evening, and Engessa spoke briefly to them before Mirtai began. 
'It is customary among ' our people for one to put childhood away before 
entering adulthood,' he told them gravely. 'Atana Mirtai will participate 
in the Rite of Passage soon, and she has asked us to be with her as she 
sets the past aside.' He paused, and his tone became reflective. 'This 
child is not like other Atan children,' he told them. 'For most, the 
childhood that is put away is simple and much like that of all others of 
our race. Atana Mirtai, however, returns from slavery. She has survived 
that and has returned to us. Her childhood has been longer than most and 
has contained things not usual - painful things. We will listen with love even 

 though we do not always understand.' He turned to Mirtai. 'It might be 
well to begin with the place where you were born, my daughter,' he 
suggested. 'Yes, Father-Atan,' she replied politely. Since Engessa had 
assumed the role of parent when they had first met, Mirtai's response was 
traditionally respectful. She spoke in a subdued voice that reflected none 
of her customary assertiveness. Sparhawk had the distinct impression that 
they were suddenly seeing a different Mirtai - a gentle, rather sensitive 
girl who had been hiding behind a brusque exterior. 'I was born in a 
village lying to the west of Dirgis,' she began, 'near the headwaters of 
the River Sama.' She 


spoke in Elenic, since, with the exception of Oscagne, Engessa and the two 
Atan girls, none of her loved ones spoke Tamul. 'We lived deep in the 
mountains. My mother and father made much of that.' She smiled faintly. 
'All Atans believe that they're special, but we mountain Atans believe that 
we're especially special. We're obliged to be the very best at everything 
we do, since we're'so obviously superior to everybody else.' She gave them 
all a rather sly glance. Mirtai was very observant, and her offhand remark 
tweaked the collective noses of Styric and Elene alike. 'I spent my 
earliest years in the forests and mountains. I walked earlier than most and 
ran almost as soon as I could walk. My father was very proud of me, and he 
often said that I was born running. As is proper, I tested myself often. By 
the time I was five, I could run for half a day, and at six, from dawn 
until sunset. 'The children of our village customarily entered training 
very late - usually when we were nearly eight because the training-camp in 
our district was very far away, and our parents did not want to be 
completely separated from us while we were still babies. Mountain Atans are 
very emotional. It's our one failing.' 

 'Were you happy, Atana?' Engessa asked her gently. Nery happy, 
Father-Atan,' she replied. 'My parents loved me, and they were very proud 
of me. Ours was a small village with only a few children. I was the best, 
and my parents' friends all made much of me.' She paused, and her eyes 
filled with tears. 'And then the Arjuni slavers came. They were armed with 
bows. They were only interested in the children, so they killed all of the 
adults. My mother was killed with the first arrow. ' Her voice broke at 
that point, and she lowered her head for a moment. When she raised her 
face, the tears were streaming down her cheeks. Gravely, the Princess Danae 
went to her and held out her arms. Without apparently even thinking about 
it, Mirtai lifted the little girl up into her lap. Danae touched her 
tear-wet cheek and then softly kissed her. 'I didn't see my father die,' 
Mirtai continued. Her voice was choked, but then it rang out, and her 
tearfilled eyes hardened. 'I killed the first Arjuni who tried to capture 
me. They're ignorant people who can't seem to realise that children can be 
armed too. The Arjuni was holding a sword in his right hand, and he took my 
arm with his left. My dagger was very sharp, and it went in smoothly when I 
stabbed him under the arm with it. The blood came out of his mouth like a 
fountain. He fell back, and I stabbed him again, up under his breast-bone 
this time. I could feel his heart quivering on the point of my knife. I 
twisted the blade, and he died.' 

 'Yes.' Kring half-shouted. The Domi had been weeping openly, and his voice 
was hoarse and savage. 'I tried to run,' Mirtai went on, 'but another 
Arjuni kicked my feet out from under me and tried to 'grab my dagger. I cut 
the fingers off his right hand and stabbed him low in the belly. It took 
him two days to die, and he screamed the whole time. His screams comforted 
me.' 

 'Yes.' It was Kalten this time, and his eyes were also tear-filled. The 
Atan girl gave him a brief, sad smile. 'The Arjuni saw that I was 
dangerous, so they knocked me senseless. When I woke up, I was in chains.' 
'This all happened when you were only eight?' Ehlana asked the giantess in 
a half-whisper. 'Seven, Ehlana,' Mirtai corrected gently. 'I wasn't yet 
eight.' 

 'You actually killed a man at that age?' Emban asked her incredulously. 
'Two, Emban. The one who screamed for two days also died.' The Atana looked 
at Engessa, her glistening eyes a bit doubtful. 'May I claim that one as 
well, FatherAtan?' she asked. 'He might have died anyway of something 
else.' 

 'You may claim him, my daughter,' he judged. 'It was your knife-thrust 


that killed him.' She sighed. 'I've always wondered about that one,' she 

confessed. 'It clouded my count, and I didn't like that.' 
'It was a legitimate kill, Atana. Your count is unclouded. ' 
'Thank you, Father-Atan,' she said. 'It's a bad thing to 'be uncertain 

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

 'He was a kindly master then?' Baroness Melidere asked her. 'I didn't say 
that, Melidere. Pelaser liked little boys and girls in a rather peculiar 
way. The Arjuni had warned him about me, so he wouldn't let me near any 
knives. I had to eat, however, so he gave me a spoon. He took me to his 
home at Verel in Daconia, and I spent the entire journey sharpening the 
handle of my spoon on my chains. It was a good metal spoon, and it took a 
,very fine edge. When we got to Verel he chained me to the wall in a little 
room at the back of his house. The room had a stone floor, and I spent all 
my time working on my spoon. I grew very fond of it.' She bent slightly and 
slid her hand down into her boot. 'isn't it pretty?' The implement she held 
up was a very ordinary-looking 'spoon with a wooden handle. She took it in 
both hands, twisted the handle slightly and then pulled it off the shank of 
the spoon. The shank was thin and narrow, and it came to a needle-like 
point. It had been polished Until it gleamed like silver. She looked at it 
critically. 'It's not quite long enough to reach a man's heart,' she 
apologised for her spoon. 'You can't kill cleanly with it, but it's good 
for emergencies. It looks so much like an ordinary spoon that nobody ever 
thinks to take it away from me.' 

 'Brilliant,' Stragen murmured, his eyes glowing with admiration. 'Steal us 
a couple of spoons, Talen, and we'll get to work on them immediately.' 
'Pelaser came to my room one night and put his hands on me,' Mirtai 
continued. 'I sat very still, and so he thought I wouldn't resist. He 
started to smile. I noticed that he drooled when he smiled like that. He 
was still smiling - and drooling - when I stabbed both of his eyes out. Did 
you know that a man's eyes pop when you poke them with something sharp?' 
Melidere made a slight gagging sound and stared at the calm-faced Atana in 
open horror. 'He tried to scream,' Mirtai went on in a chillingly clinical 
way, 'but I looped my chain around his neck to keep him quiet. I really 
wanted to cut him into little pieces, but I had to hold the chain in both 
hands to keep him from screaming. He began to struggle, but I just pulled 
the chain tighter about his neck.' 

 'Yes.' Rather astonishingly, it was Ehlana's doe-eyed maid Alcan who cried 
her hoarse approval, and the quick embrace she gave the startled Atana was 
uncharacteristically' fierce. Mirtai touched the 'gentle girl's face fondly 
and then continued. 'Pelaser struggled quite a bit at first, but after a 
while, he stopped. He had knocked over the candle, and the room was dark, 
so I couldn't be sure he was dead. I kept the chain pulled tight around his 
neck until morning. His face was very black when the sun came up.' 

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


her lap holding the gleaming little dagger. 'Could you get me some water, 
Danae?' she asked. 'i'm not used to talking so much.' Danae obediently 
slipped down and' went over toward one of the cooking-fires. 'She might be 
a little young to hear about certain things,' Mirtai murmured. 'Gelan was a 
rather nice young man, but he had peculiar tastes. He gave his love to 
other young men instead of women.' Sir Bevier gasped. 'Oh, dear,' Mirtai 
said. 'Are you truly that unworldly, Bevier? It's not uncommon, you know. 
Anyway, I got on quite well with Gelan. At least he didn't try to take 
advantage of me. He loved to talk, so he taught me to speak Elenic and even 
to read a bit. People in his circumstances lead rather tentative lives, and 
he needed a permanent friend. I had been taught that it was polite to 
listen when my elders spoke, and after a time he would pour out his heart 
to me. When I grew a little older, he bought me pretty gowns to wear, and 
sometimes he'd even wear them himself, although I think he was only joking. 
Some of his friends wore women's clothes, but nobody was really very 
serious about it. It's something they laughed about. It was about then that 
I started to go through that difficult time in a girl's life when she 
starts to become a woman. He was very gentle and understanding, and he 
explained what was happening so that I wasn't afraid. He used to have me 
wear my prettiest gowns, and he'd take me with him when he was doing 
business with people who didn't know his preferences. Daconia is an Elene 
Kingdom, and Elenes have some peculiar ideas about that sort of thing. They 
try to mix religion into it for some reason. Anyway, the fact that Gelan 
always had a young slave-girl with him quieted suspicions.' Bevier's eyes 
had a stunned look in them. 'Maybe you should go help the princess look for 
that water, Bevier,' Mirtai suggested to him almost gently. 'This was a 
part of my childhood, so I have to talk about it at this time. You don't 
have to listen if it bothers you, though. I'll understand.' His face grew 
troubled. 'i'm your friend, Mirtai,' he declared. 'I'll stay.' She smiled. 
'He's such a nice boy.' She said it in almost the same tone of voice 
Sephrenia had always used when saying exactly the same thing. Sparhawk was 
a bit startled at how shrewdly perceptive the Atan girl really was. Mirtai 
sighed. 'Gelan and I loved each other, but not in the way that people 
usually think of when they're talking about a man and a woman. There are as 
many 

different kinds of love as there are people, I think. He had enemies, 
though - many enemies. He was a very sharp trader, and he almost always got 
the best of every bargain. There are small people in the world who take 
that sort of thing personally. Once an Edomish merchant became so enraged 
that he tried to kill Gelan, and I had to use my spoon to protect him. As I 
said before, the blade's not quite long enough to kill cleanly, so the 
incident was very messy. I ruined a very nice silk gown that evening. I 
told Gelan that he really ought to buy me some proper knives so that I 
could kill people without spoiling my clothes. The idea of having a 
twelve-yearold girl for a body-guard startled him at first, but then he saw 
the advantages of it. He bought me these.' She touched one of the 
silver-hilted daggers at her waist. 'I've always treasured them. I devised 
a way to conceal them under my clothes when we went out into the city. 
After I'd used them on a few people, the word got around, and his enemies 
quit trying to kill him. 'There were other young men like Gelan in Verel, 
and they used to visit each other in their homes where they didn't have to 
hide their feelings. They were all very kind to me. They used to give me 
advice and buy me pretty gifts. I was quite fond of them. They were all 
polite and intelligent, and they'always smelled clean. I can't abide smelly 
men.' She gave Kring a meaningful look. 'I bathe,' he protested. 


'Now and then,' she added a bit critically. 'You ride horses a great deal, 
Kring, and horses have a peculiar odour. We'll talk about regular bathing 
after I've put my brand on you.' She laughed. 'I wouldn't want to frighten 
you until I'm sure of you.' Her smile was genuinely affectionate. Sparhawk 
realised that what she was telling them was a part of the Rite of Passage, 
and that she would very likely never be this open again. Her tyPically Atan 
defences had all been lowered for this one night. He felt profoundly 
honoured to have been invited to be present. She sighed then, and her face 
grew sad. 'Gelan had one very special friend whom he loved very much - a 
pretty Young fellow named Majen. I didn't like Majen. He used to take 
advantage of Gelan, and he'd deliberately say and do things to hurt him. He 
was frivolous and selfish and very, very vain about his appearance. He was 
also unfaithful, and that's contemptible. In time he grew tired of Gelan 
and fell in love with another meaningless pretty-boy. I probably should 
have killed them both as soon as I found out about it. I've always 
regretted the fact that I didn't. Gelan had foolishly given Majen the use 
of a rather splendid house on the outskirts of Verel and had told him that 
he'd made provisions in his will so that Majen would own the house if 
anything ever happened to him. Majen and his new friend wanted that house, 
and they plotted against Gelan. They lured him to the house one night and 
insisted that he come to them alone. When he got there, they killed him and 
dropped his body in the river. I cried for days after it happened, because 
I was really very fond of Gelan. One of his other friends told me what had 
really happened, but I didn't say anything or do anything right away. I 
wanted the two of them to feel safe and to think that they'd got away with 
the murder. Gelan's sister inherited me - along with all his other 
property. She was a nice enough lady, but awfully religious. She didn't 
really know how to deal with the fact that she owned me. She said she 
wanted to be my friend, but I advised her to sell me instead. I told her 
that I'd found out who had murdered Gelan and that I was going to kill 
them. I said that I thought it would probably be better if I belonged to 
somebody who was leaving Verel in order to avoid all the tedious business 
about unexplained bodies and the like. I thought she'd be tiresome about 
it, but she took it rather well. She was really quite fond of her brother, 
and she approved of what I was planning. She sold me to an Elenian merchant 
who was going to sail to Vardenais and told him that she'd deliver me to 
him on the morning of his departure. She'd made him a very good price, so 
he didn't argue with her. 'Anyway, on the night before my new owner was 
planning to sail, I dressed myself as a boy and went to the house where 
Majen and the other one were living. I waited until Majen left the house 
and went to the door and knocked. Majen's new friend came to the door, and 
I told him that I loved him. I'd lived with Gelan for six years, so I knew 
exactly how to 'behave to make the pretty fool believe me. He grew excited 
when I told him that, and he kissed me several times.' She sneered with the 
profoundest contempt. 'Some people simply cannot be faithful. Anyway, after 
he began to get very, very excited with the kissing, he started exploring. 
He discovered some things that surprised him very much. He was even more 
surprised when I sliced him across the belly just above his hips.' 

 'I like this part,' Talen said, his eyes very bright. 'You would,' Mirtai 
told him. 'You never like a story unless there's a lot of blood in it. 
Anyway, after I sliced the pretty boy open, all sorts of things fell out. 
He stumbled back into a chair and tried to stuff 'them back in again.. 
People's insides are very slippery, though, and he was having a great deal 
of trouble.' Ehlana made a choking sound. 'Didn't you know' about insides?' 
Mirtai asked her. 'Get Sparhawk to tell you about it sometime. He's 


probably seen lots of insides. I left the young man sitting there and hid 
behind a door. Majen came home a while later, and he was dreadfully upset 
about his friend's ' condition.' 

 'I can imagine,' Talen laughed. 'He was even more upset, though, when I 
reached around from behind him and opened him up in exactly the same way.' 
'Those are not fatal injuries, Atana,' Engessa said critically. 'I didn't 
intend for them to be, Father-Atan,' she replied. 'I wasn't done with the 
two of them yet. I told them who I was and that what I'd just done to them 
was a farewell gift from Gelan. That was about the best part of the whole 
evening. I put Majen in a chair facing the chair of his friend so that they 
could watch each other die. Then I stuck my hands into them and jerked out 
several yards of those slippery things I told you about.' 

 'And then you just left them there?' Talen asked eagerly. She nodded. 
'Yes, but I set fire to the house first. Neither Majen or his friend 
managed to get enough of themselves put back inside to be able to escape. 
They screamed a great deal, though.' 

 'Good God!' Emban choked. 'A fitting revenge, Atana,' Engessa said to her. 
'We will describe it to the children in the training-camps to provide them 
with an example of suitable behaviour.' Mirtai bowed her head to him, then 
looked up. 'Well, Bevier?' she said. He struggled with it. 'Your owner's 
sins were his own. That's a matter between him and God. What you did was 
the proper act of a friend.' I find no sin in what you did.' 

 'i'm so glad,' she murmured. Bevier laughed a bit sheepishly. 'That was a 
bit pompous, wasn't it?' 

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

 'Well said,' Ulath approved. Danae returned with a cup of water and 
offered it to Mirtai. 'Did you finish telling them the things you didn't 
want me to hear about?' she asked. 'I think I covered most of it. Thank you 
for being so understanding - and for the water.' Nothing rattled Mirtai. 
Ehlana, however, blushed furiously. 'It's getting late,' Mirtai told them, 
'so I'll keep this short. The Elenian merchant who owned me took me to 
Vardenais and sold me to Platime. I pretended not to speak Elenic, and 
Platime misjudged my age because I was very tall. Platime's quite shrewd in 
some ways and ignorant in others. He simply couldn't understand the fact 
that an Atan woman can't be forced, and he tried to put me to work in one 
of his brothels. He took my daggers away from me, but I still had my spoon. 
I didn't kill too many of the men who approached me, but I did hurt them 
all quite seriously. Word got around, and the business in that brothel fell 
off. Platime took me out of there, but he didn't really know what to do 
with me. I wouldn't beg and I wouldn't steal, and he was really very 
disappointed when he found out that I'd only kill people for personal 
reasons. I won't be a paid assassin. Then the situation came up in the 
palace, and he gave me to Ehlana - probably with a great sigh of relief.' 
She frowned and looked at Engessa. 'That was the first time I'd ever been 
given away instead of sold, Father-Atan. Did Platime insult me? Should I 
'go back to Cimmura and kill him?' Engessa considered it. 'I don't think 
so, my daughter. It was a special case. You might even look upon it as a 
compliment. ' Mirtai smiled. 'i'm glad of that, Father-Atan. I sort of like 
Platime. He's very funny sometimes.' 

 'And how do you feel about Ehlana-Queen?' 
'I love her. She's ignorant, and she can't speak a proper language, but 
most of the time she does what I tell her to do. She's pretty, and she 
smells nice and she's very kind to me. She's the best owner I've ever had. 
Yes. I love her.' Ehlana gave a low cry and threw her arms around the 


golden woman's neck. 'I love you too, Mirtai,' she said in an 
emotion-filled voice. 'You're my dearest friend.' She kissed her. 'This is 
a special occasion, Ehlana,' the Atana said, 'SO it's all right just this 
once.' She gently detached the queen's arms from around her neck. 'But it's 
not seemly to display so much emotion in public - and girls shouldn't kiss 
other girls. It might give people the wrong sort of ideas.' 

CHAPTER 19 

'Hang it all, Atan Engessa,' Kalten was saying, 'you heard the story the 
same as the rest of us. She said she hadn't even entered training when the 
'Arjuni captured her. Where did she learn to fight the way she does? I've 
been training more or less constantly since Sparhawk and I were fifteen, 
and she throws me around like a rag doll anytime she feels like it.' 
Engessa smiled slightly. It was still very early and a filmy morning mist 
drifted ghost-like among the trees, softening the dark outlines of their 
trunks. They had set out at dawn, and Engessa strode along among the 
mounted Pandions. 'I've seen you in a fight, KaltenKnight,' the tall Atan 
said. He reached out and rapped one knuckle on Kalten's armour. 'Your 
tactics depend heavily on your equipment.' 

 'That's true, I suppose.' 

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

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

 'And the sheer bulk of our horses,' Vanion added. Vanion was wearing his 
black armour for the journey. His choice of wardrobe had occasioned a 
spirited discussion between him and the woman he loved. Once she had 
removed herself from the restraining presence of all those Elenes, 
Sephrenia had become more vocal, and she had shown an astonishing apttitude 
for histrionics during the course of the conversation. Although she and 

Vanion had been talking privately, Sparhawk had been able to hear her 
comments quite clearly. Everyone in the house had heard her. Probably 
everyone in Sarsos had. 'At least half of your training has been in 
horsemanship, Kalten,' Vanion continued. 'An armoured knight without his 
horse is very much like a turtle on his back.' 

 'I've said much the same thing to my fellow-novices, Lord Vanion,' Khalad 
said politely. 'Most of them take offence when I say it to them though, so 
I usually have to demonstrate. That seems to offend them even more for some 
reason.' Engessa chuckled. 'You train with your equipment, Kalten-Knight,' 
he repeated. 'So do we. The difference is that our bodies are our 
equipment. Our way of fighting is based on speed, agility and strength, and 
we can practise those without training grounds or large fields where horses 
can run. We practise all the time, and in the village where she was born, 
Atana Mirtai saw her parents and their friends improving their skills 
almost every hour. Children learn by imitating their parents. We see threeand 

 four-year-olds wrestling and testing each other all the time.' 

'There has to be more to it than that,' Kalten objected. 'Natural talent 
perhaps, Sir Kalten?' Berit suggested. 'i'm not that clumsy, Berit.' 

 'Was your mother a warrior, Kalten-Knight?' Engessa asked him. 'Of course 
not.' 

 'Or your grandmother, or your grandmother's grandmother? Back for fifty 
generations?' Kalten looked confused. 'Atana Mirtai is descended from 
warriors on both sides of her family. Fighting is in her blood. She is 


gifted, and she can learn much just by watching. She can probably fight in 
a half dozen different styles.' 

 'That's an interesting notion, Atan-Engessa,' Vanion said. 'if we could 
find a horse big enough for her, she might make a very good knight.' 
'Vanion.' Kalten exclaimed. 'That's the most unnatural suggestion I've 
ever' heard!' 

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

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

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

 'I'll put Khalad to work on it,' Sparhawk said. 'Khalad?' 
'Kurik trained him, and Kurik was better at close fighting than any man 


I've ever known.' 
'He was indeed. Good idea, Interim Preceptor Sparhawk.' 
'Must you?' Sparhawk asked him. 

They reached the city of Atana twelve days later - at least it seemed like 
twelve days. Sparhawk had decided to stop brooding about the difference 
between real and perceived time. Aphrael was going to tamper no matter what 
he did or said anyway, so why should he waste time worrying about it? He 
wondered if Zalasta could detect the manipulation. Probably not, he 
decided. No matter how skilled the Styric magician might be, he was still 
only a man, and Aphrael was divine. An odd thought came to Sparhawk one 
night, however. He wondered if his daughter could also make real time seem 
faster than it actually was instead of slower. After he thought about it 
for a while, though, he decided not to ask her. The whole concept gave him 
a headache. Atana was a utilitarian sort of town in a deep green valley. It 
was walled, but the walls were not particularly high nor imposing. It was 
the Atans themselves who made their capital impregnable. 'Everything in the 
kingdom's named Atan, isn't it?' Kalten observed as they rode down into the 
valley. 'The kingdom, its capital, the people - even the titles.' 

 'I think Atan's more in the nature of a concept than a name,' Ulath 
shrugged. 'What makes them all so tall?' Talen asked. 'They belong to the 
Tamul race, but other Tamuls don't loom over everybody else like trees.' 
'Oscagne explained it to me,' Stragen told him. 'It seems that the Atans 
are the result of an experiment.' 

'Magic?' 

 'I don't know all that much about it,' Stragen admitted, 'but I'd guess 
that what they did went beyond what magic's capable of. Back before there 
was even such a thing as history, the Atans observed that big people win 
more fights than little people. That was in a time when parents chose the 
mates of their children. Size became the most important consideration.' 
'What happened to short children?' Talen objected. 'Probably the same thing 
that happens to ugly children in our society,' Stragen shrugged. 'They 
didn't get married.' 

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

 'That's different.' Stragen leaned back in his saddle and laughed. Then he 
went on. 'The Atans prized other characteristics as well - ability, 
strength, aggressiveness and homicidal vindictiveness. It's strange how the 

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

 'The slavers were eunuchs?' Kalten asked with some surprise. 'No, Kalten,' 
Stragen explained patiently. 'They weren't eunuchs until after the girls 
captured them.' 

 'Little girls did that?' Kalten's expression was one of horror. 'They 
weren't exactly babies, Kalten. They were old enough to know what they were 
doing. Anyway, the Atans had a very wise king in the fifteenth century. He 
saw that his people were on the verge of selfdestruction. He made contact 
with the Tamul government and surrendered his people into perpetual slavery 

- to save their lives.' 
'A little extreme,' Ulath noted. There are several kinds of slavery, 
Ulath. Here in Atan, it's institutionalised. The Tamuls tell the Atans 
where to go and whom to kill, and they can usually find a reason to deny 
petitions by individual Atans to slaughter each other. That's about as far 
as it really goes. It's a good working arrangement. The Atan race survives, 
and the Tamuls get the finest infantry in the world. ' Talen was frowning. 
'The Atans are terribly impressed with size, you said.'

 'Well, it's one of the things that impresses them,' Stragen amended. 'Then 
why did Mirtai agree to marry Kring? Kring's a good warrior, but he's not 
much taller than I am, and I'm still growing.' 

 'It must be something else about him that impressed 

her so much,' Stragen shrugged. 'What do you think it is?' 
'I haven't got the faintest idea, Talen.' 
'He's a poet,' Sparhawk told them. 'Maybe that's it.' 
'That wouldn't make that much difference to someone like Mirtai, would it? 

She did slice two men open and then burn them alive, remember? She doesn't 
sound to me like the kind of girl who'd get all gushy about poetry.' 
'Don't ask me, Talen,' Stragen laughed. 'I know a great 

deal about the world, but I wouldn't even try to make a guess about why any 
woman chooses any given man. 'Good thinking,' Ulath murmured. 

The city had been alerted to their approach by Engessa's messengers, and 
the royal party was met at the gate by a deputation of towering Atans in 
formal attire, which in their culture meant the donning of unadorned, 
anklelength cloaks of dark wool. In the midst of those giants stood a 
short, golden-robed Tamul. The Tamul had silver-streaked hair and an urbane 
expression. 'What are we supposed to do?' Kalten whispered to Oscagne. 'Act 
formal,' Oscagne advised. 'Atans adore formality. Ah, Norkan,' he said to 
the Tamul in the golden robe, 'so good to see you again. Fontan sends his 


best.' 

 'How is the old rascal?' Oscagne's colleague replied. 'Wrinkled, but he 
still hasn't lost his edge.' 

 'i'm glad to hear it. Why are we speaking in Elenic?' 

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

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

 'Oh my, yes. Has the emperors sister forgiven you yet?' Norkan sighed. 
'Afraid not, old boy. I'm quite resigned to spending the rest of my career 
here.' 

 'You know how the people at court like to carry tales. Whatever possessed 
you to make that remark? I'll grant you that her Highness' feet are a bit 
oversized, but 'big-footed cow' was sort of indiscreet, wouldn't you say?' 
'I was drunk and a little out of sorts. Better to be here in Atan than in 
Matherion trying to evade her attentions. I have no desire to become a 
member of the imperial family if it means that I'd have to trudge along 
behind her as she clumps about the palace.' 

 'Ah, well. What's on the agenda here?' 

 'Formality. Official greetings. Speeches. Ceremonies The usual nonsense.' 
'Good. Our friends from the west are a bit unbridled at times. They're good 
at formality, though. It's when things become informal that they get into 
trouble. May I''present the Queen of Elenia?' 

 'I thought you'd never ask.' 

 'Your Majesty,' Oscagne said, 'this is my old friend, Norkan. He's the 
imperial representative here in Atan, an able man who's fallen on hard 
times.' Norkan bowed. 'Your Majesty,' he greeted Ehlana. 'Your Excellency,' 
she responded. Then she smiled. 'Are her Highness' feet really that big?' 
she asked him slyly. 'She skis with only the equipment God gave her, your 
Majesty. I could bear that, I suppose, but she's given' to temper tantrums 
when she doesn't get her own way, and that sort of grates on my nerves.' He 
glanced at the huge, dark-cloaked Atans surrounding the' carriage. 'Might I 
suggest that we proceed to what my children here refer to as the palace? 
The king and queen await us there. Is your Majesty comfortable speaking in 
public? A few remarks might be in order.' 

 'i'm afraid I don't speak Tamul, your Excellency.' 

 'Perfectly all right, your Majesty. I'll translate for you. You can say 
anything that pops into your head. I'll tidy it up for you as we go along.' 
'How very kind of you.' There was only the faintest edge to her voice. 'I 
live but to serve, your Majesty.' 

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

 'It's a gift,' Norkan shrugged. 

King Androl of' Atan was seven feet tall, and his wife, Queen Betuana was 
only slightly shorter. They were very imposing. They wore golden helmets 
instead of crowns, and their deep blue silk robes were open at the front, 
revealing the fact that they were both heavily armed. They met the Queen of 
Elenia and her entourage in the square outside the royal palace of Atan, 
which was in actuality nothing more than their private dwelling. Atan 
ceremonies, it appeared, were conducted out of doors. With the queen's 
carriage in the lead and her armed escort formed up behind, the visitors 
rode at a slow and stately pace into the square. There were no cheers, no 
fanfares, none of the artificial enthusiasm normally contrived for state 
visitors. Atans showed respect by silence and immobility. Stragen 


skillfully wheeled the carriage to a spot in front of the slightly raised 
stone platform before the royal dwelling, and Sparhawk dismounted to offer 
his queen a steel-encased forearm. Ehlana's face was radiantly regal, and 
her pleasure was clearly unfeigned. Though she occasionally spoke 
slightingly of ceremonial functions, pretending to view them as tedious, 
she truly loved ceremony. She took a deep satisfaction in formality. 
Ambassador Oscagne approached the royal family of Atan, bowed and spoke at 
some length in the flowing, musical language of all Tamuls. Mirtai stood 
behind Ehlana, murmuring a running translation of his Excellency's words. 
Ehlana's eyes were very bright, and there were two spots of heightened 
colour on her alabaster cheeks, signs that said louder than words that she 
was composing a speech. King Androl then spoke a rather brief greeting, and 
Queen Betuana added her somewhat lengthier agreement. Sparhawk could not 
hear Mirtai's translation, so for all he knew the Atan king and queen were 
discussing weather-conditions on the moon. Then Ehlana stepped forward, 
paused for dramatic effect, and began to speak in a clear voice that could 
be heard throughout the square. Ambassador Norkan stood at the side of the 
stone platform and translated her words. 'My dear brother and sister of 
Atan,' she began, 'words cannot express my heartfelt joy at this meeting.' 
Sparhawk knew his wife, and he knew that disclaimer to be fraudulent. Words 
could express her feelings, and she would tell everybody in the square all 
about them. 'I come to this happy meeting from the world's far end,' she 
went on, 'and my heart was filled with anxiety as I sailed across the 
wine-dark sea toward a foreign land peopled with strangers, but your 
gracious words of friendly - even affectionate - greeting have erased my 
childish fears, and I have learned here a lesson which I will carry all the 
days of my life. There are no strangers in this world, my dear brother and 
sister. There are only friends we have not yet met.' 

 'She's plagiarizing,' Stragen murmured to Sparhawk. 'She does that now and 
then. When she finds a phrase she really likes, she sees no reason not to 
expropriate it.' 

 'My journey to Atan has been, of course, for state reasons. We of the 
royal houses of the world are not free to do things for personal reasons as 
others are.' She gave the Atan king and queen a rueful little smile. 'We 
cannot even yawn without its being subjected to extensive diplomatic 
analysis. No one ever considers the possibility that we might just be 
sleepy.' After Norkan translated that, King Androl actually smiled. 'My 
visit to Atan, however, does have a personal reason as well as an official 
one,' Ehlana continued. 'I chanced some time ago upon a precious thing 
which belongs to the Atan people, and I have come half-round the world to 
return this treasure to you, though it is more dear to me than I can ever 
say. Many, many years ago, an Atan child was lost. That child is the 
treasure of which I spoke.' She reached out and took Mirtai's hand. 'She is 
my dear, dear friend, and I love her. The journey I have made here is as 
nothing. Gladly would I have travelled twice as far - ten times as far for 

 the joy I now feel in re-uniting this precious Atan child with her 
people.' Stragen wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. 'She does it 
to me every time, Sparhawk,' he laughed, 'every single time. I think she 
could make rocks cry if she wanted to, and it always seems so simple.' 
'That's part of her secret, Stragen.' Ehlana was moving right along. 'As 
many of you may know, the Elene people have some faults - many faults, 
'though I blush to confess it. We have not treated your dear child well. An 
Elene bought her from the soulless Arjuni who had stolen her from you. The 
Elene bought her in order to satisfy his unwholesome desires. This child of 
ours - for she is now as much my child as she is yours - taught him that an 
Atana may not be used so. It was a hard lesson for him. He died in the 


learning of it.' A rumble of approval greeted the translation of that. 'Our 

child has passed through the hands of several Elenes - most with the worst 
of motives - and came at last to me. At first she frightened me.' Ehlana 
smiled her most winsome smile. 'You may have noticed that I am not a very 
tall person.' A small chuckle ran through the crowd. 'I thought you might 
have noticed that,' she said, joining in their laughter. 'It's one of the 
failings of our culture that our menfolk are stubborn and short-sighted. I 
am not permitted to be trained in the use of weapons. 'I know it sounds 
ridiculous, but I've not even been allowed to kill my enemies personally. I 
was not accustomed to women who could see to their own defence, and so I 
was foolishly afraid of my Atan child. That has passed, however. I have 
found her to be steadfast and true, gentle and affectionate and very, very 
wise. We have come to Atan so that this dear child of ours may lay aside 
the silver of childhood and assume the gold that is her just due in the 
Rite of Passage. Let us join our hands and our hearts, Elene and Atan, 
Styric and Tamul, in the ceremony which will raise our child to adulthood, 
and in that ceremony, may our hearts be united, for in this child, we are 
all made as one.' As Norkan translated, an approving murmur went through 
the crowd of Atans, a murmur that swelled to a roar, and Queen Betuana, her 
eyes filled with tears, stepped down from the dais and embraced the pale 
blonde queen of Elenia. Then she spoke very briefly to the crowd. 'What did 
she say?' Stragen asked Oscagne. 'She advised her people that anyone who 
offered your queen any impertinence would answer to her personally. It's no 
idle threat, either. Queen Betuana's one of the finest warriors in all of 
Atan. I hope you appreciate your wife, Sparhawk. She's just scored a 

diplomatic coup of the highest order. How the deuce did she learn that the 
Atans are sentimentalists? If she'd talked for another three minutes, the 
whole square would have been awash with tears.' 

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

 'So it would seem. She's ensured one thing, let me tell you.' 
'Oh?' 
'The Atans will give Atana Mirtai a Rite of Passage such as comes along 


only once or twice in a generation. She'll be a national heroine after an 
introduction like that. The singing will be tumultuous.' 
'That's probably more or less what my wife had in mind,' Sparhawk told 
him. 'She loves to do nice things for her friends.' 

 'And not so nice things to her enemies,' Stragen added. 'I remember some 
of the plans she had for primate Annias.'.'That's as it should be, Milord 
Stragen,' Oscagne smiled. 'The only real reason for accepting the 
inconveniences of power is to reward our friends and punish our enemies.' 
'I couldn't agree more, your Excellency.' Engessa conferred with King 
Androl, and Ehlana with Queen Betuana. No one was particularly surprised 
when Sephrenia served as translator for the queens. The small Styric woman, 
it appeared, spoke most of the languages in the known world. Norkan 
explained to Sparhawk and the others that the child's parents were much 
involved in the Rite of Passage. Engessa would serve as Mirtai's father, 
and Mirtai had rather shyly asked Ehlana to be her mother. The request had 
occasioned an emotional display of affection between the two of them. 'It's 
a rather touching ceremony, actually,' Norkan told them. 'The parents are 
obliged to assert that their child is fit and ready to assume the 


responsibilities of adulthood. They then offer to fight anyone who 
disagrees. Not to worry Sparhawk,' he added with a chuckle. 'It's a 
formality. The challenge is almost never taken up.' 

 'Almost never?' 

'i'm teasing, of course. No one's going to fight your wife. That speech of 
hers totally disarmed them. They adore her. I hope she's quick of study, 
however. She'll haVe to speak in Tamul.' learning a foreign language takes 
a long time,' 

 'Kalten said dubiously. 'I studied Styric for ten years and never did get 
the hang of it.' 

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

 'You don't have to be insulting, Lord Vanion.' 

 'I imagine Sephrenia will cheat a little,' Sparhawk added. 'She and 
Aphrael taught me to speak Troll in about five seconds in Ghwerig's cave.' 
He looked at Norkan. 'When will the ceremony take place?' he asked. 'At 
midnight.)The child passes into adulthood as one day passes into the next.' 
'There's an exquisite kind of logic there,' Stragen noted. 'The hand of 
God,' Bevier murmured piously. 

'I beg your pardon?' 

 'Even the heathen responds to that gentle inner voice, Milord Stragen.' 
'i'm afraid I'm still missing the point, Sir Bevier.' 

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

 'is that really a part of Elene doctrine, your Grace?' Stragen asked the 
Patriarch of Ucera. Tentatively,' Emban replied. 'The view is more widely 
held in Arcium than elsewhere. The Arcian clergy has been trying to have it 
included in the articles of the faith for the last thousand years or so, 
but the Deirans have been resisting. The Hierocracy takes up the question 
when we have nothing else to do.' 

 'Do you think it will ever be resolved, your Grace?' Norkan asked him. 
'Good God no, your Excellency. If we ever settled the issue, we wouldn't 
have anything to argue about.' Oscagne approached from the far side of the 
square. He took Sparhawk and Vanion aside, his expression concerned. 'How 
well do you gentlemen know Zalasta?' he asked them. 'I only met him once 
before we reached Sarsos,' Spar hawk replied. 'Lord Vanion here knows him 
much better than I.' 

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

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

 'That's exactly my point, Lord Vanion.' Oscagne's expression was worried. 
'That's not done here in Atan. Demonstrations of that kind lead to 
bloodshed. The Atans look upon that sort of thing as a challenge. I got 
there just in time to avert a disaster. What was the man thinking of?' 
'Styrics sometimes grow a bit vague,' Vanion explained. 'They can be 
profoundly absent-minded sometimes. I'll have Sephrenia speak with him and 
remind him to pay attention.' 

 'Oh, there's something else, gentlemen,' Oscagne ' smiled. 'Don't let Sir 


Berit wander around alone in the city. There are whole platoons of 
unmarried Atan girls lusting after him.' 

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

 'What an astonishing thing,' Vanion said. 

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

torches and the sighing of the breeze in the dark forest surrounding the 
meadow. They waited as the silvery line of moonlight crept down the wall. 
Then the ancient Atan gave a signal, and a dozen trumpeters raised brazen 
'horns to greet the new day and to signal the beginning of the Rite which 
would end Mirtai's childhood. The Atans sang. There were no words, for this 
rite 

was too sacred for words. Their song began' with a single deep rumbling 
male voice, swelling and rising as other voices joined it in soaring and 
complex harmonies. King Androl and Queen Betuana moved with slow and 
stately pace along a broad, torchlit avenue toward the ageless trees and 
the flower-decked altar. Their bronze faces were serene, and their Solder 
helmets gleamed in the torchlight. When they reached the altar, they 
turned, expectant. There was a pause while the torches flared and the 
organ-song of the Atans rose and swelled. Then the melody subsided into a 
tightly controlled hum, scarcely more than a whisper. Engessa and Ehlana, 
both in deep blue robes, escorted Mirtai out of the shadows near the city 
wall. Mirtai was all in white, and her raven hair was unadorned. Her eyes 
were modestly down-cast as her parents led her toward the altar. The song 
swelled again with a different melody and a ,different counterpoint. 'The 
approach of the child,' Norkan murmured to Sparhawk and the others. The 
sophisticated, even cynical Tamul's voice was respectful, almost awed, and 
his world-weary eyes glistened. Sparhawk felt a small tug on his hand, and 
he lifted his daughter so that she might better see. Mirtai and her family 
reached the altar and bowed to Androl and Betuana. The song sank to a 
whisper. Engessa spoke to the king and queen of the Atans. His voice was 
loud and forceful. The Tamul tongue flowed musically from his lips as he 
declared his daughter fit. Then he turned, opened his robe and drew his 
sword. He spoke again, and there was a note of challenge in his voice. 
'What did he say?' Talen whispered to Oscagne. 'He offered to do violence 
to anyone who objected to his daughter's passage.' Oscagne replied. His 
voice was also profoundly respectful, even slightly choked with emotion. 


Then Ehlana spoke, also in Tamul. Her voice rang out like a silver trumpet 
as she also declared that her child was fit and ready to assume her place 
as an adult. 'She wasn't supposed to say that last bit,' Danae whispered in 
Sparhawk's ear. 'She's adding things.' 
'You know your mother,' he smiled. Then the Queen of Elenia turned to look 
at the assembled' Atans, and her voice took on a flinty note of challenge 

as she also opened her robe and drew a silver-hilted sword. Sparhawk was 
startled by the professional way she held it. Then Mirtai spoke to the king 
and queen. 'The child entreats passage,' Norkan told them. King Androl 
spoke his reply, his voice loud and commanding, and his queen added her 
agreement. Then they too drew their swords and stepped forward to flank the 
child's parents, joining in their challenge. The song of the Atans soared, 
and the trumpets added a brazen fanfare. Then the sound diminished again. 
Mirtai faced her people and drew her daggers. She spoke to them, and 
Sparhawk needed no translation. He knew that tone of voice. The song 
raised, triumphant, and the five at the altar turned to face the 
roughly-chiselled stone block. In the centre of the altar lay a black 
velvet cushion, and nestled on it there was a plain gold circlet. The song 
swelled, and it echoed back from nearby mountains. And then, out of the 
velvet black throat of night, a star fell. It was an incandescently 
brilliant white light streaking down across the sky. Down and down it 
arched, and then it exploded into a shower of brilliant sparks. 'Stop 
that!' Sparhawk hissed to his daughter. 'I didn't do it,' she protested. 'I 
might have, but I didn't think of it. How did they do that?' She sounded 
genuinely baffled. Then, as the glowing shards of the star drifted slowly 
toward the earth filling the night with glowing sparks, the golden circlet 
on the altar rose unaided, drifting up like a ring of smoke. It hesitated 
as the Atan song swelled with an aching kind of yearning, and then, like a 
gossamer cobweb, it settled on the head of the child, and when Mirtai 
turned with exultant face, she was a child no longer. The mountains rang 
back the joyous sound as the Atans greeted her. 

CHAPTER 20 

'They know nothing of magic.' Zalasta said it quite emphatically. 'That 
circlet didn't rise up into the air all by itself, Zalasta,' Vanion 
disagreed, 'and the arrival of the falling star at just exactly the right 
moment stretches the possibility of coincidence further than I'm willing 
to go.' 

 'Chicanery of some kind perhaps?' Patriarch Emban suggested. 'There was a 
charlatan in Ucera when I was a boy who was very good at that sort of 
thing. I'd be inclined to look for hidden wires and burning arrows.' They 
were gathered in the Peloi camp outside the city the following morning, 
puzzling over the spectacular conclusion of Mirtai's Rite of Passage. 'Why 
would they do something like that, your Grace? Khalad asked him. 'To make 
an impression maybe. How would I know? 'Who would they have been trying to 
impress?' 

 'Us, obviously.'. ''It doesn't seem to fit the Atan character,' Tynian 
said, frowning. 'Would the Atans cheapen a holy rite with that kind of 
gratuitous trickery, Ambassador Oscagne?' The Tamul Emissary shook his 
head. 'Totally out of the question, Sir Tynian. The rite is as central to 
their culture as a wedding or a funeral. They'd never demean it just to 
impress strangers - and it wasn't performed for our benefit. The ceremony 
was for Atana Mirtai.' 

 'Exactly,' Khalad agreed, 'and if there were hidden wires coming down from 


those tree-branches she'd have known they were there. They just wouldn't 
have done that to her. A cheap trick like that would have been an insult, 
and we all know how Atans respond to insults.' 

