The Hidden City 
David Eddings 
The Tamuli book 3 

prologue 

This was not Going to go well, he concluded wryly, crumpling 
up and discarding yet another sheet of notes. Word of his subject 
had been broadcast across the campus, and academics from as 
far away as Applied Mathematics and Contemporary Alchemy 
packed the hall, their eyes bright with anticipation. The entire 
faculty of the Contemporary History Department filled the front 
rows, their black academic robes making them look like a flock 
of crows. Contemporary History was here in force to ensure all 
the fireworks anyone could hope for. 
Itagne idly considered a feigned collapse. How in the name 
of God - any God - was he going to get through the next hour 
without making a total ass of himself? He had all the facts, of 
course, but what rational man would believe the facts? A straight- 
forward account of what had really happened during the recent 
turmoil would sound like the ravings of a lunatic. If he stuck to 
straight truth, the hacks from Contemporary History would not 
have to say a word. He could destroy his own reputation with 
no help from them at all. 
Itagne took one more brief glance at his carefully prepared 
notes. Then he folded them and thrust them back into 
the voluminous sleeve of his academic robe. What was going to 
happen here tonight would more closely resemble a tavern brawl 
than reasoned discourse. Contemporary History had obviously 
showed up to shout him down. Itagne squared his shoulders. 
Well, if they wanted a fight, he'd give them one. 
A breeze had come up. The curtains at the tall windows 
rustled and billowed, and the golden tongues of Flame flickering 
in the oil lamps wavered and danced. It was a beautiful spring 
evening - everywhere but here inside this auditorium. 
There was a polite spattering of applause, and old professor 
Gintana, flustered and confused by this acknowledgement of 
his existence, bowed awkwardly, clutched his notes in both 
hands, and tottered back to his seat. Then the Dean of the College

 of Political Science rose to announce the evening's main 
event. 'Colleagues,' he began, 'before Professor Itagne favors us 
with his remarks, I would like to take this opportunity to introduce

 some visitors of note. I'm sure you will all join with me in 
welcoming Patriarch Emban, First Secretary of the Church of 
Chyrellos, Sir Bevier, the Cyrinic Knight from Arcium and Sir 
Ulath of the Genidian Order located in Thalesia.' 
There was more polite applause as Itagne hurried across the 
platform to greet his Elene friends. 'Thank God you're here,' he 
said fervently. 'The whole Contemporary History Department's 
turned out - except for the few who are probably outside boiling 
the tar and bringing up bags of feathers.' 
'You didn't think your brother was going to hang You out to 
dry, did you, Itagne?' Emban smiled. 'He thought you might 
get lonesome here, so he sent us to keep you company.' 


Itagne felt better as he returned to his seat. If nothing else, 
Bevier and Ulath could head off any physical attacks. 
'And now, colleagues and distinguished guests,' the Dean 
continued, 'Professor Itagne of the Foreign Affairs Department 
will respond to a recent paper published by the Department of 
Contemporary History under the title, "The Cyrga Affair: An 
Examination of the Recent Crisis". Professor Itagne.' 
Itagne rose, strode purposefully to the lectern and assumed 
his most offensively civilized expression. 'Dean Aldus, distinguished 

 colleagues, faculty wives, honored guests -' He 
paused. 'Did I leave anybody out?' 
There was a titter of nervous laughter. Tension was high in 
the hall. 'i'm particularly pleased to see so many of our colleagues 

 from Contemporary History here with us this evening,' 
Itagne continued, throwing the first punch. 
'Since we're going To be discussing

 something near and dear to their hearts, it's much better 
that they're present to hear what I say with their own ears rather 
than being forced to rely on garbled second-hand accounts.' He 
smiled benignly down at the scowling hacks in the front row. 
'Can you hear me, gentlemen?' he asked. 'Am I going too fast 
for any of you?' 
'This is outrageous!' a portly, sweating professor protested 
loudly. 
'it's going to get worse, Quinsal,' Itagne told him. 'if the truth 
bothers you, you'd better leave now.' He looked out over the 
assemblage. 'it's been said that the quest for truth is the noblest 
occupation of man, but there be dragons lurking in the dark 
forests of ignorance. And the names of these dragons are 
"incompetence" and "Political Bias" and "Deliberate Distortion" 
and "Sheer, Wrongheaded Stupidity". Our gallant friends here 
in Contemporary History bravely sallied forth to do battle with 
these dragons in their recently published "Cyrga Affair". It is 
with the deepest regret that I must inform you that the dragons 
won.' 
There was more laughter, and dark scowls from the front row. 
'it's never' been any secret at this institution that the Contemporary 

 History Department is a political entity rather than an 
academic one,' Itagne continued. 'it has been sponsored from 
its very inception by the Prime Minister, and its only reasons 
for existence have been to gloss over his blunders and to conceal 
as best they might his absolute incompetence. To be sure, Prime 
Minister Subat and his accomplice, Interior Minister Kolata, have 
never been interested in the truth, but please, gentlemen, this is 
a university. Shouldn't we at least pretend to be telling the truth?' 
'Rubbish!' a burly academic in the front row bellowed. 
'Yes,' Itagne replied, holding up a yellow-bound copy of 'The 
Cyrga Affair', 'I noticed that myself. But if you knew it was 
rubbish, Professor Pessalt, why did you publish it?' 
The laughter in the hall was even louder this time, and it 
drowned out Pessalt's spluttered attempt to answer. 
'Let us push on with this great work that we are in,' Itagne 
suggested. 'We all know Pondia Subat for the scheming incompetent 

 he really is, but the only thing that most baffles me about 
your "Cyrga Affair" is its consistent attempt to elevate the Styric 
renegade Zalasta to near sainthood. How in the name of God 


could anyone - even someone as severely limited as the Prime 
Minister - revere this scoundrel?' 
'How dare you speak so of the greatest man of this century?' 
one of the hacks screamed at him. 
'if Zalasta's the best this century can manage, colleague, I 
think we're in deep trouble. But we digress. The crisis which 
Contemporary History chooses to call "The Cyrga Affair" has 
been brewing for several years.' 
'Yes,' someone shouted with heavy sarcasm, 'we noticed that!' 
'i'm so happy for you,' Itagne murmured, drawing another 
loud laugh from the audience. 'To whom did our idiot Prime 
Minister turn for aid? To Zalasta, of course. And what was 
Zalasta's answer to the crisis? He urged us to send for the 
Pandion Knight, Prince Sparhawk of Elenia. Why would the 
name of an Elene nobleman leap to Zalasta's lips in answer to 
the question - almost before it was asked - particularly in view 
of the sorry record of the Elenes in their relations with the Styrics?

 To be sure, Prince Sparhawk's exploits are legendary, but 
what was it about the man that made Zalasta pine so for his 
company? And why was it that Zalasta neglected to tell us that 
Sparhawk is Anakha, the instrument of the Bhelliom? Did the 
fact somehow slip his mind? Did he think that the spirit which 
creates whole universes was somehow irrelevant? I find no mention 

 at all about Bhelliom in this recently published heap of 
bird-droppings. Did you omit the most momentous event of the 
past eon deliberately? Were you so caught up in trying to give 
your adored Pondia Subat credit for policy decisions he had no 
part in that you decided not to mention Bhelliom at all?' 
'Balderdash!' a deep voice roared. 
'i'm pleased to meet you, Professor Balderdash. My name's 
Itagne. It was good of you to introduce yourself. Thanks awfully, 
old boy.' 
The laughter was tumultuous this time. 
'Fast on his feet, isn't he?' Itagne heard Ulath murmur to 
Bevier. 
Itagne looked up. 'Colleagues,' he said, 'I submit that it was 
not Prince Sparhawk that Zalasta so yearned for, but the 
Bhelliom. Bhelliom is the source of ultimate power, and Zalasta 
has been trying to get his hands on it for three centuries - for 
reasons too disgusting to mention. He has been willing to go to 
any lengths. He has betrayed his faith, his people, and his personal 

 integrity - such as it was - to gain what the Trolls call 
"The Flower-Gem". ' 
'That tears it!' the corpulent Quinsal declared, rising to his 
feet. 'This man is mad. Now he's talking about Trolls! This is an 
academic affair, Itagne, not the children's hour. You've picked 
the wrong forum for fairy-tales and ghost stories.' 
'Why don't you let me do this, Itagne?' Ulath said rising to 
his feet and coming to the podium. 'I can settle this question in 
just a moment or two.' 
'Feel free,' Itagne said gratefully. 
Ulath set one huge hand on each side of the lectern. 'Professor 
Itagne has requested me to brief you gentlemen on a few matters,'

 he said. 'I take it that you're having some difficulties with 
the notion of Trolls.' 
'None at all, Sir Knight,' Quinsal retorted. 'Trolls are an Elene 


myth and nothing else. There's no difficulty in that at all.' 
'What an amazing thing. I spent five years compiling a Trollish 
grammar. Are you saying that I was wasting my time?' 
'I think you're as mad as Itagne is.' 
'Then you probably shouldn't irritate me, should you? Particularly 


 in view of the fact that I'm so much bigger than you are.' 
Ulath squinted at the ceiling. 'Logic tells us that no one can 
prove a negative. Are you sure you wouldn't like to amend your 
statement? ' 


'No, Sir Ulath. I'll stand by what I just said. There's no such 
thing as a Troll.' 
'Did you hear that, Bhlokw?' Ulath raised his voice slightly. 
This fellow says that you don't exist.' 
There was a hideous roar in the corridor outside the auditorium, 


 and the double doors at the rear splintered and crashed 
inward. 
'Stay calm!' Bevier hissed as Itagne jumped. 'it's an illusion. 
Ulath's amusing himself.' 
'Would you like to turn around and tell me what you see at 
the back of the hall, ~Quinsal?' Ulath asked. 'Exactly what would 
you call my friend Bhlokw there?' 
The creature hulking in the doorway was huge, and its bestial 
face was contorted with rage. It stretched its paws forth 
hungrily. 'Who has said this, U-Lat?' it demanded in a hideous 
voice. 'I will cause hurt to it! I will rip it to pieces and eat it!' 
'Can that Troll actually speak Tamul?' Itagne whispered. ' 
'Of course not,' Bevier smiled. 'Ulath's getting carried away.' 
The hideous apparition in the doorway continued to bellow 
horribly graphic descriptions of its plans for the faculty of the 
Contemporary History Department. 
'Were there any other questions about Trolls?' Ulath asked 
mildly, but none of the assembled academics heard him over all 
the shouts, screams and the tipping over of chairs. 
It took the better part of a quarter of an hour to restore order 
once Ulath had dismissed his illusion, and when Itagne reapproached 