 'Norkan will be here in a little while,' Oscagne told 

them. 'He's been in Atan for quite some time. I'm sure he'll be able to 
explain it.' 

 'It cannot have been magic,' Zalasta insisted. It seemed very important to 
him for some reason. Sparhawk had the uneasy feeling that it had to do with 
the shaggy-browed magician's racial ego. So long as Styrics were the only 
people who could perform magic or instruct others in its use, they were 
unique in the world. If any other race could do the same thing, their 
importance would be diminished. 'How long are we going to stay here?' 
Kalten asked. 'This is a nervous kind of place. Some young knight or one of 
the Peloi is bound to make a mistake sooner or later. If somebody blunders 
into a deadly insult, I think all this good feeling will evaporate. We 
don't want to have to fight our way out of town.' 

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

 'How far is it from here to Matherion, Oscagne?' 

Emban asked. 'About five hundred leagues.' Emban sighed. 'Almost two more 
months,' he lamented. 'I feel as if this journey's lasted for years.' 

 'You do look more fit, though, your Grace,' Bevier told him. 'I don't want 
to look fit, Bevier. I want to look fat, lazy 

and pampered. I want to be fat, lazy and pampered and I want a decent 
meal)with lots of butter and gravy and delicacies and fine wines.' 

 'You did volunteer to come along, your Grace,' Sparhawk reminded him. 'I 
must have been out of my mind.' Ambassador Norkan came across the Peloi 
campground with an amused expression on his face. 'What's so funny?' 
Oscagne asked him. 'I've been observing an exquisite dance, old boy,' 
Norkan replied. 'i'd forgotten just how profoundly literal an Elene can be. 
Any number of Atan girls have approached young Sir Berit and expressed a 
burning interest in western weaponry. They were obviously hoping for 
private lessons in some secluded place where he could demonstrate how he 
uses his equipment.' 

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

 'We're going to have to have a talk with that boy,' Kalten said to 
Sparhawk. 'I've been told not to,' Sparhawk said. 'My wife and the other 
ladies want to keep him innocent. It seems to satisfy some obscure need.' 
He looked at Norkan. 'Maybe you can settle an argument for us, your 
Excellency. ' 

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

 'What really happened last night, Ambassador Norkan?' Vanion asked him. 
'Atana Mirtai became an adult,' Norkan shrugged. you were there, Lord 
Vanion. You saw everything I did. ' 

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

 'yes. Was there a problem with that?' impossible!' Zalasta exclaimed. 'You 
could do it, couldn't you, learned one?' 


 'Yes, I suppose so, but I am Styric. 'And these are Atans?' 
'That's exactly my poi'nt.' 
'We were also disturbed when we first encountered the phenomenon,' Norkan


told him. 'The Atans are our cousins. So, unfortunately, are the Arjuni and 
the Tegans. We Tamuls are a secular people, as you undoubtedly know. We 
have a pantheon of Gods that we ignore except on holidays. The Atans only 
have one, and they won't even tell us what His name is. They can appeal to 
Him in the same way you Styrics appeal to your Gods, and He responds in the 
same fashion.' Zalasta's face suddenly went white. 'impossible!' he said 
again in a choked voice. 'We'd have known. There are Atans at Sarsos. We'd 
have felt them using magic.' 

 'But they don't do it at Sarsos, Zalasta,' Norkan said patiently. 'They 

only use it here in Atan and only during their ceremonies.' 
'That's absurd!' 
'I wouldn't tell them you feel that way. They hold you Styrics in some 

contempt, you know. They find the notion of turning a God into a servant a 
bit impious. Atans have access to a God, and their God can do the same sort 
of things other Gods do. They choose not to involve their God in everyday 
matters, so they only call on Him during their religious ceremonies weddings, 

 funerals, Rites of Passage, and a few others. They can't 
understand your willingness to insult your Gods by asking them to do things 
you really ought to do for yourselves.' He looked at Emban then with a sly 
sort of grin. 'It just occurred to me that your Elene God could probably do 
exactly the same thing. Have you ever thought of asking Him, your Grace?' 
'Heresy!' Bevier gasped. 'Not really, Sir Knight. That word's used to 
describe someone who strays from the teachings of his own faith. I'm not a 
member of the Elene faith, so my speculations can't really be heretical, 
can they?' 

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

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

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

 'Sparhawk's the Preceptor now.' 

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

 'Aren't Elenes fun?' Oscagne said to Norkan. 'I was just about to make the 
same observation myself.' 

They met with King Androl and Queen Betuana later 'that morning. Ambassador 
Oscagne explained their ,mission in the flowing Tamul tongue. 'He's 
skirting around your rather unique capabilities, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia said 
quietly. A faint smile touched her lips. 'The emperor's officials seem a 


little unwilling to admit that they're powerless and that they had to 
appeal for outside help.' Sparhawk nodded. 'We've been through it before,' 

he murmured. 'Oscagne was very concerned about that when he spoke to us in 
Chyrellos. It seems a little shortsighted in this situation, though. The 
Atans make up the Tamul army. It doesn't really make much sense to keep 
secrets from them.' 

 'Whatever made you think that politics made sense, Sparhawk?' 

 'I've missed you, little mother,' he laughed. 'I certainly hope so.' King 
Androl's face was grave, even stern as Oscagne described what they had 
discovered in Astel. Queen Betuana's expression was somewhat softer largely 

 because Danae was sitting in her lap. Sparhawk had seen his 
daughter do that many times. Whenever there was a potential for tension in 
a situation, Danae started looking for laps. People invariably responded to 
her unspoken appeals to be held without even thinking about it. 'She does 
that on purpose, doesn't she?' he whispered to Sephrenia. 'That went by a 
little fast, Sparhawk.' 

 'Aphrael. She climbs into people's %Androl, and Oscagne retired to the 
Elene side of the room to perform the same service. The Tamuls had 
perfected the tedious but necessary business of translation to make it as 
smooth and unobtrusive as possible. King Androl pondered the matter for a 
few moments. Then he smiled at Ehlana and spoke to her in Tamul. His voice 
was very soft. 'Thus says the King,' Norkan began his translation. 'Gladly 
do we greet Ehlana-Queen once more, for her presence is like the sunshine 
come at last after a long winter.' , 'Oh, that's very nice,' Sephrenia 
murmured. 'We always seem to forget the poetic side of the Atan nature.' 
'Moreover,' Norkan continued his translation, 'glad are we to welcome the 
fabled warriors of the west and the wise-man of Chyrellos-Church.' Norkan 
was obviously translating verbatim. Emban politely inclined his head. 
'Clearly we see our common concern in the matter at hand, and staunchly 
will we join with the West-warriors in such acts as are needful.' Androl 
spoke again, pausing from time to time for translation. 'Our minds have 
been unquiet in seasons past, for we have failed in tasks set for us by our 
Matherion-masters. This troubles us, for we are not accustomed to failure.' 
His expression was slightly nortified as he made that admission. 'I am 
sure, Ehlana- )Queen, that Oscagne-Emperor-Speaker has told you of '))'). 
our difficulties in parts of Tamuli beyond our own borders. Shamed are we 
that he has spoken truly.' Queen Betuana said something briefly to her 
husband. 'She told him to get on with it,' Sephrenia murmured to Sparhawk. 
'It appears that his tendency to be flowery irritates her - at least that 
was the impression I got.' Androl said something to Norkan in an apologetic 
tone. 'That's a surprise,' Norkan said, obviously speaking for himself now. 
'The King just admitted that he's been keeping secrets from me. He doesn't 
usually do that.' Androl spoke again, and Norkan's translation became 

more colloquial as the Atan king seemed to lay formality aside. 'He says 
that there have been incidents here in Atan itself. It's an internal 
matter, so he technically wasn't obliged to tell me about it. He says 
they've encountered creatures he calls 'the shaggy ones'. As I understand 
it, the creatures are even bigger than the tallest Atans.'

 'Long arms?' Ulath asked intently. 'Flat noses and big 

bones in the face? Pointed teeth?' Norkan translated into Tamul, and King 
Androl looked at Ulath with some surprise. Then he nodded. Trolls!' Ulath 
said. 'Ask him how many his people have seen at any one time.' 

 'Fifty or more,' came the reply. Ulath shook his head. 'That's very 


unlikely,' he said 

flatly. 'You might find a single family of Trolls walking together, but 
never fifty all at once.' 

 'He wouldn't lie,' Norkan insisted. 'I didn't say he did, but Trolls have 
never behaved 

that way before. If they had, they'd have driven us out of Thalesia.' 
'It seems that the rules have changed, Ulath,' Tynian 

noted. 'Have there been any other incidents, your ExcelLency? Things that 
didn't involve Trolls?' Norkan spoke to the king and then translated the 
reply. 'They've had encounters with warriors in strange armour and with 
strange equipment.' 

 'Ask him if they might have been Cyrgai,' Bevier suggested. 
'Horse-hair-crested helmets? Big round shields? Long spears?' Norkan posed 
the question, though his expression was baffled. It was with some amazement 
that he translated the reply. 'They were!' he exclaimed. 'They were Cyrgai! 
How's that possible?' 

 'We'll explain later,' Sparhawk said tersely. 'Were there any others?' 
Norkan asked the questions quickly now, obviously excited by these 
revelations. Queen Betuana leaned forward slightly and took over for her 
husband. 'Arjuni,' Norkan said tersely. 'They were heavily armed and made 
no attempt to hide the way they usually do. And once there was an army of 
Elenes - mostly serfs.' Then his eyes went wide with astonishment. That's 
totally impossible that's only a myth!' 

 'My colleague's losing his grip,' Oscagne told them. The queen says that 
once they encountered the Shining Ones.' who are they?' Stragen asked. 
'Norkan's right,' Oscagne replied. 'The Shining Ones are mythical 
creatures. It's another of those things I told you about back in Chyrellos. 
Our enemy's been sifting through folk-lore for horrors. The Shining Ones 
are like vampires, werewolves and Ogres. Would your Majesty object if 
Norkan and I pursued this and then gave you 'a summary?' he asked Ehlana. 
'Go right ahead, your Excellency,' she agreed. ' The two Tamuls began to 
speak more rapidly now, and Queen Betuana replied firmly. Sparhawk got the 
distinct impression that she was far more intelligent and forceful than her 
husband. Still holding Princess Danae in her lap, she answered the 
questions incisively, and her eyes were very intent. 'Our enemy seems to be 
doing the same things here in Atan that he's been doing elsewhere,' Oscagne 
told them finally, 'and he's been adding a few twists besides. The forces 
from antiquity behave the same as your antique Lamorks did back in Eosia 
and the way those Cyrgai and their Cynesgan allies did in the forest west 
of Sarsos. They attack, there's a fight, and then they vanish when their 
leader gets killed. Only their dead remain. The Trolls don't vanish. They 
all have to be killed.' 

 'What about these 'Shining Ones'?' Kalten asked. 'There's no way to be 
sure about those,' Oscagne replied. 'The Atans flee from them.' 

'They what?' Stragen's voice was startled. 'Everybody's afraid of the 
Shining Ones, Milord,' Oscagne told him. 'The stories about them make tales 
of vampires and werewolves and Ogres sound like bedtime stories.'

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

 'You're joking, Sir Ulath.' 

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


have in Thalesia's just a creature you call an Ogre,' Oscagne said 
dubiously. 'Twelve feet tall? Horns? Fangs? Claws for fingers? That's an 
Ogre, isn't it?'

 'Well '-' 

 'That's what we've got in Thalesia. If they aren't Ogres, we'll settle for 
them until you can find us some real ones.' Oscagne stared at him. 'They 
aren't all that bad, your Excellency. The Trolls give us more trouble probably 

 because they're meat eaters. Ogres eat anything. Actually, they 
prefer trees for dinner over people. They're particularly fond of maple 
trees for some reason - probably because they're sweet. A hungry Ogre will 
kick his way right through your house to'get at a maple tree you've got 
growing in your backyard.'

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

'But you are, Mirtai' Princess Danae insisted. 'It's a different kind of 
thing, Danae,' the Atana told her. 'It's symbolic in my case.' 
'Everything's symbolic Mirtai,' Danae told her. 'Everything we do means 
something else. There are symbols all around us. No matter how you want to 
look at it, though, we have the same mother, and that makes us sisters.' It 
seemed very important to her for some reason. Sparhawk was sitting with 
Sephrenia in the corner of a large room of King Androl's house.. His 
daughter was busy asserting her kinship with Mirtai as Baroness Melidere 
and Ehlana's maid looked on. Mirtai smiled gently. 'All right, Danae,' she 
gaVe in, if you want to think so, we're sisters.' Danae gave a little 
squeal of delight, jumped into Mirtai's arms and smothered her with kisses. 
'isn't she a little darling?' Baroness Melidere laughed. 'Yes, Baroness,' 
Alcan murmured. Then a small frown creased the girl's brow. 'I'll never 
understand that,' she said. 'No matter how closely I watch her, she always 
manages to get her feet dirty.' She pointed at Danae's grass-stained feet. 
'Sometimes I almost think she's got a boxful of grass hidden among her 
toys, and she shuffles her feet in it when my back's turned just to torment 
me.' Melidere smiled. 'She just likes to run barefoot, Alcan,' she said. 
'Don't you ever want to take off your shoes and run through the grass?' 
Alcan sighed. 'i'm in service, Baroness,' she replied. 'i'm not supposed to 
give in to that sort of whim.' 

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

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

Yes. 'It's such a bother. I'll just get dirty again, you know.' 

 'We're supposed to make an effort to stay ahead' of it, your Highness.' 
'Do as she tells you, Danae,' Mirtai said. 'Yes, sister dear,' Danae 
sighed. 'That was an interesting exchange, wasn't it?' Sparhawk murmured to 
Sephrenia. 'Yes,' the small woman agreed. 'Has she been letting things slip 
that way very often?' 

'I didn't quite follow that.' 
'She's not really supposed to talk about symbols the way she just did when 



she's around pagans. 'I wish you wouldn't use that word to describe us, 

Sephrenia.' 

 'Well, aren't you?' 

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

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

 'Oh? What's that?' 

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

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

 'That's a generalisation, Sephrenia.' 

 'How perceptive of you to have noticed.' Vanion entered the room. 'Where's 
Ehlana?' he asked. 'She and Betuana are conferring,' Sparhawk replied. 
'Who's translating for them?' 

 'One of Engessa's girls From Darsas. What did you want to talk with her 
about?' 

 'I think we'll be leaving tomorrow. Engessa Oscagne -'.) ) and I talked 
with King Androl. Oscagne feels that we ')''.) )should press on to 
Matherion. He doesn't want to keep ';').'-' the emperor waiting. Engessa's 
sending his legions back to Darsas he'll be going on with us, largely 
because he ''))')')' speaks Elenic better than most Atans.' That doesn't 
disappoint me.' Mirtai said. 'He's my father now and we really ought to get 
to know each other better. ' 

 'you're enjoying this, aren't you, Vanion?' Sephrenia said it 
half-accusingly. 'I've missed it,' he admitted. 'I've been at the centre of 
things for most of my life. I don't think I was meant to sit on the back 
shelf.' 

 'Weren't you happy when there were just the two of US?' 

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

 'Are you sure, Vanion?' 

 'I'll make sure, love.' 

 'Would you two like to be alone?' Mirtai asked them with an arch little 
smile. 'Later perhaps,' Sephrenia replied quite calmly. 

'Won't we be a little under-manned without Engessa's Atans?' Sparhawk 
asked. 'King Androl's making arrangements,' Vanion said. 

'Don't worry, Sparhawk. Your wife's almost as important to the rest of us 
as she is to you. We're not going to let anything happen to her.' 

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

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


firmly. 'He says it so casually,' Vanion noted. 'Are you so accustomed to 
confronting Gods that you're becoming blase about it, Zalasta?' Zalasta 
smiled. 'Just defining the problem, Lord Vanion. The resurrection of whole 
armies is beyond purely human capabilities. You can take my word for that. 
I tried it once and made a horrible mess of it. It took me weeks to get 
them all back into the ground again.' 

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

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

 'yes,' Sparhawk told him, 'but logic always is right at first. I' like the 
notion of attacking his worshippers. If we do that, he's going to have to 
stop what he's doing and concentrate on protecting his own people. The 
Strength of a God depends entirely on his worshippers. If we start killing 
his people, we'll diminish him with every sword-stroke.' barbarian,' 
Sephrenia accused. ''Can you make her stop doing that to me, Vanion?' 
Sparhawk appealed. 'She's called me both a pagan and ' a barbarian so far 
today.' 

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

 'Ulath's baffled,' Sparhawk replied. 'I gather that the Thalesians are so 
happy that the Trolls have left that they didn't pursue the matter.' 
'Trolls don't habitually co-operate with each other,' Sephrenia told them. 
'One of them might have decided on his own to leave Thalesia, but he'd 
never have persuaded the rest to go with him.' 

 'You're raising a very unpleasant possibility, love,' Vanion said. They 
all looked at each other. 'is there any way they could have got out of 
Bhelliom?' Vanion asked Sephrenia. 'I don't know, Vanion. Sparhawk asked me 
the same question quite some time ago. I don't know what spell Ghwerig used 
to seal them inside the jewel. Troll-spells aren't the same as ours.'

 'Then we don't know if they're still inside or if they've somehow managed 
to free themselves?' She nodded glumly. 'The fact that the Trolls banded up 
and left their ancestral home all at the same time suggests that something 
with sufficient authority over them commanded them to leave,' Zalasta 
mused. 'That would be their Gods, all right.' Vanion's face was as glum as 
Sephrenia's. 'Trolls wouldn't obey anyone else.' He sighed. 'Well, we 
wanted to know who was opposing us. I think we may have just found out.' 
'You're all full of light and joy today, Vanion,' Sparhawk said sourly, 
'but I'd like something a little more concrete before I declare war on the 
Trolls.' 

 'How did you force the Troll-Gods to stop attacking you in Zemoch, Prince 
Sparhawk?' Zalasta asked him. 'I used the Bhelliom.' 

 'It rather looks as if you'll have to use it again. I don't suppose you 
happened to bring it with you, did you?' Sparhawk looked quickly at 
Sephrenia. 'You didn't tell him?' he asked with a certain surprise. 'It 
wasn't necessary for him to know, dear one. Dolmant wanted us all to keep 


it more or less to ourselves, remember?' 
'I gather that it's not with you then, Prince Sparhawk,' Zalasta surmised. 
'Did you leave it in some safe place in Cimmura?' 
'It's in a safe place all right, learned one,' Sparhawk replied bleakly, 
'but it's not in Cimmura.' 

 'Where is it then?' 
'After we used it to destroy Azash, we threw it into the sea.' Zalasta's 
face went chalk white. 'in the deepest part of the deepest ocean in the 
world,' Sephrenia added. 

CHAPTER 21 

'It is along the north coast, Ehlana-Queen,' Norkan translated Queen 
Betuana's reply. 'These shaggy ones you call Trolls have come across the 
winter ice in large groups for the past two years. At first our people 
thought they were bears, but it was not so. They avoided us at first, and 
the snow and fog of winter made it hard for our people to see them clearly. 
When there were more of them here, they grew bolder. It was not until one 
of them was killed that we realised they were not bears.' King Androl was 
not present. Androl's intellectual gifts were not profound, and he much 
preferred to let his wife deal with state matters. The Atan King looked 
very impressive, but he was at his best in ceremonial situations where no 
surprises were likely to come up. 'Ask her if they've seen any Trolls 
farther south,' Sparhawk murmured to his wife. 'Why don't you ask her?' 
'Let's keep things sort of formal, Ehlana. This is technically a 
conversation between the two of you. I don't think the rest of us are 
supposed to join in. Let's not take a chance of violating a propriety we 
don't know about.' Ehlana posed the question, and Oscagne translated. 'No,' 
Norkan repeated Ehlana's answer. 'The Trolls appear to have settled in the 
forests along the north slopes. So far as we know, they haven't come deeper 
into Atan.' 

' 

 'Warn her that Trolls are very good at hiding in forests,' Ulath advised. 
'So are we,' the reply was translated. 'Ask her if some advice on tactics 
would offend her,' the Genidian Knight said then. 'We Thalesians have had 
many experiences with Trolls - most of them bad.' 

 'We are always willing to listen to the voice of experience,' came the 
Atan queen's reply. 'When we encounter Trolls in Thalesia, we usually stay 
back a ways and shoot some arrows into them,' Ulath informed Ehlana. 'It's 
hard to kill them with arrows, because their fur and their hides are so 
thick, but it's a good idea to slow them down if you can. Trolls are much, 
much quicker than they look, and they have very long arms. They can snatch 
a man out of his saddle quicker than the man can blink.' Ehlana went 
through the formality of repeating his words. 'What does the Troll do 
then?' Betuana's expression was curious. first he pulls off the man's head. 
Then he eats the rest of him. Trolls don't like to eat heads for some 
reason.' Ehlana choked slightly on that. we do not use the bow in war,' 
Norkan translated Betuana's flowing Tamul. 'We only use it in the hunt 'for 
creatures we intend to eat.' well,' Ulath said a bit dubiously, 'you could 
eat a Troll if you wanted to, I guess. I won't guarantee the flavour, 
though.' 

 'I refuse to repeat that, Sir Ulath!' ~Ehlana exclaimed. :')))) 'Ask her 
if javelins would be acceptable in the Atan culture,' Tynian suggested. 
'Javelins would be quite all right,' Norkan replied. 'I've seen the Atans 
practising with them.' Betuana spoke to him rapidly and at some length. ' 
)')'Her Majesty's asked me to translate in narrative,' norkan told them. 


'The sun is well up, and she knows you should be on the road. Oscagne tells 
me that you're planning to take the road leading to Lebas in Tamul proper. 
Atan society's organised along clan lines, and each clan has its own 
territory. You'll be passed along from clan to clan as you ride east. It's 
a breach of etiquette for one clan to intrude on the, territory of another, 
and breaches of etiquette are avoided at all costs here in Atan.' 

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

 'Very good idea,' Oscagne agreed. Then Betuana rose, towering over all of 
them. She affectionately embraced Ehlana and then Mirtai, clearly 
indicating that it was time for them to continue their journey eastward. 'I 
will cherish the memory of this visit, dear Betuana,' Ehlana told her. 'And 
I will as well, dearly-loved sister-queen, Betuana replied in almost 
flawless Elenic. Ehlana smiled. 'I wondered how long you were going to hide 
your understanding of our language, Betuana,' she said. 'You knew?' Betuana 
seemed surprised. Ehlana nodded. 'It's very hard to keep your face and your 
eyes from revealing your understanding while you're waiting for the 
translation. Why do you keep your knowledge of Elenic a secret?' 

 'The time the translator takes to convert your words into human speech 
gives me time to consider my reply,' Betuana shrugged. 'That's a very 
useful tactic,' Ehlana said admiringly. 'I 

wish I could use it in Eosia, but everybody there speaks Elenic, so I 
couldn't really get away with it. 'Bandage your ears,' Ulath suggested. 
'Does he have to do that?' Ehlana complained to Sparhawk. 'It's only a 
suggestion, your Majesty,' Ulath shrugged. 'Pretend to be deaf and have 
some people around to wiggle their fingers at you as if they were 
translating. ' She stared at him. 'That's absurd, Ulath. Do you) have any 
idea of how awkward and inconvenient that would be?' 

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

Following a formal farewell which was once again primarily for Mirtai's 
benefit, the queen and her party rode eastward out of Atana along the Lebas 
road. Once they were clear of the city, Oscagne, who had insisted on riding 
a horse that day, suggested to Sparhawk, Stragen and Vanion that they ride 
forward to confer with the other knights. They found them near the' head of 
the column. Tynian was entertaining them with a muchembellished account of 
a probably imaginary amorous adventure. 'What's afoot?' Kalten asked when 
Sparhawk and the others joined them. 'Sparhawk and I conferred with 
Sephrenia and Zalasta last night,' Vanion replied. 'We thought we might 
share the fruits of our discussions - out of Ehlana's hearing.' 

 'that sounds ominous,' the blond Pandion observed. 'Not entirely,' Vanion 
smiled. 'Our conclusions are a bit tenuous, and there's no point in 
alarming the .queen until we're a bit more certain.' :' Then there is 
something to be alarmed about, isn't there,'Lord Vanion?' Talen asked. 
'There's always something to be alarmed about,' Khalad told his brother. 
'We've sort of concluded that we're facing a God,' Vanion told them. 'i'm 
sure you've all more or less worked that out for yourselves.' 

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

 'Who is?' 

 'You weren't so bad at Zemoch.' 

 'Luck, probably.' 

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

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

Talen said glumly. 'It is a bit gloomy, isn't it?' Tynian agreed. 

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

 'They're being used?' Ulath suggested. 'So it would seem.' 

 'It doesn't wash, Lord Vanion,' the Thalesian said bluntly. 'How so?' 
'What's in it for the Trolls? Why would the Troll-Gods ally themselves with 
somebody else if there weren't any benefits to the Trolls to come out of 
the arrangement? The Trolls can't rule the world, because they can't come 
down out of the mountains.' 

 'Why not?' Berit asked'd him. Their fur - and those thick hides of theirs. 
They have to stay where it's cool. If you put a Troll out in the summer sun 
for two days, he'll die. Their bodies are built to keep the heat in, not to 
get rid of it.' That is a fairly serious flaw in your theory, Lord Vanion,' 
Oscagne agreed. 'I think I might be able to'suggest a solution,' Stragen 
told them. 'Our enemy - or enemies - want to re-arrange the world right?'. 
' 

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

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

 'thalesia.' Ulath replied moodily.'''precisely. Wouldn't the Troll-Gods 
leap at an opportunity to wipe out the Elenes and Styrics in Thalesia and 
return total possession of the peninsula to the Trolls? If someone's come 
up with a way to expel the Younger 

Styric Gods - or at least claims he has - wouldn't that be fairly enticing 
to the Troll-Gods? it was the Younger Gods who dispossessed them in the 
first place, and that's why they had to go hide. This is pure speculation, 
of course, but let's say this friend of ours came up with a way to free the 
Troll-Gods. Then he offered an alliance, promising to drive the Elenes and 


Styrics out of Thalesia and possibly the north coasts of both continents as 
well - in exchange for the help he needs. The Trolls get the north, and our 
friend gets the rest of the world. If I were a Troll, that would sound like 
a very attractive bargain, wouldn't you say?' 

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

 'We have to break up the alliance,' Sparhawk replied. 'That's a neat trick 
when you don't know who one of the allies is,' Kalten told him. 'We do sort 
of know about one part of it, so we'll have to concentrate on that. Your 
theory narrows my options, Vanion. I guess I will have to declare war on 
the Trolls after all.' 

 'I don't quite understand,' Oscagne confessed. The Gods derive their 
strength from their worshippers, your Excellency,' Bevier explained. 'The 
more worshippers, the stronger the God. If Sparhawk starts killing Trolls, 
the Troll-Gods will notice it. If he kills enough of them, they'll withdraw 
from the alliance. They won't have any choice if they want to survive, and 
we found out at Zemoch that they're very interested in surviving, they went 
all to pieces when Sparhawk threatened to destroy Bhelliom and them along 
with it. 'They became very co-operative at that point,' Sparhawk said. 'You 
gentlemen have a real treat in store for you,' Ulath told them. 'Fighting 
Trolls is very, very exhilarating.' They set up their night's encampment 
that evening in a meadow beside a turbulent mountain stream that had carved 
a deep gorge in the mountains. The lower walls of the gorge were 
tree-covered, and they angled up steeply to the sheer cliffs rising a 
hundred or more feet to the rim of the cut. It was a good defensive 
position, Sparhawk noted as he surveyed the camp. Evening came early in 
these canyons, and the cooking fires flared yellow in the gathering dusk, 
their smoke drifting blue and tenuous downstream in the night breeze. 'A 
word with you, Prince Sparhawk?' It was Zalasta, and his white Styric robe 
gleamed in the half-light. 'Of course, learned one.' 

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

 'I don't think so, Zalasta.' A faintly bitter smile touched the Styric's 
lips. 'It's what my people call 'the Elene complaint', then.' 

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

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

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

 'It might be best if I avoided her, then. I'll travel on horseback from 
now on. Our close proximity in that carriage exacerbates her dislike, I 
expect. I've worked with people who've disliked me in the past and it's no 
great inconvenience. When I have leisure, I'll win her over.' He flashed a 
quick smile. 'I can be very winning when I set my mind to it.' He looked on 
down the gorge where the rapids swirled and foamed white in the gathering 
darkness. 'is there any possibility that you might be able to retrieve the 


Bhelliom, Prince Sparhawk?' he asked gravely. 'i'm afraid we're at a 
distinct disadvantage without it. We need something powerful enough to 
achieve some measure of parity with a group of Gods. Are you at liberty to 
tell me where you were when you threw it into the sea? I might be able to 
aid you in its retrieval.' 

 'There weren't any restrictions placed on me about discussing it, learned 
one,' Sparhawk replied ruefully. 'There wasn't any need for that, since I 
haven't got the foggiest idea of where it was. Aphrael chose the spot, and 
she very carefully arranged things so that we couldn't identify the place. 
You might ask her, but I'm fairly sure she won't tell you.' Zalasta smiled. 
'She is a bit whimsical, isn't she?' he said. 'We all loved her in spite of 
that, however.' 

 'That's right you grew up in the same village with her and Sephrenia, 
didn't you?' 

 'Oh, yes. I am proud to call them my friends. It was very stimulating 
trying to keep up with Aphrael. She had a very agile mind. Did she give you 
any reason for her desire to keep the location a secret?' 

 'Not in so many words, but I think she felt that the jewel was far too 
dangerous to be loosed in the world. It's even more eternal than the Gods 
themselves, and probably more powerful. I can't pretend to even begin to 
understand where it originated, but it seems to be one of those elemental 
spirits that are involved in the creation of the universe.' Sparhawk 
smiled. 'That gave me quite a turn when I found out about it. I was 
carrying something that could create whole suns not six inches from my 
heart. I think I can understand Aphrael's concern about the Bhelliom, 
though. She told us once that the Gods can only see the future imperfectly, 
and she couldn't really see what might happen if the Bhelliom fell into the 
wrong hands. She and I took a very real chance of destroying the world to 
keep it out of the hands of Azash. She wanted to put it where nobody could 
ever use it again.' 

 'Her thinking is faulty, Prince Sparhawk.' 

 'I wouldn't tell her that, if I were you. She might take it as criticism.' 
Zalasta smiled. 'She knows me, so she's not upset when I criticise her. If, 
as you say, the Bhelliom's one of those energies that's involved in the 
constructing of the universe, it must be allowed to continue its work. The 
universe will be flawed if it is not.' 

 'She said that this world won't last forever,' Sparhawk shrugged. 'in 
time, it'll be destroyed, and Bhelliom will be freed. The mind sort of 
shudders away from the notion, but I gather that the space of time 
stretching from the moment Bhelliom was trapped on this world until the 
moment the world burns away when our sun explodes is no more than the 
blinking of an eye to the spirit which inhabits it.' 

 'I sort of choke on the notions of eternity and infinity myself, Prince 
Sparhawk,' Zalasta admitted. I think we'll have to accept the notion that 
Bhelliom's lost for good, learned one,' Sparhawk told him. 'We're at a 
disadvantage, certainly, but I don't see any help for it. We're going to 
have to deal with this situation ourselves, I'm afraid.' Zalasta sighed., 
'You may be right, Prince Sparhawk, but we really need the Bhelliom. Our 
success or failure may hinge on that stone. I think we should concentrate 
our efforts on Sephrenia. We must persuade her to intercede with Aphrael. 
She has an enormous influence on her sister.' 

 'Yes,' Sparhawk agreed. 'I've noticed that. What were they like as 
children?' Zalasta looked up into the gathering darkness. 'Our village 
changed a great deal when Aphrael was born,' he reminisced. 'We knew at 
once that she was no ordinary child. The Younger Gods are all very fond of 
her. Of all of them, she is the only child, and they've spoiled her 


outrageously over the aeons.' He smiled faintly. 'She's perfected the art 
of being a child. All children are lovable, but Aphrael is so skilled at 
making people love her that she can melt the hardest of hearts. The Gods 
always get what they want, but Aphrael makes us do what she wants out of 
love.' 

 'I've noticed that.' Sparhawk said wryly. 'Sephrenia was about nine when 
her sister was born, and from the moment she first saw the Child-Goddess, 
she committed her entire life to her service.' There was a strange note of 
pain in the magician's voice as he said it. 'Aphrael seemed to have almost 
no infancy,' he continued. 'She was born with the ability to speak - or so 
it seemed - and she was walking in an incredibly short period of time. It 
was not convenient for her to go through a normal babyhood, so she simply 
stepped over such things as teething and learning to crawl. She wanted to 
be a child, not a baby. I was several years older than Sephrenia and 
already deep into my studies, but I did observe them rather closely. It's 
not often that one has the opportunity to watch a God grow up.' 

 'Very rare,' Sparhawk agreed. Zalasta smiled. 'Sephrenia spent every 
moment with her sister. It was obvious from the very beginning that there 
was a special bond between them. It's one of Aphrael's peculiarities that 
she adopts the subservient position of a young child. She's a Goddess, and 
she could command, but she doesn't. She almost seems to enjoy being 

scolded. She's obedient - when it suits her to be - but every' so often 
she'll do something outrageously impossible - probably just to remind 
people who she really is.' Sparhawk remembered the swarm of fairies 
pollinating the flowers in the palace garden in Cimmura. 'Sephrenia was a 
sensible child who always acted older than her years. I suspect Aphrael of 
preparing her sister ' for a lifelong task even before she herself was 
born. In a very real sense, Sephrenia became Aphrael's mother. She cared 
for her, fed her, bathed her although that occasioned some truly stupendous 
arguments. Aphrael absolutely hates to be bathed - and she really doesn't 
need it, since she can make dirt go away ~,'.whenever she wants to. I don't 
know if you noticed it, but her feet always have grass-stains on them, even 
when she's in a place where there is no grass. For some reason I can't 
begin to fathom, she seems to need those stains.' The Styric sighed. 'When 
Aphrael was about six or so, Sephrenia was obliged to become her mother in 
fact. The three of us were off in the forest, and while we were gone, a mob 
of drunken Elene peasants attacked our vilage and killed everyone there.' 
Sparhawk drew in his breath sharply. 'That explains a (few things,' he 
said. 'Of course it raises other things 'even more incomprehensible. After 
a tragedy like that, what could ever have persuaded Sephrenia to take on 
the chore of training generations of Pandion Knights?'.' 

 'afrael probably told her to,' Zalasta shrugged. 'Don't make any mistakes, 
Prince Sparhawk. Aphrael may pretend to be a child, but in truth she is 
not. She will obey when it suits her, but never forget that she is the one 
who makes the ultimate decisions, and she always gets what she wants.' 
'What happened after your village was destroyed?' Sparhawk asked. 'We 
wandered for a time in the forest, and then another Styric village took us 
in. As soon as I was sure that the girls were settled in and safe, I left 
to pursue my studies. I didn't see 'them again for many years, and when I 
finally met them again, Sephrenia was the beautiful woman she is now. 
Aphrael, however, was still a child, not a day older than she had been when 
I left them.' He sighed again. 'The time we spent together when we were 
children was the happiest of my life. The memory of that time strengthens 
and sustains me when I am troubled.' He looked up toward the sky where the 
first stars were beginning to come out. 'Please make my excuses, Prince 


Sparhawk. I think I'd like to be alone with my memories tonight.' 
'I will, Zalasta,' Sparhawk replied, laying a friendly 

hand on the Styric's shoulder. 

'We're fond of him,' Danae said. 'Why are you keeping your identity a 

secret from him then?' 

 'i'm not sure, father. Maybe it's just because girls need secrets.' 

 'That doesn't make sense, you know.' 

 'Yes, but I don't have to make sense. That's the nice thing about being 
universally adored.' 

 'Zalasta thinks we're going to need the Bhelliom.' Sparhawk decided to get 
right to the point. 'No.' Aphrael said it very firmly. 'I spent too much 
time and effort getting it into a safe place to turn around and drag it out 
every time there's a change in the weather. Zalasta always wants to unleash 
more power than is really necessary in situations like this. If all we're 
facing is the Troll-Gods, we can manage without Bhelliom.' She held up one 
hand when he started to object. 'my decision, Sparhawk,' she told him. 'I 
could always spank you and make you change your mind,' he threatened. 'Not 
unless I let you, you can't.' Then she sighed. The Troll-Gods aren't going 
to be a problem for much longer.' 

 'Oh?' The Trolls are doomed,' she said rather sadly, 'and once they're 
gone their Gods will be powerless.' 

 'Why are the Trolls doomed?' 

 'Because they can't change, Sparhawk. We may not always like it, but 
that's the way the world is. The creatures of this world must change - or 
die. That's what happened to the Dawn-men. The Trolls supplanted them 
because they couldn't change, and now it's the turn of the Trolls. Their 
nature is such that they need a great deal of room. A lone Troll needs 
fifty or so square leagues of range, and he won't share that range with any 
other Troll. There just isn't enough room left for them any more. There are 
Elenes in the world now as well, and you're cutting down trees to build 
your houses and to clear fields for your crops. The Trolls might have 
survived if they only had to live with Styrics. Styrics don't chop trees 
down.' She smiled. 'It's not that we're , really all that fond of trees. 
It's just that we )don't have very good axes. When you Elenes discovered 
how to make steel, you doomed the Trolls - and their Gods.' That lends some 
weight to the notion that the Trollgods may have allied themselves with 
someone else,' 

 '~Sephrenia noted. 'if they can understand what's happening, they're 
probably getting desperate. Their survival depends on preserving the Trolls 
and their range.' Sparhawk grunted. 'That might help to explain something 
that's been bothering me,' he said. 'Oh?' Sephrenia asked him. 'if there's 
someone involved as well as the Troll-Gods, it might account for the 
differences I've been feeling. I've been getting this nagging sense that 
things aren't quite the same as they were last time - jarring little 
discrepancies, if you take my meaning. The major discrepancy lies in the 
fact that these elaborate schemes with people like Drychtnath and Ayachin 
are just too subtle for the Troll-Gods to understand.' He made a rueful 
Face. 'But that immediately raises another problem. How can this other one 
get the co-operation of the Troll-Gods if he can't explain what he's doing 
and why?' 

 'Would it offend your pride if I offered you a simpler solution?' Danae 
asked him. 'I don't think so.'

 'The Troll-Gods know that others are smarter than they are, and the one 
you call 'our friend' has a certain hold over' them. He can always cram 


them back into Bhelliom and let them spend several million years in that 
box on the sea-bottom if they don't co-operate. Maybe he's just telling 
them what he wants them to do without bothering to explain it to them. The 
rest of the time, he could 'just be letting them blunder around making 
noise. All that crashing through the bushes would certainly help conceal 
what he's doing, wouldn't it?' He stared at her for a long time. Then he 
laughed. 'I love you, Aphrael,' he said, lifting her in his arms and 
kissing her. 'He's such a nice boy,' the little Goddess beamed to her 
sister. Two days later, the weather changed abruptly. Heavy clouds swept in 
off the Tamul sea several hundred odd leagues to the east, and the sky 
turned suddenly murky and threatening. To add to the gloom, one of those 
breakdowns in communications' so common in all government enterprises 
occurred. They reached a clan border marked by a several-hundred-yard-wide 
strip of open ground about noon only to find no escort awaiting them. The 
clan which had brought them this far could not cross that border, and, 
indeed, looked nervously back toward the safety of the forest. 'There are 
bad feelings between these two clans, Sparhawk-Knight,' Engessa advised 
gravely. 'It is a serious breach of custom and propriety for either clan to 
come within five hundred paces of the line between them.' 

 'Tell them to go on home, Atan Engessa,' )Sparhawk told him. 'There are 
enough of us here to protect the queen, and we wouldn't want to start a 
clan war just for the sake of maintaining appearances. The other clan 
should be along soon, so there's no real danger.' Engessa looked a bit 
dubious, but he spoke with the leader of their escort, and the Atans 
gratefully melted back into the forest. 'What now?' Kalten asked. 'How 
about some lunch?' Sparhawk replied. 'I thought you'd never think of that.' 
'Have the knights and the Peloi draw up around the carriage and get some 
cooking fires going. I'll go tell Ehlana.' He rode back to the carriage. 
'Where's the escort?' Mirtai asked brusquely. Now that she was an adult, 
Mirtai was even more commanding than she had been before. 'i'm afraid 
they're late,' Sparhawk told her. 'I thought we might as well have some 
lunch while we're waiting for them.' 

 'Absolutely splendid idea, Sparhawk,' Emban beamed. 'We thought you might 
approve, your Grace. The escort should be here by the time we finish 
eating.' They were not, however. Sparhawk paced back and forth, chafing at 
the delay, and his patience finally evaporated. 'That's it!' he said 
loudly. 'Let's get ready to move out.' 

 'We're supposed to wait, Sparhawk,' Ehlana told him. 'Not out in the open 
like this, we're not. And I'm not going to sit here for two days waiting 
for some Atan clan-chief to mull his way through a message.' 

 'I think we'd better do as he says, friends,' Ehlana told the others. 'I 
know the signs, and my beloved's beginning to grow short-tempered.' 

 '-Er,' Talen added. 'You said what?' Ehlana asked him. 'Short-tempered-er. 
Sparhawk's always shorttempered. It's only a little worse now. You have to 
know him very well to be able to tell the difference.' 

 'Are you short-tempered-er right now, love?' she teased her husband. 'I 
don't think there is such a word, Ehlana. Let's get 'ready and move on out. 
The road's well-marked, so we can hardly get lost.' The trees beyond the 
open space were dark cedars with swooping limbs that brushed the ground and 

concealed everything more than a few yards back into the forest. The clouds 
rolling in from the east grew thicker and the light back among the trees 
grew dim. The air hung motionless and sultry, and the whine of mosquitoes 
seemed to grow louder as they rode deeper into the woods. 'I love wearing 
armour in mosquito country,' Kalten said gaily. 'I have this picture of 
hordes of the little blood-suckers sitting around with teeny little hammers 


trying to pound their beaks straight again,' 

'They won't really try' to bite you through the steel, Sir Kalten,' 
Zalasta told him. 'They're attracted by your smell, and I don't think any 
living creature finds the smell of Elene armour all that appetising.' 
'You're taking all the fun out of it, Zalasta.' 

 'Sorry, Sir Kalten.' There was a rumble far off to the east. 'The perfect 
end to a day gone sour,' Stragen observed, 'a nice rousing thunderstorm 
with lots of lightning, hail, driving rain and howling winds.' Then, 
echoing down some unseen canyon back in the forest there came a hoarse, 
roaring bellow. Almost immediately there came an answer from the opposite 
direction. Sir Ulath swore, biting off curses the way a dog tears at a 
piece of meat. 'What's wrong?' Sparhawk demanded. 'Didn't you recognise it, 
Sparhawk?' the Thalesian said. 'You've heard it before - back at Lake 
Venne.' 
'What is it?' Khalad asked apprehensively. 'it's a signal that it's time 
for us to fort up! Those are Trolls out there!' 

CHAPTER 22 

'It's not perfect, friend Sparhawk,' Kring said. a bit dubiously, 'but I 
don't think we've got time to look for anything better.' 