 the lectern, the entire audience was huddled closely 
together near the front of the auditorium. 'i'm touched by your 
eagerness to hear my every word, gentlemen,' Itagne smiled, 
'but I can speak loudly enough to be heard at the back of the 
hall, so you needn't draw so close. I trust that the visit of Sir 
Ulath's friend has cleared up the little misunderstanding about 
Trolls?' He looked at Quinsal, who was still cowering on the 
floor, 'gibbering in terror. 'Splendid,' Itagne said. 'Briefly then, 
Prince Sparhawk came to Tamuli. Elenes are sometimes a devious


 people, so Sparhawk's wife, Queen Ehlana, proposed a state 
visit to Matherion and concealed her husband and his friends 
in her entourage. Upon their arrival, they almost immediately 
uncovered some facts which we had somehow overlooked. First, 
Emperor Sarabian actually has a mind, and second, the government 


 led by Pondia Subat was in league with our enemies.' 
'Treason!' a thin, balding professor shrieked, leaping to his 
feet. 
'Really, Dalash?' Itagne asked, 'against whom?' 
'Why - uh -' Dalash floundered. 
'You still don't understand, do you gentlemen?' Itagne asked 



the faculty of Contemporary History. 'The previous government 
has been overthrown - by Emperor Sarabian himself. Tamuli is 
now an Elene-style monarchy, and Emperor Sarabian rules by 
decree. The previous government - and its Prime Minister - are 
no longer relevant.' 
'The Prime Minister cannot be removed from office!' Dalash 
screamed. 'He holds his position for life!' 


'Even if that were true, it suggests a rather simple solution to 
the problem, doesn't it?' 
'You wouldn't dare!' 
'Not me, old boy. That's the Emperor's decision. Don't cross 
him, gentlemen. If you do, he'll decorate the city gates with 
your heads. Let's press on here. I'd like to cover a bit more 
ground before our customary recess. It was the aborted coupattempt 


 that finally brought things to a head. Pondia Subat was 
a party to the entire conspiracy and he fully intended to stand 
around wringing his hands while the drunken mob murdered 
all of his political enemies, evidently including the Emperor himself. 


 If Professor Dalash wants to scream "treason" he might 
take a look at that. We discovered much in the aftermath of 
that failed coup, not only concerning the treason of the Prime 
Minister, but of the Minister of the Interior as well. Most important, 


 however, was the discovery that it had been Zalasta who 
had engineered the entire plot, and that he was secretly allied 
with Ekatas, High Priest of Cyrgon, the God of the supposedly 
extinct Cyrgai. 
'At this point Prince Sparhawk had no choice but to retrieve 
Bhelliom from its hiding place and to send to Chyrellos for 
reinforcements. He enlisted other allies as well, not the least of 
which were the Delphae - who do in fact exist in all their glowing 
horror ' 


'This is absurd!' Contemporary History's reigning bully-boy, 
the crude and muscular Professor Pessalt sneered. 'Are we supposed 


 to believe this nonsense?'
'You've already seen a Troll this evening, Pessalt,' Itagne 
reminded him. 'Would you like a personal visitation by a Shining 
One as well? I can arrange it, if you'd like - but outside, please. 
We'd never get rid of the stink if you were dissolved into a 
puddle of slime right here in front of the platform.' 
Dean Altus cleared his throat meaningfully. 
'Yes sir,' Itagne assured him. 'I'll just be a few more minutes.' 
He turned back to the audience. 'Now then,' he continued 
quickly, 'since the subject of the Trolls has come up again, we 
might as well go into that and clear it away once and for all. As 
you've noticed, the Trolls are real. They were lured to Tamuli 
from their home range in northern Thalesia by Cyrgon, who 
posed as one of their Gods. The real Troll-Gods have been 
imprisoned for eons, and Prince Sparhawk offered them an 
exchange - their freedom in return for their aid. He then led 
a sizeable force to northern Atan, where the misguided Trolls had
been stirring up turmoil in hopes of forcing the Atans to return 
to defend their homeland - which would have left us effectively 
defenseless, since the Atans comprise the bulk of our army. 
Sparhawk's move seemed to play right into the hands of our 



enemies, but when Cyrgon and Zalasta unleashed the Trolls, 
Sparhawk called forth their Gods to reclaim them. In desperation, 

 Cyrgon reached back in time and produced a huge army 
of his Cyrgai. Then the Trolls, true to their nature, ate them.' 
'You don't really expect us to swallow this, do you, Itagne?' 
Professor Sarafawn, Chairman of the Department of Contemporary 

 History and brother-in-law of the Prime Minister, demanded 
scornfully. 
'You might as well, Sarafawn,' Itagne told him. 'Your wife's 
brother isn't dictating official history any more. From now on, 
the Emperor wants us to give our students the plain, unvarnished 

 truth. I'll be publishing a factual account in the next 
month or so. You'd better reserve a copy, Sarafawn, because 
you're going to be required to teach it to all your students in 
the future - assuming that you have a future at this institution. 
Next year's budget's going to be a little tight, I understand, so 
a number of departments will probably have to be dropped.' He 
paused. 'Are you any good with tools, Sarafawn? There's a very 
nice little vocational school at Jura, I hear. You'd just love 
Daconia. ' 
The Dean cleared his throat again, a bit more urgently this 
time. 

'Sorry, Dean Altus,' Itagne apologized. 'i'm running past 
time, gentlemen, so I'll just briefly sum up one more development. 

 Despite their crushing defeat, Cyrgon and Zalasta were 
by no means powerless. In a bold stroke, Zalasta's natural son, 
one Scarpa, crept into the imperial compound and abducted 
Queen Ehlana, leaving behind a demand that Sparhawk give up 
the Bhelliom in exchange for the safe return of his wife. 
'Following the recess Dean Aldus has been so patiently awaiting, 

 I will take up Prince Sparhawk's reaction to this new development.' 

PART ONE 

Berit 
CHAPTER 1 

A chill haze was rising from the meadow, and thin clouds had 
drifted in from the west to obscure the cold, brittle sky. There 
were no shadows, and the frozen ground was iron-hard and 
unyielding. Winter was inexorably tightening its grip on the 
North Cape. Sparhawk's army, girt in steel and leather and thousands 

strong, was lined up along a broad front in the frost-covered 
grass of the meadow near the ruins of Tzada. Sir Berit sat his 
horse in the center of the bulky, armored Church Knights watching

 the ghastly feast taking place a few hundred yards to the 
front. Berit was a young and idealistic knight, and he was having 
some difficulty with the behavior of their new allies. 
The screams were remote, mere rumors of agony, and those 
who were screaming were not actually people - not really. They 
were no more than shades, the scarce-remembered reflections 
of long-dead men. Besides, they were enemies - members of a 
cruel and savage race that worshipped an unspeakable God. 
But they steamed. That was the part of the horror Sir Berit 


could not shrug off. Though he told himself that these Cyrgai 
were dead - phantoms raised by Cyrgon's magic - the fact that 
steam rose from their eviscerated bodies as the ravening Trolls 
fed on them brought all of Berit's defenses crashing down 
around his ears. 
'Trouble?' Sparhawk asked sympathetically. Sparhawk's black 
armor was frost-touched, and his battered face was bleak. 
Berit felt a sudden embarrassment. 'it's nothing, Sir Sparhawk,' 

 he lied quickly. 'It's just -' He groped for a word. 
"I know. I'm stumbling over that part myself. The Trolls aren't 
being deliberately cruel, you know. To them we're just food. 
They're only following their nature.' 
'That's part of the problem, Sparhawk. The notion of being 
eaten makes my blood run cold.' 
'Would it help if I said, "better them than us"?' 
'Not very much.' Berit laughed weakly. 'Maybe I'm not cut 
out for this kind of work. Everybody else seems to be taking it 
in stride.' 
'Nobody's taking it in stride, Berit. We all feel the same way 
about what's happening. Try to hold on. We've met these armies 
out of the past before. As soon as the Trolls kill the Cyrgai 
generals, the rest should vanish, and that'll put an end to it.' 
Sparhawk frowned. 'Let's go find Ulath,' he suggested. 'I just 
thought of something, and I want to ask him about it.' 
'All right,' Berit agreed quickly. The two black-armored Pandions 

 turned their horses and rode through the frosty grass 
along the front of the massed army. 
They found Ulath, Tynian and Bevier a hundred yards or so 
down the line. 'I've got a question for you, Ulath,' Sparhawk 
said as he reined Faran in. 
'For me? Oh, Sparhawk, you shouldn't have!' Ulath removed 
his conical helmet and absently polished the glossy black Ogre-horns 

 on the sleeve of his green surcoat. 'What's the problem?' 
'Every time we've come up against these antiques before, the 
dead all shriveled up after we killed the leaders. How are the 
Trolls going to react to that?' 
'How should I know?' 
'You're supposed to be the expert on Trolls.' 
'Be reasonable, Sparhawk. It's never happened before. 
Nobody can predict what's going to happen in a totally new 
situation. ' 
'Make a guess,' Sparhawk snapped irritably. 
The two of them glared at each other. 
'Why badger Ulath about it, Sparhawk?' Bevier suggested 
gently. 'Why not just warn the Troll-Gods that it's going to 
happen and let them deal with the problem?' 
Sparhawk rubbed reflectively at the side of his face, his hand 
making a kind of sandy sound on his unshaven cheek. 'Sorry, 
Ulath,' he apologized. 'The noise from the banquet hall out 
there's distracting me.' 
'I know just how you feel,' Ulath replied wryly. 'i'm glad you 
brought it up, though. The Trolls won't be satisfied with dried 
rations when there's all this fresh meat no more than a quartermile

 away.' He put his Ogre-horned helmet back on. 'The TrollGods 
will honor their commitment to Aphrael, but I think we'd 
better warn them about this. I definitely want them to have a 


firm grip on their Trolls when supper turns stale. I'd hate to end 
up being the dessert course.' 