 'He's right about that, Sparhawk,' Ulath agreed. 'Time's definitely a 
major concern right now.' The Peloi had ranged out into the surrounding 
forest in search of some defensible position. Given their nervousness about 
wooded terrain, Kring's horsemen had displayed a great deal of courage in 
the search. 'Can you give me some details?' Sparhawk asked the 
shaved-headed Domi. 'It's a blind canyon, friend Sparhawk,' Kring replied, 
nervously fingering the hilt of his Sabre. 'There's a dried-up stream-bed 
running down the centre of it. From the look of it, I'd say that the stream 
runs full in the springtime. There seems to be a dry waterfall at the upper 
end. There's a cave at the foot of the dry falls that should provide some 
protection for the women, and it'll be a good place to defend if things get 
desperate.' 

 'I thought they already were,' Tynian noted. 'How wide is the mouth of the 
canyon?' Sparhawk asked intently. 'The canyon mouth itself is maybe two 
hundred paces across,' Kring told him, 'but when you go back in a ways, it 
narrows down to about twenty Paces. Then it widens out again into a sort of 
a basin where the falls are. 'The bad thing about a canyon is that you're 
down in a hole,' Kalten said. 'It won't take the Trolls too long to go up 
to the canyon rim and start throwing rocks down ,on our heads.' 

 'Do we have any choice?' Tynian asked him. 'No, but I thought I'd point it 
out.' 

 'There's no place else?' Sparhawk asked the Domi. 'A few clearings,' Kring 
shrugged. 'A hill or two that I could spit over.' 

 'It looks like it's the canyon then,' Sparhawk said grimly. 'We'd better 
get there and start putting up some sort of fortification across that 
narrow place.' They gathered closely around the cariage and pushed their 
way into the forest. The carriage jolted over the rough ground, and on 
several occasions fallen logs had to be dragged out of the way. After about 
five hundred yards, though, the ground began to slope upward and the trees 
thinned out. Sparhawk pulled Faran in beside the carriage. 'There's a cave 
ahead, Ehlana,' he told his wife. 'Kring's men didn't have time to explore 
it, so we don't know how deep it is.' 

 'What difference would that make?' she asked him. Ehlana's face was even 
more pale than usual. The bellowing of the Trolls far back in the forest 
had obviously unnerved her. 'It might be very important,' he replied. 'When 


you get there, have Talen explore the place. If it goes back in far enough 
or branches out, you'll have a place to hide. Sephrenia's going to be with 
you, and she'll be able to block the entrance and hide any side-chamber so 
that the Trolls can't find you if they manage to get past US.' ~y don't we 
all just go into the cave? You and Sephrenia can use magic to block the 
entrance, and we can just sit there until the Trolls get bored and go 
away.' 

 'According to Kring, the cave's not big enough. He's got men out looking 
for another one, but we know this one's there. If something better turns 
up, we'll change the plan, but for right now this is the best we can 
manage. You'll take the other ladies, Patriarch Emban and Ambassador 
Oscagne and go inside. Talen will go in with you, and Berit and eight or 
ten other knights will cover the entrance to the cave. Please don't argue, 
Ehlana. This is one of those situations where I make the decisions. You 
agreed to that back in Chyrellos.' 

 'He's right, your Majesty,' Emban told her. ''We need a general right now, 
not a queen.' 

 'Am I encumbering you gentlemen?' she asked tartly. 'Not in the slightest, 
my Queen.' Stragen said smoothly. 'Your presence will inspire us to greater 
heights. We'll dazzle you with our prowess and our courage.' 

 'i'd be happy to simulate dazzlement if we could avoid this,' she said in 
a worried voice. 'I'm afraid you'd have to convince the Trolls on that 
score,' Sparhawk told her, 'and Trolls are very hard to convince particularly 

 if they're hungry.' Although the situation was grave, Sparhawk 
was not quite as desperately concerned about his wife's safety as he might 
normally have been. Sephrenia would be there to protect her and if things 
grew truly desperate, Aphrael could take a hand in the matter as well. He 
knew that his daughter would not permit any harm to come to her mother, 
even if it meant revealing her identity. The canyon had its drawbacks, 
there was no question about that. The most obvious was the one Kalten had 
raised. If the Trolls' ever reached the canyon rim above them, the 
situation would quickly become untenable. Kalten made quite an issue of 
pointing that out. 'I told you so' figured prominently in his remarks. 'I 
think you're over-estimating the intelligence of Trolls, Kalten,' Ulath 
disagreed. 'They'll come straight at us, because they'll be thinking of us 
as food not as enemies.''Supper's more important to them than a military 
victory.' 

 'You're just loaded with cheery thoughts today, aren't you, Ulath?' Tynian 
said dryly. 'How many of them do you think there are?' 

 'It's hard to say,' Ulath shrugged. 'I've heard ten different voices so 
far - probably the heads of families. There's probably a hundred or so of 
them out there at the very least.' 

 'It could be worse,' Kalten said. 'Not by very much,' Ulath disagreed. 'A 
hundred Trolls could have given Warguns's whole army some serious 
problems.' Bevier, their expert on fortifications and defensive positions, 
had been surveying the canyon. 'There are plenty of rocks in the stream-bed 

for breastworks,' he observed 'and whole thickets of saplings for stakes. 
Ulath, how long do you think we have before they attack?' Ulath scratched 
at his chin. 'The fact that we're stopping gives us a bit more space,' he 
mused. 'if we were still moving, they'd attack right away but now they'll 
probably take their time and gather their forces. I believe that you might 
want to re-think your strategy though, Bevier. Trolls aren't going to shoot 
arrows at us so breastworks aren't really necessary. Actually they'd hinder 
us more than they would the Trolls. Our advantage lies in our horses - and 
our lances. You really want to keep Trolls at a distance if you possibly 


can. The sharpened stakes would be good, though. A Troll takes the easiest 
way to get at what he wants. If we can clutter up the sides of this narrow 
entrance and funnel them through so that only a few at a time can come at 
us, we'll definitely improve the situation. ''We don't want to take on more 
of them at any one time than we absolutely have to. What I'd really like is 
a dozen or so of Kurik's crossbows.' 

 'I have one, Sir Ulath,' Khalad volunteered. 'And many of the knights have 
longbows,' Bevier added. 'We slow them down with the stakes so that we can 
pick them off with arrows?' Tynian surmised. 'That's the best plan,'Ulath 
agreed. 'You don't want to go hand to hand with a Troll if you can possibly 
avoid it.' 

 'We'd better get at it, then,' Sparhawk told them. The work was feverish 
for the next hour. The narrow gap was necked down even more with boulders 
from the stream-bed, and a forest of sharpened stakes, all slanting sharply 
outward, was planted to the front. There was a method to the planting of 
the stakes. They bristled so thickly along the sides of the gap as to be 
well-nigh impenetrable, but the corridor leading to the basin at the head 
of the canyon was planted only sparsely with them to encourage the monsters 
to follow that route. Kring's Peloi found a large bramble thicket, uprooted 
the thorn-bushes and threw them back among the thick-planted stakes at the 
sides to further impede progress. what's Khalad doing there?' Kalten asked 
puffing and sweating with the large rock he carried in his arms. 'He's 
building something,' Sparhawk replied. 'This isn't really the time for the 
construction of camp improvements, Sparhawk.' 

 'He's a sensible young man. I'm sure he's usefully occupied. ' At the end 
of the hour, they stopped to survey the fruits of their labours. The gap 
had been narrowed to no more than eight feet wide, and the ground at the 
sides of the gap was dense with chest-high stakes angled so that they would 
keep the Trolls on the right path. Tynian, however, added one small 
embellishment. A number of his Arciones were driving pegs into the middle 
of the pathway and then sharpening the protruding ends. 

'Trolls don't wear shoes, do they?' he asked Ulath. 'it'd take half a 
cow-hide to make shoes for a Troll,' Ulath shrugged, 'and they eat cows 
hide and all, so they're a little short of leather.' 

 'Good. We want to keep them in the centre of the canyon, but we don't want 
to make it too easy for them. Barefoot Trolls aren't going to run through 
that stubblefield - not after the first few yards, anyway.'. 'I like your 
style, Tynian,' Ulath grinned. 'Could you gentlemen stand off to one side, 
please?' Khalad called. He had cut two fairly sturdy saplings off so that 
the stumps were about head high and had then lashed a third across them. 
Then he had strung a rope across the ends of the horizontal sapling and 
drawn it tight to form a huge bow. The bow was fully drawn, tied off to 
another stump at the rear, and it was loaded with a ten-foot javelin. 
Sparhawk and the others moved off to the sides of the narrow cut, and 
Khalad released the bow by cutting ' the rope that held it drawn. The 
javelin shot forward with a sharp whistling sound and buried itself deep 
into a tree a good hundred yards down the canyon. 'i'm going to like that 
boy,' Kalten smiled. 'He's almost as good at this sort of thing as his 
father was.' 

 'The family shows a lot of promise,' Sparhawk agreed. 'Let's position our 

archers so that they have a clear shot at that gap.' 
'Right,' Kalten agreed. 'What then?' Then we wait.' 
'That's the part I hate the most. Why don't we grab something to eat? just 

to pass the time, of course.' 
'Of course.' The storm which had been building to the east all morning was 


closer now, the clouds purplish-black and seething. There were flickers of 
lightning deep inside the cloud bank, and the thunder rolled from horizon 
to horizon, shaking the ground with every peal. They waited. The air was 
dead calm and sultry and 

the knights were sweating uncomfortably in their armour. 'Can we think of 
anything else?' Tynian asked. 'I've contrived a few rudimentary catapults,' 
Bevier replied. 'They're hardly more than bent saplings, so they won't 
throw very big rocks, and their range is limited.' 

 'I'll take all the help I can get when it comes to fighting Trolls,' Ulath 
told him. 'Every one of them we knock down before they get to us is one 
less we'll have to fight.' 

 'Dear God!'!' tynian exclaimed. 'What?' ~Kalten demanded with a certain 
alarm. 'I think I just saw one of them back at the edge of the forest. Are 
they all that big?' 

 'Nine feet or so tall?' Ulath asked quite casually. 'At least.' 
'That's fairly standard for a Troll, and they weigh between thirty-five 
and fifty stone.' 

 'You're not serious!' ~Kalten said incredulously. 'Wait just a bit and 
you'll be able to weigh one for yourself.' Ulath looked around at them. 
'Trolls are hard to kill,' he cautioned. 'Their hides are very tough, and 
their skull-bones are almost a half-inch thick. They can take a lot of 
punishment when they're excited. If we get in close, try to maim them. You 
can't really count on clean kills with Trolls, so every arm you chop off is 
one less the Troll can grab you with.' 

 'Will they have weapons of any kind?' Kalten asked. 'Clubs are about all. 
They aren't good with spears Their arms aren't hooked on right for 
jabbing.' 

 'That's something, anyway.' 

 'Not very much,' Tynian told him. They waited as the thunder moved 
ponderously toward them. They saw several more Trolls at the edge of the 
forest in the next ten minutes, and the bellowing roars of those scouts 
were obviously summoning the rest of the pack. The only Troll Sparhawk had 
ever seen before had been Ghwerig, and Ghwerig had been dwarfed and grossly 
deformed. He quickly began to revise his assessment of the creatures. They 
were, as Ulath had stated, about nine feet tall, and they were covered with 
dark-brown, shaggY Fur. Their arms were very long, and their huge hands 
hung below their knees. Their faces were brutish, with heavy brow-ridges, 
muzzle-like mouths and protruding fangs. Their eyes were small, deep-set 
and they burned with a dreadful hunger. They slouched along at the edge of 
the forest, not really trying to conceal themselves, and Sparhawk clearly 
saw that their long arms played a significant part in their locomotion, 
sometimes serving as an additional leg and sometimes grasping trees to help 
pull' themselves along. Their movements were flowing, even graceful, and 
bespoke an enormous agility. 'Are we more or less ready?' Ulath asked them. 
I could stand to wait a little longer,' Kalten replied. 'How long?' forty 
or fifty Years sounds about right to me. What did you have in mind?' I've 
seen about fifteen different individuals,' the big Thalesian noted. 
'They're coming out one by one to have a look, and that means that they're 
all more or less gathered just back under the trees. I thought I'd insult 
them for a while. When a Troll gets angry, he doesn't really think. Of 
course Trolls don't have very much to think with in the first place. I'd 
like to provoke them into an ill-considered attack if possible. If I really 
insult them, they'll scream and howl and then come rushing out of those 
woods foaming at the mouths. They'll be easy targets for the bowmen at that 
point, and if a few of them get through, we can charge them with our horses 


and the lances. We should be able to kill quite a few of them before they 
come to their senses. I'd really like to whittle down their numbers, and 
enraged Trolls make easy targets.' 

 'Do you think we might be able to kill enough of them to frighten the rest 
away?' Kalten asked. 'I wouldn't count on it, but anything's possible, I 
suppose. I'd have sworn that you couldn't get a hundred Trolls to even walk 
in the same direction at the same time, so the situation here's completely 
new to me. ' 

 'Let me talk with the others before we precipitate anything,' Sparhawk 
told him. He turned and walked back to where the knights and the Peloi 
waited with their horses. Vanion stood with Stragen, Engessa and Kring. 
'We're about ready to start,' Sparhawk told them. 'Did you plan to invite 
the Trolls?' Stragen asked him. 'Or are we going to begin without them?' 
'Ulath's going to see if he can provoke them into something rash,' Sparhawk 
replied. 'The stakes should slow them down enough so that our archers can 
work on them. We really want to thin them out a bit. If they manage to 
break through, we'll charge them with lances.' He looked at Kring. 'i'm not 
trying to insult you, Domi, but could you hold back a bit? Ulath tells us 
that Trolls take a lot of killing. It's a dirty business, but somebody's 
going to have to come along after we charge and kill the wounded.' Kring's 
face clearly registered his distaste. 'We'll do it, friend Sparhawk,' he 
agreed finally, 'but only out of friendship. ' 

 'I appreciate that, Kring. As soon as Ulath enrages them enough to get 
them moving, those of us at the barricade will come back and get on our 
horses to join the charge. Oh, one thing - just because a Troll has a 
broken-off lance sticking out of him doesn't mean that he's out of action. 
Let's stick a few more in each one then - just to be on the safe side. I'll 
go advise the ladies that we're about to start, and then we'll get on with 
it.' 

 'I'll go with you,' Vanion said, and the two of them walked back up the 
canyon towards the cave-mouth. Berit and a small group of young knights 
stood guard at the entrance to the cave. 'Are they coming?' the handsome 
young man asked nervously. 'We've seen a few scouts,' Sparhawk replied. 
'We're going to try to goad them into an attack. If we have to fight them, 
I'd rather do it in the daylight.' 

 'And before that storm hits,' Vanion added. 'I don't think they'll get 
past us,' Sparhawk told the youthful knight, 'but stay alert. If things 
start to look tight, pull back inside the cave.' Berit nodded. Then Ehlana, 
Talen and' Sephrenia emerged from the cave. 'Are they coming?' Ehlana 
asked, her voice slightly shrill. 'Not yet,' Sparhawk replied. 'It's just a 
question of time, though. We're going to try to goad them a bit. Ulath 
thinks he might be able to enrage some of them enough so that they'll 
attack before the rest are ready. We'd rather not have to face them all at 
once if we can avoid it.' He looked at Sephrenia. 'Are you up to a spell or 
two, Sephrenia?' That depends on the spell.' 

 'Can you block the cave mouth so that the Trolls can't get at you and the 
others?' 

 'Probably, and if not, I can always collapse it.' 

 'I wouldn't do that except as a last resort. Wait for Berit and his men to 
get inside with you, though.' Talen's fine clothes were a bit mud-smeared. 
'Any luck?' Sparhawk asked him. 'I found a place where a bear spent last 
winter,' the boy shrugged. 'It involved a bit of wriggling. There are a 
couple of other passageways I want to look at.' 

 'Pick the best one you can. If Sephrenia has to bring down the cave-mouth, 
I'd like to have you all back where it's safe.' Talen nodded. 'Be careful, 
Sparhawk,' Ehlana said to him, embracing him fiercely. 'Always, love.' 


Sephrenia had also embraced Vanion, her admonition echoing Ehlana's. 'Now 
go, both of you,' she added. 'Yes, little mother,' Sparhawk and Vanion said 
in unison. The two knights started back down the canyon. 'You don't 
approve, do you, Sparhawk?' Vanion asked gravely. 'It's none of my 
business, my friend.' 

 'I didn't ask if it was any of your business, I asked if you approved. 
There wasn't any other way, you know. The laws of both our cultures 
prohibit our marrying.' 

 'I don't think the laws apply to you two, Vanion. You both have a special 
friend who ignores the laws when she chooses to.' He smiled at his old 
friend. 'Actually, I'm rather pleased about it. I got very tired of seeing 
the pair of you moping about the way you were.' 

 'Thanks, Sparhawk. I wanted to get that out into the open. I'll never be 
able to go back to Eosia, though.' 
'i'd say that's no great loss under the circumstances. You and Sephrenia 
are happy, and that's all that matters.' 

 'I'll agree there. When you get back to Chyrellos, try to put the best 
face on it you can, though. I'm afraid Dolmant will burst into flames when 
he hears about it.' 

'He might surprise you,.Vanion.' 

Sparhawk was a bit startled to discover that he still remembered a few 
words in Troll. Ulath stood in the centre of their narrow gap, bellowing at 
the forest in that snarling tongue. 'What's he saying?' Kalten asked 
curiously. 'It wouldn't translate very well,' Sparhawk replied. 'Trollish 
insul'ts lean heavily in the direction of bodyfunctions.' 

'Oh. Sorry I asked.' 

 'You'd be a lot sorrier if I could translate,' Sparhawk said, wincing at a 
particularly vile imprecation Ulath had just hurled at the Trolls. The 
Trolls, it appeared, took insults very seriously. Unlike humans, they 
seemed not to be able to shrug such things off as 'no more than a customary 
prelude to battle. They howled at each new sally from the big Genidian 
Knight. A number of them appeared at the edge of the wood, foaming at the 
mouth and stamping in rage. 'How much longer before they charge?' Tynian 
asked his tall blond friend. 'You can't always tell with Trolls,' Ulath 
replied. 'I don't think they're accustomed to fighting in groups. I can't 
say for sure, but I think one of them will lose his temper before the 
others, and he'll come rushing at us. I'm not positive if the others will 
follow.' He roared something else at the huge creatures at the forest's 
edge. One of the Trolls shrieked with fury and broke into a shambling, 
three-legged run, brandishing a huge club in his free hand. First one 
Troll, then several others, began to run after him. Sparhawk glanced 
around, checking the positions of his archers. Khalad, he noted, had given 
his crossbow to another young Pandion and stood coolly sighting along the 
shaft of the javelin resting across the centre of his improvised engine. 
The Troll in the lead was swinging wildly at the sharpened stakes with his 
club, but the springy saplings bent beneath his blows and then snapped back 
into place. The enraged Troll lifted his muzzle and howled in frustration. 
Khalad cut the rope holding his over-sized bow drawn back. The limbs of the 
bow snapped forward with an almost musical twang, and the javelin shot 
forward in a long, smooth arc to sink into the Troll's vast, furry chest 
with a meaty-sounding 'chunk!' The Troll jerked back and stood staring 
stupidly at the shaft protruding from his chest. He touched it with one 
tentative finger as if he could not even begin to understand how it had got 
there. Then he sat down heavily with blood pouring from his mouth. He 
grasped the shaft feebly with both hands and wrenched at it. A fresh gush 


of blood burst from his mouth, and he sighed and toppled over on one side. 
'Good shot,' Kalten called his congratulations to Sparhawk's squire, who, 
with the help of two other young Pandions, was already re-cocking the 
engine. 'Pass the word to the other archers,' Khalad called back. 'The 
Trolls stop when they come to those stakes. They don't seem to be able to 
understand them, and they make perfect targets when they're standing still 
like that.' 

 'Right.' Kalten went to the archers on one side of the 

canyon and Bevier to the other to pass the word along. The half-dozen or so 
Trolls who had followed the first one paid no attention to his fall and 
lunged on forward towards the field of sharpened stakes. 'We might have a 
problem, Sparhawk,' Tynian said. 'They're not used to fighting in groups, 
so they don't pay any attention to casualties. Ulath says that they don't 
die of natural causes, so they don't really understand what death's all 
about. I don't think they'll back away just because we kill all their 
comrades. It's not like fighting humans, I'm afraid. They'll make one 
charge, and they'll keep coming until they're all dead. We may have to 
adjust our tactics to take that into account.' More Trolls came out of the 
trees, and Ulath continued to shout obscenities at them. Kalten and Bevier 
returned. 'I just had a thought,' Kalten said. 'Ulath, will the females 
attack too?' 

'Probably. ' 
'How do you tell the females from the males?' 
'Are you having urges?' That's disgusting. I just don't want to kill 


women, that's all.' 

 'Women? These are Trolls, Kalten, not people. You can't tell a female from 
a male unless she's got cubs with her - or unless you get very, very close 
to her - and that's not a good idea. A sow will tear off your head just as 
quickly as a boar will.' The Genidian went back to shoUting insults. More 
Trolls joined the charge, and then, with a vast roar, the entire edge of 
the woods erupted with the monsters. They did not pause, but joined the 
loping herd. That's it,' Ulath said with a certain satisfaction. 'The whole 
pack's committed now. Let's go get our horses.'. they ran back to join the 
others as the several Cyrinics firing Bevier's improvised catapults and the 
Pandions working Khalad's engine began to launch missiles at the oncoming 
Trolls. The archers at the canyon walls rained arrows into the shaggy 
ranks. Some Trolls fell, riddled with arrows, but others continued the 
charge, ignoring the shafts sticking out of them. 'I don't think we can 
count on their breaking and running just because their friends have been 
killed,' Sparhawk told Vanion and the others as he hauled himself onto 
Faran's back. 'Friends?' Stragen said mildly. 'Trolls don't have friends, 
Sparhawk. They aren't even particularly fond of their mates.' 

 'What I'm getting at is the fact that this is all going to be settled in 
one fight,' Sparhawk said to them. 'There probably won't be a second 
charge. They'll just keep coming until they break through or until they're 
all dead.' 

 'It's better that way, friend Sparhawk,' Kring said with a wolfish grin. 
'Protracted fights are boring, wouldn't you say?' 

 'I wouldn't say that, would you, ulath?' Tynian asked mildly. The knights 
moved into formation, their lances at the ready as the Trolls continued 
their bellowing advance. The first half-dozen or so Trolls that had been in 
the forefront of the charge were all down now, either dead or dying of 
arrow wounds, and the front rank of the bellowing horde was faltering as 
sheets of arrows struck them. The Trolls at the rear, however, simply ran 
over the top of their mortally wounded companions. Mouths agape and fangs 


dripping, they charged on and on. The sharpened stakes served their purpose 
well. The Trolls, after a few futile efforts to break through the bristling 
forest, were forced into the narrow corridor where they were jammed 
together and milled impatiently behind the brutes who were leading the 
charge as Tynian's sharpened pegs protruding from the ground slowed the 
rushing advance of the leaders. Not even the most enraged creature in the 
world charges very well on sore paws. Sparhawk looked around. The knights 
were drawn up into a column, four abreast, and their lances were all 
slightly advanced. The Trolls continued their limping charge up the gap 
until the first rank, also four abreast, reached the end of the stake-lined 
corridor where it opened out into the basin. 'I guess it's time,' he said. 
Then he rose up in his stirrups and roared 'Charge!' The tactic Sparhawk 
had devised for the Church Knights was simple. They would charge four 
abreast into the face of the Trolls as soon as the creatures came out into 
the basin. They would drive their lances into the first rank of Trolls and 
then veer off, two-by-two, to the sides of the gap so that the next rank of 
four could make their charge. Once they had moved out of the way, they 
would return to the end of the column, take up fresh lances and proceed in 
an orderly fashion to the front rank again. It was, in effect, an endless 
charge. Sparhawk was rather proud of the concept. It probably wouldn't work 
against humans, but it had great potential in an engagement with Trolls. 
Shaggy carcasses began to pile up at the head of the gap. A Troll, it 
appeared, was not guileful enough to play dead. He would continue to attack 
until he died or was so severely injured that he could not continue. After 
several ranks of the knights had struck the Trollfront, some of the brutes 
had as many as four broken-off lances protruding from them. Still the 
monsters came, clambering over the bleeding bodies of their fellows. 
Sparhawk, Vanion, Kalten and Tynian made their charge. They speared fresh 
Trolls in the raging front, snapped off their lances with well-practise 
twists of their arms and veered off to the sides. 'Your plan seems to be 
going well,' Kalten congratulated his friend. 'The horses have time to rest 
between charges.' 

 'That was part of the idea,' Sparhawk replied a bit 

smugly as he took a fresh lance from the rack at the rear of the column. 
The storm was nearly on them now. The howling wind shrieked among the 
trees, and lightning staggered down in brilliant flashes from the purple 
clouds. Then, from back in the forest there came a tremendous bellow. 'What 
in God's name was that?' Kalten cried. 'Nothing can make that much noise!' 
Whatever it was, was huge, and it was coming toward them, crushing the 
forest as it came. The raging wind carried a foul, reptilian reek as it 
tore at the visored faces of the armoured knights. 'It stinks like a 
charnel-house!' Tynian shouted over the noise of the storm and the battle. 
'Can you tell what it is, Vanion?' Sparhawk demanded. 'No,' the Preceptor 
replied. 'Whatever it is, it's big, though - bigger than anything I've ever 
encountered.' Then the rain struck in driving sheets, obscuring the 
knights' vision and half-concealing the advancing Trolls. 'Keep at them!' 
Sparhawk commanded,in a great voice. 'Don't let up.' The methodical charges 
continued as the Trolls doggedly pushed through the mud into the killing 
zone. The strategy was going well, but it had not been without casualties. 
Several horses were down, felled by club strokes from wounded and enraged 
Trolls, and a few armoured knights lay motionless on the rain-swept ground. 
Then the wind suddenly dropped, and the rain slackened as the calm at the 
centre of the storm passed over them. 'What's that?' Tynian shouted 
pointing beyond the howling Trolls: It was a' single, incandescent spark, 
brighter than the sun, and it hung just over the edge of the forest. It 


began to grow ominously, swelling, surging, surrounded by a blazing halo of 
purplish light. 'There's something inside it!' Kalten yelled. Sparhawk 
strained to see, squinting in the brilliant purple light that illuminated 
the battle-ground. 'It's alive,' he said tersely. 'It's moving.' The ball 
of purple light swelled faster and faster, and blazing orange flames shot 

out from the edges of it. There was someone standing in the centre of that 
fiery ball - someone robed and hooded and burning green. The figure raised 
one hand, opened it wide, and a searing bolt of lightning shot from that 
open palm. A charging Cyrinic Knight and his horse were blasted into 
charred fragments by the bolt. And then, from behind that searing light, an 
enormous shape reared up out of the forest. It was impossible that anything 
alive could be so huge. The head left no doubt that the creature was 
reptilian. The huge head was earlessly sleek, scaly and had a protruding, 
lipless muzzle filled with row after row of back-curving teeth. It had a 
short neck, narrow shoulders and tiny forepaws. The rest of the body was 
mercifully concealed by the trees. 'We can't fight that thing!' Kalten 
cried. The hooded figure within the ball of purple and orange fire raised 
its arm again. It seemed to clench itself, and then again the lightning 
shot from its open palm - and stopped, exploding in midair in a dazzling 
shower of sparks. 'Did you do that?' Vanion shouted at Sparhawk. 'Not me, 
Vanion. I'm not that faSt.' Then they heard the deep, resonant voice 
chanting in Styric. Sparhawk wheeled Faran to look. It was Zalasta. The 
silvery-haired Styric stood partway up the steep slope on the north side of 
the canyon, his white robe gleaming in the storm's half-light. He had both 
arms extended over his head, and his staff, which Sparhawk had thought to 
be no more than an affectation, blazed with energy. He swung the staff 
downward, pointing it at the hooded figure standing in its fiery nimbus. A 
brilliant spark shot from the tip of the staff and sizzled as it passed 
over the heads of the Peloi and the armoured knights to explode against the 
ball of fire. The figure in the fire flinched, and once more lightning shot 
from its open palm, directed at Zalasta this time. The Styric brushed it 
disdainfully aside with his staff and immediately responded with another of 
those brilliant sparks of light which shattered like the last on the 
surface of the ball of fire. Again the hooded one inside its protecting 
fire flinched, more violently this time. The gigantic creature behind it 
screamed and drew back into the darkness. The Church Knights, dumbfounded 
by the dreadful confrontation, had frozen in their tracks. 'We have our own 
work to attend to, gentlemen!' Vanion roared his reminder. 'Charge!' 
Sparhawk shook his head to clear his mind. 'Thanks, Vanion,' he said to his 
Friend. 'I got distracted there for a moment.' 

 'Pay attention, Sparhawk,' Vanion said crisply in precisely the same tone 
he had always used on the practice field years before when Sparhawk and 
Kalten had been novices. 'Yes, my Lord Preceptor,' Sparhawk replied 
automatically in the self-same embarrassed tone he had used as a stripling. 
The two looked at each other, and then they both laughed. 'Just like old 
times,' Kalten said gaily. 'Well then, why don't we go Troll-hunting and 
leave the incidentals to Zalasta?' The knights continued their endless 
charge and the two magicians continued their fiery duel overhead. The 
Trolls were no less savage now, but their numbers were diminished and the 
huge pile of their dead impeded their attack. The bloody work on the ground 
went on and on while the air above the battleground sizzled and crackled 
with awful fire. 'is it my imagination, or is our purple friend up there 
getting a little pale and wan?' Tynian suggested as they took up fresh 
lances once more. 


:His fire's beginning to fade just a bit,' Kalten agreed. 'And he's taking 
longer and longer to work himself up to another thunderbolt.' 

 'Don't grow over-confident, gentlemen,' Vanion admonished them. 'We still 
have Trolls to deal with, and that oversized lizard's still out there in 
the forest.' 
'I was trying very hard not to think about that,' Kalten replied. Then, 
very suddenly, as suddenly as it had expanded, ' the bit of purple-orange 
fire began to contract. Zalasta ' stepped up his attack, the fiery sparks 
shooting from his Staff in rapid succession to burst against the outer 
surface of that rapidly constricting nimbus like fiery hail. Then the 
blazing orb vanished. A cheer went up from the Peloi, and the Trolls 
chered. Khalad, his face strangely numb, set another javelin on his 
improvised engine and cut the rope to unleash 'his missile. The javelin 
sprang from the huge bow, and as it sped forward it seemed to ignite, and 
it blazed with light as it arced out higher and farther than any of the 
young man's previous shots had done. The great lizard rearing up out of the 
forest roared, its awful mouth gaping. And then the burning javelin took it 
full in the chest. It sank deep, and the hideous creature shrieked a great 
cry of agony and rage, its tiny forepaws clutching futilely at the burning 
shaft. And then there was a heavy, muffled thud within the monster's body, 
a confined explosion that shook the very ground. The vast lizard burst open 
in a spray of bloody fire, and its ripped remains sank twitching back into 
the forest. A nebulous kind of wavering appeared at the edge of the trees, 
a wavering very much like the shimmer of heat on a hot summer day, and then 
they all saw something emerging from that shimmer. It was a face only, 
brutish, ugly and filled with rage and frustration. The shaggy face sloped 
sharply back from its fang-filled muzzle, and the pig-like eyes burned in 
their sockets. It howled - a vast howl that tore at the very air. It howled 
again, and Sparhawk recoiled. The wavering apparition was bellowing in 
Trollish again it howled, its thunderous voice bending the trees around it 
like a vast wind. 'What in God's name is that?' Bevier cried. 'Ghworg,' 
Ulath replied tensely, 'the Troll-God of Kill. ' The immortal beast howled 
yet again, and then it vanished. 

CHAPTER 23 

All semblance of co-operation among the Trolls vanished with the 
disappearance of Ghworg. They were not, as Ulath had so frequently pointed 
out, creatures which normally ran in packs, and without the presence of the 
God to coerce them into semi-unity, they reverted to their customary 
antagonism toward each other. Their charge faltered as a number of very 
nasty fights broke out in their ranks. These fights quickly spread, and 
within moments there was a general brawl in progress out beyond the mouth 
of the canyon. 'Well?' Kalten asked Ulath. 'It's over,' the Genidian Knight 
shrugged, '- at least our part of it is. The riot among the Trolls 
themselves might go on for quite a while' , though.' Kring, it appeared, 
had reached the same conclusion, and his Peloi moved purposefully on the 
heaps of Trollish casualties, their sabres and lances at the ready. 'Khalad 
was still standing behind his roughly constructed engine, his face blank 
and his eyes unseeing. then he seemed to awaken. 'What happened?' he asked, 
looking around with some confusion. 'You killed that big reptile, my young 
friend,' Tynian told him. 'It was a spectacular shot.' 

 'I did? I don't remember even shooting at it. I thought it was out of 
range.' Zalasta had come down from the sloping side of the canyon with a 
look of satisfaction on his beetle-browed face. 'i'm afraid I had to 
override your thoughts for a few moments there, young sir,' he explained to 


Sparhawk's Squire. 'I needed your engine to deal with the thunder beast. I 
hope you'll forgive me, but there wasn't time to consult with you about 
it.' 

 'That's quite all right, learned one. I just wish I'd been able to see the 
shot. What kind of beast was it?' 

 'its species roamed the earth millions of years ago,' the Styric replied. 
'Before mankind or even the Trolls emerged. Our opponent appears to be very 
gifted in resurrecting the ancient dead.' 

 'Was that him inside that ball of fire?' Kalten asked. 'I can't be 
positive about that, Sir Kalten. It seems that we have many layers of 
enemies out there. If the one in the orb wasn't our main enemy, though, he 
was probably very high up in the opposing councils. He was most skilled.' 
'Let's see to the wounded,' Vanion said crisply. Despite his protestations 
that Sparhawk was now in charge of the Pandions, the habit of command still 
ran deep in Vanion's blood. 'We might want to barricade that gap as well,' 
Ulath suggested, 'just to keep the surviving Trolls from paying us any 
unannounced visits during the night.' 

 'I'll go advise the ladies that the worst of this is over,' Sparhawk told 
them. He turned Faran and rode back to the cave. He was a bit surprised and 
more than a bit exasperated to find Ehlana and the rest of the party from 
the cavern standing out in the open. 'I told you to stay in the cave,' he 
reprimanded his wife sharply. 'You didn't really expect me to do it, did 
you?' 

 'Yes, as a matter of fact, I did.' 

 'Life's just filled with these little disappointments, isn't it?' Her tone 
was challenging. 'That will do, children,' Sephrenia said wearily. 
'Domestic squabbles shouldn't be aired in public. Do your fighting in 
private.' 

 'We weren't fighting, were we, Sparhawk?' Ehlana said. 'We were just about 
to start.' 

 'i'm sorry, dear,' she apologised contritely. 'I couldn't bear to stay 
inside while you were in such terrible danger.' Then she made a wry face. 
'Right now I'm going to have to choke down my royal pride and eat a large 
dish of crow. I've wronged Zalasta dreadfully. He saved the day for us, 
didn't he?' 

 'He certainly didn't hurt us,' Talen agreed. 'He was stupendous!' the 
queen exclaimed. 'He's very, very skilled,' Sephrenia said proudly. Perhaps 
unconsciously, she was holding Danae in her arms. Their centuries of 
sisterhood had made the small Styric woman's responses instinctive. 'what 
was that awful face at the edge of the woods?' Sir Berit asked with a 
shudder. 'Ulath says it was Ghworg, the Troll-God of Kill,' Sparhawk 
replied. 'I sort of remember him from the Temple of Azash back in Zemoch. I 
didn't really look at him that closely then, though. I was a little 
preoccupied at the time.' He made a face. 'Well, little mother,' he said to 
Sephrenia, 'it looks as if we might have been right. I'd say that Ghwerig's 
spell wasn't quite as iron-clad as we originally thought. The Troll-Gods 
are loose - at least Ghworg is. But what baffles me is why they didn't 
escape earlier. If they could get out at any time, why didn't they break 
free when I threatened to smash Bhelliom in the temple?' maybe they needed 
help,' she shrugged. 'It's altogether possible that our enemy was able to 
enlist their aid by offering to help them escape their imprisonment. We'll 
ask Zalasta. He might know.' More of the knights had been injured during 
the fight with the Trolls than Sparhawk had originally thought, and some 
fifteen of there number had been killed. As evening settled into the 
canyon, Engessa came to Sparhawk, his eyes hard. 'I'll leave now, 
SparhawkKnight,' he said abruptly. Sparhawk looked at him, startled. 'I 


must go have words with the clan of this region. Their failure to be at the 

boundary was inexcusable.' 
'There was probably a reason for it, Atan Engessa.' 
'No reason that I'll accept. I'll be back in the morning with enough 

warriors to protect Ehlana-Queen.' 
'There are Trolls out there in the forest, you know.' 
'They will not greatly inconvenience me, SparhawkKnight.' 
'Just be careful, Atan Engessa. I'm getting very tired of burying 

friends.' Engessa suddenly grinned at him. 'That's one of the good things 
about fighting Trolls, Sparhawk-Knight. You don't have to bury dead 
friends. The Trolls eat them.' Sparhawk shuddered. Zalasta was clearly the 
hero of the day. All of the Peloi and most oF the Church Knights were 
obviously in awe of him. The vision of his explosive duel with the hooded 
figure in the blazing purple orb and the spectacular demise of the vast 
reptile was vividly etched on the minds of the entire party. He bore 
himself modestly, however, shrugging off his stunning accomplishments as if 
they were of no moment. He did, however, seem very pleased that Ehlana's 
animosity had dissolved and that she was now whole-heartedly cordial toward 
him. His somewhat stiff manner softened - Ehlana had that effect on people 

- and he became somehow less reserved and more human. 
Engessa arrived the next morning with a thousand Atan clansmen. The faces 
of their officers clearly showed that Engessa had spoken firmly with them 
about their failure to be at the clan-border at the appointed time. The 
wounded knights were placed on litters borne by Atan warriors, and the much 
enlarged party moved slowly on back to the road and continued eastward 
toward Lebas in Tamul proper. Hindered as they were by the wounded, they 
did not make good time - or so it seemed. After what had apparently been 
two full days of travel, Sparhawk spoke very briefly with his daughter, 
advising her that he needed to talk with her at some point while the minds 
of the others were asleep. When the blank faces of his companions indicated 
that Aphrael was compressing time again, he rode back to the 'carriage. 
'Please get right to the point, Sparhawk,' the little Goddess told him. 
'It's very difficult this time.' 

 'is it different somehow?' 

 'Of course it is. I'm extending the pain of the wounded, and that's very 
distasteful. I'm making them sleep as much as possible, but there are 
limits, you know.' 

 'All right then, how much of what happened back ' their was real?' 
'How could I possibly know that?' 
'you mean you can't tell' 


'well, of course I can't, Sparhawk. When we create an illusion, nobody can 
tell. It wouldn't be much of an illusion if someone could detect it, would 
it?' you said 'we'. If it was an illusion, there was a God behind it then?' 
'yes - either directly or indirectly. If it was indirectly, though, someone 
has a great deal of influence with whatever God was involved. We don't 
surrender that much power very often - or very willingly. Don't beat around 
the bush, Sparhawk. What's bothering you?') ' 

 'i don't really know, Aphrael,' he confessed. 'Something about it didn't 

seem quite right.' 
'Specifics, Sparhawk. I need something specific to work with.' 
'It just seemed to me that it was overdone, that's all. I got a distinct 

feeling that someone was just showing off. It was adolescent.' She 
considered that, her bow-like little mouth pouting. 'Maybe we are 
adolescent, Sparhawk. It's one of the dangers of our situation. There's 


nothing powerful enough to make us grow up, so we're at liberty to indulge 

ourselves. I've even noticed that in my own character. ' 
'You?' 
'Be nice, father.' She said it almost absently, her small black brows 

knitted in concentration. 'It's certainly consistent,' she added. 'Back in 
Astel, that Sabre fellow showed a rather profound lack of maturity, and he 
was being rather tightly controlled. You may just have hit upon one of our 
weaknesses, Sparhawk. I'd rather you didn't apply the notion to me 
directly, but keep the idea that we're all just a bit immature sort of in 
the front of your mind. I won't be able to see it myself, I'm afraid. If it 
is one of our failings, I'm just as infected with it as the others. We' all 
love to impress each other, and it's polite to be impressed when someone 
else is showing off.' She made a little face. 'It's automatic, I'm afraid. 
Keep a firm hold on your scepticism, Sparhawk. Your cold-eyed lack of 
gullibility might be very useful. Now please go back to sleep. I'm very 
busy right now.' They crossed the summit of the mountains of Atan and moved 
on down the eastern slopes toward the border. The demarcation between Atan 
and Tamul was abrupt and clearly evident. Atan was a wilderness of trees 
and rugged peaks, Tamul was a carefully-tended park. The fields were 
excruciatingly neat, and even the hills seemed to have been artfully 
sculpted to provide pleasing prospects and vistas. The peasantry seemed 
industrious, and they did not have that expression of hopeless misery so 
common on the faces of the peasants and serfs of the Elene Kingdoms. 
'Organisation, my dear Emban,' Oscagne was telling the fat little 
churchman. 'The key to our success lies in organisation. All power in Tamul 
descends from the emperor, and all decisions are made in Matherion. We even 
tell our peasants when to plant and when to harvest. I'll admit that 
central planning has its drawbacks, but the Tamul nature seems to require 
it.' 

 'Elenes, unfortunately, are much less disciplined, Emban replied. 'The 
Church would be happier with a more docile congregation, but we have to 
make do with what God gave us to work with.' He smiled. 'Oh, well, it keeps 
life interesting.' They reached Lebas late one afternoon. It was a small, 
neat city with a distinctly alien-looking architecture that leaned strongly 
in the direction of artistic embellishment. The houses were low and broad, 
with graceful mots that curved upward at the ends of their ridge-lines as 
if the architects felt' that abrupt straight lines were somehow' 
incomplete. The cobbled streets were broad and straight, and they were 
filled with citizens dressed in brightly coloured silks. The entrance of 
the westerners created quite a stir, since the Tamuls had never seen Elene 
knights before. It was the Queen of Elenia, however, who astonished them 
the most. The Tamuls were a golden-skinned, dark-haired people, and the 
pale, blonde queen filled them with awe as her carriage moved almost 
ceremonilly through the streets. Their first concern, of course, was the 
wounded. Oscagne assured them that Tamul physicians were among the finest 
in the world. It appeared, moreover, that the ambassador held a fairly 
exalted rank in the empire. A house was immediately provided for the 
injured knights, and a medical staff seemed to materialise at his command. 
Additional houses were provided for the rest of their company, and those 
houses were fully staffed with servants who could not understand a single 
word of the Elenic language. 'You seem to throw a great deal of weight 
around, Oscagne,' Emban said that evening after they 'had eaten an exotic 
meal consisting of course after course of unidentifiable delicacies and 
sometimes startling flavours. 'i'm not the overweight one, my friend,' 
Oscagne smiled. 'My commission is signed by the emperor, and his hand had 
the full weight of the entire Daresian continent behind it. He's ordered 


that all of Tamuli do everything possible - and even impossible - to make 
the visit of Queen Ehlana pleasant and convenient. No one ever disobeys his 
orders.' 

 'They must not have reached the Trolls then,' Ulath said blandly. 'Of 
course Trolls have a different view of the world than we do. Maybe they 
thought Queen Ehlana would be entertained by their welcome.' 

 'Does he have to do that?' Oscagne complained to Sparhawk. 'Ulath? yes, I 
think he does, your Excellency. It's something in the Thalesian nature terribly 

 obscure, I'm afraid, and quite possibly perverted.' 