'Ehlana?' Sephrenia gasped. 
'Keep' your voice down!' Aphrael muttered. She looked 
around. They were some distance to the rear of the army, but 
they were not alone. She reached out and touched Chiel's bowed 
white neck, and Sephrenia's palfrey obediently ambled off a 
little way from Kalten and Xanetia to crop at the frozen grass. 
'I can't get too many details,' the Child Goddess said. 'Melidere's 
been badly hurt, and Mirtai's so enraged that they've had to 
chain her up.' 
'Who did it?' 
'I don't know, Sephrenia! Nobody's talking to Danae. All I can 
get is the word "hostage". Somebody's managed to get into the 
castle, seize Ehlana and Alcan and spirit them out. Sarabian's 
beside himself. He's flooded the halls with guards, so Danae 
can't get out of her room to find out what's really happening.' 
'We must tell Sparhawk!' 
'Absolutely not. Sparhawk bursts into flames when Ehlana's 
in danger. He's got to get this army safely back to Matherion 
before we can let him catch on fire.' 
'But -' 
'No, Sephrenia. He'll find out soon enough, but let's get 
everyone to safety before he does. We've only got a week or so 
left until the sun goes down permanently and everything - and 
everyone - up here turns to solid ice.' 
'You're probably right,' Sephrenia conceded. She thought 
a moment, staring off at the frost-silvered forest beyond 
the meadow. 'That word "hostage" explains everything, I 
think. Is there any way you can pinpoint your mother's exact 
location?' 
Aphrael shook her head. 'Not without putting her in danger. 
If I start moving around and poking my nose into things, Cyrgon 
will feel me nudging at the edges of his scheme, and he might 
do something to Mother before he stops to think. Our main 
concern right now is keeping Sparhawk from going crazy when 
he finds out what's happened.' She suddenly gasped and her 
dark eyes went very wide. 
'What is it?' Sephrenia asked in alarm. 'What's happening?' 
'I don't know!' ~APhrael cried. 'it's something monstrous!' She 
cast her eyes about wildly for a moment and then steadied herself, 

 her pale brow furrowing in concentration. Then her eyes 
narrowed in anger. 'Somebody's using one of the forbidden 
spells, Sephrenia,' she said in a voice that was as hard as the 
frozen ground. 
'Are you sure?' 
'Absolutely. The very air stinks of it. 

Djarian the necromancer was a cadaverous-looking Styric with 
sunken eyes, a thin, almost skeletal frame, and a stale, mildewed 
odor about him. Like the other Styric captives, he was in chains 
and under the close watch of Church Knights well-versed in 
countering Styric spells. 
A cold, oppressive twilight was settling over the encampment 
near the ruins of Tzada when Sparhawk and the others finally 


got around to questioning the prisoners. The Troll-Gods had 
taken their creatures firmly in hand when the feeding orgy had 
come suddenly to an end, and the Trolls were now gathered 
around a huge bonfire several miles out in the meadow holding 
what appeared to be religious observances of some sort. 
,Just go through the motions, Bevier,' Sparhawk quietly 
advised the olive-skinned Cyrinic Knight as Djarian was dragged 
before them. 'Keep asking him irrelevant questions until Xanetia 
signals that she's picked him clean.' 
Bevier nodded. 'I can drag it out for as long as you want, 
Sparhawk. Let's get started.' 
Sir Bevier's gleaming white surcoat, made ruddy by the flickering 

 firelight, gave him a decidedly ecclesiastical appearance, 
and he heightened that impression by prefacing his interrogation 
with a lengthy prayer. Then he got down to business. 
Djarian replied to the questions tersely in a hollow voice that 
seemed almost to come echoing up out of a vault. Bevier 
appeared to take no note of the prisoner's sullen behavior. His 
whole manner seemed excessively correct, even fussy, and he 
heightened that impression by wearing fingerless wool gloves 
such as scribes and scholars wear in cold weather. He doubled 
back frequently, rephrasing questions he had previously asked 
and then triumphantly pointing out inconsistencies in the priSoner's 

replies. 
The one exception to Djarian's terse brevity was a sudden 
outburst of vituperation, a lengthy denunciation of Zalasta - and 
Cyrgon - for abandoning him here on this inhospitable field. 
'Bevier sounds exactly like a lawyer,' Kalten muttered quietly 
to Sparhawk. 'I hate lawyers.' 
'He's doing it on purpose,' Sparhawk replied. 'Lawyers like to 
spring trick questions on people, and Djarian knows it. Bevier's 
forcing him to think very hard about the things he's supposed 
to conceal, and that's all Xanetia really needs. We always seem 
to underestimate Bevier.' 
'it's all that praying,' Kalten said sagely. 'it's hard to take a 
man seriously when he's praying all the time.' 
'We're Knights of the Church, Kalten - members of religious 
orders. ' 
'What's that got to do with it?' 

'In his own mind is he more dead than alive,' Xanetia reported 
later when they had gathered around one of the large fires the 
Atans had built to hold back the bitter chill. The Anarae's face 
reflected the glow of the fire, as did her unbleached wool robe. 
'Were we right?' Tynian asked her. 'is Cyrgon augmenting 
Djarian's spells so that he can raise whole armies?' 
'He is,' she replied. 
'Was that outburst against Zalasta genuine?' Vanion asked 
her. 
'indeed, my Lord. Djarian and his fellows are increasingly 
discontent with the leadership of Zalasta. They have all come 
to expect no true comradeship from their leader. There is no 
longer common cause among them, and each doth seek to wring 
best advantage to himself from their dubious alliance. Overlaying 

 all is the secret desire of each to gain sole possession of 
Bhelliom. ' 


'Dissension among your enemies is always good,' Vanion 
noted, 'but I don't think we should discount the possibility that 
they'll all fall in line again after what happened here today. 
Could you get anything specific about what they might try next, 
Anarae?' 
'Nay, Lord Vanion. They were in no wise prepared for what 
hath come to pass. One thing did stand out in the mind of this 
Djarian, however, and it doth perhaps pose some danger. The 
outcasts who surround Zalasta do all fear Cyzada of Esos, for 
he alone is versed in Zemoch magic, and he alone doth plunge 
his hand through that door to the nether world which Azash 
opened. Horrors beyond imagining lie within his reach. It is 
Djarian's thought that since all their plans have thus far gone 
awry, Cyrgon in desperation might command Cyzada to use his 
unspeakable art to raise creatures of darkness to confront and 
confound us.'
Vanion nodded gravely. 
'How did Stragen's plan affect them?' Talen asked curiously. 
'They are discomfited out of all measure,' Xanetia replied. 
'They did rely heavily on those who now are dead.' 
'Stragen will be happy to hear that. What were they going to 
do with all those spies and informers?' 
'Since they had no force capable of facing the Atans, Zalasta 
and his cohorts thought to use the hidden employees of the 
Ministry of the Interior to assassinate diverse Tamul officials in 
the subject kingdoms of the empire, hoping thereby to disrupt 
the governments.' 
'You might want to make a note of that, Sparhawk,' Kalten 
said.
'Oh?' 
'Emperor Sarabian had some qualms when he approved Stragen's 


 plan. He'll probably feel much better when he finds out 
that all Stragen really did was beat our enemies to the well. 
They'd have killed our people if Stragen hadn't killed theirs 
first.' 
'That's very shaky moral ground, Kalten,' Bevier said disapprovingly. 
'I 


 know,' Kalten admitted. 'That's why you have to run across 
the top of it so fast.' 


The sky was cloudy the following morning, thick roiling cloud 
that streamed in from the west, all seethe and confusion. 
Because it was late autumn and they were far to the north, it 
seemed almost that the sun was rising in the south, turning the 
sky above Bhelliom's escarpment a fiery orange and reaching 
feebly out with ruddy, low-lying light to paint the surging 
underbellies of the swift-scudding cloud with a brush of flame. 


The campfires seemed wan and weak and very tiny against 
the overpowering chill here on the roof of the world, and the 
knights and their friends all wore fur cloaks and huddled close 
to the fires.
There were low rumbles off to the south, and flickers of pale, 
ghastly light. 
'Thunder?' Kalten asked Ulath incredulously. 'isn't it the 
wrong time of year for thunderstorms?'



'it happens,' Ulath shrugged. 'I was in a thunderstorm north 
of Heid once that touched off a blizzard. That's a very unusual 
sort of experience.' 
'Whose turn is it to do the cooking?' Kalten asked him 
absently. 
'Yours,' Ulath replied promptly. 
'You're not paying attention, Kalten,' Tynian laughed. 'You 
know better than to ask that question.' 
Kalten grumbled and started to stir up the fire. 
'I think we'd better get back to the coast today, Sparhawk,' 
Vanion said gravely. 'The weather's held off so far, but I don't 
think we'll be able to count on that much longer.' 
Sparhawk nodded. 
The thunder grew louder, and the fire-red clouds overhead 
blanched with shuddering flickers of lightning. 
Then there was a sudden, rhythmic booming sound. 
'is it another earthquake?' Kring cried out in alarm. 
'No,' Khalad replied. 'it's too regular. It sounds almost like 
somebody beating a very big drum.' He stared at the top of 
Bhelliom's wall. 'What's that?' he asked pointing. 
It was like a hilltop rearing up out of the forest beyond the 
knife-like edge of the top of the clif! - very much like a hilltop, 
except that it was moving. 
The sun was behind it, so they could not see any details, but 
as it rose higher and higher they could make out the fact that it 
was a kind of flattened dome with two pointed protuberances 
flaring out from either side like huge wings. And still it swelled 
upward. As they could see more of it, they realized that it was
not a dome. It seemed to be some enormous, inverted triangle 
instead wide at the top, pointed at the bottom and with those 
odd winglike protuberances jutting out from its sides. The 
pointed bottom seemed to be set in some massive column. Since 
the light was behind it, it was as black as night, and it rose and 
swelled like some vast darkness. 
Then it stopped. 
And then its eyes opened. 
Like two thin, fiery gashes at first, the blazing eyes opened 
wider and wider, cruelly slanted like cats' eyes and all ablaze 
with fire more incandescent than the sun itself. The imagination 
shuddered back from the realization of the enormity of the thing. 
What had appeared to be huge wings were the creature's ears. 
And then it opened its mouth and roared, and they knew that 
what they had heard before had not been thunder. 
It roared again, and its fangs were flickers of lightning that 
dripped flame like blood. 
'Klael!' ~APhrael shrieked.
And then, like two rounded, bulky mountains, the shoulders 
rose above the sharp line of the cliff, and, fanning out from the 
shoulders like black sails, two jointed, batlike wings. 
'What is it?' Talen cried. 
'it's Klael!"~Aphrael shrieked again. 
'What's a Klael?' 


'Not what, you dolt! Who. ~Azash and the other Elder Gods cast 
him out. Some idiot has returned him!' 
The enormity atop the escarpment continued to rise, revealing 



vast arms with many-fingered hands. The trunk was huge, and 
flashes of lightning seethed beneath its skin, illuminating 
ghastly details with their surgng flickers. 
And then that monstrous presence rose to its full height, 
towering eighty, a hundred feet above the top of the escarpment. 
Sparhawk's spirit shrivelled. How could they possibly -? 
'Blue Rose.' he said sharply. 'Do something!' 
'There is no need, Anakha.' Vanion's usurped voice was very 
calm as Bhelliom once again spoke through his lips. 'Klael hath 
but momentarily escaped Cyrgon's grasp. Cyrgon will not risk 
his creature in a direct confrontation with me.' 
'That thing belongs to Cyrgon?' 