 'Sparhawk.' Ulath protested. 'Nothing personal there, old boy,' Sparhawk 
grinned, just a reminder that I haven't yet quite forgiven you for 

all the times you've tricked me into doing the cooking when it wasn't 
really my turn.' 

'Hold still,' Mirtai commanded. 'You got some of it in my eye,' Talen 
accused her. 'It won't hurt you. Now hold still.' She continued to daub the 
mixture onto his face. 'What is that, Mirtai?' Baroness Melidere asked 
curiously. 'Saffron. We use it in our cooking. It's a kind of a spice.' 
'What are we doing here?' Ehlana asked curiously as she and Sparhawk 
entered the room to find the Atana spreading the condiment over Talen's 
face. 'We're modifying your page, my Queen,' Stragen explained. 'He has to 
go out into the streets, and we want him to be unobtrusive. Mirtai's 
changing the colour of his skin.' 

'You could do that with magic, couldn't you, Sparhawk?' Ehlana asked. 
'Probably,' he said, 'and if I couldn't, Sephrenia certainly could.' 

 'Now you tell me,' Talen said in a slightly bitter tone. 'Mirtai's been 
seasoning me for the past half hour.' 

 'You smell good, though,' Melidere told him. 'I didn't set out to be 
somebody's supper. Ouch.'

 'Sorry,' Alcan murmured, carefully disengaging her comb from a snarl in 
his hair. 'I have to work the dye in, though, or it won't look right.' 
Alcan was applying black dye to the young man's hair. 'How long will it 
take me to wash this yellow stuff off?' Talen asked. 'i'm not sure,' Mirtai 
shrugged. 'It might be permanent, but it should grow out in a month or so.' 
'I'll get you for this, Stragen,' Talen threatened. 'Hold still,' Mirtai 
said again and continued her daubing. 'We have to make contact with the 
local thieves,' Stragen explained. 'The thieves at Sarsos promised that 
we'd get a definite answer here in Lebas.' I see a large hole in the plan, 
Stragen,' Sparhawk replied. 'Talen doesn't speak Tamul.' 

 'That's no real problem,' Stragen shrugged. 'The chief of the local 
thieves is a Cammorian.' 

 'How did that happen?' 

 'We're very cosmopolitan, Sparhawk. All thieves are brothers, after all, 
and we recognise the aristocracy of talent. Anyway, as soon as he can pass 
for a Tamul, Talen's going to the local thieves' den to talk with Caalador 

- that's the Cammorian's name. He'll bring him here, and we'll be able to 
talk with him privately.' 
'Why aren't you the one who's going?' 
'And get saffron all over my face? Don't be silly, Sparhawk.' 

Caalador the Cammorian was a stocky, red-faced man with curly black hair 
and an open, friendly countenance. He looked more like a jovial innkeeper 
than a leader of thieves and cutthroats. His manner was bluff and good 
humoured, and he spoke in the typical Cammorian brawl and with the slovenly 


grammar that bespoke back-country origins. 'So yet the one oz has got all 
the thieves of Daresia so sore perplexed,' he said to Stragen when Talen 
presented him. 'I'll have to plead guilty on that score, Caalador, Stragen 
smiled. 'Don't never do that, brother. Alluz try'n lie yet way outten 
thangs.' 

 'I'll try to remember that. What are you doing so far 

from home, my friend?' 
'I nought ax you the same question, Stragen. It's a fur piece from here t' 

Thalesia.' 
'And quite nearly as far from Cammoria.' 
'Ain, that's easy explained, m' friend. I started out in life oz a 

poacher, ketchin' rabbits an' sick in the bushes on land that weren't 
rightly mine, but that's a sore hard kinda work with lotsar risk and mighty 
slim profit, so I tooken t' liftin' chickens outten hen-roosts - chickens 
not runnin' near oz fast oz rabbits, especial at night. Then I moved up t' 
sheep-stealing - only one night I had me a set-to with a hull passel o' 
sheep-dawgs which it wuz oz betrayed me real cruel by not stayin' bribed.' 
'How do you bribe a dog?' Ehlana asked curiously. 'Easiest thang in the 
world, little lady. Y thrum 'em some meat-scraps t' keep then attention. 
well, sir, them there dawgs tore into me somethin' fierce, an' I lit out 
leavin', misfortunate-like, a hat which it wuz I wuz partial 'to an' which 
it wuz oz could be rekonnized oz mine by half the parish. Now, I'm gist a 
country boy at hert 'thout no real citified ways t' get me by in town, an' 
so I tooken t' sea, an' t' make it short, I fetched up on this yore fu~n 
coast an' beat my way inland, the capting of the ship I wuz a-sailin' on 

wanhn' t' talk t' me 'bout some stuff oz had turnt up missin' tum the cargo 
hold, y' know.' He paused. 'Have I sufficiently entertained you as yet, 
Milord Stragen?' he grinned. 'Very, very good, Caalador,' Stragen murmured. 
'Convincing - although it was a tribe overdone.' 

 'A failing, Milord. It's so much fun that I get carried away. Actually, 
I'm a swindler. I've found that posing as an ignorant yokel disarms people. 
No one in this world is as easy to gull as the man who thinks he's smarter 
than you are.'

 'Ohh.' Ehlana's tone was profoundly disappointed. Wuz yet Majesty tooken 
with the iggernent way I wuz 'atalkin?' Caalador asked sympathetically. 
'I'll do 'er agm, iff'n yet of a mind - of course it takes a beastly long 
time to get to the point that way.' She laughed delightedly. 'I think you 
could charm the birds out of the bushes, Caalador,' she told him. Thank 
you, your Majesty,' he said, bowing with fluid grace. Then he turned back 
to Stragen. 'Your proposal has baffled our Tamul friends, Milord,' he said. 
'The demarcation line between corruption and outright theft is very clearly 
defined in the Tamul culture. Tamul thieves are quite class-conscious, and 
the notion of actually co-operating with the authorities strikes them as 
unnatural for some reason. Fortunately, we Elenes are far more corrupt than 
our simple yellow brothers, and Elenes seem to rise to the top in our 
peculiar society natural talent, most likely. We saw the advantages of your 
proposal immediately. Kondrak of Darsas was most eloquent in his 
presentation. You seem to have impressed him enormously. The disturbances 
here in Tamuli have been disastrous for business, and when we began 
reciting profit and loss figures to the Tamuls, they started to listen to 
reason. They agreed to co-operate grudgingly, I'll grant you, but they will 
help you to gather information.' 

 'Thank God!' Stragen said with a vast sigh of relief. 'The delay was 
beginning to make me very, very nervous.' 


 'Ye made promises t' yet queen, an' y' wuzn't shore 

iff'n y' could deliver, is that it?' 
'That's very, very close, my friend.' 
'I'll give you the names of some people in Matherion.' Caalador looked 

around. 'Private-like, if'n y' take my meanin',' he added. 'It's all vury 
well t' talk 'bout lendin' a helpin' hand an' sick, but 'taint hardly 
nach'ral t' be namin' no names right out in fronta no queens an' knights 
an' sick.' He grinned impudently at Ehlana. 'An' now, yet queenship, how'd 
y' like it iff'n I wuz t' spin y' a long, long tale 'bout my advenchoors in 
the shadowy world o' crime?' 

 'i'd be delighted, Caalador,' she replied eagerly. 

Another of the injured knights died that night, but the two dozen 
sorely-wounded seemed on the mend. As Oscagne had told them, Tamul 
physicians were extraordinarily skilled, although some of their methods 
were strange to Elenes. After a brief conference, Sparhawk and his friends 
decided to press on to Matherion. Their trek across the continent had 
yielded a great deal of' information, and they all felt that it was time to 
combine that information with the findings of the Imperial government. And 
so they set out from Lebas early one morning and rode south under a kindly 
summer sky. The countryside was neat, with crops growing in straight lines 
across weedless fields marked off with low stone walls. Even the trees in 
the woodlands grew in straight lines, and all traces of unfettered nature 
seemed to have been erased. The peasants in the fields wore loose-fitting 
trousers and shirts of white linen and tightly-woven straw hats that looked 
not unlike mushroom-tops. Many of the crops grown in this alien countryside 
were unrecognisable to the Elenes - odd-looking beans and peculiar grains. 
They passed Lake Sama and saw fishermen casting nets from strange-looking 
boats with high prows and sterns, boats of which Khalad profoundly 
disapproved. 'One good gust of wind from the side would capsize them,' was 
his verdic't. They reached Toea, some sixty leagues to the north of the 
capital, with that sense of impatience that comes near the end of every 
long journey. The weather held fair, and they set out early and rode late 
each day, counting off every league put behind them. The road followed the 
coast of the Tamul sea, a low, rolling coast-line where rounded hills rose 
from broad beaches of white sand and long waves rolled in to break and foam 
and slither back out into deep blue water. Eight days - more or less after 

 they left Toea, they set up for the night in a park-like grove with 
an almost holiday air, since Oscagne assured them that they were no' more 
than five leagues from Matherion. 'We could ride on,' Kalten suggested. 
'We'd be there by morning.' 
'Not on your life, Sir Kalten,' Ehlana said adamantly. 'Start heating 
water, gentlemen, and put up a tent we can use for bathing. The ladies and 
I are not going to ride into Matherion with half the dirt of Daresia caked 
on us - and string some lines so that we can hang our gowns out to air and 
to let the breeze shake the wrinkles out of them.' She looked around 
critically. 'And then, gentlemen, I want you to see to yourselves and your 
equipment. I'll inspect you before we set out tomorrow morning, and I'd 
better not find one single speck of rust. ' Kalten sighed mournfully. 'Yes, 
my Queen,' he replied in a resigned tone of voice. They set out the 
following morning in a formal column with the carriage near the front. 
Their pace was slow to avoid raising dust, and Ehlana, gowned in blue and 
crowned with gold and diamonds, sat regally in the carriage, looking for 
all the world as if she owned everything in sight. There had been one small 
but intense disagreement before they set out, however. Her Highness, the 


Royal Princess Danae, had objected violently when told that she would wear 
a proper dress and a delicate little tiara. Ehlana did not cajole her 
daughter about the matter, but instead she did something she had never done 
before. 'Princess Danae,' she said quite formally, 'I am the queen. You 
will obey me.' Danae blinked in astonishment. Sparhawk was fairly certain 
that no one had ever spoken to her that way before. 'Yes, your Majesty,' 
she replied finally in a suitably submissive tone. Word of their approach 
had preceded them, of course. Engessa had seen to that, and as they rode up 
a long hill about mid-afternoon, they saw a mounted detachment of 
ceremonial troops wearing armour of black 

lacquered steel inlaid with gold awaiting them at the summit. The honour 
guard was drawn up in ranks on each side of the road. There were as yet no 
greetings, and when the column crested the hill, Sparhawk immediately saw 
why. 'Dear God!' Bevier breathed in awed reverence. A crescent-shaped city 
embraced a deep blue harbour below. The sun had passed its zenith, and it 
shone down on the crown of Tamuli. The architecture was graceful, and every 
building had a dome-like, rounded roof. It was not so large as Chyrellos, 
but it was not the size which had wrung that referential gasp from Sir 
Bevier. The city was dazzling, but its splendour was not the splendour of 
marble. An opalescent sheen covered the capital, a shifting rainbowrhued 
fire that blazed beneath the surface of its very stones, a fire that at 
times blinded the eye with its stunning magnificence. 'Behold!' Oscagne 
intoned quite formally. 'Behold the seat of beauty and truth! Behold the 
home of wisdom and power! Behold fire-domed Matherion, the centre of the 
world!' 

CHAPTER 24 

'It's been that way since the twelfth century,' Ambassador Oscagne told 
them as they were escorted down the hill toward the gleaming city. 'Was it 
magic?' Talen asked him. The young thief's eyes were filled with wonder. 
'You might call it that,' Oscagne said wryly, 'but it was the kind of magic 
one performs with unlimited money and power rather than with incantations. 
The eleventh and twelfth centuries were a foolish period in our history. It 
was the time of the Micaen Dynasty, and they were probably the silliest 
family to ever occupy the throne. The first Micaen emperor was given an 
ornamental box of mother-of-pearl - or nacre, as some call it by an 
emissary from the Isle of Tega when he was about fourteen years old. 
History tells us that he would sit staring at it by the hour, paralysed by 
the shifting colours. He was so enamoured of the nacre he had his throne 
sheathed in the stuff.' That must have been a fair-sized oyster,' Ulath 
noted. Oscagne smiled. 'No, Sir Ulath. They cut the shells into little 
tiles and fit them together very tightly. Then they polish the whole 
surface for a month or so. It's a very tedious and expensive process. 
Anyway, the second Micaen emperor took it one step further and sheathed the 
columns in the throne-room. The third sheathed the walls,' and on and on 
and on. They sheathed the palace, then the whole royal compound. Then they 
went after the public buildings. After two hundred years, they'd cemented 
those little tiles all over every building in Matherion. There are low 
dives down by the waterfront that are more magnificent than the Basilica of 

Chyrellos. Fortunately the dynasty died out before they paved the streets 
with it. They virtually bankrupt the empire and enormously enriched the 
Isle of Tega in the process. Tegan divers became fabulously wealthy 
plundering the sea floor.' 


 'isn't mother-of-pearl almost as brittle as glass?' Khalad asked him. 'It 
is indeed, young sir, and the cement that's used to stick it to the 
buildings isn't all that permanent. A good wind-storm fills the streets 
with gleaming crumbs and leaves all the buildings looking as if they've got 
the pox. As a matter of pride, the tiles have to be replaced. A moderate 
hurricane can precipitate a major financial crisis in the empire, but we're 
saddled with it now. Official documents have referred to 'Fire-domed 
Matherion' for so long that it's become a cliche. Like it or not, we have 
to maintain this absurdity.' 

 'It is breath-taking, though,' Ehlana marveled in a slightly speculative 
tone of voice. 'Never mind, dear,' Sparhawk told her qu' ite firmly. 
'What?' 

'You can't afford it. Lenda and I almost come to blows every year 
hammering out the budget as it is.' 

 'I wasn't seriously considering it, Sparhawk,' she replied. 'Well - not 
too seriously, anyway,' she added. The broad avenues of Matherion were 
lined with cheering crowds that fell suddenly silent as Ehlana's carriage 
passed. The citizens stopped cheering as the Queen of Elenia went by 
because they were too busy grovelling to cheer. The formal grovel involved 
kneeling and touching the forehead to the paving-stones. 'What are they 
doing?' Ehlana exclaimed. 'Obeying the emperor's command, I'd imagine,' 
Oscagne replied. 'That's the customary sign of respect for the imperial 
person.' 

 'Make them stop!' she commanded. 'Countermand an imperial order? Me, your 
Majesty? Not very likely. Forgive me, Queen Ehlana, but I like my head 
where it is. I'd rather not have it displayed on a pole at the city gate. 
It is quite an honour, though. Sarabian's ordered the population to treat 
you as his equal. No emperor's ever done that before.'

 'And the people who don't fall down on their faces are punished?' Khalad 
surmised with a hard edge to his voice. 'Of course not. They do it out of 
love. That's the official explanation, of course. Actually, the custom 
originated about a thousand years ago. A drunken courtier tripped and fell 
on his face when the emperor entered the room. The emperor was terribly 
impressed, and characteristically, he completely misunderstood. He awarded 
the courtier a dukedom on the spot. People aren't banging their faces on 
the cobblestones out of fear, young man. They're doing it in the hope of 
being rewarded.' 

 'You're a cynic, Oscagne,' Emban accused the ambassador. 'No, )Emban, I'm 
a realist. A good politician always looks for the worst in people.' 
'Someday they may surprise you, your Excellency,' Talen predicted. 'they 
haven't yet.' 

The palace compound was only slightly smaller than the city of Demos in 
eastern Elenia. The gleaming central palace, of course, was by far the 
largest structure in the grounds. There were other palaces, however glowing 

 structures in a wide variety of architectural styles. Sir Bevier 
drew in his breath sharply. 'Good Lord!' he exclaimed. 'That castle over 
there is almost an exact replica of the palace of King Dregos in Larium.' 
'Plagiarism appears to be a sin not exclusively committed by poets,' 
Stragen murmured. 'Merely a genuflection toward cosmopolitanism, Milord,' 
Oscagne explained. 'We are an empire, after all, and we've drawn many 
different peoples under our roof. Elenes like castles, so we have a castle 
here to make the Elene Kings of the western empire feel more comfortable 
when they come to pay a call.' 

 'The castle of King Dregos certainly doesn't gleam in the sun the way that 
one does,' Bevier noted. 'That was sort of the idea, Sir Bevier,' Oscagne 


smiled. They dismounted in the flagstoned, semi-enclosed court before the 
main palace, where they were met by a horde of obsequious servants. 'What 
does he want?' Kalten asked, holding off a determined-looking Tamul garbed 
in crimson silk. 'Your shoes, Sir Kalten,' Oscagne explained. 'What's wrong 
with my shoes?' 

 'They're made of steel, Sir Knight.' 

 'So? I'm wearing armour. Naturally my shoes are made of steel.' 

'You can't enter the palace with steel shoes on your feet. Leather boots 
aren't even permitted - the floors, you understand.' 

 'Even the floors are made of sea-shells?' Kalten asked incredulously. 'i'm 
afraid so. We Tamuls don't wear shoes inside our houses, so the builders 
went ahead and tiled the floors of the buildings here in the imperial 
compound as well as the walls and ceilings. They didn't anticipate visits 
by armoured knights.' 

 'I can't take off my shoes,' Kalten objected, flushing. 'What's the 
problem, Kalten?' Ehlana asked him. 

'I've got a hole in one of my socks,' he muttered, looking dreadfully 
embarrassed. 'I can't meet an emperor with my toes hanging out.' He looked 
around at his companions, his face pugnacious. He held up one gauntleted 
fist. 'if anybody laughs, there's going to be a fight,' he threatened. 
'Your dignity's secure, Sir Kalten,' Oscagne assured him. 'The servants 
have down-filled slippers for us to wear inside.' 

 'I've got awfully big feet, your Excellency,' Kalten pointed out 
anxiously. 'Are you sure they'll have shoes to fit me?' 

 'Don't be concerned, Kalten-Knight,' Engessa said. 'if they can fit me, 
they can certainly fit you.' Once the visitors had been re-shod, they were 
escorted into the palace. There were oil lamps hanging on long chains 
suspended from the ceiling, and the lamplight set everything aflame. The 
shifting, rainbowhued colours of the walls, floors and ceiling of the broad 
corridors dazzled the Elenes, and they followed the servants all bemused. 
There were courtiers here, of course - no palace is complete without them and 

 like the citizens in the Streets outside, they groveled as the Queen of 
Elenia passed. 'Don't become too enamoured of their mode of greeting, 
love,' Sparhawk warned his wife. 'The citizens of cimmura wouldn't adopt it 
no matter what you ofFered them.' Don't be absurd, Sparhawk,' she replied 
tartly. 'I wasn't even considering it. Actually, I wish these people would 
stop. It's really just a bit embarrassing.'

 'that's my girl,' he smiled. They were offered wine and chilled, scented 
water to dab on their faces. The knights accepted the wine 
enthusiastically, and the ladies dutifully dabbed. 'you really ought to try 
some of this, father,' Princess Danae suggested, pointing at one of the 
porcelain basins of water. 'It might conceal the fragrance of your armour.' 
'She has a point, Sparhawk,' Ehlana agreed. 'Armour's supposed to stink,' 
he replied, shrugging. 'if an enemy's eyes start to water during a fight, 
it gives you a certain advantage.' 

 'I knew there was a reason,' the little princess murmured. Then they were 
led into a long corridor where mosaic portraits were inlaid into the walls, 
stiff probably idealised representations of long-dead emperors. A broad 
strip of crimson carpet with a golden border along each edge protected the 
floor of that seemingly endless corridor. 'Very impressive, your 
Excellency,' Stragen murmured to Oscagne after a time. 'How many more miles 
is it to the throne-room?' 

 'You are droll, Milord.' Oscagne smiled briefly. 'It's artfully done,' the 
thief observed, 'but doesn't it waste a great deal of space?' 

 'Very perceptive, Milord Stragen.' 


 'What's this?' Tynian asked. 'The corridor curves to the left,' Stragen 
replied. 'It's hard to detect because of the way the walls reflect the 
light, but if you look closely, you can see it. We've been walking around 
in a circle for the past quarter of an hour.'

 'A spiral, actually, Milord Stragen,' Oscagne corrected him. 'The design 
was intended to convey the notion of immensity. Tamuls are of short 
stature, and immensity impresses us. That's why we're so fond of the Atans, 
We're reaching the inner coils of the spiral now. The throne-room's not far 
ahead.' The corridors of shifting fire were suddenly filled with a brazen 
fanfare as hidden trumpeters greeted the queen and her party. That fanfare 
was followed by an awful screeching punctuated by a tinny clanking noise. 
Mmrr, nestled in her little mistress' arms, laid back her ears and hissed. 
'The cat has excellent musical taste,' Bevier noted, wincing at a 
particularly off-key passage in the 'music. 'i'd forgotten that,' Sephrenia 
apologised to Vanion. 'Try to ignore it, dear one.' 

 'I am,' he replied with a pained expression on his face. 'You remember 
that Ogress I told you about?' Ulath asked Sparhawk, 'The one who fell in 
love with that poor fellow up in Thalesia?' 

'Vaguely.' 
'When she sang to him, it sounded almost exactly like that.' 


'He went into a monastery to get away from her, didn't he?' 
'Yes.' 
'Wise decision.' 
'It's an affectation of ours,' Oscagne explained to them. 'The Tamul 

language is very musical when it's spoken. Pretty music would seem 
commonplace, even mundane - so our composers strive for the opposite 
effect.' 

 'i'd say they've succeeded beyond human imagination,' Baroness Melidere 
said. 'It sounds like someone's torturing a dozen pigs inside an iron 
works.' 

 'I'll convey your observation to the composer, Baroness,' Oscagne told 
her. 'i'm sure he'll be pleased.' 

 'i'd be pleased if his song came to an end, your Excellency. ' The vast 
doors that finally terminated the endlessseeming corridor were covered with 
beaten gold, and they swung ponderously open to reveal an enormous, domed 
hall. Since the dome was higher than the surrounding structures, the 
illumination in the room came through inch-thick crystal windows high 
overhead. The light poured down through those windows to set the walls and 
floor of Emperor Sarabian's throne room afire. The hall was of suitably 
stupendous dimensions, and the expanses of nacreous white were broken up by 
accents of crimson and gold. Heavy red velvet draperies hung at intervals 
along the glowing walls, flanking columnar buttresses inlaid with gold. A 
wide avenue of crimson carpet led from the huge doors to the foot of the 
throne, and the room was filled with courtiers, both Tamul and Elene. 
Another fanfare announced the arrival of the visitors, and the Church 
Knights and the Peloi formed up in military precision around Queen Ehlana 
and her party. They marched with ceremonial pace down that broad, carpeted 
avenue to the throne of his Imperial Majesty, Sarabian of Tamul. The ruler 
of half the world wore a heavy crown of diamond-encrusted gold, and his 
crimson cloak, open at the front, was bordered with wide bands of 
tightlywoven gold thread. His robe was gleaming white, caught at the waist 
by a wide golden belt. Despite the splendour of his throne-room and his 
clothing, Sarabian of Tamul was a rather ordinary-looking man. His skin was 
pale by comparison with the skin of the Atans, largely, Sparhawk surmised, 
because the emperor was seldom out of doors. He was of medium stature and 


build and his face was unremarkable. His eyes, however, were far more alert 

than Sparhawk had expected. When Ehlana entered the throne-room, he rose 
somewhat hesitantly to his feet. Oscagne looked a bit surprised. 'That's 
amazing,' he said. 'The emperor never stands to greet his guests.' 

 'Who are the ladies gathered around him?' Ehlana asked in a quiet voice. 
'His wives,' Oscagne replied, 'the Empresses of Tamuli. There are nine of 
them.' 

 'Monstrous!' Bevier gasped. 'Political expediency, Sir Knight,' the 
ambassador explained. 'An ordinary man has only one wife, but the emperor 
has to have one from each kingdom in the empire. He can't really show 
favouritism, after all. ' 

 'It looks as if one of the empresses forgot to finish dressing,' Baroness 
Melidere said critically, staring at one of the imperial wives, a 
sunny-faced young woman who stood naked to the waist with no hint that her 
unclad state caused her any concern. The skirt caught around her waist was 
a brilliant scarlet, and she had a red flower in her hair. Oscagne 
chuckled. 'That's our Elysoun,' he smiled. 'She's from the Isle of Valesia, 
and that's the costume or lack of it - customary among the islanders. She's 
a totally uncomplicated girl, and we all love her dearly. The normal rules 
governing marital fidelity have never applied to the Valesian Empress. It's 
a concept the Valesians can't comprehend. The notion of sin is alien to 
them.' Bevier gasped. 'Hasn't anyone ever tried to instruct them?' Emban 
asked..'Oh, my, yes, your Grace,' Oscagne grinned. 'Churchmen from the 
Elene kingdoms of western Tamuli have gone by the score to Valesia to try 
to persuade the islanders that their favourite pastime is scandalous and 
sinful. The churchmen are filled with zeal right at first, kut it doesn't 
usually last for very long. Valesian girls are all very beautiful and very 
friendly. Almost invariably, it's the Elenes who are converted. The 
Valesian religion seems to have only one commandment:. 'be happy'.' There 
are worse notions,' Emban sighed. your Grace!' Bevier exclaimed. 'Grow up, 
Bevier,' Emban told him. 'I sometimes think that our Holy Mother Church is 
a bit obsessive about certain aspects of human behaviour.' Bevier flushed, 
and his face Brew rigidly disapproving. The courtiers in the throne-room, 
obviously at the 

emperor's command, once again ritualistically grovelled as Ehlana passed. 
Practice had made them so skilled that dropping to their knees, banging 
their foreheads on the floor and getting back up again was accomplished 
with only minimal awkwardness. Ehlana, gowned in royal blue, reached the 
throne and curtseyed gracefully. The set look on her face clearly said that 
she would not grovel. The emperor bowed in response, and an astonished gasp 
ran through the crowd. The imperial bow was adequate, though just a bit 
stiff. Sarabian had obviously been practising, but bowing appeared not to 
come naturally to him. Then he cleared his throat and spoke at some length 
in the Tamul language, pausing from time to time to permit his official 
translator to convert his remarks into Elenic. 'Keep your eyes where they 
belong,' Ehlana murmured to Sparhawk. Her face was serene, and her lips 
scarcely moved. 'I wasn't looking at her,' he protested. 'Oh, really?' The 
Empress Elysoun had the virtually undivided attention of the Church Knights 
and the Peloi, and she quite obviously was enjoying it. Her dark eyes 
sparkled, and her smile was just slightly naughty. She stood not far from 
her Imperial husband, breathing deeply, evidently a form of exercise among 
her people. There was a challenge in the look she returned to her many 
admirers, and she surveyed them clinically. Sparhawk had seen the same look 
on Ehlanas face when she was choosing jewellery or gowns. He concluded that 


Empress Elysoun was very likely to cause problems. Emperor Sarabian's 
speech was filled with formalised platitudes. His heart was full. He 
swooned with joy. He was dumbstruck by Ehlana's beauty. He was quite 
overwhelmed by the honour she did him in stopping by to call. He thought 
her dress was very nice. Ehlana, the world's consummate orator, quickly 
discarded the speech she had been preparing since her departure from 
Chyrellos and responded in kind. She found Matherion quite pretty. She 
advised Sarabian that her life had now seen its crown (Ehlana's life seemed 
to find a new crown each time she made a speech). She commented on the 
unspeakable beauty of the imperial wives, (though making no mention of 
Empress Elysoun's painfully visible attributes). She also promised to swoon 
with joy, since it seemed to be the fashion here. She thanked him profusely 
for his gracious welcome. She did not, however, talk about the weather. 
,Emperor Sarabian visibly relaxed. He had clearly been apprehensive that 
the Queen of Elenia might accidentally slip something of substance into her 
speech which would have then obliged him to respond without consultation. 
He thanked her for her thanks. 

She thanked him for his thanks for her thanks. Then they stared at each 
other. Thanks for thanks for thanks can only be carried so far without 
becoming ridiculous.. , Then an official with an exaggeratedly bored look 
on his face cleared his throat. He was somewhat taller than the average 
Tamul, and his face showed no sign whatsoever of what he was thinking. It 
was with enormous relief that Emperor Sarabian introduced his prime 
minister, Pondia Subat. 'Odd name,' Ulath murmured after the emperor's 
remarks had been translated. 'I wonder if his close friends call him 
'Pondy'.' 

 'Pondia is his title of nobility, Sir Ulath,' Oscagne explained. 'It's a 
rank somewhat akin to that of viscount, though not exactly. Be a little 
careful of him, my lords. He is not your friend. He also pretends not to 
understand Elenic, but I strongly suspect that his ignorance on that score 
is feigned. Subat was violently opposed to the idea of inviting Prince 
Sparhawk to come to Matherion. He felt that to do so would demean the 
emperor. I've also been advised that the emperor's decision to treat Queen 
Ehlana as an equal quite nearly gave our prime minister apoplexy.' 

 'is he dangerous?' Sparhawk murmured. 'i'm not entirely certain, your 
Highness. He's fanatically loyal to the emperor, and I'm not altogether 
sure where that may lead him.' Pondia Subat was making a few remarks. 'He 
says that he knows you're fatigued by the rigours of the journey,' Oscagne 
translated. 'He urges you to accept the imperial hospitality to rest and 
refresh yourselves. It's a rather neat excuse to conclude the interview 
before anyone says anything that might compel the emperor to answer before 
Subat has a chance to prompt him.' 

 'It might not be a bad idea,' Ehlana decided. 'Things haven't gone badly 
so far. Maybe we should just leave well enough alone for the time being.' 
'I shall be Guided by you, your Majesty,' Oscagne said with a florid bow. 
Ehlana let that pass. After another effusive exchange between their 
Majesties, the prime minister escorted the visitors from the hall. just 
outside the door to the throne-room they mounted a flight of stairs and 
proceeded along a corridor directly to the far side of the palace, 
foregoing the 

pleasure of retracing their steps around and around the interminable 
spiral. Pondia Subat, speaking through an interpreter, pointed out features 
of interest as they progressed. His tone was deliberately off-hand, 
treating wonders as commonplace. He was not even particularly subtle about 


his efforts to put these Elene barbarians in their place. He did not quite 
sneer at them, but he came very close. He led them along a covered walk-way 
to the gleaming Elene castle, where he left them in the care of Ambassador 
Oscagne. 'is his attitude fairly prevalent here in Matherion?' Emban asked 
the ambassador. 'Hardly,' Oscagne replied. 'Subat's the leader of 'a vary 
small faction here at court. They're archconservatives who haven't had a 
new idea in five hundred years.' 

 'How did he become prime minister if his faction is so small?' Tynian 
asked. 'Tamuli politics are very murky, Sir Tynian. We serve at the 
emperor's pleasure, and he's in no way obliged to take our advice on any 
matter. Subat's father was a very close friend of Emperor Sarabian's sire, 
and the appointment of Subat as prime minister was more in the nature of a 
gesture of filial respect than a recognition of outstanding merit, although 
Subat's an adequate prime minister - unless something unusual comes up. 
Then he tends to go all to pieces. Cronyism's one of the major drawbacks of 
our form of government. The head of our church has never had a pious 
thought in his life. He doesn't even know the names of our Gods.' 

 ')'Wait a minute,' Emban said, his eyes stunned. 'Are you trying to say 
that ecclesiastical positions are bestowed by the emperor?' 

 'Of course. They are positions of authority, after all, and Tamul emperors 
don't like to let authority of any kind out of their hands.' They had 
entered the main hall of the castle, which, with the exception of the 
gleaming nacre that covered every exposed surface, was very much like the 
main hall of every Elene castle in the world. 'The servants here are 
Elenes,' Oscagne told them, 'so 

you should have no difficulty explaining your needs to them. I trust you'll 
excuse me now. I must go make my report to his Imperial Majesty.' He made a 
face. 'i'm not really looking forward to it, to be honest with you. Subat's 
going to be standing at his Majesty's elbow making light of everything I 
say.' He bowed to Ehlana, then turned and left. 'We've got problems here, I 
think,' Tynian observed. 'All this formality's going to keep us away from 
the emperor, and if we can't tell him what we've discovered, he's not 
likely to give us the freedom of movement we're going to need.' 

 'And the antagonism of the prime minister's going to make things that much 
worse,' Bevier added. 'It rather looks as if we've come half-way round the 
world to offer our help only to be confined in this very elaborate prison.' 
'Let's feel things out a bit before we start getting obstreperous,' Emban 
counseled. 'Oscagne knows what he's doing, and he's seen almost everything 
we've seen. I think we can count on him to convey the urgency of the 
situation to Sarabian.' 

 'if you have no need of us, your Majesty,' Stragen said to Ehlana, 'Talen 
and I should go make contact with the local thieves. If we're Going to be 

tied up in meaningless formalities here, we'll need some help in gathering 
information.' 

 'How do you plan to communicate with them?' Khalad asked him. 'Matherion's 
a very cosmopolitan place, Khalad. Caalador directed me to several Elenes 
who carry quite a bit of weight with the local thieves.'

 'Do what you must, Stragen,' Ehlana told him, 'but don't cause any 
international incidents.' 

 'Trust me, your Majesty,' he grinned. 

The royal apartments in the castle were high up in a central tower. The 

castle was purely ornamental, of course, but since it was a faithful 


reproduction of an Elene fort, the builders had unwittingly included 
defensive features they probably hadn't even recognised. Bevier was quite 
pleased with it. 'I could defend the place,' he judged. 'About all I'd need 
would be a few vats of pitch and some engines and I could hold this castle 
for several years.' 

 'Let's hope it doesn't come to that, Bevier,' Ehlana replied. Later that 
evening, when Sparhawk and his extended family had said good night to the 
others and retired to the royal apartment, the Prince consort lounged in a 
chair by the window while the ladies did all those little things ladies do 
before going to bed. Many of those little ~ceremonies had clearly practical 

reasons behind them, others ~were totally incomprehensible. 'i'm sorry, 
Sparhawk,' Ehlana was saying, 'but it concerns me. If the Empress Elysoun's 
as indiscriminately predatory as Oscagne suggests, she could cause us a 
'-.:.great deal of embarrassment. Take Kalten, for example. Do you believe 
that he'd decline the kind of offers she's 
likely to make particularly 

 in view of her costume?' 

 'I'll have a talk with him,' Sparhawk promised. ly hand,' Mirtai 
suggested. 'Sometimes it's a little ')'.hard to get Kalten's attention when 
he's distracted.' SHe's vulgar,' Baroness Melidere sniffed.'she's very 
Pretty though, Baroness,' Alcan added, 'And she's not really flaunting her 
body. She knows it's there, of course, but I think she just likes to share 
it with people. She's generous more than vulgar.' 

 'Do you suppose we could talk about something else?' Sparhawk asked them 
in a pained tone. There was a light knock on the door, and Mirtai went to 
see who was asking admittance. As always, the Atana had one hand on a 
dagger-hilt when she opened the door. It was Oscagne. He was wearing a 
hooded cloak, and 

he was accompanied by another man similarly garbed. The two stepped inside 
quickly. 'Close the door, Atana,' the Ambassador hissed urgently, his 
usually imperturbable face stunned and his eyes wild. 'What's your problem, 
Oscagne?' she asked bluntly. 'Please, Atana Mirtai, close the door. If 
anybody finds out that my friend and I are here, the palace will fall down 
around our ears.' She closed the door and bolted it. A sudden absolute 
certainty came over Sparhawk, and he rose to his feet. 'Welcome, your 
Imperial Majesty,' he greeted Oscagne's hooded companion. Emperor Sarabian 
pushed back his hood. 'How the deuce did you know it was me, Prince 

Sparhawk?' he asked. His Elenic was only slightly accented. 'I know you 
couldn't see my face.' 

 'No, your Majesty,' Sparhawk replied, 'but I could see Ambassador 
Oscagne's. He looked very much like a man holding a live snake.'

 'I've been called a lot of things in my time,' Sarabian laughed, 'But 
never that.' 

 'Your Majesty is most skilled,' Ehlana told him with a little curtsy. 'I 
didn't see a single hint on your face that you understood Elenic. I could 
read it in Queen Betuana's face, but you didn't give me a single clue.' 
'Betuana speaks Elenic?' He seemed startled. 'What 

an astounding thing.' He removed his cloak. 'Actually, your Majesty,' he 
told Ehlana, 'I speak all the languages of the Empire - Tamul, Elenic, 
Styric, Tegan, Arjuni, Valesian and even the awful language they speak in 
Cynesga. It's one of our most closely Guarded state secrets. I even keep it 
a secret from my government, just to be on the safe side.' He looked a bit 


amused. 'I gather that you'd all concluded that I'm not quite bright,' he 
suggested. 'You fooled us completely, your Majesty,' Melidere assured him. 
He beamed at her. 'Delightful girl,' he said. 'I adore fooling people. 
There are many reasons for this subterfuge, )my friends, but they're mostly 
political and not really very nice. Shall we get to the point here? I can 
only be absent for a short period of time without being missed.' 


 'We are, as they say, at your immediate disposal, your Majesty,' Ehlana 
told him. 'I've never understood that phrase, Ehlana,' he confessed. 'You 
don't mind if we call each other by name, do you? All those 'your 
Majesties' are just too cumbersome. Where was I? Oh, yes - 'immediate 
disposal'. It sounds like someone running to carry out the trash.' his 
words seemed to tumble from his lips as if his tongue were having 
difficulty keeping up with his thoughts. 'The point of this visit, my dear 
friends, is that I'm more or less the prisoner of custom and tradittion
here in Matherion. My role is strictly defined, and for me to overstep
certain bounds causes earthquakes that can be felt from here to the Gulf of 
Daconia. I could ignore those earthquakes, but our common enemy could 
probably feel them too, and we don't want to alert him.' Truly,' Sparhawk 
agreed. please don't keep gaping at me like that, Oscagne,' Sarabian told 
the ambassador. 'I didn't tell you that I was really awake when most of you 
thought I was sleeping because it wasn't necessary for you to know before. 
Now it is. Snap out of it, man. The foreign minister has to be able to take 
these little surprises in his stride.' 


 'It's just taking me a little while to re-adjust my thinking, your 


Majesty.' 
'You thought I was an idiot, am I right?' 
'Well -' 
'You were supposed to think so, Oscagne - you and Subat and all the other 


ministers. It's been one of my main defences - and amusements. Actually, 
old boy, I'm something of a genius.' He smiled at Ehlana. 'That sounds 
immodest, doesn't it? But it's true, nonetheless. I learned your language 
in three weeks, and Styric in four. I can find the logical fallacies in the 
most abstruse treaties on Elene theology, and I've probably read - and 
understood - just about everything that's ever been written. My most 
brilliant achievement, however, has been to keep all that a secret. The 
people who call themselves my government - no offence intended, Oscagne 
seem to be engaging in some vast conspiracy to keep me in the dark. They 
only tell me things they think I'll want to hear. I have to look out of a 
window to get an accurate idea of the current weather. They have the 
noblest of motives, of course. They want to spare me any distress, but I 
really think that someone ought to tell me when the ship I'm riding in is 
sinking, don't you?' Sarabian was still talking very fast, spilling out 
ideas 


as quickly as they came to him. His eyes were bright, and he seemed almost 
on the verge of laughing out loud. He was obviously tremendously excited. 
'Now then,' he rushed on, 'we must devise a means of communicating without 
alerting everyone in the palace down to and including the scullery boys in 
the kitchen to what we're doing. I desperately need to know what's really 
going on so that I can bring my towering intellect to bear on it.' That 
last was delivered with selfdeprecating irony. 'Any ideas?' 


 'What are your feelings about magic, your Majesty?' Sparhawk asked him. 'I 
haven't formed an opinion yet, Sparhawk.' 
'It won't work then,' Sparhawk told him. 'You have to believe that the 
spell's going to work, or it'll fail.' 
'I might be able to make myself believe,' Sarabian said just a bit 


dubiously. That probably 'wouldn't do it, your Majesty,' Sparhawk told him. 
'The spells would succeed or not depending on your mood. We need something 
a bit more certain. There are things we'll need to tell you that will be so 
important that we won't be able to just trust to luck.' 

 'My feelings exactly, Sparhawk. That defines our problem then. We need an 
absolutely certain method of passing information ' back and forth that 

can't be detected. My experience tells me that it has to be something so 
commonplace that nobody will pay any attention to it.' 

 'Exchange gifts,' Baroness Melidere suggested in an offhand way. i'd be 
delighted to send you gifts, my dear Baroness,' Sarabian smiled. 'Your eyes 
quite stop my heart, but -' She held up one hand. 'Excuse me, your 
Majesty,' She told him, 'but nothing is more common than the exchange of 
gifts between ruling monarchs. I can carry little mementos from the queen 
to you, and the ambassador here can carry yours to her. After we've run 
back and forth a few times, nobody will pay any attention to us. We can 
conceal messages in those gifts, and no one will dare to search for them.' 
Where did you find this wonderful girl, Ehlana?' Sarabian demanded. 'i'd 
marry her in a minute - if I didn't already have nine wives - oh, 
incidentally, Sparhawk, I need to talk with you about that - privately, 
perhaps.' He looked around. 'Can anyone see any flaws in the baroness's 
plan?' 

 'Just one,' Mirtai said, 'but I can take care of that.' 

 'What is it, Atana?' the excited emperor asked. 'Someone may still have 
suspicions about this exchange of gifts - particularly if there's a steady 
stream of them. He might try to intercept Melidere, but I'll escort her 
back and forth. I'll personally guarantee that no one will interfere.' 
'Excellent, Atana! Capital! We'd better get back, Oscagne. Subat misses me 
terribly when I'm not where he expects me to be. Oh, Sparhawk please 
designate several of your knights to entertain my wife, Elysoun.' 

 'I beg your Majesty's pardon?' 

 'Young preferably handsome and with lots of stamina - you know the type.' 
'Are we talking about what I think we're talking about, your Majesty?' 

 'Of course we are. Elysoun enjoys exchanging gifts and favours too, and 
she'd be crushed if no one wanted to play with her. She's terribly shrill 
when she's unhappy. For the sake of my ears, please see to it, old boy.' 
'Ah - how many, your Majesty?' 
'A dozen or so should suffice, I expect. Coming, Oscagne?' And the emperor 
of Tamuli rushed to the door. 

CHAPTER 25 

'its a characteristic of people with a certain level of intelligence, your 
Majesty,' Zalasta advised Ehlana. 'They talk 'very fast because their ideas 
are spilling over. Emperor Sarabian may not be quite as brilliant as he 
thinks he is, but his is a mind to be reckoned with. The amazing thing is 
that he's managed to keep it a secret from everybody in his government. 
Those people are usually so erratic and excitable that they trip themselves 
'uP.' They were all gathered in the royal apartment to discuss the previous 
night's startling revelation. Ambassador Oscagne had arrived early, 
bringing with him a diagram of the hidden passageways and concealed 
listening posts inside the Elene castle which was their temporary home. A 
half-dozen spies had been rooted out and politely but firmly invited to 
leave. 'There's nothing 'really personal involved, your Majesty,' Oscagne 
apologised to Ehlana. 'It's just a matter of policy.' I understand 
completely, your Excellency,' she replied graciously. Ehlana wore an 


emerald green gown this morning, and she looked particularly lovely. is 
your espionage system very well-developed, your excellency?' Stragen asked. 
'No, not really, Milord. Each bureau of the government has its spies, but 
they spend most of their time spying on each other. We're far more nervous 
about our coleagues than we are about foreign visitors.' Their's no 
centralised intelligence service, then?' 

' i'm afraid not, Milord.' 

 'Are we sure we cleaned all the spies out?' Emban asked, looking a bit 
nervously at the gleaming walls. 'Trust me, your Grace,' Sephrenia smiled. 
'I didn't follow that, I'm afraid.' 

 'She wiggled her fingers, Patriarch Emban,' Talen said dryly. 'She turned 
all the spies we didn't catch into toads.'

 'Well, not exactly,' she amended, 'but if there are any spies left hiding 
behind the walls, they can't hear anything.' 

 'You're a very useful person to have around, 

Sephrenia,' the fat little churchman observed. 'I've noticed that myself,' 
Vanion agreed. 'Let's push on here,' Ehlana suggested. 'We don't want to 
overuse our subterfuge, but we will want to exchange a few gifts with 
Sarabian just to make sure that no one's going to intercept our 'messages 
and to get the courtiers in the hallways accustomed to seeing Melidere 
trotting back and forth with trinkets.' 
'I won't really trot, your Majesty,' Melidere objected. 'I'll swish 

 seductively. I've found that a man who's busy watching your hips

 doesn't pay too much attention to what the rest of you is doing.' 

 'Really?' Princess Danae said. 'I'll have to remember that. Can you show 
me how to swish, Baroness?' 

 'You're going to have to grow some hips first, Prin-cess,' Talen told her. 
Danae's eyes went suddenly dangerous. 'Never mind,' Sparhawk told her. She 
ignored him. 'I'll get you for that, Talen,' she threatened. 'I doubt it, 
your Highness,' he replied impudently. 'I can still run faster than you 
can.' 

 'We have another problem,' Stragen told them. 'The absolutely splendid 
plan I conceived some months ago fell all to pieces on me last night. The 
local thieves aren't going to be much help, I'm afraid. They're even worse 
than Caalador led us to believe back in Lebas. Tamul society's so rigid 
that my colleagues out there in the streets can't think independently. 
There's a certain way that thieves are supposed to behave here, and the 
ones we met last night are so hide-bound that they can't get around the 
stereotyPes. The Elenes in the local thieves' community are creative 
enough, but the Tamuls are hopelessly inept.' 

 'That's certainly the truth,' Talen agreed. 'They don't even try to run 
when they're caught stealing. They just stand around waiting to be taken 
into custody. It's the most immoral thing I've ever heard of.' 

 'We might be able to salvage something out of it,' Stragen continued. 
'I've sent for Caalador. Maybe he can talk some sense into them. What 
concerns me the most is their absolute lack of any kind of organisation. 
The thieves don't talk to the murderers, the whores don't talk to the 
beggars and nobody talks to the swindlers. I can't for the life of me see 
how they survive.' That's bad news,' Ulath noted. 'We were counting on the 
thieves to serve as our spy-network.' leCs hope that Caalador can fix it,' 
Stragen said. 'The fact that there's no central intelligence-gathering 
apparatus in the government makes those thieves crucial to our plans.' 
'Caalador will be able to talk some sense into them,' Ehlana said. 'I have 
every confidence in him.' That's probably because you like to hear him 
talk,' Sparhawk told her. , 'Speaking of talking,' Sephrenia said, 'I think 


our efforts here are going to be limited by the fact that most of you don't 
speak Tamul. we're going to have to do ~something about that.' Kalten 
groaned. It won't be nearly as painful this time, dear one,' she said. 'We 
don't really have the time for you to actually learn the language, so 
Zalasta and I are going to cheat.' 

 'Could you clarify that a bit for me, Sephrenia?' Emban said, looking 
Puzzled. 'We'll cast a spell,' she shrugged. 'Are you trying to say that 
you can teach somebody a foreign language by magic?' he asked. 'Oh, yes,' 
Sparhawk assured him. 'She taught me to speak Troll in about five seconds 
in Ghwerig's cave, and I'd imagine that Troll's a lot harder to learn than 
Tamul. At least Tamuls are human.' 

 'We'll have to be careful, though,' the small Styric woman cautioned. 'if 
you all appear to be linguistic geniuses, it's going to look very curious. 
We'll do it a bit at a time - a basic vocabulary and a rudimentary grammar 
right at first, and then we'll expand on that.' 

 'I could send you instructors, Lady Sephrenia,' Oscagne offered. 'Ah - no, 
thanks all the same, your Excellency. Your instructors would be startled and 

 suspicious - if they suddenly found a whole platoon of extraordinarily 
gifted students. We'll do it ourselves in order to conceal what we're up 
to. I'll give our pupils here abominable accents right at first, and then 
we'll smooth things out as we go along.'

 'Sephrenia?' Kalten said in a slightly resentful tone. 'Yes, dear one?' 
'You can teach people languages by magic?' 

'Yes.' 

 'Then why did you spend all those years trying to teach me Styric? When 
you saw that it wasn't going to work, why didn't you just wiggle your 
fingers at me?' 

 'Kalten dear,' she said gently, 'why was I trying to teach you Styric?' 
'So that I could perform magic tricks, I guess,' he shrugged. 'That's 
unless you just enjoy making people suffer.' 

 'No, dear one. It was just as painful for me as it was for you.' She 
shuddered. 'More painful, probably. You were in fact, trying to learn 
Styric so that you could work the spells, but in order to do that, you have 
to be able to think in Styric. You can't just mouth the words and make them 
come off the way you want them to.' 

 'Wait a minute,' he objected. 'Are you saying that people who speak other 
languages don't think the same way we do?' 

 'They may think the same way but they don't think in the same words.' 

 'Do you mean to say that we actually think in words?' 

 'Of course we do. What did you think thoughts were?'

 'I don't know. But we're all human. Wouldn't we all think the same way and 
in the same language?' She blinked. 'And which language would that be, dear 
one?' 

 'Elenic, naturally. That's why foreigners aren't as clever as we are. They 
have to stop and translate their thoughts from Elenic into that barbarian 
gabble they call language. They do it just to be stubborn, of course.' She 
stared at him suspiciously. 'You're actually serious, aren't you?' 

 'Of course. I thought everybody knew that's why Elenes are smarter than 
everybody else.' His face shone with blinding sincerity. 'Oh, dear,' she 
sighed in near-despair. 

Melidere put on a lavender gown and swished off to the emperors private 
apartments bearing a blue satin Elene doublet over one arm. Mirtai followed 
her.. Mirtai did not swish. Melidere's eyes were ingenuously wide. Her 
expression was vapid. Her lower lip was adorably taught between her teeth 
as if she were breathless with excitement. Emperor Sarabian's courtiers 


watched the swishing with great interest. Nobody paid the slightest 
attention to what she did with her hands. She delivered the gift to the 
emperor with a breathy little speech, which Mirtai translated. The emperor 
responded quite formally. Melidere curtseyed and then swished back to the 
Elene castle. The courtiers still concentrated on the swishing - even 
though they had already had plenty of opportunity to observe the process. 
'It went off without a hitch,' the Baroness reported smugly. 'Did they 
enjoy the swishing?' Stragen asked her. 

'I turned the entire court to stone, Milord Stragen,' she laughed. 'Did she 
really?' he asked Mirtai. 'Not entirely,' the Atana replied. 'A number of 
them followed her so that they could see more. Melidere's a very good 
swisher. What was going on inside her gown looked much like two cats 
fighting inside a burlap sack.' 

 'We should use the talents God gave us, wouldn't you say, your Grace?' the 
blonde girl asked Emban with mock piety. 'Absolutely, my child,' he agreed 
without so much as cracking a smile. Ambassador Oscagne arrived about 
fifteen minutes later bearing an alabaster box on a blue velvet cushion. 
Ehlana took the emperor's note out of the box and read aloud: 

Ehlana, Your message arrived safely. I get the impression that the members 
of my court will not merely refrain from interfering with the Baroness as 
she moves through the halls but will passionately defend her right to do 
so. How does the girl manage to move so many things all at the same time? Sarabian. 'W 
ell,' Stragen asked the honey-blonde girl, 'how do you?' 

 'It's a gift, Milord Stragen. 

The visiting Elenes made some show of receiving instruction in the Tamul 
language for the next few weeks, and Oscagne helped their subterfuge along 
by casually advising various members of the government that he had been 
teaching the visitors the language during their long journey. Ehlana made a 
brief speech in Tamul at one of the banquets the prime minister had 
arranged for the guests in order to establish the fact that she and her 
party had already achieved a certain level of proficiency. There were 
awkward moments, of course. On one occasion Kalten grossly offended a 
courtier when he smilingly delivered what he thought to be a well-turned 
compliment. 'What's the matter with him?' the blond Pandion asked, looking 
puzzl'ed as the courtier stalked away. 'What were you tryin'g to say to 
him?' Mirtai asked, stifling a laugh. 'I told him that I was pleased to see 
that he was smiling,' Kalten replied. 'That's not what you said. 'Well, 
what did I say?' you said, 'May all of your teeth fall out.' 

' 
'I used the wrong word for 'smiling', right?' 
'i'd say so, yes.' The pretense of teaming a new language provided the 


queen and her entourage with a great deal of leisure time. The official 
functions and entertainments they were obliged to attend usually took place 
in the evening, and that left the days generally free. They passed those 
hours in idle conversation - conducted for the most part in Tamul. The 
spell Sephrenia and Zalasta had woven gave them all a fairly complete 
understanding of vocabulary and syntax, but the smoothing out of 
pronunciation took somewhat longer. As Oscagne had predicted he would, the 
prime minister threw obstacles in their paths at every turn. Insofar as he 
could, he filled their days with tedious and largely meaningless 
activities. They attended the openings of cattle-shows. They were awarded 
honorary degrees at the university. They visited model farms. He provided 
them with huge escorts whenever they left the imperial compound - escorts 


that usually took several hours to form up. Pondia Subat's agents put that 
time to good use, clearing the streets of precisely the people the visitors 
wanted to see. Most troublesome, however, was the fact that he severely 
restricted there access to Emperor Sarabian. Subat made himself as 
inconvenient as he possibly could, but he was unprepared for Elene 
ingenuity and the fact that many in their party were not entirely what they 
seemed to be. Talen in particular seemed to completely baffle the prime 
ministers agents. As Sparhawk had noticed long ago, it was quite nearly 
impossible to follow Talen in any city in the world. The young man had a 
great deal of fun and gathered a great deal of information. On one drowsy 
afternoon, ) Ehlana and the ladies were in the royal apartments, and the 
queen's maid, Alcan, was speaking as Kalten and Sparhawk quietly entered. 
'It's not uncommon,' the doe-eyed girl was saying quietly. 'It's one of the 
inconveniences of being a servant.' As usual, Alcan wore a severe dress of 
muted grey. 'Who was he?' Ehlana's eyes were like flint. 'It's not really 
important, your Majesty,' Alcan replied, looking slightly embarrassed. 
'Yes, Alcan,' Ehlana disagreed, 'it is.' 

 'It was Count Osril, your Majesty. 'I've heard of him.' Ehlana's tone was 

frosty. 'So have I.' Melidere's tone was just as cold. 'I gather that the 
Count's reputation is unsavoury?' Sephrenia asked. 'He's what's' referred 
to as a rake, Lady Sephrenia,' Melidere replied. 'He wallows in debauchery 
of the worst kind. He boasts that he's saving God all the inconvenience of 
condemning him, since he was born to go to hell anyway.' 

 'My parents were country people,' Alcan continued, 'so they didn't know 
about the count's reputation. They thought that placing me in service to 
him would give me the opportunity of a lifetime. It's the only real chance 
a peasant has for advancement. I was fourteen and very innocent. The count 
seemed friendly at first, and I considered myself lucky. Then he came home 
drunk one night, and I discovered why he'd been so nice to me. I hadn't 
received the kind of training Mirtai had, so there was nothing I could do. 
I cried afterward, of course, but all he did was laugh at my tears. 
Fortunately, nothing came of it. Count Osril customarily turned pregnant 
maids out with nothing but the clothes on their backs. After a few times, 
he grew tired of the game. He paid me my salary and gave me a good 
recommendation. I was fortunate enough to find employment at the palace.' 
She smiled a tight, hurt little smile. 'Since there were no after-effects, 
I suppose it doesn't really matter all that much. ' 

 'It does to me,' Mirtai said bleakly. 'You have my word that he won't 
survive my return to Cimmura by more than a week.' 

 'if you're going to take that long, you'll miss your chance, Mirtai,' 
Kalten told her almost casually. 'Count Osril won't see the sunset of the 
day when I get back to Cimmura, I promise you.' 

 'He won't fight you, Kalten,' Sparhawk told his friend. 'He won't have any 
choice,' Kalten replied. 'I know any number of insults that no man can 
swallow - and if they don't work, I'll start slicing pieces off him. If you 
cut off a man's ears and nose, he almost has to reach For his sword probably 

 because he doesn't know what you plan to cut off next.' 
'You'll get arrested.' 
'That's no problem, Sparhawk,' Ehlana said, grimly. 'I'll pardon him.' 


'You don't have to do that, Sir Kalten,' Alcan murmured, her eyes downcast. 
'Yes,' Kalten replied in a stony voice, 'as a matter of fact, I do. I'll 
bring you one of his ears after I've finished with him - just to prove that 
I've kept my promise.' Sparhawk fully expected the gentle girl to react 
with violent revulsion to her protector's brutal offer. She did not, 
however. She smiled warmly at Sparhawk's friend. 'That would be very nice, 



sir Kalten,' she said. 'Go ahead, Sephrenia,' Sparhawk said to his tutor. 
'Roll your eyes and sigh. I might even agree with you this time.' 
'Why should I do that, Sparhawk?' she asked. 'I think Sir Kalten's come up 
with a very appropriate course of action.' 
'You're a savage, little mother,' he accused. 'So?' 

Later that afternoon, Sparhawk and Kalten had joined the other knights in 
the gleaming great hall of the counterfeit Elene castle. The knights had 
put aside their fOrmal armour and now wore doublets and hose. 'It wouldn't 
take very much,' Sir Bevier was saying. 'The walls are really very sturdy, 
and the fosse is already in place. The drawbridge is functional, though the 
capstans that raise it need some grease. All we really need to finish it 
off are sharpened stakes in the fosse.' 

 'And a few barrels of pitch?' Ulath suggested. 'I know how much you 
Arcians enjoy pouring boiling pitch on people.' 

 'Gentlemen,' Vanion said disapprovingly, 'if you start reinforcing the 
defences of this place, our hosts may take it the wrong way.' He thought 
about it for a moment. 'It might not hurt to quietly lay in a goodly supply 
of stakes, though,' he added, 'and maybe a number of barrels of lamp-oil. 
It's not quite as good as pitch, but it won't attract so much attention 
when we bring it inside. I think we might also want to start unobtrusively 
bringing in provisions. There are quite a lot of us, so concealing the fact 
that we're filling storerooms shouldn't be too hard. Let's keep it all 
fairly low-key, though.' 

 'What are you contemplating, Vanion?' Emban asked. 'just a few simple 
precautions, your Grace. Things are unstable here in Tamuli, and we have no 
way of knowing what might happen. Since we've got a perfectly good castle, 
we might just as well give it a few finishing touches - just in case.' 

 'is it just my imagination, or does it seem to anybody else that this is a 
very, very long summer,' Tynian asked suddenly. Sparhawk became very alert. 
Someone had been bound to notice that eventually, and if they really 
pursued the matter and started counting days, they'd be certain to uncover 
the fact that someone had been tampering with time. 'It's a different part 
of the world, Tynian,' he said easily. 'The climate's bound to be 
different.' 

 'Summer is summer, Sparhawk, and it's not supposed to last forever.' 

 'you can never tell about climate,' Ulath disagreed, 'particularly along a 
sea-coast. There's a warm current that runs up the west coast of Thalesia. 
It can be the dead of winter' in Yosut on the east coast, and only 
mid-autumn in Horset.' Good old Ulath, Sparhawk thought with some relief. 
'It still seems a little strange to me,' Tynian said dubiously. 'Lots of 
things seem strange to you, my friend,' Ulath smiled. 'You've turned down 
any number of invitations I've sent you to go Ogre-hunting with me.' 

 'Why kill them if you're not going to eat them?' Tynian shrugged. 'You 
didn't eat any of those Zemochs you killed.' 

 'I didn't have a good recipe for cooking them.' They all laughed and let 
the subject drop, and Sparhawk breathed a bit easier. Talen came into the 
hall then. As usual, he had almost routinely shaken off the agents of the 
prime minister that morning and gone out into the city. 'Surprise, 
surprise,' he said dryly. 'Krager's finally made it to Matherion. I was 
starting to worry about him.' that does it!' Sparhawk burst out, slamming 
his fist down on the arm of his chair. 'That man's starting to make me very 
tired.' 

 'We didn't really have the time to chase him down before, my Lord,' Khalad 
pointed out. 'Maybe we should have taken the time. I was sure of that when 
we saw him back in Sarsos. We're settled in now, though, so let's devote a 


little time and energy to rooting him out. Draw some pictures of him, 

Talen. Spread them around and promise a reward.' 
'I know how to go about it, Sparhawk.' 
'Do it then. I want to put my hands on that drunken little weasel. There's 

all kinds of information inside that sodden skin of his, and I'm going to 
wring him out until I've got the very last drop of it.' 

 'Testy, isn't he?' Tynian said mildly to Kalten. 'He's been having a bad 
day,' Kalten shrugged. 'He discovered a streak of brutality in his 
women-folk, and it upset him.' 

'Oh?' 

 'There's a nobleman in Cimura who needs killing. When I get home, I'm 
going to slice off his ears before I butcher him. The ladies all thought it 
was a wonderful idea. Their approval shattered a number of Sparhawk's 
illusions.' 

 'What's the fellow done?' 
'It's a private matter.' 
'Oh. Well, at least Sephrenia agreed with him.' 
'No, as a matter of fact, she was even more bloodthirsty than the rest. 


She went so far as to offer some suggestions later on that even made Mirtai 

turn pale.' 
'The fellow really must have done something awful.' 
'He did indeed, my friend, and I'm going to give him hours and hours to 

regret it.' Kalten's blue eyes were like ice, and his nostrils were white 
and pinched with suppressed fury. 'I didn't do it, Kalten,' Tynian told 
him, 'so don't start looking at me like that.' 

 'Sorry,' Kalten apologised. 'Just thinking about it makes my blood boil.' 
'Don't think about it then.' 

Their accents were still rough, Sephrenia had seen to that, but their 
understanding of the Tamul language was very nearly perfect. 'Are we 
ready?' Sparhawk asked his tutor one evening. Unless you plan to make 
speeches, Prince Sparhawk,' Emperor Sarabian, who was paying them another 
of those whirlwind visits, said. 'Your accent is really vile, you know.' 
i'm going out there to listen, your Majesty,' Sparhawk told him, 'not to 
talk. Sephrenia and Zalasta are hiding our proficiency behind the accents.' 
'I wish you'd told me you could do this, Zalasta,' Sarabian said just a bit 
wistfully. 'You could have saved me months of time when I was studying 
languages, you know.' 

 'Your Majesty was keeping your studies a secret,' Zalasta reminded him. 'I 
didn't know you wanted to learn other tongues.' 
'Caught by my own cleverness then,' Sarabian shrugged. 'Oh, well. What 
precisely are we planning?'

 'We're going to winnow through your court, your Majesty,' Vanion told him. 
'Your government's compartmentalised, and your ministers keep secrets from 
each other. That means that no one really has a grasp of the whole picture. 
We're going to fan out through the various compartments and gather up 
everything we can find. When we put it all together, we might be able to 
see some patterns starting to emerge.' Sarabian made a sour face. 'It's my 
own fault,' he confessed. 'Please don't be cryptic, Sarabian,' Ehlana told 
him. The two monarchs were good friends by now, largely because the emperor 
had simply pushed all formalities aside and had spoken directly and had 
insisted that Ehlana do the same. 'I blundered, Ehlana,' he said ruefully. 
'Tamuli's never faced a real crisis before. Our bureaucrats are more clever 
than the subject peoples, and they have the Atans to back them up. The 
imperial family's always been more afraid of its own government than of 
outsiders. We don't encourage co-operation between the various ministries. 


I seem to be reaping the fruit of a misguided policy. When this is all 
over, I think I'll fix it.' 

 'my government doesn't keep secrets from me,' Ehlana told him smugly. 
'Please don't rub it in,' he said. 'What exactly are we looking for, Lord 
Vanion?' 

 'We observed a number of phenomena on our way to Matherion. Our guess is 
that we're facing an alliance of some sort. We know - or at least we have 
good evidence - about who one of the parties is. We need to concentrate on 
the other now. We're at a distinct disadvantage until we can identify him. 
If it's all right with you, your Majesty, Queen Ehlana and Prince Sparhawk 
will be spending a great deal of time with you. That means that you're 
going to have to have a long talk with your prime minister, I'm afraid. 
Pondia Subat's starting to be inconvenient.' Sarabian raised one eyebrow 
questioningly. 'He's done everything he possibly can to make you 
inaccessible to us, Sarabian,' Ehlana explained. 'He was told not to do 
that,' Sarabian said bleakly. 'Apparently he didn't listen, your Majesty,' 
Sparhawk said. 'We have to wade through his people whenever we get near the 
main palace, and every time one of us so much as sticks his head out of a 
window, whole platoons of spies start to form up to follow us. Your prime 
minister doesn't approve of us, I gather.'

 'It rather looks as if I'm going to have to explain some things to the 
esteemed Pondia Subat,' Sarabian said. 'I think he's forgotten the fact 
that his office isn't hereditary _ and that his head's not so firmly 
attached that I can't have it removed if it starts to inconvenience me.' 
What charges would you bring against him, Sarabian?' Ehlana asked 
curiously. 'Charges? What on earth are you talking about, Ehlana? This is 
Tamuli. I don't need charges. I can have _his head chopped off if I decide 
that I don't like his harrcut. I'll take care of Pondia Subat my friends. I 
can promise his complete co-operation from now on - either his or that of 
his successor. Please continue, Lord 

Vanion.' Vanion pushed on. 'Patriarch Emban will concentrate his attention 
on the prime minister,' he said, 'whoever he happens to be. Sir Bevier will 
spend his time with the faculty of the university. Scholars pick up a great 
deal of information, and governments tend to ignore their findings - until 
it's too late. Ulath, Kring and Tynian will observe the general staff of 
the army - the Tamul high command rather than the Atans. Atan Engessa will 
cover his own people. Milord Stragen and Talen will serve as liaison with 
the thieves of Matherion, and Alcan and Khalad will circulate among the 
palace servants. Sephrenia and Zalasta will talk with the local Styric 
community and Melidere and Sir Berit will charm all the courtiers. ' 

 'isn't Sir Berit just a bit young?' Sarabian asked. 'My courtiers are a 
very sophisticated group of people.' 
'Sir Berit has some special qualifications, your Majesty.' Melidere 
smiled. 'The younger women of your court - and some not quite so young will 

 do almost anything for him. He may have to sacrifice his virtue a few 
times, but he's a very dedicated young man, so I'm sure we can count on 
him.' Berit blushed. 'Why do you always have to say things like that, 
Baroness?' he asked plaintively. 'i'm only teasing', Berit,' she said 
fondly. 'It's something that men don't understand, your Majesty,' Kalten 
told the emperor. 'Berit has a strange effect on young women for some 
reason.' 

 'Kalten and Mirtai will attend Sparhawk and the queen,' Vanion continued. 
'We don't know exactly how far our opponents might be willing to go, so 
they'll provide you with some additional protection.' 

 'And you, Lord Vanion?' the emperor asked. 


'Vanion and Oscagne are going to try to put it all together, Sarabian,' 
Ehlana replied. 'We'll all bring everything we find directly to them. 
They'll sort through it all and isolate the gaps so that we'll know where 
to concentrate further efforts.' 

 'You Elenes are a very methodical people,' Sarabian noted. 'It's an 
outgrowth of their dependency on logic, your Majesty,' Sephrenia told him. 
'Their plodding search for corroboration is maddening sometimes, but it 
does get results. A well-trained Elene will spend half a day making 
observations before he'll allow himself to admit that it's raining.' 

 'Ah,' Emban said to her, 'but when an Elene says that it's raining, you 
can be absolutely sure that he's telling you the truth.' 

 'And what about you, your Highness?' Sarabian smiled down at the little 
girl in his lap. 'What part are you going to play in this grand scheme?' 
'i'm supposed to distract you so that you don't ask too 'many questions, 
Sarabian,' Danae replied quite calmly. 'your new friends are going to do 
things that aren't really proper, so I'm supposed to keep you from 
noticing.' 

 'Danae.' her mother exclaimed. 'well, aren't you? You're going' to lie to 
people and 'spy on them and probably kill anybody who gets in your way. 
Isn't that what you mean when you use the word ~politics'?' Sarabian 
laughed. 'I think she's got you there, ' ) )'Ehlana,' he chortled. 'Her 
definition of politics is a little ' ))Nurrt, but it's very close to the 
mark. She's going to 'make an excellent queen.' 
'.')~)') Thank you, Sarabian,' Danae said sweetly, kissing his cheek. 
'-)'~'.' Then Sparhawk felt that sudden chill, and even though he knew it 
was useless, his hand went to his sword-hilt as the flicker of darkness 
tugged at the very corner of his vision. He started to swear - half in 
Elenic and half in Tamul - as he realised that everything they had said had 
just been revealed to the shadowy presence that had been dogging their 
steps for all these months. 

Chapter 26 
% 
used to try to sneak around and spy on people. That's why Martel had to 
finally hire Krager.' 

 'Who's Adus?' Sarabian asked. 'A fellow we used to know, your Majesty,' 
Kalten replied. 'He wasn't of much use as a spy. Everybody for a hundred 
yards in any direction knew when Adus was around. He didn't believe in 
bathing, so he had a distinctive fragrance.' 

 'is that at all possible?' Vanion asked Sephrenia. 'Could Kalten have 
aCtUally come up with the right answer?'

 'Vanion.' Kalten objected. 'Sorry, Kalten. That didn't come out exactly 
the way I'd intended. Seriously though, Sephrenia, could our visitor be 
unaware of the shadow he's casting?' 

 'Anything's possible, I suppose, dear one.' 

'A visual stink?' Ulath suggested incredulously. 'I don't know if I'd use 
that exact term, but -' Sephrenia looked at Zalasta. 'is it possible?' 

 'It would explain the phenomenon,' he 'replied after pondering the notion 
for a moment. 'The Gods are remarkable - not only in the depth of their 
understanding, but also in their limitations. It could very well be that 
our visitor doesn't know that we can smell him when he pays a call - if I 
may borrow Sir Ulath's metaphor. He may actually believe that he's totally 
invisible to us - that his spying is going unnoticed.' Bevier was shaking 
his head. 'We always talk about it right after it happens,' he disagreed. 


'He'd have heard us, so he has to know that he's giving himself away.' 

 'Not necessarily, Bevier,' Kalten disagreed. 'Adus didn't know that he 
smelled like a cesspool, and it's not really the sort of thing one admits 
to oneself. Maybe this shadow's the same sort of thing - a kind of socially 
unacceptable offensiveness, like bad breath or poor table-manners.' . ' 
'There's a fascinating idea,' Patriarch Emban laughed. 'We could 
extrapolate a complete book of divine etiquette from this one single 
incident.' 

 'To what purpose, your Grace?' Oscagne asked him. 'The noblest of 
purposes, your Excellency - the greater understanding of God. Isn't that 
why we're here?' 

'i'm not sure that a dissertation on the table-manners of the Gods would 
significantly advance the sum of human knowledge, Emban,' Vanion observed. 
'Might we prevail on your Majesty to smooth our way into the inner circles 
of your government?' 

 'Smooth or rough, Lord Vanion,' Sarabian grinned, I'll insert you into the 
ministries. After I've straightened Pondia Subat out, I'll take on the 
other ministers '- one by one or row by row. I think it's time they all 
found out just exactly who's in charge here.' He suddenly laughed with 
delight. 'i'm so glad you decided to stop by, Ehlana. You and your friends 
have made me realise that I've been sitting on absolute power for all these 
years, and yet it's never occurred to me to use it. I think it's time to 
pull it out, dust it off and wave it around just a bit.' 

 'Oh, dear,' Oscagne said, his face suddenly filled with chagrin. 'What 
have I done?'. 

'We got this yore problem, Stragen,' Caalador drawled in Elenic. 'These 
yore yaller brothers o' our ain't tooken eth th' notion o' steppin'cross no 
social boundaries.' 

 'Pllease, Caalador,' Stragen said, 'spare me the folksy ebie. Get to the 
point.' -'))~'))taint really natch'ral, Stragen.' 

 'do you mind?' 

Talen, Stragen and Caalador were meeting in a cell near the waterfront. It 
was mid-morning, and the local thieves were beginning to stir. 'As you've 
already discovered, the brotherhood here in Matherion's afflicted with a 
caste system,' Caalador continued. 'The thieves' guild doesn't talk to the 
swindlers, and the beggars guild doesn't talk to the whores - except in the 
line of business, of course - and the murderer's guild is totally outcast.' 
'Now that there's realnt on-match-mal,' Talen observed. 'Don't do that, 
Talen,' Stragen told him. 'One of you is bad enough. I couldn't bear two. 
Why are the murderers so despised?' 

 'Because they violate one of the basic precepts of Tamul culture,' 
Caalador shrugged. 'They're paid assassins actually, and they don't bow and 
scrape to their victims before they cut their throats. The concept of 
courtesy overwhelms Tamuls. They don't really object to the notion of 
someone murdering noblemen or hire. It's the rudeness of it all that upsets 
them.' Caalador shook his head. 'That's one of the reasons so many Tamul 
thieves get caught and beheaded. It's considered impolite to run away.' 
'Unbelievable,' Talen murmured. 'It's worse than we thought, Stragen. If 
these people don't talk to each other, we'll never get any information out 
of them.' 

 'I think I warned you not to expect too much here in Matherion, my 
friends,' Caalador reminded them. 'Are the rest of the ' guilds afraid of 
the murderers?' Stragen asked. 'Oh, yes,' Caalador replied. 'We'll start 


from there then. What's the general feeling about the emperor?' 

 'Awe, generally, and a level of adoration that hovers right on the verge 
of outright worship.' 

 'Good. Get in touch with the murderers' guild. When Talen brings you the 
word, have the cutthroats round up the heads of the other guilds and bring 
them to the palace.' 

 'What are we a-fixin' t' do here, m' friend?' 

 'I'll speak with the emperor and see if I can persuade him to make a 
speech to our brothers,' Stragen shrugged. 'Have you lost your mind?' 

 'Of course not. Tamuls are completely controlled by custom, and one of 
those customs is that the emperor can suspend customs.' 

 'Were you able to follow that?' Caalador asked Talen. 'I think he lost me 
on that sharp turn right there at the end.'

 'Let's see if I've got this straight,' Caalador said to the blond 
Thalesian. 'You're going to violate every known propriety of the criminal 
culture here in Matherion by having the murderers kidnap the leaders of the 
other guildS.' 

 'Yes,' Stragen admitted. Then you're going to have them all taken to the 
palace compound, where they're absolutely forbidden to go. ' 

 'yes.' Then you're going to ask the emperor to make a speech to a group of 
people whose very existence he's not even supposed to know about.' 

 'That's more or less what I had in mind.'

 'And the emperor's going to command them to suspend aeons-old custom and 
tradition and start cooperating with each other?' is there some problem 
with that?' 

 'No, not really. I just wanted to be sure I had it all down straight in my 
mind, that's all.' , 'See to it, would you, old boy?' Stragen asked. 'i'd 
probably better go talk with the emperor.' 

~Sephrenia sighed.. 'You're being childish, you know,' -she said. Salla's 
eyes bulged. 'How dare you?' he almost screamed. The Styric elder's face 
had gone white. 'You forget yourself, Elder Salla,' Zalasta told the 
outraged man. 'Councillor Sephrenia speaks for the Thousand. Will you defy 
them? And the Gods they represent?' 

 'The Thousand are misguided!' Salla blustered. 'There can never be an 
accommodation between Styricum and the pig-eaters!' 

 'That's for the Thousand to decide,' Zalasta told him in a flinty tone. 
'But look at what the Elene barbarians have done to us,' Salla said, his 
voice choked with outrage. 'You've lived out your whole life here in the 
Styric quarter in Matherion, Elder Salla,' Zalasta said. 'You've probably 
never even seen an Elene.' 

 'I can read, Zalasta.' 

 'i'm delighted to hear it. We're not really here for ' discussion, 
however. The High Priestess of Aphrael is conveying the instruction of the 
Thousand. Like it or not, you're compelled to obey.' Salla's eyes filled 
with tears. 'They've murdered us!' he choked. 'You seem to be in remarkably 
good condition for a man who's been murdered, Salla,' Sephrenia told him. 
'Tell me, was it painful?' 

 'You know what I mean, PrieSteSS.' 

 'Ah, yes,' she said, 'that tiresome Styric compulsion to expropriate pain. 
Someone on the far side of the world stabs a Styric, and you start to 
bleed. You sit here in Matherion in protected luxury feeling sorry for 
yourself and secretly consumed with a gnawing envy that you're being denied 
martyrdom. Well, if you want to be a martyr so badly, Salla, I can arrange 
it for you.' Sephrenia was coldly angry with this babbling fool. 'The 
Thousand has made its decision,' she said flatly. 'I don't really have to 


explain it to you, but I will - so that you can convey the decision to your 
followers - and you will explain it, Salla. You'll be very convincing about 
it, or I'll replace you.' 

 'I hold my position for life,' he declared defiantly. 'Precisely my 
point.' Her tone was ominous. He stared at her. 'You wouldn't!' he gasped. 
try me.' Sephrenia had wanted to say that to someone for years. She found 
it quite satisfying. 'It goes like this, Salla - feel free to stop me if I 
start going too fast for you. The Elenes are savages who are looking for an 
excuse to kill every Styric they see. If we don't assist them in this 
crisis, we'll be handing them that excuse on a velvet cushion. We' will 
assist them, because if we don't, they'll slaughter every Styric on the 
Eosian continent. We don't want them to do that, do we?' 

'But -' 

 'Salla, if you say 'but' to me one more time, I'll obliterate you.' She 
was startled to discover just how enjoyable it was to behave like an Elene. 
'I've given you the instruction of the Thousand, and the Thousand speaks 
for the Gods. The matter is not open for discussion, so quit trying to 
snivel or wriggle your way out of this. You will obey, or you will die. 
Those are your options. Choose quickly. I'm in a bit of a hurry.' Even 
Zalasta seemed shocked at that. 'your Goddess is cruel, councillor 
Sephrenia,' Salla accused. She hit him before she even thought about it, 
her hand and arm seeming to move all on their own. She -had spent 
Generations with the Pandion Knights, and 'she knew how to get her shoulder 
behind the blow. It ' was more than an ineffectual slap. She caught him 
sol'lidly on the point of the chin with the heel of her hand, and he reeled 
back, his eyes glazed. ')Sephrenia began to intone the words of the deadly 
incantation, her hands moving quite openly in the accompanying gestures. 'I 
won't do that, Sephrenia.' Aphrael's voice rang sharply in her mind. 'I 
know,' Sephrenia threw back the thought. 'i'm just trying to get his 
Attention, that's all.' Salla gasped as he realised what she was doing. 
Then he screamed and fell to his knees, blubbering and begging for mercy. 
'Will you do as I have commanded you to do?' she snapped. 

%'Yes, Priestess yes please don't kill me!' 

 'I have , youF¿ the spell, but I have not cancelled it. I can finish it 
at any time. Your heart lies in my fist, Salla. Keep that firmly in mind 
the next time you feel an urge to insult my Goddess. Now get up and go do 
as you're told. Come along, Zalasta. The smell of selfpity in here 
nauseates me.' 

 'You've grown hard, Sephrenia,' Zalasta accused when they were back out in 
the narrow ,streets of the Styric quarter. 'I was bluFfing, my old friend,' 
she told him. 'Aphrael would never have responded to the spell.' She 
touched her forearm gingerly. 'Do you happen to know where I might find a 
good physician, Zalasta? I think I've just sprained my wrist.' 

'Not very impressive, are they?' Ulath suggested as he, Tynian and Kring 
walked back across the neatlytrimmed grounds of the imperial compound 
toward the Elene castle. 'Truly,' Kring agreed. 'They seem to spend all 
their time thinking about parades.' The three of them were returning from 
their meeting with the Imperial High Command. 'They're all show,' the Domi 
concluded. 'There's no substance to them. 'Uniformed courtiers, ' Ulath 
dismissed the Tamul general staff. 'I'll agree,' Tynian concurred. 'The 
Atans are the real military force in Tamuli. Decisions are made by the 
government, and the general staff simply passes those decisions on to the 
Atan commanders. I began to have some doubts about the effectiveness of the 
imperial army when they told me that rank is hereditary. I wouldn't want to 


rely on them in the event of an emergency. ' 

 'That's God's own truth, friend Tynian,' Kring said. Their cavalry general 
took me to the stables and showed me what they call horses here.' He 
shuddered. 'Bad?' Ulath asked. 'Worse than bad, friend Ulath. Their mounts 
wouldn't even make good plough-horses. I wouldn't have believed that horses 
could get that fat. Anything faster than a walk would kill the poor 
beasts.' 

 'Are we agreed then?' Tynian ' asked them. 'The imperial army is totally 
useless?' 

 'I think you're flattering them, Tynian,' Ulath replied. ~ 'We'll have to 
phrase our report rather carefully,' the Alsione Knight told his 
companions. 'We probably shouldn't offend the emperor. Could we say 
'undertrained?'' That's the truth certainly,' Kring answered. 'How about 
'unversed in modern tactics and strategY?'' 

 ''no argument there,' Ulath grunted.. ''Poorly equipped?'' That's not 
exactly true, friend Tynian,' Kring disagreed. 'Their equipment is of very 
good quality. It's probably the best twelfth-century equipment I've ever 
,.seen.'''all right,' Tynian laughed, 'how about 'archaic 

: weaponry? ''

 'I could accept that,' the Domi conceded. 'You'd rather not mention 'fat, 
lazy, stupid or inept I gather?' Ulath asked. 'That might be just a shade 
undiplomatic, Ulath.' 

 'True, though,' Ulath said mournfully. Pondia Subat did not approve. Emban 
and Vanion could sense that, although the prime minister's face and manner 
remained diplomatically bland. Emperor Sarahian had, as promised, spoken at 
length with his prime minister, and Pondia Subat was going out of his way 
to be co-operative and to conceal his true feelings. 'The details are very 
commonplace, my Lords,' he said deprecatingly, but then, the details of 
day-to-day government always are, aren't they?' 

 'Of course, Pondia,' Emban shrugged, 'but when 

taken in the mass, the accretion of detail conveys the sense of governing 
style, wouldn't you say? From what I've seen so far this morning, I've 
already reached certain conclusions.' 

 'Oh?' Subat's tone was neutral. 'The guiding principle here seems to be 
the protection of the emperor,' Emban told him. 'That principle's very 
familiar to me, since it's identical to the one that dominates our thinking 
in Chyrellos. The government of the Church exists almost entirely to 
protect the Archprelate.' 

 'Perhaps, your Grace, but you'll have to admit that 

there are differences.' 

 'Oh, of course, but the fact that Emperor Sarabian's not as powerful as 
Archprelate Dolmant doesn't really change things.' Subat's eyes widened 
slightly, but he instantly gained 

control of his expression. 'I realise that the concept is alien to you, 
Pondia,' 

Emban continued smoothly, but the Archprelate speaks for God, and that 
makes him the most powerful man on earth. That's an Elene perception, of 
course, and it may have little or nothing to do with reality. So long as we 
all believe it, though, it is true. That's what those of us in church 
government do. We devote a great deal of our effort to making sure that all 


Elenes continue to believe that Dolmant speaks for God. So long as they 
believe that, the Archprelacy's safe.' The fat little churchman considered
it. 'if you don't mind an observation, Pondia Subat, your central problem 
here in Matherion stems from the fact that you Tamuls have a secular turn 
of mind. Your church has been diminished, probably because you can't bring 
yourselves to accept the notion that any authority might equal or exceed
that of the emperor. You've erased the element of faith from your national 
character. Scepticism is all very well and good, but it tends to get out of 
hand. After you've applied it to God - or your Gods - it starts to spill
over, and people begin to question other things as well - the rightness of 
government, imperial wisdom, the justice of the tax system, that sort of
thing. In the most perfect of worlds, the emperor would be deified, and 
church and state would become one.' He laughed in a self-deprecating little 
way. 'Sorry, Pondia Subat. I didn't mean to preach. It's an occupational 
compulsion, I suppose. The point is that both Tamuls and Elenes have made 
the same mistake. You didn't make your emperor a God, and we didn't make 
our Archprelate an emperor. We've both failed the people by placing an 
incomplete authority 'over them. They deserved better of us. But I can see 
that you're busy, and my stomach's telling me rather pointedly that it's 
lunch-time. We'll talk again - soon. Coming, Lord Vanion?' you don't 
actually believe what you just said, do you, Emban?' Vanion murmured as the 
two Elenes left the office. 'Probably not,' Emban shrugged, 'but we're 
going to have to do something to widen the crack in that stone shell around 
Subat's mind. I'm sure that the emperor's offer to have his head docked 
opened his eyes a bit, but until he starts actually thinking instead of
simply plodding along the well-worn paths of his preconceptions, we're not 
going to get anything out of him. Despite his general disapproval of us, 
he's still the most important man in the government, and I'd rather have 
him working for us than against us. Do you suppose we could step right 
along, Vanion? I'm definitely getting hungry.' 


'It should be blue, though,' Danae was saying. She sat with Mmrr in Emperor
Sarabian's lap, looking directly into his eyes. 'For an Elene, yes, but -' 
The Emperor sounded dubious. 'Right,' she agreed. 'Tamul skin tone would be 
better with -' 


 'But not red-red, though. More scarlet, perhaps even -' 
'No. Maroon's too dark. It's a ball, not a 'We don't wear dark clothes at 


funerals. We wear -' 
'Really? That's a very interesting notion. Why do you - ?' 
'It's considered insulting to -' 
'The dead.' 
'they don't really mind, Sarabian. They're busy someplace else.' 
'Can you even begin to follow them?' Ehlana murmured to Sparhawk. 'Sort 

of. They're both thinking about the 'same thing, so they don't have to 
finish sentences.' Emperor Sarabian laughed delightedly. 'You're the most 
stimulating conversationalist I've ever met, your Royal Highness,' he said 
to the little girl in hiS lap. 'Thank you, your Imperial Majesty,' she 
replied. 'You're not so bad yourself, you know.' 

 'Danae!' Ehlana said sharPly. 'Oh, mother. Sarabian and I are just getting 
to know each other.' 

 'I don't suppose -' Sarabian's tone was speculative. 'i'm afraid not, your 
Majesty,' Danae replied. 'i'm not being disrespectful, but the crown prince 
is much too young for me. People gossip when the wife's older than the 
husband. He's a sweet-natured baby, though. But I've already decided who 
I'm going -' 

 'You have? So young?' 