 'For the moment. In time that will change, and Cyrgon will 
belong to Klael.' 
'What is it doing?' Betuana cried. 
The monstrosity atop the cliff had raised one huge fist and 
was striking at the ground with incandescent fire, hammering
at the earth with lightning. The face of the escarpment shuddered 


 and began to crack away, falling, tumbling, roaring down 
to smash into the forest at the foot of the cliff. More and more 
of the sheer face crumbled and sheared away and fell in a huge 
thundering landslide. 
'Klael was ever uncertain of the strength of his wings,'
Bhelliom observed calmly. 'He would come to join battle with 
me, but he fears the height of the wall. Thus he prepares a stair 
for himself.' 
Then with a booming like that of the earthquake which had 
spawned it, a mile or more of the escarpment toppled ponderously 


 outward and crashed into the forest, piling rubble higher 
and higher against the foot of the cliff. 
The enormous being continued to savage the top of the cliff, 
spiLling more and more rubble down to form a steep causeway 
reaching up and up to the top of the wall. 
And then the thing called Klael vanished, and a shrieking wind
swept the face of the escarpment, whipping away the boiling 
clouds of dust the landslide had raised. 
There was another sound as well. Sparhawk turned quickly. 
The Trolls had fallen to their faces, moaning in terror.


We've always known about him,' Aphrael said pensively. 'We 
used to frighten ourselves by telling stories about him. There's 
a certain perverse pleasure in making one's own flesh crawl. 
I don't think I ever really admitted to myself that he actually 
~existed.'
'Exactly what is he?' Bevier asked her. 
'Evil.' She shrugged. 'We're supposed to be the essence of 
good - at least that's what we tell ourselves. Klael is the opposite. 
He's our way of explaining the existence of evil. If we didn't 
have Klael, we'd have to accept the responsibility for evil ourselves, 


 and we're a little too fond of ourselves to do that.' 
Then this Klael is the King of Hell?' Bevier asked. 
'Well, sort of. Hell isn't a place, though. It's a state of mind. 
The story has it that when the Elder Gods - Azash and the 
others - emerged, they found Klael already here. They wanted 
the world for themselves, and he was in their way. After several 
of them had tried individually to get rid of him and got themselves 



 obliterated, they banded together and cast him out.' 
Where did he come from? Originally, I mean?' Bevier pressed. 
Bevier was very much caught up in first causes. 
'How in the world should I know? I wasn't there. Ask 
Bhelliom.' 
'i'm not so much interested in where this Klael came from as 
I am in what kinds of things it can do,' Sparhawk said. He took 
Bhelliom out of the pouch at his waist. 'Blue Rose,' he said, 'I 
do think we must talk concerning Klael.' 
'it might be well, Anakha,' the jewel responded, once again 
taking control of Vanion. 
'Where did he - or it - originate?' 
'Klael did not originate, Anakha. Even as I, Klael hath always 
been.' 
'What is it - he?' 
'Necessary. I would not offend thee, Anakha, but the necessity 
of Klael is beyond thine ability to comprehend. The Child Goddess 
hath explained Klael sufficiently - within her capabilities.' 
'Well, really!' Aphrael spluttered. 
A faint smile touched Vanion's lips. 'Be not wroth with me, 
Aphrael. I do love thee still - despite thy limitations. Thou art 
young, and age shall bring thee wisdom and understanding.' 
'This is not going well, Blue Rose,' Sephrenia warned the 
stone. 
'Ah, well,' Bhelliom sighed. 'Let us then to work. Klael was, 
in fact, cast out by the Elder Gods, as Aphrael hath told thee although 

 the spirit of Klael, even as my spirit, doth linger in the 

very rocks of this world - as in all others which I have made. 
Moreover, what the Elder Gods could do, they could also undo, 
and the spell which hath returned Klael was implicit in the spell 
which did cast Klael out. Clearly, some mortal conversant with 
the spells of the Elder Gods hath reversed the spell of casting 
out, and Klael hath returned.' 
'Can he - or it - be destroyed?' 
'it is not "he" of which we speak, nor do we speak of some 
"it". We speak of Klael. But nay, Anakha, Klael cannot be 
destroyed - no more than can I. Klael is eternal.' 
Sparhawk's heart sank. 'I think we're in trouble,' he muttered 
to his friends. 
'The fault is in some measure mine. So caught up was I in the 
birth of this latest child of mine that mine attention did stray 
from needful duties. It is my wont to cast Klael out at a certain 
point in the making of a new world. This particular child did so 
delight me, however, that I delayed the casting out. Then it was 
that I did encounter the red dust which did imprison me, and 
the duty to cast Klael out did devolve upon the Elder Gods. The 
casting-out was made imperfect by reason of their imperfection, 
and thus it was possible for Klael to be returned.' 
'By Cyrgon?' Sparhawk asked bleakly. 
'The spell of casting out - and returning - is Styric. Cyrgon 
could not utter it.' 
'Cyzada then,' Sephrenia guessed. 'He might very well have 
known the spell. I don't think he'd have used it willingly, 
though.' 
'Cyrgon probably forced him to use it, little mother,' Kalten 