 'It avoids confusion later on. Girls get silly when they reach the 
marrying age. It's better to decide those things while you've still got 
your wits about you - isn't it, mother?' Ehlana blushed suddenly. 'Mother 
started setting traps for my father when she was about my age,' Danae 
confided to the Emperor of Tamuli. 'Did you, Ehlana?' Sarabian asked. well, 
yes, but it's not nice to talk about it in public.' 
He didn't mind being 
trapped, mother,' Danae said. 'At least not after he'd got used to the 
idea. All in all, they make a fairly good set of parents - except when 
mother starts throwing her rank around.' That will do, Princess Danae,' 
Ehlana said in her official tone. 'you see what I mean?' Danae grinned at 
the Emperor. 

'your daughters going to be a remarkably gifted queen,' Sarabian 
complimented them. 'Elenia's going to be a lucky kingdom to have the two of 
you on the throne one right after another. The problem with hereditary 
succession has always been those lamentable lapses in talent. A great king 
or emperor is almost inevitably succeeded by a hopeless incompetent.' 
'What's the customary procedure here in Tamuli, sarabian?' Ehlana asked. 'I 
know that you have nine wives. Does your first-born become the crown 
Prince, no matter what the race of his mother?'

 'Oh, no. Certainly not. The throne descends to the first-born son of the 
first wife. She's always a Tamul, Since a Tamul princess is always the 
first one a crown prince marries. I was married at the age of two, 
actually. I married my other wives right after I was crowned emperor. It 
was a group ceremony - eight brides and one bridegroom. That eliminates 
jealousies and arguments about rank. I was absolutely exhausted the 
following morning.' 

 'You mean that - ?' 

 'Oh, yes. It's required. It's another way to avoid those jealousies I 
mentioned. And it all has to be finished by sunrise.' 

 'How do they) decide who's first?' Ehlana sounded very interested. 'I have 
no idea. Maybe they roll dice for the privilege. There were four royal 
bed-chambers on each side of a long corridor. I was obliged to go down that 
endless hallway and to pay a call on each of my new brides. It killed my 
grandfather. He wasn't a young man when he ascended the throne, and the 
exertion was too much for him. ' 

 'Do you suppose we could change the subject?' Sparhawk asked. 'Prude,' 
Ehlana chided him. 'I wonder if Dolmant would let me have more than one 
husband,' Danae mused. 'Never mind,' Sparhawk told her very firmly. The 
others arrived, and they all gathered around a large table set with a lunch 
consisting of unfamiliar delicacies. 'How did you find Subat, your Grace?' 
Sarabian asked the Primate of Ucera. 'We went to his offices, and there he 
was, your Majesty.' 

 'Emban,' Sephrenia chided the fat little churchman, .who was looking 
suspiciously at an undefinable meatcourse. 'Sorry, your Majesty,' Emban 
apologised. 'Your prime minister still seems to be a bit set in his ways.' 
'you noticed,' Sarabian said dryly. we definitely noticed, your Majesty,' 
Vanion replied. 'His Grace here turned his thinking upside down for him 
just a bit, though. He suggested that what the world really needs is a 
Divine Emperor or an Imperial Archprelacy. Both offices are incomplete as 
they stand.' 

 'Me? A God? Don't be ridiculous, Emban. I've got enough problems with a 
government. Please don't pile a priesthood on top of it.' 

 'I wasn't really serious your Majesty,' Emban replied. I just wanted to 
shake up his thinking a bit more. That talk you had with him opened his 


eyes right enough, but we still have to open his mind.' what happened to 
your arm?' Vanion asked the woman he loved. Sephrenia had just turned back 
her sleeve to reveal her bandaged wrist. I sprained it,' she replied. 'On a 
stubborn Styric head,' Zalasta added, chuckling. '~Sephrenia.' Vanion 
stared at her. I used my Pandion training, dear one,' %she smiled. someone 
should have told me that I was supposed to kKl( my wrist, though.' , you 
actually hit someone?' Kalten asked incredulously. 'She did indeed, Sir 
Kalten,' Zalasta grinned. 'She knocked him half-way across the room. She 
also threatened to kill him and even went so far as to begin the death 
spell. He grew very co-operative at that point.' They all stared at her in 
disbelief. 'Oh, stop that,' she told them. Then she laughed softly. 'It was 
a great deal of fun actually. I've never bullied anyone before. It's very 
satisfying, isn't it?' 

 'we like it,' Ulath grinned. 'The Styrics will co-operate fully,' she told 
them. 'How was the army?' Emban asked Tynian. 'I don't think we should 
expect too much there, your Grace,' Tynian replied carefully, glancing at 
the emperor. 'Their function's primarily ceremonial.' 

 'They come from the very best families, Sir Knight,' Sarabian said 
defensively. 'That might be part of the problem, your Majesty, that and 
the fact that they've never had to actually fight anybody. We'll be 
depending on the Atans anyway, so we won't really need the Imperial Army.' 
He looked at Engessa. 'is the local garrison up to standard, Atan Engessa?' 
he asked. 'A little soft, Tynian-Knight. I took them out for a run this 
morning, and they began to falter after twenty miles. I gave some orders. 
They'll be fit by the end of the week.' 

 'Things are falling into place,' Vanion approved. 'The palace servants 
have all the usual vices, Lord Vanion,' Khalad reported. 'They love to 
gossip. alcan's making much better progress than I am - probably because 
she's prettier.'

 'Thank you,' the girl murmured, lowering her eyelashes. 'It's no great 
compliment, Alcan,' Talen told her. 'My 

brother's not a raving beauty'- none of us are. Our faces are designed for 
wear, not for show.' 

 'i'd guess that by the end of the week we should have gained their 
confidence sufficiently to start picking up secrets,' Khalad surmised. 'You 
Elenes amaze me,' Sarabian marvelled. 'You all seem to have an absolute 
genius for intrigue.' 

 'This is a rather select group your Majesty,' Emban told him. 'We knew 
before we left Chyrellos that our major task here would be the gathering of 
information. We chose people who were skilled at it.' 

 'I came across one of the scholars in the contemporary affairs department 
at the university,' Bevier reported. 'Most of the rest of the faculty has 
already established reputations based on this or that past event. Resting 
on one's laurels is one of the failings of academics. They can coast along 
on a single monograph for decades. Anyway, this fellow I mentioned is young 
and hungry. He's come up with a theory, and he's riding it for all he's 
worth. He's absolutely convinced that all the present turmoil's emanating 
from Arjuna - perhaps because no one else on the faculty's staked out that 
particular ground yet. He's also convinced that Scarpa's the man behind the 
entire conspiracy.' who's Scarpa?' Kalten asked. 'Zalasta told us about 
him,' Ulath reminded him. 'He serves the same function in Arjuna as Sabre 
does in Astel and Gerrich does in Lamorkand.' 

 'Oh, yes, now I remember.' 
'Anyway,' Bevier continued, 'our scholar's gathered a huge mass of 
corroborating evidence, some of it very shakey. He'll talk for hours about 


his theory to anybody who cares to listen.' 

 ' is anybody else at the university working on any alternatives?' ~Emban 
asked him. 'Not actively, your Grace. They don't want to risk their 
reputations on false leads. Academic timidity's urging them to take a 
wait-and-see position. My young enthusiast doesn't have a reputation, so 
he's willing to take some risks.' 

 'Stay with him, Bevier,' Vanion said. 'Even negative conclusions can help 
to narrow the search.' 

 'My feelings exactly, Lord Vanion.' 

 'Do you suppose I could impose on your Majesty?' Stragen asked the 
emperor. 'That's what a host is for, Milord,' Sarabian grinned. 'impose to 
your heart's content.' 

 'You did know that there are criminals here in Matherion, didn't you?' 
'You mean other than the members of my government?' Stragen laughed. 'Score 
one for you, your Majesty,' he said. 'There's a world below the surface in 
every major city in the world,' he explained. 'It's a world of thieves, 
pickpockets, burglars, beggars, whores, swindlers and murderers. They eke 
out a precarious existence by preying on the rest of society.' 

 'We're aware that such people exist, of course,' Sarabian said. 'That's 
why we have policemen and prisons.' 

 'Yes, your Majesty. Those are some of the minor inconveniences in the 
criminal's life. What isn't generally known, however, is the fact that the 
criminals of the world co-operate with each other to some degree.' 

'Go on.' 

 'I've had some contacts with those people in the past, your Majesty,' 
Stragen went on, choosing his words carefully. 'They can be very useful. 
There's almost nothing that goes on in a city that some criminal doesn't 
know about. If you make it clear that you're not interested in their 
activities, they'll usually sell you the information they've picked up.' 

 'A business arrangement then?' 

 'Precisely. It's something on the order of buying stolen goods. It's not 
very nice, but many people do it.' 

'Of course.' 

 'Now, then. This co-operative spirit I mentioned doesn't exist here in 
Matherion. Tamuls don't cooperate very well for some reason. Each 
profession here keeps strictly to itself. They've even formed guilds, and 
they view other criminal professions with contempt and suspicion. We're 
going to have to 'break down those walls if those people are to be of any 
use to us.' 

 'That stands to reason, Milord.' Stragen seemed to breathe a bit easier. 
'I've made some arrangements, your Majesty,' he said. 'The leaders of the 
various criminal guilds are going to come here. They respect you 
enormously, and they'll obey if you tell them to do something.' He paused. 
'That's as long as you don't command them to become honest, of course.' 

 'Of course. You can't ask a man to give up his profession, I suppose.' 
'Exactly. What you can order them to do, though, your ' Majesty, is to 
abandon these caste bariers and start talking to each other. If they're 
going to be of any use, they're going to have to be willing to pass 
information to one central collecting point. If we have to contact the head 
of each guild, information would be stale long before we' got our hands on 
it.' 

 'I see. Correct me if I'm wrong, Milord Stragen. What you want me to do is 
to organise the criminals of Matherion so that they can prey on honest 
citizens more effectively in exchange for unspecified information they may 
or may not be able to pick up in the 'street. Is that it? Stragen winced. 
'I was afraid your Majesty might look at it that way,' he said. 'you 


needn't be fearful, Milord Stragen. I'll be happy to have a chat with these 
loyal criminals. The gravity of the current crisis over-rides my natural 
revulsion for having dealings with knaves and rogues. Tell me, Milord, are 
you a good thief?' 

 'I Guess I've underestimated your Majesty,' Stragen sighed. 'Yes, actually 
I'm a very good thief. I hate to sound immodest, but I'm probably the best 
thief in the world.' 

 'How's business?' 

 'Not so good lately) Emperor Sarabian. Times of termoil are very bad for 
crime. Honest men grow nervous and start protecting their valuables. Oh, 
one thing, your Majesty. The criminals you'll be addressing will all be 
masked. They respect you enormously, but they'll probably want to hide 
their faces from you.' 

 'I can understand that I suppose. I'm rather looking forward to speaking 
with your friends, Stragen. We'll put our heads together and come up with 
ways to circumvent the authorities.' 

 'That's not really a good idea, your Majesty,' Talen told him. 'Never let 
a thief get within ten feet of you. He raised his hand to show Sarabian a 
jeweLed bracelet. The startled emperor looked quickly at his naked right 
wrist. 'Merely a demonstration, your Majesty,' Talen grinned. 'I wasn't 
really going to keep it.' 

 'Give him back the rest as well, Talen,' Stragen told the boy. Talen 
sighed. 'Your eyes are unwholesomely sharp) Stragen.' He reached inside his 
doublet and took out several other jewels. 'The best plan is not to have 
anything of value on your person when you talk with thieves, your Majesty,' 
he advised. 'You're very good, Master Talen,' Sarabian complimented the 
boy. 'It's all in the wrist,' Talen shrugged. 'I absolutely love you 
Elenes,' Sarabian said. 'Tamuls 

are a dull, boring people, but you're full of surprises.' He smiled archly 
at Melidere. 'And what startling revelations do you have for me, Baroness?' 
he asked her. 'Nothing really very startling, your Majesty,' she smiled. 
'The swishing back and forth through the corridors has earned me several 
fairly predictable offers and a fair number of pinches. Tamuls pinch more 
than Elenes, don't they? I've learned to keep my back to the wall, though. 
A pinch or two in the spirit of good clean fun is all right, I suppose, but 
the bruises take a long time to fade.' Then they all looked at Berit. The 
young Pandion Knight blushed furiously. 'I haven't really got anything to 
report, my Lords and Ladies,' he mumbled. 'Berit,' Ehlana said gently, 
'it's not nice to lie like that, you know.' 

 'It wasn't really anything, your Majesty,' he protested. 'It was all a 
misunderstanding, I'm sure - probably because I don't speak Tamul very 
well.' 

 'What happened, my young friend?' Sarabian asked him.. well, your Majesty, 
it was your wife, the empress elysoun - the one with the unusual costume.' 
'yes, I'm acquainted with her.' well, your Majesty, she approached me in 
one of the corridors and said that I was looking a bit tired - perhaps 
because I was keeping my eyes closed.' 
'why were you doing that?' 
'Ah - well, her costume, you understand, your Majesty. I thought it might 
be impolite to stare.' 
'In Elysoun's case, it's impolite not to. She's very 
proud of her attributes, and she likes to share them with people.' 
'.-Berits blush deepened. 'Anyway,' he floundered on, :.she said I looked 
tired and told me that she had a very comfortable bed in her quarters that 
I could use if I ~wanted to get some rest.' Kalten was gazing at the 


youthful knight with openmouthed envy. 'What did you say?' he asked almost 
breathlessly. 'Well, I thanked her, of course, but I told her that I wasn't 
really sleepy.' Kalten buried his face in his hands and groaned. 'There, 
there,' Ulath said patting his shoulder comfortingly. 

CHAPTER 27 

Well sir, yet Queenship,' Caalador was saying in his broad, colloquial 
drawl, 'these yore trinkets is putty thangs, I'll tell the world, but they 
ain't got no real practicle use to 'em.' He offered Ehlana a pair of carved 
ivory figurines. ~'they're gorgeous, Caalador,' she gushed. is that guard 
gone?' Caalador muttered to Sparhawk. Sparhawk nodded. 'Mirtai just shoved 
him out the door.' I thought he was planning to stay all day.' did you have 
any trouble getting on the grounds? Ehlana asked him. 'Not a bit, your 
Majesty.' 

 'I should hope not - not after the fuss I made.' She looked more closely 
at the figurines. 'These are really lovely, Caalador,' she said. 'Where did 
you get them?' I 'had 'them stolen from the museum at the university,' he 
shrugged. 'They're ninth century Tegan - very fine and very valuable.' He 
grinned at her impishly. 'if'n yet queenshiP's got this yore Passion fer 
anhkits, y might's well git th' real thangs.'

 'I love to listen to this man talk,' Ehlana said. 

Barroness Melidere escorted the others into the royal 

-~,quarters. 'any problems?' Stragen asked his brother thief. 

~-''~'''::'':)')'~ in slicker'n a weasel burrowin' into a hen-roost.' 
'please, Caalador, spare me.' Caladar was serving the Queen of Elenia in 
the roll of 'procurer of antiquities,' and by her orders ~Was to be granted 
immediate access to her at any time. One or the other of the knights had 
escorted him onto the grounds several times during the past several weeks 
in order to familiarize the guards at the gates with his face, but this was 
the first time he had tried to gain entrry by himself. Their assorted 
subterfuges were growing more and more subtle. 'Has anything meaningful 
turned up, Master Caalador?' Zalasta asked. 'i'm not entirely sure, learned 
one,' Caalador frowned. 'We keep running into something a little peculiar.' 
'Oh?' 

 'All sorts of people are talking about something called 'the Hidden City'. 
They're the very people we've been watching, so we thought it might have 
some significance.' 

 'It is a'bit unusual,' Zalasta agreed. 'It's not the sort of thing you'd 
expect to hear noised about on the streets.' 

 'It actually means something then?' Zalasta nodded. 'It's an old Tamul 
platitude that has to do with the life of the mind. Are they saying, 'The 
way to the Hidden City is long, but the rewards to be found there are 
treasures beyond price?'' 

 'That's it exactly, learned one. Two people meet on the street, one of 
them recites the first half, and the other recites the second.' Zalasta 
nodded. 'The platitude's supposed to refer to the rewards of the search for 
knowledge and enlightenment. I'd suspect some other significance in this 
case, however. Are your people hearing it from anybody other than Tamuls?' 
Caalador nodded. 'A couple of Elene merchants greeted each other with it on 
a street-corner just yesterday.' 

 'It sounds very much like a sign and countersign,' 


Vanion mused. 'i'd hate to concentrate all our efforts on something like 
that to the exclusion of everything else, ' Zalasta said cautiously. 'Ain, 
'taint no big thang, yet sorcerership,' Caalador assured him. 'i'm up t' m' 
ears in beggars an' whores an' sneak thieves an' sick. I got what y' might 
call a embarrassment o' riches in that deportment.' Zalasta looked puzzled. 
'He says he's got more than enough people at his disposal, Zalasta,' 
Sephrenia translated. 'It's a colourful dialect, isn't it?' Zalasta 
observed mildly. Ulath was frowning. 'i'm not entirely positive,' he said, 
'but it seemed to me that I heard two of the palace guards talking about 
'the Hidden City' a few days ago. There might be more people involved than 
we thought.' Vanion nodded. 'It may not lead anywhere,' he said, but it 
won't hurt anything if we all keep our ears open. If Caalador has stumbled 
across the password of the other side, it could help us to identify 
conspirators we might otherwise miss. Let's compile a sort of a list. Let's 
gather the names of all these people who hunger and thirst for the hidden 
city of the mind. If this is a sign and countersign, and if it's in any way 
connected to what we're looking for, let's have a group of names to work 
with.' 

 'you're starting to sound very much like a policeman, Lord Vanion,' Talen 
said, half accusingly. 'Can you ever forgive me?' 

'Oh, by the way, I saw an old friend at the university,' Bevier told them 
with a faint smile. 'It seems that Baron Kotyk's brother-in-law's come to 
Matherion to expose the Department of Contemporary Literature to his 
unspeakable art.' Wouldn't 'inflict' be a better word there, Bevier?' Ulath 
asked. 'I've heard some of Elron's poetry.' 

' 

 'who's Elron?' Sephrenia asked. Sparhawk exchanged a long look with Emban. 
They were still bound by the oaths they had given Archimandrite Morsel. 'Ah 
-' he began, not quite sure how to proceed, 'he's an Astel - a sort of 
semi-aristocrat with literary pretensions. We're not sure just how much 
he's involved in the disturbances in Astel, but his opinions and sympathies 
seem to indicate that he's a strong supporter of the man known as Sabre.' 
'isn't it a coincidence that he just happens to have made the trip to 
Matherion at just about the same time that we're getting a strong odour of 
dead fish in the streets?' Tynian asked. 'Why would he come to the very 
centre of the culture of the godless yellow devils he professes to hate?' 
'Unusual,' Ulath agreed. 'Anything that's unusual is suspicious,' Kalten 
asserted. 'That's a gross generalisation,' Sparhawk accused. 'Well, isn't 
it?' 

 'in this case you might be right. Maybe we'd better keep an eye on him. 
You'd better pull out your drawing pad again, Talen.'

 'You know, Sparhawk,' the boy said, 'I could make a lot of money drawing 
these pictures if you weren't so set on making a Pandion of me and saddling 
me with all those high ideals.' 

 'Service is its own reward, Talen,' Sparhawk replied piously. 'Caalador,' 
Sephrenia said thoughtfully. 'Yes, yet sorceress-ship?'

 'Please, don't do that,' she said wearily. ')'There) are a number of these 
so-called firebrands loose in Tamuli. Is it at all possible that some of 
the local thieves might have seen any of them?' 

 'I'll ask around, Lady Sephrenia, and I can send to the other kingdoms for 
people who've seen them if I have to. I'm not sure how much good physical 
descriptions are going to be, though. If you say that a man's sort of 
medium, that's going to include about half the population almost by 
definition.' 

 'She can go beyond physical descriptions, Caalador,' Talen assured him. 
'She'll wiggle her fingers at your witnesses and put an image of the person 


they've seen in a pail of water. I can draw a picture from that.' 

 'It might not be a bad idea to have pictures of these various patriots in 
circulation,' Sephrenia murmured. 'if Elron and Krager are here, others may 
decide to visit Matherion as 'well. If they're going to hold a convention, 
we should know about it, wouldn't you say?' 

 'Shouldn't you add a picture of Count Gerich as well?' Danae suggested. 
'But he's all the way across the world in Lamorkand, Princess,' Kalten 
pointed out. 'He's still one of the people involved, Kalten,' she said. 'if 
you're going to do something, do it right. How much is it going to cost? A 
few sheets of paper maybe? And the use of Talen's pencil for half an hour?' 
'All right, include him. I don't care. I don't think he'll ever show up 
here, but go ahead and have Talen draw his picture, if you want.' 

 'Oh, thank you, Kalten. Thank you, thank you, thank you.' 

 'isn't it nearly her nap-time?' Kalten asked sourly. 'Speaking of Krager,' 
Sparhawk said, 'have there been any new sightings of him?' Just those two I 
mentioned earlier,' Caalador replied. 

is he the kind who's likely to go to ground?' That's Krager, all right,' 
Kalten said. 'He's perfectly at home with sewer rats - being at least 
half-rat himself. As long as there was someone around to fetch wine for 
him, he'd be quite happy to stay down a rat-hole for six months at a 
stretch.' 

 'I really want him, Caalador,' Sparhawk grated. 'My friends are all having 
a wonderful time telling me that they told me so.' 

 'I didn't follow that one,' Caalador said with a puzzled look. 'They all 
think I should have killed him. Even Sephrenia's all athirst for his 
blood.' 

 'Well, now, m' friend,' Caalador drawled, 'I kin make a real good case fer 
gist how forchoonate-like it wuz that 

y' din't kill 'im. You an' yet friends here all knows this % bin iffn y'd 

 slit his weasand, now would he? We knows this yore Krager, 

 an' we'll chase im' down sooner er later an' set fire t' 

 his feet until he starts talkin'. If'n he wuz t' be a 

 absolute stranger, we wouldn't have no idea a-tall 'bout

 who we wuz a-lookin' fer, now would we?' Sparhawk smiled 

 beatifically around at his friends. 'See,' he said to 

 them. 'I told you I knew what I was doing.' 

Later that day, Sparhawk and Ehlana met with Emperor Sarabian and Foreign 
Minister Oscagne to discuss their findings to date. 'is it at all possible 
that anyone in the government might have noticed people using this sign and 
counter-sign, your Excellency?' Sparhawk asked Oscagne. 'Quite possible, 
Prince Sparhawk.' Oscagne replied. 'The interior ministry's got spies 
everywhere, but their reports probably won't surface for six months to a 
year. They're great paper-shufflers over at Interior.' 

 'Subat's got his own spies,' Sarabian said moodily, 'but he wouldn't tell 
me if he's discovered anything. I doubt that he'd tell me if someone had 
cut the Isle of Tega adrift and towed it away.' 

 'All the traditions of the Prime Ministry tell him to protect you, your 
Imperial Majesty,' Oscagne told him. 'despite that little talk you had with 
him, you'll still probably have to pry information out of him. He devoutly 
believes that it's his duty to spare you the anguish of hearing unpleasant 
news.' 

 'if my house is on fire, I'd rather not be spared the anguish of finding 
out about it,' Sarabian said tartly. 'I have informants in the other 


ministries, your Majesty. I'll put them to work on it. Speaking of that, by 
the way, Interior's been getting a great many reports of disturbances - far 
more than we were experiencing previously. Kolata's at his wits end.' 
'Kolata?' Sparhawk asked. 'The Minister of the Interior,' Sarabian said, 
'the empire's chief of police. He's almost as good at keeping secrets from 
me as Subat is. What's afoot now, Oscagne?' The graveyards have been 
spitting out their dead, your Majesty. Someone's been digging up the 
recently deceased and re-animating them. They shamble about moaning and 
blank-eyed. Whole villages in Edam have been abandoned because of them. The 
werewolves are running in packs in Daconia, the vampires in the jungles of 
Arjuna are flocking up like migratory birds, and the Shining Ones are 
terrorising the region around Dasan. Add to that the fact that the Trolls 
are on the march in northern Atan and that the town of Sarna's been 
attacked twice by what appear to be Cyrgai, and we have some fair evidence 
that things may be coming to a head. In the past, these disturbances were 
sporadic and localised. Now they're becoming general.' wonderful,' Sarabian 
said sourly. 'I think I'll just go into exile somewhere. ' 

 'you'll miss all the fun, your Majesty,' Sparhawk told him. What fun?' 

 'We haven't even begun to take counter-measures yet. We might not be able 
to do too much about vampires and the like, but we can definitely move 
against the Trolls and the Cyrgai. Engessa's been training the local Atans 
in certain Elene tactics. I think Engessa's Atans might be able to deal 
with the Trolls and the Cyrgai,' Sparhawk said. Sarabian looked a bit 
surprised. 'Atan Engessa's the commander of the garrison at Genae in 
Astel,' he said. 'He doesn't have any authority here in Matherion.' 

 'As a matter of fact, he does, your Majesty,' Sparhawk disagreed. 'I 
gather that he's received a special commission from King Androl - or Queen 
Betuana, more than likely.' Other Atan commanders have been ordered to 
follow his suggestions.' 

 'Why doesn't anybody ever tell me these things?' 
'imperial policy, your Majesty,' Oscagne smiled. 'if you were to know too 
much, you might start interfering with the government.' 

 'Anyway,' Sparhawk continued, 'Engessa was very impressed with our tactics 
in the encounters we had on our way here. We've been training some of his 
Atans in Western techniques.' 

 'That's surprising,' Sarabian said. 'I wouldn't have expected Atans to 
listen to anybody when it came to military matters.' 

 'Engessa's a professional, your Majesty,' Sparhawk told him. 
'Professionals are always interested in technical advances in weaponry and 
tactics. We rounded up some very large draught-horses so that we could 
mount a number of his Atans, and Kalten and Tynian have been giving them 
instruction with the lance. That's the safest way to deal with Trolls, 
we've found. Bevier's taken another group in hand, and he's teaching them 
how to construct and use siege-engines. When we encountered those Cyrgai 
outside Sarsos, Deviers catapults broke up their phalanx. It's very hard to 
maintain a military formation when it's raining boulders. Oh, there's 
something else we should be aware of. Khalad found a tree outside town that 
was riddled with short steel arrows. Someone's been practising with a 
crossbow.'

 'What's a crossbow?' Sarabian asked. 'It's a Lamork weapon, your Majesty.' 
Sparhawk scribbled a quick sketch. 'It looks something like this. The limbs 
are much stronger than those of an ordinary long-bow, so it has greater 
range and penetrating power. It's a serious threat to an armoured knight. 
Someone here in Matherion's working on a way to counter the advantage our 
armour gives us.' 

 'It's beginning to sound as if I'm hanging on to my throne by my 


fingertips,' Sarabian said. 'Could I appeal to you for political asylum, 
Ehlana?' 

 'i'd be delighted to have you, Sarabian,' she replied, but let's not give 
up on Sparhawk just yet. He's terribly resourceful. ' 

 'As I was saying before,' Sparhawk continued, 'we can't do too much about 
the ghouls or werewolves or the Shining Ones or vampires, but I think we 
might be able to give the Trolls and the Cyrgai a few surpriSeS. I'd like 
for the Atans to have a bit more training with mounted tactics and the use 
of Bevier's engines, and then I think it might be time to let our opponent 
know that he's not going to win this in a walk. I'd particularly like to 
decimate the Trolls. Our enemy's relying rather heavily on the Troll-Gods, 
and they'll leave the alliance if too many of their worshippers get killed. 
I think that early next week we might want to mount a couple of expeditions 
- one up into Troll-country and another down to Sama. It's time to make our 
presence known.' 

 'And this local business?' Oscagne asked. 'All this fascination with the 
hidden city of the mind?' 

 'Caalador will keep working on that. We've got their password now, and 
that can open all kinds of doors for us. Vanion's drawing up a list of 
names. Before long, we'll know everybody in Matherion who's been talking 
about the Hidden City.' He looked at Sarabian. 'Have I your Majesty's 
permission to detain those people if necessary?' he asked. 'if we move 
first and round them all up before they can set their scheme in motion, 
we'll break the back of this plot before it gets too far along.' 

 'Detain away, Sparhawk,' Sarabian grinned. 'I've got lots of buildings we 
can use for prisons.' 

'All right, young lady,' Sparhawk said quite firmly to his daughter a few 
days later. 'One of Caalador's beggars saw Count Gerrich in a street not 
far from here. How did you know that he'd be here in Matherion?' 

 'I didn't know, Sparhawk. I just had a hunch.' Danae was sitting calmly in 
a large chair, scratching her cat's ears. Mmrr was purring gratefully. 'A 
hunch?' 

 'intuition, if that word makes you feel any better. It just didn't seem 
right that Krager and Elron would be here without the others being here as 
well - and that would logically include Gerich, wouldn't it?' 

 'Don't confuse the issue by using the words 'logic' and 'intuition' in the 
same sentence.' 

 'Oh, Sparhawk, do grow up. That's all that logic really is - a 
justification for hunches. Have you ever known anyone who used logic to 
disprove something he already believed?' 

 'Well - not personally, maybe, but I'm sure there have been some.'

 'I'll wait while you track one down. I'm an immortal, so time doesn't 
really mean all that much to me.' 

'That's really offensive, Aphrael.' 

 'Sorry, father.' She didn't sound very contrite. 'Your mind gathers 
information in hundreds of ways, Sparhawk - things you hear, things you 
see, things you touch and even things you smell. Then it puts all of that 
information together and jumps from there to a conclusion. That's all that 
hunches really are. Intuition is just as precise as logic, really, but it 
doesn't have to go through the long, tedious process of plodding along step 
by step to prove things. It leaps immediately from evidence to conclusion 
without all the tiresome intermediate steps. Sephrenia doesn't like logic 
because it's so boring. She already knows the answers you're so laboriously 
trying to prove - and so do you, if you'd be honest about it.' 

 'Folk-lore is full of these hunches, Aphrael - and they're usually wrong. 


How about the old notion that thunder sours milk?' 
'That's a mistake in logic, Sparhawk, not a mistake in intuition.' 
'Would you like to explain that?' 
'you could just as easily say that sour milk causes thunder, you know.' 

'That's absurd.' 

 'Of course it is. Thunder and sour milk are both effects, not causes.'.' 
'You should talk to Dolmant. I'd like to see you try to explain that he's 
been wasting his time on logic all these years.' 

 'He already knows,' she shrugged. 'Dolmant's far more intuitive than you 
give him credit for being. He knew who I was the moment he saw me - which 
is a lot more than I can say for you, father. I thought for a while there 
that I was going to have to fly in order to 

persuade you.' 
'Be nice.' 
'I am. There are all sorts of things I didn't say about you. What's Krager 

up to?' 
'Nobody knows.' 
'We really need to find him, Sparhawk.' 
'I know. I want him even more than you do. I'm going to enjoy wringing him 

out like a wet sock.' 

 'Be serious, Sparhawk. You know Krager. He'd tell you his whole life story 
if you even frowned at him.' He sighed. 'You're probably right,' he 
conceded. 'It takes a lot of the fun out of it though.' 

 'You're not here to have fun, Sparhawk. Which would you rather have? 
Information or revenge?' 
'Couldn't we come up with a way to have both?' She rolled her eyes upward. 
'Elenes,' she sighed. 

Bevier took a detachment of newly-trained Atan engineers west toward Sama 
early the next week. The following day Kalten, Tynian and Engessa took two 
hundred mounted Atans north toward the lands being ravaged by the Trolls. 
At Vanion's insistence the parties filtered out of Matherion in twos and 
threes to assemble later outside the city. 'There's no point in announcing 
what we're up to,' he said. A few days after the departure of the two 
military expeditions, Zalasta left for Sarsos. 'I won't be very long,' he 
told them. 'We have a certain commitment from the Thousand, ' but I think 
I'd like to see some concrete evidence that they're willing to honour that 
commitment. Words are all well and good, but let's see some action - just 
as a demonstration of good faith. I know my brothers. Nothing in the world 
would please them more than being able to reap the benefits of allying 
themselves with us 'in principle' without the inconvenience of actually 
being obliged to do anything to help. They're best suited to deal with 
these supernatural manifestations, so I'll pry them loose from their 
comfortable chairs in Sarsos and disperse them to these troublespots.' He 
smiled thinly at Vanion from under his beetling brows. 'Extensive travel 
might toughen them up a bit, my Lord,' he added. 'Perhaps we can avoid 
spraining any more of your ankles in demonstrations of how flabby and lazy 
they are.' 

 'I appreciate that, Zalasta,' Vanion laughed. There were always more 
things to do than there was time for. The ceremonies and 'occasions' that 
surrounded the state visit by the Queen of Elenia filled their afternoons 
and evenings, and so Sparhawk and the others were obliged to work late and 
rise early in order to conduct their surreptihous operations in the city 
and the imperial compound. They all grew short-tempered from lack of sleep, 
and Mirtai began to badger Sparhawk about the condition of his wife's 


health. Ehlana was, in fact, beginning to develop dark circles under her 
eyes and an increasingly waspish disposition. The break-through came about 
ten days after the departure of the expeditions to Sama and to the 
newlyoccupied lands of the Trolls. Caalador arrived early one morning' with 
a kind of exultant tightness of his face and a large canvas sack in one 
hand. 'It was pure luck, Sparhawk,' he chortled when the two met in the 
royal apartment. We're due for some,' Sparhawk told him. 'What did you 
find?' 

 'How would you like to know the exact day and hour when this 'Hidden City' 
business is going to come to a head?' 

'i'd be moderately interested in that, yes. That selfcongratulatory 
expression spread all over your face says that you've found out a few 
things.' 

 'I have indeed, Sparhawk, and it fell into my hand like an over-ripe 
peach.' Caalador slid into his drawl. Them there fellers on t' other side's 
mighty careless with wrote-down instructions. It seems that this yore 
cut-purse o' my acquaintance - enterprisin' young feller with a real sharp 
knife - he slit open the purse o' this yore fat Dacite merchant, an' a hull 
fistful o' coins come slitherin' out, an' mixt in with them there silver 
an' brass coins they wuz this yore message, which it wuz oz bed bin passt 
onta him by one o' his feller-conspiracy-ors.' Caalador frowned. 'Maybe the 
right word there would have been 'conspirytors',' he mused. 'Ehlana's still 
in bed, Caalador,' Sparhawk told him. 'You don't have to entertain me with 
that dialect.' 

 'Sorry. Just keeping in practice. Anyway, the note was quite specific.' It 
said, 'The day of the revelation of the Hidden City is at hand. All is in 
readiness. We will come to your warehouse for the arms at the second hour 
past sunset ten days hence.' Isn't that interesting?' 

 'It is indeed, Caalador, but the note could be a week old. ' 
'No, actually it's not. Would you believe that the idiot who wrote it 


actually dated it?' 
'You're not serious.' 
'May muh tongue turn green if I ain't.' 
'Can your cut-purse identify this Dacite merchant? I'd like to locate this 

warehouse and find out what kind of arms are stored there.' 

 'i'm way ahead of you, Sparhawk,' Caalador grinned. 'We tracked down the 
Dacite, and I called on my vast experience as a chicken-rustler to get 
inside his storehouse.' He opened the large bag he had brought with him and 
took out what appeared to be a newly-made crossbow. 'They wuz several 
hunnerd o' these in that there hen-roost o' his'n,' he said, 'along with a 
hull passel o' cheap swords - which wuz most likely forged in Lebros in 
Cammoria - which it is that's notorious fer makin' shoddy goods fer trade 
with backward feW.' Sparhawk turned the crossbow over in his hands. 'It's 
not really very well-made, is it?' he noted. 'She'll prob'ly shoot, though 
- once, anyway.' 

 'This explains that tree Khalad found with all the crossbow bolts stuck in 
it. It looks as if we've been anticipated. Our friend out there wouldn't 
really need crossbows unless he knew he was going to come up against men in 
armour,. The long-bow's a lot more efficient against ordinary people. It 
shoots faster.'

 'I think we'd better face up to something, Sparhawk,' Caalador said 
gravely. 'Several hundred crossbows means several hundred conspirators, not 
counting the ones who'll be using the swords, and that's fair evidence that 
the conspiracy's going to involve unpleasantness here in Matherion itself 
as well as out there in the hinterlands. I think we'd better be prepared 


for a mob - and for fighting in the streets.' 

 'You could very well be right, my friend. Let's see what we can do to 
defang that mob.' He went to the door and opened it. As usual, Mirtai sat 
outside with her sword in her lap. 'Could you get Khalad for me, Atana?' he 
asked politely. 'Who's going to guard the door while I'm gone?' she asked 
him. 'I'll take care of it.' 

 'Why don't you go get him? I'll stay here and see to Ehlana's safety.' He 
sighed. 'Please, Mirtai - as a special favour to me.' 

 'if anything happens to Ehlana while I'm gone, you'll answer to me, 
Sparhawk.' 

'I'll keep that in mind.' 

 'Pretty girl, isn't she?' Caalador noted after the giantess had gone in 
search of Sparhawk's squire. I wouldn't make a point of noticing that too 
much when Kring's around, my friend. They're betrothed, and he's the 
jealous tyPe.' 

 'Should I say that she's ugly, then?' That wouldn't really be a good idea 
either. If you do that she'll probably kill you.' 

 'Touchy, aren't they?' 

 'Oh, yes - both of them. Theirs promises to be a very lively marriage.' 
Mirtai returned with Khalad a few minutes later. 'You sent for me, my 
Lord?' Kurik's son asked. 'How would you go about disabling this crossbow 
without making it obvious that it had been tampered with?' Sparhawk asked, 
handing the young man the weapon Caalador had brought with him. Khalad 
examined the weapon. 'Cut the string almost all the way through - up here 
where it's attached to the end of the bow,' he suggested. 'it'll break as 
soon as anyone tries to draw it.' Sparhawk shook his head. 'They might load 
the weapons in advance,' he said. 'Someone's going to try to use these on 
us, I think, and I don't want him to find out that they don't work until 
it's too late.' 

 'I could break the trigger-mechanism,' Khalad said. 'The bowman could draw 
it and load it, but he couldn't shoot it - at least he couldn't aim it at 
the same time.' 

 'Would it stay cocked until he tried to shoot it?' 

 'Probably. This isn't a very well-made crossbow, so he won't expect it to 
work very well. All you'd have to do is drive out this pin that holds the 
trigger in place and stick short steel pegs in the holes to hide the fact 
that the pin's gone. There's a spring that holds the bow drawn, but without 
the pin to provide leverage, the trigger won't release that sPring. They'll 
be able to draw it, but they won't be able to shoot it.' 

 'I'll take your word for it. How long would it take you to put this thing 
out of action?' 

 'A couple of minutes.' 

 'You've got a few long nights ahead of you then, my friend. There are 
several hundred of these to deal with and you're going to have to do it 
quietly and in poor light. Caalador, can you slip my friend here into the 
Dacite merchant's warehouse?' 

 'if'n he kin move around sorta quiet-like, I kin.' 

 'I think he can manage. He's a country-boy the same as you are, and I'd 
guess that he's almost as skilled at making rabbit snares and stealing 
chickens.'

 'Sparhawk!' ~Khalad Protested. 'Those skills are too valuable to have been 
left out of your education, Khalad, and I knew your father, remember?' 

'They knew we were coming, Sparhawk,' Kalten said angrily. 'We split up 
into small groups and stayed away from towns and villages, and they still 
knew we were coming. They ambushed us on the west shore of Lake Sama.' 


Trolls?' Sparhawk's voice was tense. 'Worse. It was a large group of 
rough-looking fellows armed with crossbows. They made the mistake of 
shooting all at the same time. If they hadn't, none of us would have made 
it back to tell you about it. They decimated Engessa's mounted Atans, 
though. He was seriously put out about that. He tore quite a number of the 
ambushers apart with his bare hands.' A sudden cold fear griPPed Sparhawk's 
stomach. where's Tynian?' he asked. 'He's in the care of a physician. He 
caught a bolt in the shoulder, and it broke some things in there.' 

 'is he going to be all right?' probably. It didn't improve his temper very 
much though. He uses his sword almost as well with his left hand as he does 
with his right. We had to restrain him when the ambushers broke and ran. He 
was going to 'chase them down one by one, and he was bleeding like a studc 
pig. I think we've got spies here in this imitation castle, Sparhawk. Those 
people couldn't have laid that ambush without some fairly specific 
information about our route and our destination.' 

 'We'll sweep those hiding-places again.'

 'Good idea, and this time let's do a bit more than reprimand the people we 
catch for bad manners. A ,spy can't creep through hidden passages very well 
with two broken legs.' The blond Pandion's face was grim. 'I get to do the 
breaking,' he added. 'I want to be sure that there aren't any miraculous 
recoveries. A broken shinbone heals in a couple of months, but if you take 
a sledge-hammer to a man's knees, you'll put him out of action for much, 
much longer.' Bevier, who led the survivors of his detachment back into 
Matherion two days later, took Kalten's suggestion a step further. His 
notion involved amputations at the hip. The devout Cyrinic Knight was very 
angry about being ambushed and he used language Sparhawk had never heard 
from him before. When he had calmed himself finally, though, he contritely 
sought absolution from Patriarch Emban. Emban not only forgave him, but 
granted an indulgence as well - just in case he happened across some new 
swear-words. 

A thorough search of the opalescent castle turned up no hidden listeners, 
and they all gathered to confer with Emperor Sarabian and Foreign Minister 
Oscagne the day after Sir Bevier's return. They met high in the central 
%tower to be on the safe side, and Sephrenia added a r to further ensure 
that their discussions private. tv, anyone,' Vanion said, 'so don't take 'd 
of our plans is somehow leaking lld all pledge that no hint of what 

'Yo ~'p friend. Them 

leave this room.' 

 ' Vanion' ~Kalten seemed sur prised. That Pandion tradition had fallen 
into disuse in the past century. 'Well,' Vanion amended, 'something on that 
order, I suppose, but we're not all Pandion Knights here, you know.' He 
looked around. 'All right then, let's summarise the situation. The plot 
here in Matherion quite obviously goes beyond simple espionage. I think 
we'd better face up to the probability of an armed insurrection directed at 
the imperial compound. Our enemy seems to be growing impatient.' 

 'Or fearful,' Oscagne added. 'The presence of Church Knights - and Prince 
Sparhawk - here in Matherion poses some kind of threat. His campaign of 
random terror, civil disturbance and incipient insurrection in the subject 
kingdoms was working fairly well, but it appears that something's come up 
that makes that process too slow. He has to shiRe at the centre of imperial 
authority now. ' 

 'And directly at me, I gather,' Emperor Sarabian added. That's 
unthinkable, your Majesty,' Oscagne objected. 'in all the history of the 


empire, no one ever directly confronted the emperor.' 

 'Please, Oscagne,' Sarabian said, 'don't treat me like an idiot. Any 
number of my predecessors have met with 'accidents' or fallen fatally ill 
under peculiar circumstances. Inconvenient emperors have been removed.' 
'But never right out in the open, your Majesty. That's terribly impolite.' 
Sarabian laughed. 'i'm sure that the three government -''haters who threw 
my great-great-grandfather from the top of the highest tower in the 
compound were all 'exquisitely courteous about it, Oscagne. We're going to 
have an armed mob in' the streets then, all enthusiastically howling for my 
blood?' 

 'I wouldn't discount the possibility, your majesty.' Vanion conceded. 'I 
hate this.' Ulath said sourly. 'Hate what?' Kalten asked him. 'isn't it 
obvious? We've got an Elene castle here. It might not be quite as good as 
one that Bevier would have designed, but it's still the strongest building 
in Matherion. We've got three days until the streets are going to be filled 
with armed civilians. We don't have much choice. We have to pull back 
inside these walls _ fort up until the Atans can restore order. I detest 
sieges.' 

 'i'm sure we won't have to go that far, Sir Ulath,' Oscagne protested. 'As 
soon as I heard about that message Master Caalador unearthed, I sent word 
to Norkan in Atana. There are ten thousand Atans massed twenty leagues from 
here. The conspirators aren't going to move until after dark on the 
appointed day. I can have the streets awash with seven-foot tall Atans 
before noon of that same day. The attempted coup will fail before it ever 
gets started.'

 'And miss the chance to round them all up?' Ulath said. 'Very poor 
military thinking, your Excellency. We've got a defensible castle here. 
Bevier could hold this place for two years at least.' 

 'Five,' Bevier corrected. 'There's a well inside the walls. That adds 
three years.' ) 'Even betterr,' Ulath said. 'We work on our fortifications 
here very quietly, and mostly at night. We bring in barrels of pitch and 
naphtha. Bevier builds siege engines. Then just before the sun goes down, 
we move the entire government and the Atan garrison Inside the castle. The 
mob will storm the imperial compound and rage through the halls of all 
those impressive buildings here in the grounds. They won't encounter any 
resistence - until they come here. They'll try to storm our walls, and 
they'D be over-confident because nobody will have tried to fight them in 
any of the other buildings. They won't really be expecting a hail-storm of 
large boulders or sheets of boiling pitch dumped in their faces. Add to 
that the fact that their crossbows won't work cause Khalad's been breaking 
the triggers in that Dacite warehouse for the last two nights, and you've 
got a large group of people with a serious problem. They'll miL around out 
there in confusion and chant, and then, probably about midnight, the Atans 
will enter the city, come to the imperial compound and grind the whole lot 
of them right into the ground.' 

 'yes!' Engessa exclaimed enthusiastically. 'It's a brilliant plan, Sir 
Ulath,' Sarabian told the big Thalesian. 'Why are you so dissatisfied with 
it?' 

 'Because I don't like sieges, your Majesty.' 

 'Ulath,' Tynian said wincing slightly as he shifted his broken shoulder, 
'don't you think it's time that you aban'doned this pose? You're as quick 
to suggest forting up as any of the rest of us when the situation calls for 
it.' 

 'Thalesians are supposed to hate sieges, Tynian. It's a part of our 
national character. We're supposed to be impetuous, impatient and more 
inclined toward brute force than toward well-considered endurance.' 


 'SIr Ulath,' Bevier said, smiling slightly, 'King Wargun's father endured 
a siege at Heid that lasted for seventeen years. He emerged from it none 
the worse for wear. ' yes, but he didn't enjoy it, Bevier. That's my 
point.' 

 'I think we're overlooking an opportunity, my friends,' Kring noted. 'The 

mob's going to come to the imperial compound here, right?' 
'if we've guessed their intentions correctly, yes. ' Tynian agreed. 
'Some of them are going to be all afire with political furver - but 

not really very many, I don't think. Most of them are going to be more 
interested in looting the various palaces.' 
Sarabian's face blanched. 'Hell and night!' he swore. 'I
hadn't even thought of that!' 


 'Don't be too concerned, friend Emperor,' the Domi told him. 'Whether it's 
politics or greed that brings them, they'll almost all come into the 
grounds. The walls around the compound are high and the gates very 
imposing. Why don't we let them come in - but then make sure they don't 
leave? I can hide men near the gate-house. After the mob's in the grounds, 
we'll close the gates. That should keep them all more or less on hand to 
greet the Atans when they arrive. The loot will ' bring them in, and the 
gates will keep them in. They'll loot, right enough, but loot isn't really 
yours until you've escaped with it. We'll catch them all this way, and we 
won't have to dig any of them out of rabbit-holes later.'


 'That's got real possibilities, you know that, Kring?' Kalten said
admiringly. 'i'd have expected no less of him,' Mirtai said. 'He is a 
brilliant warrior, after all - and my betrothed.' Kring beamed. 'One last 
touch perhaps,' Stragen added. 'I think we all have a burning curiosity 
about certain things, and we've compiled this list of the names of people 
who might have answers to some of our most urgent questions. Battles are 
chancy, and sometimes valuable people get killed. I think there are some 
out there in Matherion who should be removed to safety before the fighting 
starts.'


 'Good idea, Milord Stragen,' Sarabian agreed. 'I'll send out some 
detachments on the morning of the big day to round up those we'd like to 
keep alive.' 
'Ah - perhaps that might not be the best way to go at it, your Majesty. Why 
not let Caalador attend to it? As a group, policemen tend to be obvious 
when they arrest people - uniforms, chains, marching in step - that sort of 
thing. Professional murderers are much more unobtrusive. You don't have to 
put chains on a man when you arrest him. A dagger-point held discreetly to 
his side is just as effective, I've found.' Sarabian gave him a shrewd
look. 'You're speaking from experience, I' gather?' he speculated. 'Murder 
is a crime, your Majesty,' Stragen pointed out, 'and as a leader of 
criminals,. I should have some experience in all branches of the field. 
Professionalism, you understand. ' 


CHAPTER 28 


'It was definitely Scarpa, Sparhawk,' Caalador assured the big Pandion. 
'We didn't have to rely entirely on the drawing. One of the local whores
is from Arjuna, and she's had business-dealings with him in the past. She 
positively identified him.' The two of them were standing atop the castle 
wall where they could speak privately. 'That seems to be everybody but 
Baron Parok of Daconia then,' Sparhawk noted. 'We've seen Krager, Gerrich, 
Rebal of Edam, this Scarpa from Arjuna, and Elron from Astel.' 


 'I thought the conspirator from Astel was called Sabre,' Caalador said. 
Sparhawk silently cursed his careless tongue. 'Sabre keeps his face 



hidden,' he said. 'Elron's a sympathizer more than that, probably.'
Caalador nodded. 'I've known some Astels,' he agreed, 'anB some Dacites, 
too. I wouldn't be positive that Baron Parok's not lurking in the shadows 
somewhere. They're definitely all gathering here in Matherion.' He looked 
thoughtfully out over the gleaming nacreous battlements at the fosse below. 
'is that ditch down there going to be all that much a barrier?' he asked. 
'The sides are so gently sloped that there's lawn growing on them.' 


 'It gets more inconvenient when it's filled with sharpened stakes,' 
Sparhawk replied. 'We'll do that at the last minute. Has there been any 
influx of strangers into Matherion? All those assorted patriots have large 
followings. A mob gathered off the streets is one thing. but a horde drawn 
from most of Tamuli would be something else entirely.' 


 'We haven't seen any unusual number of strangers here in town,' Caalador 
said, 'and there aren't any large gatherings out in the countryside - at 
least not within five leagues in any direction.' 


 'They could be holding in place farther on out,' Sparhawk said. 'if I had 
a supporting army out there some place, I wouldn't bring them in until the 
last minute.' Caalador turned and looked pointedly at the harbour. 'That's 
our weakness right there, Sparhawk. There could be a fleet hiding in coves 
and inlets along the coast. We'd never see them coming until they showed up 
on the horizon. I've got pirates and smugglers scouring the coasts, but -' 
He spread his hands. 'There's not very much we can do about it, I'm 
afraid,' Sparhawk said. 'We've got an army of Atans close at hand though, 
and they'll be inside the city soon after the uprising starts. Do your
people have the hiding places of these assorted visitors fairly 
well-pinpointed? if things go well, I'd like to sweep them all up at once 
if possible.' 


 'They don't seem to have lighted in specific places yet, Sparhawk. They're 
all moving around quite a bit. I've got people following them. We could 
pick them up early, if you'd like.: 'Let's not expose our preparations; If 
we can catch them on the day of the uprising, fine. If not, we can chase 
them down later. I'm not going to endanger our counter-measures just for 
the pleasure of their company. Your people are doing very well, Caalador.' 
Their performance is a bit forced, my friend)' Caalador admitted ruefully. 
'I've had to gather a large number of burly ruffians with clubs to keep 
reminding the Tamul criminals that we're all working together in this
affair.' 


 'Whatever it takes. 


%'Her Majesty's suggestion has some advantages, Lord Vanion,' Bevier said
after giving it some thought. 'It's what the fosse was designed for 
originally anyway. It's supposed to be a moat, not just a grassy ditch.' 
'It completely exposes the fact that we're preparing to defend the castle, 
Bevier,' Vanion objected. 'if we start pumping the moat full of water, 
everybody in Matherion will know about it within the hour.' 


 'You didn't listen to the whole plan, Vanion,' Ehlana said patiently. 
'We've been attending balls and banquets and various other entertainments 
ever since we arrived here. It's only proper that I respond to all those 
kindnesses, so I'm planning a grand entertainment to pay my social
obligations. It's not my fault that it's going to take place on the night 
of the uprising, is it? We have an Elene castle, so we'll have an Elene 
party. We'll have an orchestra on the battlements, coloured lanterns and 
buntings on the walls and festive barges in the moat complete 'with
canopies and banquet tables. I'll invite the emperor and his whole court.) 
'That would be extremely convenient, Lord Vanion,' Tynian said. 'We'd have 
everybody we want to protect right close at hand. We wouldn't have to go 



looking for them, and we wouldn't alert anybody to what we're doing by 
chasing cabinet ministers across the lawns.' Sparhawk's squire was shaking 
his head. 'What is it, Khalad?' Ehlana asked him. 'The bottom of the ditch 
hasn't been prepared to hold water, your Majesty. We don't know how porous 
the sub-soil is. There's a very good chance that the water you pump in will 
just seep into the ground. Your moat could be empty again a few hours after 
you fill it.' 

 'Oh, bother!' ~Ehlana fretted. 'I didn't think of that.' 
'I'll take care of it, Ehlana,' Sephrenia smiled. 'A good plan shouldn't 
be abandoned just because it violates a few natural laws.' 

 'Would you have to do that before we started to fill the moat, Sephrenia?' 
Stragen asked her. 'It's easier that way.' He frowned. 'What's the 
problem?' she asked. 'There are those three tunnels that lead under the 
fosse to connect with the hidden passageways and listening posts inside the 
castle.'

 'Three that we know about, anyway,' Ulath added. 'Exactly my point. 
Wouldn't we all feel more secure if all those tunnels - the ones we know 
about and the ones we don't - are flooded before the fighting starts?' 
'Good point,' Sparhawk said. 'I can wait to seal the bottom of the moat 
until after you've flooded the tunnels,' Sephrenia told them. what do you 
think, Vanion?' Emban asked. 'The preparations for the queen's party would 
cover a lot of activity,' Vanion conceded. 'It's a very good plan.' 

 'I like all of it except the barges,' Sparhawk said. 'i'm sorry, Ehlana, 
but those barges would just give the mob access to our walls. They'd defeat 
the whole purpose the moat was designed for in the first place.' 

 'i'm getting to that, Sparhawk. Doesn't naphtha float on top of water?' 
'Yes, but what's that got to do with it?' 

 'A barge isn't just a floating platform, you know. It's got a hold under 
the deck. Now, suppose we fill the holds with casks of naphtha. Then, when 
the trouble starts, we throw boulders down from the battlements and crack 
the barges open like eggshells. The naphtha will spread out over the water 
in the moat, we set fire to it and surround the castle with a wall of 
flame. Wouldn't that sort of inconvenience people trying to attack the 
castle?' 

 'You're a genius, my Queen!' ~Kalten exclaimed. 'How nice of you to have 
noticed that, Sir Kalten,' she replied smugly. 'And the beautiful part 
about the whole thing is that we can make all of our preparations right out 
in the open without sneaking around at night and losing all that sleep. 
This grand party gives us the perfect excuse to do almost anything to the 
castle in the name of decoration.' Mirtai suddenly embraced her owner and 
kissed her. 'i'm proud of you, my mother,' she said. 'i'm glad you approve, 
my daughter,' Ehlana said modestly, 'but you really ought to be more 
reserved, you know. Remember what you told me about girls kissing girls.' 

'We found two more tunnels, Sparhawk,' Khalad reported as his lord joined 
him on the parapet. Khalad was wearing a canvas smock over his black 
leather vest. Sparhawk looked out at the moat where a gang of workmen were 
driving long steel rods into the soft earth at the bottom of the ditch. 
'isn't that a little obvious?' he asked. 'We have to have mooring stakes 
for the barges, don't we? The tunnels are all about five feet below the 
surface. Most of the workmen with the sledge-hammers don't know what 
they're really looking for, but I've got a fair number of knights down in 
the ditch with them. The ceilings of those tunnels will be very leaky when 
we start to fill the moat.' Khalad looked out across the lawn. Then he 
cupped his hands around his mouth. 'Be careful with that barge!' he 
bellowed in Tamul. 'if you spring her seams, she'll leak!' The foreman 'of 


the Tamul work-crew laboriously pulling the broad-beamed barge across the 
lawn on rollers looked up. 'It's very heavy, honoured sir, he called back. 
'What have you got inside of it?' 

 'Ballast, you idiot!' Khalad called back. 'There are going to be' a lot of 
people on that deck tomorrow night. If the barge capsizes and the emperor 
falls in the moat, we'll all be in trouble.' Sparhawk looked inquiringly at 
his squire. 'We're putting the naphtha casks in the barges inside the 
construction sheds,' Khalad explained. 'We decided to do that more or less 
in private.' He looked at his lord. 'You don't necessarily have to tell 
your wife I said this, Sparhawk,' he said, but there were a few gaps in her 
plan. The naphtha was a good idea - as far as it went, but we've added some 
pitch as well, just to make sure it catches on fire when we want it to. 
Naphtha casks are also very tight. They won't do us much good if they just 
sink to the bottom of the moat when we break open the barges. ,i'm going to 
put a couple of Kring's Peloi in the hold of each barge. They'll take axes 
to the casks at the last minute.' 

'You think of everything, Khalad.' 
'Somebody has to be practical in this group.' 
'Now you sound like your father.' 
'There is one thing though, Sparhawk. Your partygoers are going to have to 


be very, very careful. There'll be lanterns - and probably candles as well 
- on those barges.,.One little accident could start the fire quite a bit 
sooner than we'd planned, and - ah, actually, we're a bit ahead of 
schedule, your Highness,' he said in Tamul for the benefit of the half 
dozen labourers who were pulling a two-wheeled cart along the parapet. The 
cart was filled with lanterns which the labourers were hanging from the 
battlements. 'No, no, no!' Khalad chided them. 'You can't put two green 
ones side by side like that. I've told you a thousand times - white, green, 
red, blue. Do it the way I told you to do it. Be creative in your own 
time.' He sighed exaggeratedly. 'It's so hard to get good help these days, 
your Highness,' he said. 'You're overacting, Khalad,' Sparhawk muttered. 'I 
know, but I want to be sure they're getting the point.' Kring came along 
the parapet rubbing his hand over his scarred head. 'I need a shave,' he 
said absently, 'and Mirtai's too busy to attend to it.' 

 'is that a Peloi custom, Domi?' Sparhawk asked. 'is it one of the duties 
of a Peloi woman to shave her man's head?' 

'No, actually it's Mirtai's personal idea. It's hard to see the back of 
your own head, and I used to miss a few places. Shortly after we were 
betrothed, she took my razor away from me and told me that from now on, she 
was going to do the shaving. She does a very nice job, really - when she 
isn't too busy.' He squared his shoulders. 'They absolutely refused, 
Sparhawk,' he reported. 'I knew they would, but I put the matter before 
them the way you asked. They won't be locked up inside your fort during the 
battle. If you stop and think about it, though, we'll be much more useful 
ranging around the grounds on horseback anyway. A few score mounted Peloi 
will stir that mob around like a kettle-full of boiling soup. If you want 
confusion out there tomorrow night, we'll give you lots of confusion. A man 
who's worried about getting a sabre across the back of the head isn't going 
to be able to concentrate on attacking a fort.' 

 'Particularly when his weapon doesn't work,' Khalad added. Sparhawk 
grunted. 'Of course we're assuming that the warehouse full'of crossbows 
Caalador found was the only one,' he added. 'i'm afraid we won't find that 
out until tomorrow night,' Khalad conceded. 'I disabled about six hundred 
of those things. If twelve hundred crossbowmen come into the palace grounds 
we'll know that half of their weapons are going to work. We'll have to take 


cover at that point. You there!' he shouted suddenly, looking upward. 
'Drape that bunting! Don't stretch it tight that way.' He shook his fist at 
the workman leaning Precariously out of a window high up in one of the 
towers. 

Although he was obviously quite young, the scholar Bevier escorted into 
Ehlana's presence was almost totally bald. He was very nervous, but his 
eyes had that burning glaze to them that announced him to be a fanatic. He 
prostrated himself before Ehlana's thronelike chair and banged his forehead 
on the floor. 'Don't do that, man,' Ulath rumbled at him. 'It offends the 
queen. Besides, you'll crack the floor tiles.' The scholar scrambled to his 
feet, his eyes fearful. 'This is Emuda,' Bevier introduced him. 'He's the 
scholar I told you about - the one with the interesting theory about Scarpa 
of Arjuna.' 

 'Oh, yes,' Ehlana said in Tamul. 'Welcome, Master Emuda. Sir Bevier has 
spoken highly of you.' Actually, Bevier had not, but a queen is allowed to 
take certain liberties with the truth. Emuda gave her a fawning sort of 
look. Sparhawk moved in quickly to cut off a lengthy, rambling preamble. 
'Correct me if I'm wrong about this, Master Emuda,' he said, but our 
understanding of your theory is that you think that Scarpa's behind all 
these disturbances in Tamuli.' That's a slight over-simplification, Sir ?' 

 Emuda looked inquiringly at the tall Pandion Knight: 'Sparhawk,' Ulath 
supplied. Emuda's face went white, and he began to tremble violently. 'I'm 
a simple sort of man, neighbour,' Sparhawk told him. 'Please don't confuse 
me with complications. What sort of evidence do you have that lays 
everything at Scarpa's door?' 

 'It's quite involved, Sir Sparhawk,' Emuda apologised. 'Un-involve it. 
Summarise, man. I'm busy.' Emuda swallowed very hard. 'Well, uh -' he 
faltered. 'We know - that is, we're fairly certain - that Scarpa was the 
first of the spokesmen for these so-called 'heroes from the past.'' 

 'Why do you say 'so-called', Master Emuda?' Tynian asked him. Sir Tynian 
still had his right arm in a sling. 'isn't it obvious, Sir Knight?' Emuda's 
tone was just slightly condescending. 'The notion of resurrecting the dead 
is an absurdity. It's all quite obviously a hoax. Some henchman is dressed 
in ancient clothing, appears in a flash of light - which any country-fair 
charlatan can contrive - and then starts babbling gibberish, which the 
'spokesman' identifies as an ancient language. Yes, it's clearly a hoax.' 
'How clever of you to have unmasked it,' Sephrenia murmured. we all thought 
it was magic of some kind.'

 'There's no such thing as magic, madame.' 

 'Really?' she replied mildly. 'What an amazing thing.' 

 'i'd stake my reputation on that.' 

 'How courageous of you.' 

 'You say that Scarpa was the first of these revolutionaries to appear?' 
Vanion asked him. 'By more than a year, Sir Knight. The first reports of 
his activities began to appear in diplomatic dispatches from the capital at 
Arjuna just over four years ago. The next to emerge was Baron Parok of 
Daconia, and I have a swarn statement from a ship-captain that Scarpa 
sailed from Kaftal in southwestern Arjuna to ALar in Daconia. ALar is Baron 
Parok's home, and he began his activities about three years ago. The 
connection is obvious.' 

 'It would seem so, wouldn't it?' Sparhawk mused. 'From ALar I have 
documented evidence of the travels of the two. Parok went into Edam, where 
he actually stayed in the home town of Rebal - that connection gave me a 
bit of trouble, since Rebal isn't using his real name. We've identified his 
home district, though, and the town Parok visited is the district capital. 


I think I'm safe in assuming that a meeting took' place during Parok's 
visit. While Parok was in Edam, Scarpa travelled all the way up into Astel. 
I can't exactly pinpoint his travels there, but I know he moved around 
quite a bit just to the north of the marches on the Edomish-Astellian 
border, and that's the region where Sabre makes his headquarters. The 
disturbances in Edam and Astel began some time after Scarpa and Parok had 
journeyed into those kingdoms. The evidence of connection between the four 
men is all very conclusive.'

 'What about these reports of supernatural events?' Tynian asked. 'More 
hoaxes, Sir Knight.' Emuda's expression was offensively superior. 'Pure 
charlatanism. You may have noticed that they always occur out in the 
countryside where the only witnesses are superstitious peasants and 
ignorant serfs. Civilised people would not be fooled by such obvious 
trickery.' 

 'I wondered about that,' Sparhawk said. 'Are you sure about this timetable 
of yours? Scarpa was the first to start stirring things up?' 

 'Definitely, Sir Sparhawk.' Then he contacted the others and enlisted 
them? Perhaps a year and a half later?' Emuda nodded. 'Where did he go when 
he left Astel after recruiting Sabre?' I've lost track of him for a time 
there, Sir Sparhawk. He went into the Elene Kingdoms of Western Tamuli 
about two and a half years ago and didn't return to Arjuna until eight or 
ten months later. I have no idea of where he was during that interim. Oh, 
one other thing. The so-called vampires began to appear in Arjuna at almost 
precisely the same time that Scarpa began telling the Arjuni that he'd been 
in contact with Sheguan, their national hero. The traditional monsters of 
the other kingdoms also put in their appearance at the same time these 
other revolutionaries began their campaigns. Believe me, your Majesty,' he 
said earnestly to Ehlana, if you're looking for a ringleader, Scarpa's your 

man.' 

 'We thank you for this information, Master Emuda, she said sweetly. 'Would 
you please provide Sir Bevier with your supporting data and describe your 
findings to him in greater detail? Pressing affarrs necessarily limit the 
time we can spend with you, fascinating though we find your conclusions.' 
'I shall be happy to share the entire body of my research with Sir Bevier, 
your Majesty.' Bevier rolled his eyes ceilingward and sighed. They watched 
the enthusiast lead poor Bevier from the room. 'i'd hate to have to take 
that case into any court - civil or ecclesiastical,' Emban snorted. 'It is 
a bit thin, isn't it?' Stragen agreed. 'The only thing that makes me pay 
any attention to him at all is that timetable of his,' Sparhawk said. 
'Dolmant sent me to Lamorkand late last winter to look into the activities 
of Count Gerich. While I was there, I heard all the wild stories about 
Drychnath. It seems that our prehistoric Lamork started making appearances 
at a time that coincides almost exactly with the period when our scholarly 
friend lost track of Scarpa. Emuda's such a complete ass that I sort of 
hate to admit it, but he may just have hit upon the right answer.' 

 'But it's for all the wrong reasons, Sparhawk,' Emban objected. 'i'm only 
interested in his answers, your Grace,' Spar hawk replied. 'As long as 
they're the right answers I don't care how he got them. ' 

'It's just too risky to do it any earlier, Sparhawk,' Stragen said later 
that day. 'You two are taking a lot of chances,' Sparhawk objected. 'It's a 
hull lot more chancy t' start out earlier, Sparhawk,' Caalador drawled. 
'if'n we want t' grab th' leaders sooner, them oz is left could gist call 
it all off, an' all these traps o' ourn wouldn't ketch no rabbits. We gotta 
wait 'till they open that warehouse an' start passin' out them there 


weepons.' Sparhawk winced. 'Weepons?' 
'The word wouldn't appear in that particular dialect,' Caalador shrugged. 

'I had to countrify it up - just for the sake of consistency.' 
'You switch back and forth like a frog on a hot rock, my friend.' 
'I know. Infuriating, isn't it? It goes like this, Sparhawk. If we pick up 

the conspirators any time before they start arming the mob, they'll be able 
to suspend operations and go to ground. They'll wait, reorganise and then' 
pick another day - which it is that we won't know nuthin' about. On the 
other hand, once they pass out the weapons, it'll be too late. There'll be 
thousands in the streets - most of them about half-drunk. Our friends in 
the upper councils could no more stop them than stop the tide. The sheer 
momentum of this attempted coup will be working for us instead of for our 
shadowy friends.' 

 'They can still go to ground and just feed the mob to the wolves, you 
know.' Caalador shook his head. 'Tamul justice is a bit abrupt, and an 
attack on the emperor is going to be viewed as the worst sort of bad 
manners. Several hundred people are going to be sent to the headsman's 
block. Recruitment after that will be virtually impossible. They have no 
choice. Once they start, they have to follow through.' 

 'You're talking about some very delicate timing, you know.' 

 'Ain, that's easy tuk care of, Sparhawk,' Caalador grinned. 'There's this 
yore temple right smack dab in the middle o' town. It's more'n likely all 
fulla cobwebs an' dust, on accounta our little yolla brothers don't take 
then religion none too serious-like. There's these yore priests oz sits 
around in there, drinkin' an' carousin' an' sick. When they gits themselves 
all beered-up an' boistrous-like, they usual decides t' hold services. 
They got this yore bell, which it is oz must weigh along 'bout twenty ton 
'er so. One o' them there drunk priests, he wobbles over t' that there bell 
an' he takes up this yore sledge-hammer an' he whacks the bell a couple 
licks with it. Makes the awfullest sound you ever did hear. Sailors bin 
known t' hear it 'bout ten leagues out t' sea. Now, there ain't no special 
time set fer when they goes t' whackin' on that there bell. Folks here in 
Matherion don't pay no attention t' it, figgerin' that it's gist the 
priests enjoyin' themselves.' Even Caalador could apparently tire of the 
exaggerated dialect. 'That's the beauty of it, Sparhawk,' he said, lapsing 
into normal speech. 'The sound of that bell is random, and nobody takes any 
special note of it. Tomorrow night, though, it's going to be profoundly 
significant. As soon as that warehouse opens, the bell's going to peal out 
its message of hope and joy. The murderers sitting almost in the laps of 
the people we want to talk with will take that as their orders to move. 
We'll have the whole lot rounded up in under a minute.' 

 'What if they try to resist?' 

 'Oh, there'll be some losses,' Caalador shrugged. 'You can't make an 
omelette without breaking eggs. There are several dozen people we want to 
pick up, so we can afford to lose a few.' 

The sound of the bell will also alert you, Sparhawk,' Stragen pointed out. 
'When you hear it start ringing, you'll know that it's time to move your 
wife's party inside.' 

'But you can't do this, your Majesty.' the minister of the interior 
protested shrilly the next morning as tons of water began to gush into the 
moat from the throats of the huge pipes strewn across the lawn of the 
imperial compound. 'Oh?' ~Ehlana asked innocently. 'And why is that, 
Minister Kolata?' 

 'Uh, well, uh, there's no sub-foundation under the moat, your Majesty. The 


water will just sink into the ground.' 


 'Oh, that's all right, Minister Kolata. It's only for one night. I'm sure 
the moat will stay full enough until after the party.' Kolata stared with
chagrin at a sudden fountain-like eruption of air and muddy water out in 
the centre of the moat. 'My goodness,' Ehlana said mildly, looking at the 
sudden whirlpool funnelling down where the eruption had taken place. 'There 
must have been an old abandoned cellar under there.' She laughed a silvery 
little laugh. 'i'd imagine that the rats who lived in there were very 
surprised, wouldn't you agree, your Excellency?' Kolata looked a bit sick. 
'Uh, would you excuse me, your Majesty?' he said, and he turned to hurry 
across the lawn without waiting for a reply. 'Don't let him get away, 
Sparhawk,' Ehlana said coolly. 'I strongly suspect that Lord Vanion's list 
wasn't as complete as we might have hoped. Why don't you invite the 
minister of the interior into the castle so that you can show him our other 
preparations?' She tapped one finger thoughtfully against her chin. 'And 
you might ask Sir Kalten and Sir Ulath to join you when you get around to 
showing his Excellency the torture chamber. Emperor Sarabian's excellent 
minister of the interior might want to add a few names to Vanion's list.' 
It was the cool and unruffled way , she said it that chilled Sparhawk's 
blood the most. 


'He's beginning to feel more than a little offended, Sparhawk,' Vanion said
soberly as the two of them watched Khalad's workmen 'decorating' the vast 
gates of the imperial compound. 'He's not stupid, and he knows that we're 
not telling him everything.' 


 'It can't be helped, Vanion. He's just too erratic to be let in on all the 


details.' 
'Mercurial might be a more diplomatic term.' 
'Whatever. We don't really know him all that well, Vanion, and we're 


operating in an alien society. For all we know, he keeps a diary and writes
everything down. That could be a Tamul custom. It's entirely possible that 
our whole plan could be available to the chambermaid who makes up his bed 
every morning.' 


 'You're speculating, Sparhawk.' 
'These ambushes out in the countryside weren't speculation. ' 
'Surely you don't suspect the emperor.' 
'Somebody passed the word of our expeditions along to our enemy, Vanion. 


We can apologise to the emperor after this evening's entertainment is 
concluded.' 


 'Oh, that's just too obvious, Sparhawk!' Vanion burst out, pointing at the 
heavy steel lattice Khalad's workmen were installing on the inside of the 
gates. 'It won't be visible when they open the gates all the way, Vanion, 
and Khalad's going to hang bunting on the lattice to conceal it. Did 
Sephrenia have any luck when she tried to contact Zalasta?' 


 'No. He must still be too far away.' 


'i'd be a lot more comfortable if he were here. If the Troll-Gods put in an 


appearance tonight, we could be in very serious trouble.' 
'Aphrael can deal with them.' 
'Not without revealing her true identity, she can't, and if that comes 


out, my wife's going to find out some things I'd rather she didn't know. 
I'm not so fond of Sarabian that I'm willing to risk Ehlana's sanity just 
to keep him on his throne.'


The sun crept' slowly down the western sky, moving closer and closer to the 
horizon. Although he knew it to be an absurdity, it seemed to Sparhawk that 



the blazing orb was plummeting to earth like a shooting star. There were so 
many details - so many things that had yet to be done. Worse yet, many of 
those tasks could not even be commenced until after the sun went down and 
Bathering darkness concealed them from the hundreds of eyes that were 
certainly out there watching. It was early evening when Kalten finally came 
to the royal apartment to announce that they had gone as far as they could 
go until after dark. Sparhawk was relieved to know that at least that much 
had been completed on time. was the minister of the interior at all 
forthcoming?' Ehlana asked from her' chair near the window where Alcan and 
Melidere were involved in the extended process known as 'doing her hair. 
'Oh, yes, your Majesty,' Kalten replied with a broad grin. 'He seems even 
more eager to talk than your COUSin Lycheas was. Ulath can be very 
persuasive at times. Kolata seemed to be particularly upset by the 
leaches.' 

 'Leeches?' Kalten nodded. 'It was right after Ulath offered to stuff him 
head-down into a barrelful of leeches that Kolata developed this burning 
desire to share things with us.' 

 'Dear God!' the queen shuddered. 

It was the general opinion of all the Guests present that evening that the 
Queen of Elenia's party was absolutely the crowning event of the season. 
The lanterns illuminating the mother-of-pearl battlements were spectacular, 
the gay buntings - several thousand yards of very expensive silk - were 
festive, and the orchestra on the battlements, playing traditional Elene 
airs rather than the discordant cacophony that passed for music in 
Sarabian's court, lent a pleasantly archaic quality to the entire occasion. 
It was the barges moored in the moat, however, that drew the most 
astonished comment. The idea of dining out of doors had never occurred to 
the Tamuls, and the notion of floating dining-rooms ablaze with 
candle-light and draped with brightly-coloured silk bunting was quite 
beyond the imagination of the average member of the emperor's court. The 
candles caused the knights no end of concern. The thought of open flame so 
close to the hidden cargo of the barges was sufficient to make strong men 
turn pale. Since the party was taking place around the Elene castle, and 
the hostess was herself an Elene, the ladies of the Emperor's court had 
quite nearly exhausted the creative talents of every dressmaker in 
Matherion in their efforts to 'dress Elene.' The results were not uniformly 
felicitous, however, since the dressmakers of Matherion were obliged to 
rely on books for inspiration, and many of the books in the library of the 
university were several hundred years old and the gowns depicted on their 
pages were terribly out of fashion. Ehlana and Melidere were in fashion, 
however, and they were the absolute centre of attention. Ehlana's gown was 
of regal blue, and she wore a diamond and ruby-studded tiara nestled in her 
pale' -blonde hair. Mellidere was gowned in lavender. It seemed to be her 
favourite colour. Mirtai was defiantly not in fashion. She wore the blue 
sleeveless gown she had worn at her owner's wedding, and this time, she was 
visibly armed. Rather surpri'singly, Sephrenia also wore an Elene gown - of 
snowy white, naturally - and Vanion was obviously smitten by her all over 
again. The knights of the queen's escort wore doublets and hose, much 
against Sparhawk's better judgement. Their armour, however, was close at 
hand. After the members of the imperial court had made their appearance and 
had begun to circulate on the barges, there was a pause, and then a brazen 
Elene fanfare. 'I had to offer violence to the musicians to get them to 
greet the emperor properly,' the elegantly garbed Stragen muttered to 
Sparhawk. 'Oh?' They were very insistent that the emperor should be greted 
by that dreadful noise they call music around here. They became much more 


co-operative after I sliced the smock off one 'of the trumpeters with my 
rapier.' Stragen's eyes suddenly ' widened. 'For God's sake, man!' he 
hissed at a servant placing a large platter of steamming beef on one of the 
tables, 'be careful of those candles!' 

'He's a Tamul, Stragen,' Sparhawk pointed out when the servant gave the 
Thalesian a blank stare. 'You're trying to talk to him in Elenic.' 

 'Make him be careful, Sparhawk! A single tongue of fire in the wrong place 
on any of these barges could broil us all alive!' Then the emperor and his 
nine wives appeared on the drawbridge and came down the carpeted steps to 
the first barge. Everyone bowed to the emperor, but no one looked at him. 
All eyes were locked on the radiantly smiling Empress Elysoun of Valesia. 
She had modified the customary Elene costume to accommodate her cultural 
tastes. Her scarlet gown was really quite lovely, but it had been altered 
so that those attributes Elene ladies customarily concealed and Valesian 
ladies flaunted were nestled on two hUly cushions of snowy lace and were 
thus entirely, even aggressively, in full view. 'Now that is what you might 
call a fashion statement,' Stragen murmured. 'That it is, my friend,' 
Sparhawk chuckled, adjusting the collar of his black velvet doublet, 'and 
everybody's listening to her. Poor Emban appears to be quite nearly on the 
verge of apoplexy.' In a kind of formal little ceremony, Queen Ehlana 
escorted Sarabian and his empresses across the bridges that stepped from 
barge to barge. The Empress Elysoun was obviously looking for someone, and 
when she saw Berit standing off to one side on the second barge, she 
altered course and bore down upon him with all sails set - figuratively 
speaking, of course. Sir Berit looked at first apprehensive, then 
desperate, as Elysoun more or less pinned him to the tail of the barge 
without so much as laying a hand on him. 'Poor Berit,' Sparhawk said 
sympathetically. 'Stay close to him, Stragen. I don't know for sure if he 
can swim. Be ready to rescue him if he jumps into the moat.' After the 
emperor had been given the grand tour, the banquet began. Sparhawk had 
judiciously spaced out the knights among the diners. The knights were not 
really very interesting dinner companions, since they all concentrated 
almost exclusively on the candles and the lanterns. 'God help us if a wind 
comes up,' Kalten muttered to Sparhawk. 'Truly,' Sparhawk agreed fervently. 
'Ah - Kalten, old friend.' 

'Yes?' 
'You're supposed to be keeping an eye on the candles, not the front of the 


Empress Elysoun's gown.' 
'What front?' 
'Don't be vulgar, and remember what you're supposed to be doing here.' 

'How are we going to herd this flock of over-dressed sheep inside when that 
bell rings?' Kalten shifted uncomfortably. His green satin doublet was 
buttoned very tightly across his stomach. 'if we've timed it right, the 
feasters will be finishing uP the main course at just about the same time 
as our friends out in the city start distributing the weapons. When that 
bell rings, Ehlana's going to inv' ite all the revellers into the castle 
dining-room where the dessert course is set upon more tables.' very clever, 
Sparhawk,' Kalten said admiringly. 'Go congratulate my wife, Kalten. It was 
her idea.' 

 'She's really awfully good at this sort of thing, you know that? I'm glad 
she decided to come along.' 
'I'm still of two minds about that,' Sparhawk grunted. The feast went on, 
and there were toasts by the dozen. The feasters heaped praise upon the 
Queen of Elenia. Since the revellers were totally unaware of the impending 
climax of the evening, there were many inadvertent ironies in the 


compliments. Sparhawk scarcely tasted his dinner, and he picked at his 
food, his eyes constantly on the candles and his ears alert for the first 
sound of the bell which would announce that his enemies were on the move. 
Kalten's appetite, however, seemed unaffected by the impending crisis. 'How 
can you stuff yourself that way?' Sparhawk asked his friend irritably. 
'Just keeping up my strength, Sparhawk. I'm likely to 

burn up a lot of energy before the night's out. If you're not busy, old 
boy, would you mind passing that gravy down this way?' 

Then from somewhere near the centre of the gleaming moon-drenched city of 
Matherion, a deep-toned bell began to boom, announcing that the second half 
of the evening's entertainment had begun. 

CHAPTER 29 

why didn't you tell me, Ehlana?' Sarabian demanded. The emperor's face was 
livid with suppressed fury, and his heavy gold crown was slightly askew. 
'Please calm yourself, Sarabian,' the blonde queen suggested. 'We didn't 
find out until mid-morning today, , and there was no possible way to get 
the information to you without taking the chance of compromising it.' 

 'Your snake-hipped Baroness could have carried a message to me,' he 
accused, smacking his palm down on the battlement. They were on the 
parapet, ostensibly admiring the view. 'My fault there, your Majesty,' 
Sparhawk apologised. 'i'm more or less in charge of security, and Minister 
Kolata's the man who controls the police in Tamuli - both the overt police 
and the ones who hide in the bushes. There was no way we could be 
absolutely sure that our subterfuge involving the baroness had been 
successful. The information that we had discovered the minister's 
involvement was just too sensitive to risk. This attempt on your government 
tonight has to go off as planned. If our enemy gets the slightest hint that 
we know what he's up to, he'll postpone things until another day, and we 
won't have any idea of which day it's Going to be.' , 'i'm still very put 
out with you, Sparhawk,' Sarabian complained. 'I can't fault your 
reasoning, but you've definitely bruised my feelings here.' we're supposed 
to be watching the play of lights on the waters of the moat, Sarabian,' 
Ehlana reminded the 'emperor. 'Please at least glance over the battlements 
once in a while.' Their position on the parapet gave them privacy, and a 
good vantage-point from which to watch for the approach of the mob. 'The 
news about Kolata's involvement in this business is really distressing,' 
Sarabian fretted. 'He controls the police, palace security and all the 
spies inside the empire. Worse than that, he has a certain amount of 
authority over the Atans. If we lose them, we're in very serious trouble. ' 
'Engessa's trying to sever that connection, your Majesty,' Sparhawk told 
him. 'He sent runners to the Atan forces outside the city to advise the 
commanders that the agents of the ministry of the interior aren't to be 
trusted. The commanders will pass that on to Androl and Betuana.'

 'Are we safe here in the event that Atan Engessa's runners are 
intercepted?'

 'Sir Bevier assures us that he can hold this castle for five years, 
Sarabian,' Ehlana told him, 'and Bevier's the expert on sieges.' 

 'And when the five years runs out?' 

 'The Church Knights will be here long before then, your Majesty,' Sparhawk 
assured him. 'Caalador has his instructions. If things go awry, he'll get 
word to Dolmant in Chyrellos.' 

 'You people are still making me very, very nervous.' 


 'Trust me, your Majesty,' Sparhawk said. Kalten came puffing up the stairs 
to the parapet. 'We're going to need more wine, Sparhawk,' he said. 'I 
think we made a mistake when we set those wine-casks in the courtyard. The 
queen's guests are lingering down there, and they're swilling down Arcian 
red like water.' 

 'May I draw on your wine-cellars, Sarabian?' Ehlana asked sweetly. 
Sarabian winced. 'Why are you pouring all that drink 

into them?' he demanded. 'Arcian red's very expensive here in Matherion.' 
'Drunk people are easier to manage than sober ones, your Majesty,' Kalten 
shrugged. 'We'll let them continue to carouse down there in the courtyard 
and inside the castle until the fighting starts. Then we'll push the 
stragglers on inside the castle with the others and keep them drinking. 
When they wake up tomorrow morning, most of them won't even know there's 
been a battle.' 

The party in the courtyard was growing noisier. Tamul wines were not nearly 
as robust as Elene vintages, and the wits of the revellers had become 
fuddled. They laughed a great deal and walked about the yard unsteadily 
with silly grins on their faces. Queen Ehlana looked critically down from 
the parapet. 'How much longer would you say it's going to take them to be 
totally incapacitated, Sparhawk?' she asked. 'Not much longer,' he 
shrugged. He turned and looked out towards the city. 'I don't want to see'm 
critical, Emperor Sarabian, but I have to point out that your citizenry is 
profoundly unimaginative. Your rebels out there are carrying torches.' 
'So?' 

 'It's a cliche, your Majesty. The mob in every bad Arcian romance ever 
written carries torches.' 
'How can you be so cool, man?' Sarabian demanded. 'if someone made a loud 
noise behind me right now, i'd jump out of my skin.' 

 'Professional training) I guess. I'm more concerned that they might not 
reach the imperial compound than that they will. We want them to come here, 
your Majesty.' 

 'Shouldn't you raise the drawbridge?' 

 'Not yet. There are conspirators here in the compound as well as out there 
in the streets. We don't want to give away the fact that we know they're 
coming.' Khalad thrust his head out of the turret at the corner of the 
battlements and beckoned to his lord. 'Will you excuse me, your Majesties?' 
Sparhawk asked politely. 'I have to go put on my work-clothes. Oh, Ehlana, 
why don't you signal Kalten that it's time to push those stragglers inside 
and lock them in the dining room with the others?' 

 'What's this?' Sarabian asked. 'We don't want them underfoot when the 
fighting starts, Sarabian,' the queen smiled. 'The wine should keep them 
from noticing that they're locked in the dining room.' 

 'You Elenes are the most cold-blooded people in the world,' Sarabian 
accused as Sparhawk moved off down the parapet toward the turret where 
Khalad was waiting with the suit of black armour. When he returned about 
ten minutes later, he was dressed in steel. He found Ehlana talking 
earnestly with Sarabian. 'Can't you talk with her?' she was saying. 'The 
poor young man's on the verge of hysteria.' 

 'Why doesn't he just do what she wants him to? Once they've entertained 
each other, she'll lose interest.' 

 'Sir Berit's a very young knight, Sarabian. His ideals haven't been 
tarnished yet. Why doesn't she chase after Sir Kalten or Sir Ulath? They'd 
be happy to oblige her.' 

 'Sir Berit's a challenge to Elysoun, Ehlana. Nobody's ever turned her down 


before.' 
'Doesn't her rampant infidelity bother you?' 
'Not in the slightest. It doesn't really mean anything in her culture, you 

see. Her people look upon it as a pleasant but unimportant pastime. I 

sometimes think you Elenes place far too much significance on it.' 
'Can't you make her put some clothes on?' 
'Why? She's not ashamed of her body, and she enjoys sharing it with 

people. Be honest, Ehlana, don't you find her quite attractive?' 
'I think you'd have to ask my husband about that.' 
'You don't really expect me to answer that kind of question, do you?' 

Sparhawk said. He looked out over the battlements. 'Our friends out there 
seem to have found their way to the palace compound,' he noted as the 
torch-bearing rioters began to stream through the gate' onto the grounds. 
'The guards are supposed to stop them,' Sarabian said angrily. 'The guards 
are taking their orders from Minister Kolata, I expect,' Ehlana shrugged. 
'Where's the Atan Garrison then?' 

 'We've moved them inside the castle here, your Majesty,' Sparhawk advised 
him. 'I think you keep overlooking the fact that we want those people in 
the grounds. It wouldn't make much sense to impede their progress.' 

 'isn't it about time to raise the drawbridge?' Sarabian seemed nervous 
about that. 'Not yet, your Majesty,' Sparhawk replied coolly. 'We want them 
all to be inside the compound first. At that ' point, Kring will close the 
gates. Then we'll raise the drawbridge. Let them take the bait before we 
spring the trap on them.' 

 'You sound awfully sure of yourself, Sparhawk.' 
'We have all the advantages, your Majesty.' 
'Does that mean that nothing can possibly go wrong?' 
'No, something can always go wrong, but the probabilities are remote.' 


'You don't mind if I worry a little bit anyway, do you?' 

 'Go right ahead, your Majesty.' The mob from the streets of Matherion 
continued to stream unimpeded through the main gate of the Imperial grounds 
and fanned out rapidly, shouting excitedly as they crashed their way into 
the various palaces and administration buildings. As Kring had anticipated, 
many emerged from the gleaming buildings burdened down with assorted 
valuables they had looted from the interiors. There was a brief flurry of 
activity in front of the castle when one group of looters reached the 
drawbridge and encountered a score of mounted knights under the command of 
Sir Ulath. The knights were there to provide cover for the Peloi who had 
been hidden in the holds of the barges during the earlier festivities and 
who had fallen to work on the naphtha casks with their axes as soon as the 
revellers had retired to the castle yard. A certain amount of glistening 
seepage from the sides of the barges indicated that the axemen crossing the 
decks of the festive vessels in the roost toward the drawbridge had done 
their work well. When the mob reached the outer end of the drawbridge, 
Ulath made it abundantly clear to them that he was in no mood to receive 
callers. The survivors decided to find other places to loot. The courtyard 
had been cleared, and Bevier and his men were moving their catapults into 
place on the parapet. Engessa's Atans had moved up onto the parapets with 
the Cyrinics and were crouched down out of sight behind the battlements. 
Sparhawk looked around. Everything seemed in readiness. Then he looked at 
the gates of the compound. The only revolutionaries coming in now were the 
lame and the halt. They crutched their way along vigorously, but they had 
lagged far behind their companions. Sparhawk leaned out over the 
battlements. 'We might as well get started, Ulath,' he called down to his 
friend. 'Why don't you ask Kring to close the gates? Then you should 
probably come inside.' 


 'Right!' Ulath's face was split with a broad grin. He lifted his curled 
Ogre-horn to his lips and blew a hollowsounding blast. Then he turned and 
led his knights across the drawbridge back into the castle. The huge gate 
at the entrance to the palace grounds moved ponderously, slowly, swinging 
shut with a dreadful kind of inexorability. Sparhawk noted that several of 
those still outside stumped along desperately on their crutches, trying for 
all they were worth to get inside before the gate closed. 'Kalten,' he 
yelled down into the courtyard. 'What?' Kalten's tone was irritable. 'Would 
you like to let those people out there know that we're not receiving any 
more visitors tonight?' 

 'Oh, all right. I suppose so.' Then the blond Pandion grinned up at his 
fellow-knight and he and his men began turning the capstan that raised the 
drawbridge. 'Clown,' Sparhawk muttered. The significance of the 
simultaneous closing of the gate and raising of the drawbridge did not 
filter through the collective mind of the mob for quite some time..Then 
sounds of shouted commands and even occasional clashes of weapons from 
nearby buildings announced that at least some of the rebels were beginning, 
however faintly, to see the light. Tentatively, warily, the torch-bearing 
mob began to converge on the pristinely white Elene castle, where the 
gaily-coloured silk buntings shivered tremulously in the night breeze and 
the lantern and candle-lit barges bobbed sedately in the moat. 'Hello, the 
castle!' a 'bull-voiced fellow in the front rank roared in execrable 
Elenic. 'Lower your drawbridge, or we'll storm your walls!' :Would you 
please reply to that, Bevier?' Sparhawk called to his Cyrinic friend. 
Bevier grinned and carefully shifted one of his catapults. He sighted 
carefully, elevated his line of sight so that the catapult was pointed 
almost straight up, and then he applied the torch to the mixture of pitch 
and naphtha in the spoon-like receptacle at the end of the atapult-arm. The 
mixture took fire immediately. 'I command you to lower your drawbridge!' 
the unshaven knave out beyond the moat bellowed arrogantly. Bevier cut the 
retaining rope on the catapult-arm. The blob of dripping fire sizzled as it 
shot almost straight up into the air, then it slowed and seemed to hang 
motionless for a moment. Then it fell. The ruffian who had been demanding 
admittance gaped at Bevier's reply as it majestically rose into the night 
sky and then fell directly upon him like a comet. He vanished as he was 
engulfed in fire. 'Good shot!' Sparhawk called his compliment. 'Not bad,' 
Bevier replied modestly. 'It was sort of tricky, because he was so close.' 
'I noticed that.' Emperor Sarabian had gone very pale, and he was visibly 
shaken. 'Did you have to do that, Sparhawk?' He demanded in a choked voice 
as the now-frightened mob 

fled back across the lawns to positions that may or may not have been out 
of Sir Bevier's range. 'Yes, your Majesty,' Sparhawk replied calmly. 'We're 
playing for time here. The beL that started to ring an hour or so ago was a 
sort of General signal. Caalador's cutthroats took the ring-leaders into 
custody when it rang, Ehlana moved the party-goers inside the castle, and 
the Atan legions outside the city started to march as soon as they heard 
it. That loud-mouth who's presently on fire at the edge of the moat is a 
graphic demonstration of just how truly unpleasant things are going to get 
if the mob decides to insist on being admitted. It's going to take some 
serious encouragement to persuade them to approach us again.' 

 'I thought you said you could hold them off.' 

 'We can, but why risk lives if you don't have to? You'll note that there 
was no cheering or shouts when Bevier shot his catapult. Those people out 
there are staring at an absolutely silent, apparently unmanned castle that 


almost negligently obliterates offensive people. That's a terrifying sort 
of thing to contemplate. This is the part of the siege that frequently 
lasts for several years.' Sparhawk looked down the parapet. 'I think it's 
time for us to move inside that turrret, your Majesties,' he suggested. we 
can't be positive that Khalad disabled all the crossbows - or that somebody 
in the mob hasn't repaired a few. I'd have a great deal of trouble 
explaining why I was careless enough to let one of you get killed. We can 
see what's going on from the turret, and I'll feel much better if you've 
both got nice thick stone walls around you.' 

 'Shouldn't we rupture those barges now, dear?' Ehlana asked him. 'Not just 
yet. We've got the potential for inflicting a real disaster on the 
besiegers there. Let's not waste it.' 

Some few of the crossbows in the hands of the mob functioned properly, but 
not very many. There seemed to be a great deal of swearing about that. A 
serious attempt to re-open the gates of the compound fell apart when the 
Peloi, their sabres flashing and their shrill, ululating war cries echoing 
back from the walls of nearby opalescent palaces charged across the' 
neatly-clipped lawns to savage the crowd clustered around the gate. Then, 
because once the Peloi have been unleashed they are very hard to rein in 
again, the tribesmen from the marches of eastern Pelosia sliced back and 
forth through the huddled mass cowering on the grass. The palace guards who 
had joined the mob made some slight effort to respond, but the Peloi 
horsemen gleefully rode them down. Sephrenia and Vanion entered the turret. 
The small Styrik woman's white gown gleamed in the shaft of moonlight that 
streamed in through the door. 'What are you thinking of, Sparhawk?' she 
demanded angrily. 'This isn't a safe place for Ehlana and Sarabian.'

 'I think it's as safe as I can manage, little mother. Ehlana, what would 
you say if I told you that you had to go inside?' 

 'i'd say no, Sparhawk. I'd crawl out of my skin if you locked me up in 
some safe room where I couldn't see what's going on.' 

 'I sort of thought you might feel that way. And you, Emperor Sarabian?' 
'Your wife just nailed my feet to the floor, Sparhawk. How could I possibly 
run off and hide while she's standing up here on the wall like the 
figurehead on a warship?' The emperor looked at Sephrenia. 'is this insane 
foolhardiness a racial characteristic of these barbarians?' he asked her. 
She sighed. 'You wouldn't believe some of the things they're capable of, 
Sarabian,' she replied, throwing a quick smile at Vanion. 

'At least someone in that mob's still thinking coherently, Sparhawk,' 
Vanion said to his friend. 'He's just realised that there are all sorts of 
unpleasant implications in the fact that they can't get in here or out of 
the compound. He's out there trying to whip them up by telling them that 
they're doomed unless they take this castle.' 

 'I hope he's Also telling them that they're doomed if they try,' Sparhawk 
replied. 'i'd imagine that he's glossing over that part. I had some 
misgivings about you when you were a novice, my friend. You and Kalten 
seemed like a couple of wild colts, but now that you've settled down, 
you're really quite good. Your strategy here has been brilliant, you know. 
You actually haven't embarrassed me too much this time.' 

 'Thanks, Vanion,' Sparhawk said dryly 'No charge.' The rebels approached 
the moat tentatively, their Faces filled with apprehension and their eyes 
fixed on the night sky, desperately searching for that first flicker of 
fire which would announce that Sir Bevier was sending them greetings. The 
chance passage of a shootingstar across the velvet throat of night elicited 
screams of fright, followed by a vast nervous laugh. The gleaming, 


brightly-lit castle, however, remained silent. No soldiers lined the 
battlements. No globs of liquid fire sprang into the night sky from within 
those nacreous walls. The defenders crouched silently behind the 
battlements and waited. 'Good,' Vanion muttered after a quick glance out of 
one of the embrasures in the turret. 'Someone saw the potential of those 
barges. They've clapped together some scaling ladders.' 

 'We have to rupture those barges now, Vanion!' Ehlana exclaimed.urgently. 
'You didn't tell her?' Vanion asked Sparhawk. 'No. The concept might have 
been difficult for her to accept.' 

 'You'd better take her back inside the castle then, my friend. What's 
going to happen next is likely to upset her a great deal.' 

 'Will you two stop talking about me as if I weren't even here?' Ehlana 
burst out in exasperation. 'What are you going to do?'

 'You'd better tell her,' Vanion said bleakly. 'We can start that fire at 
any time, Ehlana,' Sparhawk said as gently as he could. 'in a situation 
like this, fire's a weapon. It's not tactically practical to waste it by 
setting it off before your enemies are around to receive its 'benefits. ' 
She stared at him, the blood draining from her face. This wasn't what I'd 
planned, Sparhawk!' she said vehemently. 'The fire's supposed to keep them 
away from the moat. I didn't want you to burn them alive with it.' 

 'i'm sorry, Ehlana. It's a military decision. A weapon's useless unless 
you demonstrate your willingness to employ it. I know it's hard to accept, 
but if we take your plan to its ultimate application, it may save lives in 
the long run. We're outnumbered here in Tamuli, and if we don't establish a 
certain reputation for ruthlessness, we'll be over-run the next time 
there's a confrontation. 'You're a monster!' 

 'No, dear. I'm a soldier.' She suddenly started to cry. 'Would you take 
her inside now, little mother?' Sparhawk asked Sephrenia. 'I think we'd all 
rather she didn't see this.' Sephrenia nodded and took the weeping queen to 
the stairway leading down from the turret. 'You might want to go too, your 
Majesty,' Vanion suggested to Sarabian. 'Sparhawk and I are more or less 
accustomed to this sort of unpleasantness. You don't have to watch, 
though.' 

'No, I'll stay, Lord Vanion,' Sarabian said firmly. 'That's up to you, your 
Majesty.' A sheet of crossbow bolts rattled against the battlements like 
hail. It appeared that the rebels had been repairing the results of 
Khalad's tampering. Then, fearfully, splashing in panicky desperation, 
swimmers leapt from the edge of the moat and struggled their way to the 
barges to slip the mooring lines. The barges were quickly pulled to shore, 
and the rebels, their makeshift scaling-ladders already raised, swarmed on 
board and began to pole their way rapidly across the moat to the sheer 
castle-wall. Sparhawk stuck his head out through the doorway of the turret. 
'Kalten!' he hissed to his friend who was crouched down on the parapet not 
far from the turret. 'Pass the word! Tell the Atans to get ready!' 

'Right.' 

 'But tell them not to move until they hear the signal.' 

 'I know what I'm doing, Sparhawk. ~quit treating me like an idiot.' 
'Sorry.' The urgent whisper sped around the battlements. 'Your timing's 
perfect, Sparhawk,' Vanion said tensely in a low voice. 'I just saw Kring's 
signal from the compound wall. The Atans are outside the gate.' He paused. 
'You're having an unbelievable run of good luck, you know. Nobody could 
have guessed in advance that the mob would start up the wall and the Atans 
would arrive at precisely the same time.' 

 'Probably not,' Sparhawk agreed. 'I think we might want to do something 
nice for Aphrael the next time we see her.' In the moat below, the barges 


bumped against the castle walls, and the rebels began their desperate 
scramble up the ladders towards the ominously silent battlements. ' Another 
urgent whisper slithered back around the parapet. The barges are all up 
against the wall now, Sparhawk!' Kalten whispered hoarsely. 'All right.' 
Sparhawk drew in a deep breath. Tell Ulath to give the signal.' 

 'Ulath!' ~Kalten shouted, no longer even bothering to whisper.'Toot your 
horn!' 
'Toot?' Ulath's voice was outraged. Then his Ogre-horn rang out its message 
of pain and death. From around the parapet, great boulders were lifted, 
teetered a moment on the battlements and then plummeted down onto the 
swarming decks of the barges below. The barges ruptured, splintered and 
began to sink. The viscous mixture of naphtha and pitch spread out across 
the surface of the moat. The spreading slick was rainbow-hued and, Sparhawk 
absently thought, really rather pretty. The towering Atans rose from their 
places of concealment, took up the lanterns conveniently hanging from the 
battlements and hurled them down into the moat like a hundred flaring 
comets. The rebels who had leaped from the sinking barges and who were 
struggling in the oily water below screamed in terror as they saw flaming 
death raining down on them from above. The moat exploded. A sheet of blue 
fire shot across the naphtha-stained water, and it was immediately followed 
by towering billows of sooty orange flame and dense black smoke. There were 
volcano-like eruptions from the sinking barges as the deadly, unspilled 
naphtha still in their holds took fire. The flames belched upward to sear 
the rebels still clinging to the scaling ladders. They fell or jumped from 
the burning ladders, streaking flame as they plunged into the inferno 
below. The screams were dreadful. Some few of the burning men reached the 
far bank of the moat and ran blindly across the tidy lawns of the compound, 
shrieking and dripping fire. The rebels who had stood at the brink of the 
moat impatiently awaiting their turn to cross the intervening water to 
scale the walls recoiled in horror from the sudden conflagration that had 
just made the gleaming castle of the Elenes as unreachable as the far side 
of the moon. 'Ulath!' Sparhawk ' roared. 'Tell Kring to open the gate.' 
Once more the Ogre-horn sang. The massive gates of the compound swung 
slowly open, and the golden Atan giants, running in perfect unison, swept 
into the imperial compound like an avalanche. 

CHAPTER 30 

'I don't know how they did it, Sparhawk,' Caalador replied with a dark 
scowl. 'Krager himself hasn't been seen for days. He's a slippery one, 
isn't he?' Caalador had come in from the city and located Sparhawk on the 
parapet. 'That he is, my friend. What about the others? I wouldn't have 
thought that Elron could have managed something like that.' 

 'Neither would I. He was doing everything but wearing a sign reading 
'conspirator' on his forehead - all that swirling of his cape and 
exaggerated tip-toeing through back alleys.' Caalador shook his head. 
'Anyway, he was staying) in the house of a local Edomish nobleman. We know 
he was inside, because we watched him go in through the front door. We were 
watching every single door and window, so we know he didn't come back out, 
but he wasn't inside when we went to pick him up.' There was a crash from a 
nearby palace as the Atans broke in the doors to get at the rebels hiding 
inside. 'Did your people check the house for hidden rooms or passages?' 
Sparhawk asked. Calador shook his head. 'They stood the Edomish noble 
barefoot in a brazier of hot coals instead. It's faster that way. There was 
no place to hide in that house. I'm sorry, Sparhawk. We picked up all the 
second-raters without a hitch, but the leaders - ' He spread his hands 


helplessly. 'Somebody was probably using magic. They've done it before.' 
'Can you really do that sort of thing with magic?' 

 'I can't, but I'm sure Sephrenia knows the proper spells.' Caalador looked 
out over the battlements. 'Well, at least we broke up this attack on the 
government. That's the main thing.' 

 'i'm not so sure,' Sparhawk disagreed. 'It was fairly important, Sparhawk. 
If they'd succeeded, all of Tamuli would have flown apart. As soon as the 
Atans finish mopping up, we'll be able to start questioning survivors - and 
those underlings we did manage to catch. They might be able to direct us to 
the important plotters.' 

 'I sort of doubt it. Krager's very good at this sort of thing. I think 
we'll find that the underlings don't actually have a lot of information. 
It's a shame. I really wanted to have a little talk with Krager.' 

 'You always get that tone of voice when you talk about him.' Caalador 
observed. 'is there something personal between you two?' 

 'Oh, yes, and it goes back a long, long ways. I've missed any number of 
opportunities to kill him - usually because it wasn't convenient.' I was 
usually too busy concentrating on the man who employed him, and that may 
have been a mistake. Krager always makes sure that he's got just enough 
information to make him too valuable to kill. The next time I come across 
him, I think I'll just ignore that.' The Atans were efficiency personified 
as they rounded up the rebels. They offered the armed insurgents one 
opportunity to surrender each time they surrounded a group, and they didn't 
ask twice. By two hours past midnight, the imperial compound was quiet 
again. A few Atan patrols searched the grounds and buildings for any rebels 
who might have gone into hiding, but there was little in the way of 
significant activity. Sparhawk was bone-tired. Though he had not physically 
partiCipated in the suppression of the rebellion, the tension had exhausted 
him more than a two-hour battle might have. He stood on the parapet looking 
wearily down into the compound, watching without much interest as the 
grounds-keepers, who had been pressed into service for the unpleasant task, 
cringingly pulled the floating dead out of the moat. 'Why don't you go to 
bed, Sparhawk?' It was Khalad. His bare, heavy shoulders gleamed in the 
torchlight. His voice and appearance and brusque manner were so much like 
his father's that Sparhawk once again felt that brief, renewed pang of 
sorrow. 'I just want to be sure that there won't be any bodies left 
floating in the moat when my wife wakes up tomorrow morning. People who've 
been burned to death aren't very pretty.'

 'I'll take care of that. Let's go to the bath-house. I'll help you out of 
your armour, and you can soak in a tub of hot water for a while.' 
'I didn't really exert myself very much this evening, Khalad. I didn't 
even work up a sweat.' 

 'You don't have to. That smell's so ingrained into your armour that five 
minutes after you put it on, you smell as if you haven't bathed for a 
month.' 

 'It's one of the drawbacks of the profession. Are you sure you want to be 
a knight?' 
'It wasn't my idea in the first place.' 

'Maybe when this is all over, the world will settle down enough so that 
there won't be any need for armoured knights any more.' 
'Of course, and maybe someday fish will fly too.' 

'You're a cynic, Khalad.' 
'What is he doing up there?' Khalad demanded irritably, looking up toward 
the towers soaring over the castle. 'Who's doing what where?' 


 'There's somebody up in the very top of that south tower. This is the 
fourth time I've caught a flicker of candle-light through that window.' 
'Maybe Tynian or Bevier put one of their knights up there to keep watch,' 
Sparhawk shrugged. 'Without telling you? Or Lord Vanion?' 

 'if it worries you so much, let's go take a look.' 
'You don't sound very concerned.' 
'i'm not. This castle's 'absolutely secure, Khalad.' 
'I'll go have a look after I get 'you ready for bed.' 
'No, I'll go along.' 
'I thought you were certain that the castle's secure.' 
'It never hurts to be careful. I don't want to have to tell your mothers 


that I made a mistake and got you killed.' They went down from the 
battlements, crossed the courtyard and went into the main building. There 
were loud snores coming from behind the bolted door of the main dining 
hall. 'i'd imagine that there are going to be some monumental headaches 
emerging from that room in the morning,' Khalad laughed. 'We didn't force 
our Guests to drink so much.' 

'They'll accuse us of it, though.' They started up the stairway that led to 
the top of the south tower. Although the main tower and the north tower had 
been constructed in the usual fashion with rooms stacked atop each other, 
the south tower was little more than a hollow shell with a wooden stairway 
rising up through a creaking scaffolding. The architect had evidently added 
this structure primarily for the purposes of symmetry. The single room in 
the entire tower was at the very top, a room floored with wooden beams 
roughly adzed square. 'i'm getting too old to be climbing stairs in full 
armour,' Sparhawk puffed when they were about halfway up. 'You're out of 
condition, Sparhawk,' Khalad told his lord bluntly. 'You're spending too 
much time on your backside talking about politics.' 

 'It's part of my job, Khalad.' They reached the door at the top of the 
stairs. 'You'd better let me go in first,' Sparhawk murmured, sliding his 
sword out of its scabbard. Then he reached out and pushed the door open. A 
shabby-looking man sat at a wooden table in the centre of the room, his 
face lit by a single candle. Sparhawk knew him. The years of hard drinking 
had not been kind to Krager. His hair had thinned even more in the six or 
so years since Sparhawk had last seen him, and the puffy pouches under his 
eyes were even more pronounced. The eyes themselves, nearsighted and 
watery, were discoloured and seemed to 'be overlaid with a kind of yellow 
stain. The hand in which he held his wine-cup palsied, and a continual tic 
shuddered in his right cheek. Sparhawk moved without even stopping to 
think. He levelled his sword at Martel's threadbare former underling and 
lunged. There was no feeling of resistance as the sword plunged into 
Krager's chest and emerged from his back. Krager flinched violently, and 
then he laughed in his rusty, drink-corroded voice. 'God, that's a 
startling experience!' he said conversationally. 'I could almost feel the 
blade' running through me. Put your sword away, Sparhawk. You can't hurt me 
with it.' Sparhawk pulled the sword out of Kragers substantial-appearing 
body and swept it back and forth through the man's head. 'Please don't do 
that, Sparhawk,' Krager said, closing his eyes. 'It's really very 
unnerving, you know.' 

 'My compliments to your magician, Krager,' Sparhawk said flatly. 'That's 
really a very convincing illusion. You look so real that I can almost smell 
you.' 

 'I see that we're going to be civilised about this,' Krager said, taking a 
drink of his wine. 'Good. You're growing up, Sparhawk. Ten years ago, you'd 
have chopped the room into kindling before you'd have finally been willing 


to listen to reason.' 

 'Magic?' Khalad asked Sparhawk. Sparhawk nodded. 'And fairly sophisticated 
too. Actually Krager's sitting in a room a mile or more away from here. 
Someone's projecting his image into this tower. We can see him and hear 
him, but we can't touch him.' 

 'Pity,' Khalad murmured, fingering the hilt of his heavy dagger. 'You've 
really been very clever this time, Sparhawk,' Krager said. 'Age seems to be 
improving you - like a good wine.' 

 'You're the expert on that, Krager.' 

 'Petty, Sparhawk. Very petty.' Krager smirked. 'Before you engage in an 
orgy of self-congratulation, though, you ought to know that this was just 
another of those tests a friend of mine mentioned to you a while back. I 
told my associates all about you, but they wanted to see for themselves. We 
arranged a few entertainments For you so that you could demonstrate your 
prowess and your limitations. The catapults definitely confused the Cyrgai, 
and your mounted tactics against the Trolls were almost brilliant. You also 
did remarkably well in an urban setting here in Matherion. You really 
surprised me on that score, Sparhawk. You caught on to our sign and 
counter-sign much faster than I'd thought you would, and you intercepted 
the message about the warehouse in a remarkably short period of time. That 
Dacite merchant only had to walk through town three times before your spy 
stole the note from him. I'd have expected you to fail miserably when faced 
with a conspiracy instead of an army in the field. My congratulations.' 
'You've been drinking for too many years, Krager. Your memory's starting to 
slip. You're forgetting what happened in Chyrellos during the election. As 
I recall, we countered just about every one of the schemes Martel and 
Annias cooked up there as well.' 

 'That wasn't really a very great accomplishment, Sparhawk. Martel and 
Annias weren't really very challenging opponents. I tried to tell them that 
their plots weren't sophisticated enough, but they wouldn't listen. Martel 
was too busy thinking about the treasure-rooms under the Basilica, and 
Annias was so blinded by the Archprelate's mitre that he couldn't see 
anything else. You really missed your chance there, Sparhawk. I've always 
been your most serious opponent. You had me right in your hands, and you 
let me go just for the sake 

Of a few crumbs of information and some exaggerated testimony before the 
Hierocracy. Very poor thinking there, old boy.' 

 'This evening's festivities weren't really designed to succeed then, I 
gather?' 

 'Of course not, Sparhawk. If we'd really wanted to take Matherion, we'd 
have brought in whole armies.' 

 'i'm sure there's a point to all this,' Sparhawk said to the illusion. 'Do 
you suppose we could step right along? I've had a tiring day.' 

 'The tests have all been designed to oblige you to commit your resources, 
Sparhawk. We needed to know what kinds of responses you had at your 
command.' 

 'You haven't seen them all yet, Krager - not by half.' 

'Khalad,' isn't it?' Krager said to Sparhawk's squire. 'Tell your master 
that he should practise a bit more before he tries lying. He's really not 
very convincing oh, convey my regards to your mother. She and I always got 
on well.' 

 'I sort of doubt that,' Khalad replied. 'Be realistic, Sparhawk,' Krager 
went on. 'Your wife and daughter are here. Do you really expect me to 
believe that you'd hold anything back if you thought they were in danger?' 
'We used what was necessary, Krager. You don't have to send out a whole 


regiment to step on a bug.' 

 'You're so much like Martel was, Sparhawk,' Krager observed. 'You two 
could almost have been brothers. I used to despair of ever nursing him 
through his adolescence. He was a hopeless innocent when' he started out, 
you know. About all he had was a towering resentment directed primarily at 
you and Vanion - and at Sephrenia, of course, although to a lesser degree. 
I had to raise him from virtual infancy. God, the hours I spent patiently 
grinding away all those knightly virtues.'

 'Reminisce on your own time, Krager. Get to the point. Martel's history 
now. This is a new situation, and he's not around any more.' Just renewing 
our acquaintance, Sparhawk. You 

know, 'the good old days' and all that. I've found a new employer, 

obviously.' 

 'I gathered as much.' 

 'When I was working for Martel, I had very little direct contact with Otha 
and almost none with Azash Himself. That situation might have had an 
entirely different outcome if I'd had direct access to the Zemoch God. 
Martel was obsessed with revenge, and Otha was too sunk in his own 
debauchery for either of them to think clearly. They were giving Azash very 
poor advice as a result of their own limitations. I could have given him a 
much more realistic assessment of the situation.' 

 'Provided you were ever sober enough to talk.' 

 'That's beneath you, Sparhawk. Oh, I'll admit that I take a drink now and 
then, but never so much that I lose sight of the main goals. Actually, it 
turned out better for 'me in the long run. If I'd been the one advising 
Azash, He'd have beaten you. Then I'd have been inextricably involved with 
Him, and I'd have been destroyed when He confronted Cyrgon - that's my new 
employer's name, by the way. You've heard of Him, I suppose?' 

 'A few times.' Sparhawk forced himself to sound casual. 'Good. That saves 
us a lot of time. Pay attention now, Sparhawk. We're getting to the 
significant part of this little chat. Cyrgon wants you to go home. Your 
presence here on the Daresian continent is an inconvenience nothing more, 
really. just an inconvenience. If you had Bhelliom in your pocket, we might 
take you seriously, but you don't - and so we don't. You're all alone here, 
my old friend. You don't have the Bhelliom, and you don't have the Church 
Knights. You've only got the remnants of Ehlana's honour guard and a 
hundred of those mounted apes from Pelosia. You're hardly worth even 
noticing. If you go home, Cyrgon will give you His pledge not to move 
against the Eosian continent for a hundred years. You'll be long dead by 
then, and so will everybody you care about. It's not really a bad offer, 
you know. You get yourself a hundred years of peace just by getting on a 
ship and going back to Cimmura.' 

'And if I don't?' 

 'We'll 'kill you - after we've killed your wife and your daughter and 
everybody else in the whole world you care about. There's another 
possibility, of course. You could join us. Cyrgon could see to it that you 
lived longer than even Otha did. He specifically told me to make you that 
offer.' 

 'Thank Him for me - if you ever see Him again.' 

 'You're declining, I gather?' 

 'Obviously. I haven't seen nearly as much of Daresia as I want to see, so 
I think I'll stay for a while, and I'm sure I wouldn't care for the company 
of you and Cyrgon's other hirelings.' 

 'I told Cyrgon you'd take that position, but He insisted that I make the 
offer.' 


 'if he's so all-powerful, why's He trying to bribe me?: 'Out of respect, 
Sparhawk. Can you believe that? He respects you because you're Anakha. The 
whole concept baffles Him, and He's intrigued by it. I honestly believe 
He'd like to get to know you. You know how childish Gods can be at times.' 
'Speaking of Gods, what's behind this alliance He's made with the 
Troll-Gods?' Then Sparhawk thought of something. 'Never mind, Krager, I've 
just worked it out for myself. A God's power is dependent on the number of 
worshippers he has. 'The Cyrgai are extinct, so Cyrgon's no more than a 
squeaky little voice making hollow pronouncements in a ruin somewhere in 
central Cynesga - all noise and no substance.' 

 'Someone's been telling you fairy-tales, Sparhawk. The Cyrgai are far from 
extinct - as you'll find out to your sorrow if you stay in Tamuli. Cyrgon 
made the alliance with the Troll-Gods in order to bring the Trolls to 
Daresia. Your Atans are very impressive, but they're no match for Trolls. 
Cyrgon's very sentimental about His chosen people. He'd rather not lose 
them needlessly in skirmishes with a race of freaks, ' so He made an 

arrangement with the Troll-Gods. The Trolls will get the pleasure of 
killing - and eating - the Atans.' Krager drained the rest of his wine. 
'This is starting to bore me, Sparhawk, and my cup's gone empty. I told 
Cyrgon I'd present you with His offer. He's giving you the chance to live 
out the rest of your life in peace. I'd advise you to take it. He won't 
make the offer again. Really, old boy, why should you care what happens to 
the Tamuls? They're nothing but yellow monkeys, after all. 'Church policy, 
Krager. Our Holy Mother takes the long view. Tell Cyrgon to take His offer 
and stick it up His nose. I'm staying.' 

 'It's your funeral, Sparhawk,' Krager laughed. 'I might even send flowers. 
I've had all the entertainment of knowing a pair of anachronisms - you and 
Martel. I'll drink to your memories from time to time - if I remember you 
at all.' And then the illusion of the shabby scoundrel vanished. 'So that's 
Krager,' Khalad said in a chill tone. 'i'm glad I got the chance to meet 
him.' 

 'What exactly have you got in mind, Khalad?' 

 'I thought I might kill him just a little bit. Fair's fair, Sparhawk. You 
got Martel, Talen got Adus, so Krager's mine. ' 

 'Sounds fair to' me,' Sparhawk agreed. 

'Was he drunk?' Kalten asked. 'Krager's always a little drunk,' Sparhawk 
replied. 'He wasn't so far gone that he got careless, though.' He looked 
around. 'Would everybody like to say 'I told you so' right here and now?' 
he asked them. 'Let's have it out of the way right at the start, so I don't 
have it hanging over my head. Yes, it Probably would have been more 
convenient if I'd killed him the last time I saw him, but if we hadn't had 
his testimony to the Hierocracy at the time of the election, Dolmant 
probably wouldn't be the Archprelate right now.' 

 'I might be able to learn to live with that,' Ehlana murmured. 'Be nice,' 
Emban told her. 'Only joking, your Grace.' 

 'Are you sure you repeated what he said verbatim?' Sephrenia asked 
Sparhawk. 'It was very close, little mother,' Khalad assured her. She 
frowned. 'It was contrived. I'm sure you all realise that. Krager didn't 
really tell us anything we didn't already know - or could have guessed.' 
'The name Cyrgon hadn't come up before, Sephrenia,' Vanion disagreed. 'And 
it may very well never come up again,' she replied. 'i'd need a lot more 
than Krager's unsubstantiated word before I'll believe that Cyrgon's 
involved.' 

 'Well, somebody's involved,' Tynian noted. 'Somebody had to be impressive 


enough to get the attention of the Troll-Gods, and Krager doesn't quite fit 
that description. ' 

 'Not to mention the fact that Krager can't even pronounce 'magic', much 
less use it,' Kalten added. 'Could just any Styric have cast that spell, 
little mother?' Sephrenia shook her head. 'It's very difficult,' she 
conceded. 'if it hadn't been done exactly right, Sparhawk's sword would 
have gone right through the real Krager. Sparhawk would have started the 
thrust in that room up in the tower, and it would have finished up in a 
room a mile away sliding through Krager's heart.' 

 'All right then,' Emban said, pacing up and down the room with his pudgy 
hands clasped behind his back. 'Now we know that this so-called uprising 
tonight wasn't intended seriously.' Sparhawk shook his head. 'No, your 
Grace, we don't know that for certain. Regardless of what he says, Krager 
learned much of his style from Martel, and trying to shrug a failure off by 
pretending that the scheme wasn't really serious in the first place is 
exactly the sort of thing Martel would have done.' 

 'You knew him better than I did,' Emban shrugged. 'Can we really be sure 
that Krager and the others are working for a God - Cyrgon or maybe some 
other one?' 

 'Not really, Emban,' Sephrenia replied. 'The TrollGods are involved, and 
they could be doing the things we've encountered that are beyond the 
capability of a human magician. There's a sorcerer out there, certainly, 
but we 'can't be certain that there's a God - other than the Troll-Gods involved 

as well.' 

 'But it could be a God, couldn't it?' Emban pressed. 'Anything's possible, 
your Grace,' she shrugged. 'That's what I needed to know,' the fat little 
churchman said. 'It rather looks as if I'm going to have to make a flying 
trip back to Chyrellos.' 

 'That went by me a little fast, your Grace,' Kalten confessed. 'We're 
going to need the Church Knights, Kalten,' Emban said. 'All of them.' 
'They're committed to Render, your Grace,' Bevier reminded him. 'Render can 
wait.' 

 'The Archprelate may feel differently about that, Emban,' Vanion told him. 
'Reconciliation with the Renders has been one of our Holy Mother's goals 
for over half a millennium now.' 

 'She's patient. She'll wait. She's going to have to wait. This is a 
crisis, Vanion.' 

 'I'll go with you, your Grace,' Tynian said. 'I won't be of much use here 
in Tamuli until my shoulder heals anyway, and I'll be able to clarify the 
military situation to Sarathi much better than you will. Dolmant's had 
Pandion training, so he'll understand military terminalogy. Right now we're 
standing out in the open with our breeches down - begging your Majesty's 
pardon for the crudity of that expression,' he apologised to Ehlana. 'It's 
an interesting metaphor, Sir Tynian,' she smiled, 'and it conjures up an 
absolutely enthralling image.' 

 'I'll agree with the Patriarch of Ucera,' Tynian went on. 'We definitely 
have to have the Church Knights here in Tamuli. If we don't get them here 
in a hurry, this whole situation's going to crumble right in our hands.' 
'I'll send word to Tikume,' Kring volunteered. 'He'll send us several 
thousand mounted Peloi. We don't wear armour or use magic, but we know how 
to fight.' 

 'Will you be able to hold out here until the Church Knights arrive, 
Vanion?' Emban asked. 'Talk to Sparhawk, Emban. He's in charge. 'I wish you 
wouldn't keep doing that, Vanion,' Sparhawk objected. He thought for a 
moment. 'Atan Engessa,' he said then, 'how hard was it to persuade your 
warriors that it's not really unnatural to fight on horseback? Can we 


persuade any more of them?' 
'When I tell them that this Krager-drunkard called them a race Of freaks, 
they'll listen to me, SparhawkKnight.' 

 'Good. Krager may have helped us more than he thought then. Are you 
convinced that it's best to attack Trolls with warhorses and lances, my 
friend?' 

 'it was most effective, Sparhawk-Knight. We haven't encountered the 
Troll-beasts before. They're bigger than we are. That may be difficult for 
my people to accept, but once they do, they'll be willing to try horses if 

 you can find enough of those big-ones.'

 'Did Krager happen to'make any references to the fact that we've been 
using thieves and beggars as our eyes and ears?' Stragen asked. 'Not in so 
many words, Milord,' Khalad replied. 'That puts an unknown into our 
equation then,' Stragen mused. 'Please don't do that, Stragen,' Kalten 
pleaded. 'I absolutely hate mathematics.'

 'Sorry. We don't know for certain whether Krager's aware that we've been 
using the criminals of Matherion as spies. If he is aware of it, he could 
use it to feed us false information.' 

 'That spell they used sort of hints that they know, Stragen,' Caalador 
noted. 'That explains how it was that we saw the leaders of the conspiracy 
go into a house and never come out. They used illusions. They wouldn't have 
done that if they hadn't known we were watching.' Stragen stuck out his 
hand and wobbled it from side to side a bit dubiously. 'It's not set in 
stone yet, Caalador,' he said. 'He may not know just exactly how 
wellorganised we are.' Beviers expression was profoundly disgusted. 'We've 
been had, my friends,' he said. 'This was all an elaborate ruse - armies 
from the past, resurrected heroes,vampires and ghouls - all of it. It was a 
trick with no other purpose than to get us to come here without the entire 
body of the Church Knights at our backs.' 

 'Then why have they turned round and told us to go home, Sir Bevier?' 
Talen asked him. 'Maybe they found out that we were a little more effective 
than they thought we'd be,' Ulath rumbled.''I don't think they really 
expected us to break up that Cyrgai assault or exterminate a hundred Trolls 
or break the back of this coup-attempt the way we did. It's altogether 
possible that we surprised them and even upset them more than a little. 
Krager's visit could have been sheer bravado, you know. We might not want 
to get over-confident, but I don't think we should get under-confident 
either. We're professionals, after all, and we've won every encounter so 
far. Let's not give up the game and run away just because of a few windy 
threats by a known drunkard.' 

 'Well said,' Tynian murmured. 

we don't have any choice, Aphrael,' Sparhawk told his daughter later when 
they were alone with Sephrenia and Vanion in a small room several floors 
above the royal apartments. 'It's going to take Emban and Tynian at least 
three months to get back to Chyrellos and then nine months for the Church 
Knights to come overland to Daresia. Even then, they'll still be present 
only in the western kingdoms.' 

 'Why can't they come by boat?' The princess sounded a bit sulky, and she 
was holding Rollo tightly to her chest. 'There are a hundred thousand 
Church Knights, Aphrael,' Vanion reminded her, 'twenty-five thousand in 
each of the four orders. I don't think there are enough ships in ,the world 
to transport that many men and horses. We can bring in some - ten thousand 
perhaps,by ship, but the bulk of them will have to come overland. We won't 
be able to count on even that ten thousand for at least six months - the 
time it's going to take Emban and Tynian to reach Chyrellos and then come 


back by ship with the knights and their horses. Until they arrive, we're 
all alone here.' 

 'With your breeches down,' she added. 'Watch your tongue, young lady,' 
Sparhawk scolded her. She shrugged that off. 'My instincts all tell me that 
it's a very bad idea,' she told them. 'I went to a lot of trouble to find a 
safe place for Bhelliom, and the first time there's a little rain-shower, 
you all want to run to retrieve it. Are you sure you're not exaggerating 
the danger? Ulath might have been right, you know. Everything Krager said 
to you could have been sheer bluster. I still think you can handle it 
without Bhelliom.' 

 'I disagree,' Sephrenia told her. 'I know Elenes better than you do, 
Aphrael. It's not in their nature to exaggerate dangers. Quite the reverse, 
actually.' 

 'The whole point here is that your mother may be in danger,' Sparhawk told 
his daughter. 'Until Tynian and Emban bring the Church Knights to Tamuli, 
we're seriously over-matched. Even as stupid as they are, it was only the 
Bhelliom that gave us any advantage over the Troll-Gods last time. You 
couldn't even deal with them, as I recall.'

 'That's a hateful thing to say, Sparhawk,' she flared. 'i'm just trying to 
get you to look at this realistically, Aphrael. Without the Bhelliom, we're 
all in seriOUS danger here - and I'm not just talking about your mother and 
all our friends. If Krager was telling the truth and We are matched up 
against Cyrgon, He's at least as dangerous as Azash was.' 

 'Are you sure all of these flimsy excuses aren't coming into your head 
because you want to get your hands on Bhelliom again, Sparhawk?' she asked 
him. 'Nobody's really immune to its seduction, you know. There's a great 
deal of satisfaction to be had in wielding unlimited power.' 

 'You know me better than that, Aphrael,' he said reproachfully. 'I don't 
go out of my way looking for power.' 

 'if it is Cyrgon, His first step would be to exterminate the Styrics, you 
know,' Sephrenia ' reminded the little Goddess. 'He hates us for what we 
did to His Cyrgai.' why are you all joining forces to bully me?' Aphrael 
demanded. 'Because you're being stubborn,' Sparhawk replied. 'Throwing 
Bhelliom into the sea was a very good idea when we did it, but the 
situation's changed now. I know that it's not in your nature to admit that 
you made a mistake, but you did, you know.' 

'Bite your tongue!' 

 'We have a new situation here, Aphrael,' Sephrenia said patiently. 'You've 
told me again and again that you can't fully see the future, so you 
couldn't really have foreseen all of what's happening here in Tamuli. You 
didn't really make a mistake, baby sister, but you have to be flexible. You 
can't let the world fly all to pieces just because you want to maintain a 
reputation for infallibility.' 

 'Oh, all right!' ~APhrael gave in, flinging herself into a chair and 
starting'ng to suck her thumb as she glared at them. 'Don't do that,' 
Sparhawk and Sephrenia told her in unison. She ignored them. 'I want all 
three of you to know that I'm really very put out with you for this. You've 
been very impolite and very inconsiderate of my feelings. I'm ashamed of 
you. Go ahead. I don't care. Go ahead and get the Bhelliom if you think you 
absolutely have to have it.'

 'Ah - Aphrael,' Sparhawk said mildly, 'we don't know where it is, 
remember?' 

 'That's not my fault,' she replied in a sulky little voice. 'Yes, actually 
it is. You were very careful to make sure that we didn't know where we were 
when we threw it into the sea.' 
'That's a spiteful thing to say, father.' A horrible thought suddenly 


occurred to Sparhawk 'You do know where it is, don't you?' he asked her 
anxiously. 'Oh, Sparhawk, don't be silly! Of course I know where it is. You 
didn't think I'd let you put it someplace where I couldn't find it, did 
you?'