said. 'Things haven't been going very well for Cyrgon and 
Zalasta lately.' 
'But to call Klael!' ~Aphrael shuddered. 
'Desperate people do desperate things,' Kalten shrugged. 'So 
do desperate Gods, I suppose.' 
'What do we do, Blue Rose?' Sparhawk asked. 'About Klael, 
I mean to say?' 
'Thou canst do nothing, Anakha. Thou didst well when thou 
didst meet Azash, and doubtless will do well again in thy dispute 


 with Cyrgon. Thou wouldst be powerless against Klael, 
however.' 
'We're doomed then.' Sparhawk suddenly felt totally crushed. 
'Doomed? Of course thou art not doomed. Why art thou so 
easily downcast and made disconsolate, my friend? I did not 
make thee to confront Klael. That is my duty. Klael will trouble 
us in some measure, as is Klael's wont. Then, as is our custom, 
Klael and I will meet.' 
'And thou wilt once more banish him?' 
'That is never certain, Anakha. I do assure thee, however, 
that I will strive to mine utmost to cast Klael out - even as Klael 
will strive to cast me out. The contest between us doth lie in the 
future, and as I have oft told thee, the future is concealed. I will 
approach the contest with confidence, however, for doubt doth 
weaken resolve, and timorous uncertainty doth weigh down 
the spirit. Battle should be joined with a light heart and joyous 
demeanor.' 
'You can be very sententious sometimes, World-Maker,' 
Aphrael said with just a hint of spitefulness. 
'Be nice, Bhelliom chided mildly. 


'Anakha.' It was Ghworg, the God of Kill. The huge presence 
came across the frosty meadow, plowing a dark path through 
the silver-sheathed grass. 
'I will hear the words of Ghworg,' Sparhawk replied. 
'Have you summoned Klael? Is it your thought that Klael will 
aid us in causing hurt to Cyrgon? it is not good if you have. Let 
Klael go back.' 
'it was not my doing, Ghworg. Neither was it the FlowerGem's 


 doing. It is our thought that it was Cyrgon who summoned 


Klael to cause hurt to us.' 
'Can the Flower-Gem cause hurt to Klael?' 
'That is not certain. The might of Klael is even as the might of 
the Flower-Gem.' 
The God of Kill squatted on the frozen turf, scratching at 
his shaggy face with one huge paw. 'Cyrgon is as nothing, 
Anakha,' he rumbled in an almost colloquial form of speech. 
'We can cause hurt to Cyrgon tomorrow - or some time byand 
-by. We must cause hurt to Klael now. We cannot wait for 
by-and-by. ' Sparhawk dropped to one knee on the frozen turf. 'Your 


words are wise, Ghworg.' 
Ghworg's lips pulled back in a hideous approximation of a 
grin. 'The word you use is not common among us, Anakha. If 
Khwaj said, "Ghworg is wise", I would cause hurt to him.' 
'I did not say it to cause you anger, Ghworg.' 
'You are not a Troll, Anakha. You do not know our ways. We 



must cause hurt to Klael so that he will go away. How can we 
do this?' 
'We cannot cause hurt to him. Only the Flower-Gem can make 
him go away.' Ghworg smashed his fist against the frozen ground with a 


hideous snarl.
Sparhawk held up one hand. 'Cyrgon has called Klael,' he 
said. 'Klael has joined Cyrgon to cause hurt to us. Let us cause 
hurt to Cyrgon now, not by-and-by. If we cause hurt to Cyrgon, 
he will fear to aid Klael when the Flower-Gem goes to cause hurt 
to Klael and make him go away.' 
Ghworg puzzled his way through that. 'Your words are good, 
Anakha,' he said finally. 'How might we best cause hurt to 
Cyrgon now?'
Sparhawk considered it. 'The mind of Cyrgon is not like your 


?? 


mind, Ghworg, nor is it like mine. Our minds are direct. 
Cyrgon's is guileful. He threw your children against our friends 
here in the lands of winter to make us come here to fight them. 
But your children were not his main force. 
'Cyrgon's main force will come from the lands of the sun to 
attack our friends in the city that shines.' 
'I have seen that place. The Child Goddess spoke first with 
us there.' 
Sparhawk frowned, trying to remember the details of Vanion's 
map. 'There are high places here and to the south,' he said. 
Ghworg nodded. 
'Then, even further south, the high places grow low and then 


they become flat.' 
'I see it,' Ghworg said. 'You describe it well, Anakha.' That 
startled Sparhawk. Evidently Ghworg could visualize the entire 
continent. 
'in the middle of that flat place is another high place that the 
man-things call the Tamul Mountains.' 
Ghworg nodded in agreement. 
'The main force of Cyrgon's children will pass that high place 
to reach the city that shines. The high place will be cool, so your 
children will not suffer from the sun there.' 
'I see which way your thought goes, Anakha,' Ghworg said. 
we will take our children to that high place and wait there for 
Cyrgon's children. Our children will not eat Aphrael's children. 
They will eat Cyrgon's children instead.' 
That will cause hurt to Cyrgon and his servants, Ghworg.' 
Then we will do it.' Ghworg turned and pointed toward the 
landslide. 'Our children will climb Klael's stairway. Then 
Ghnomb will make time stop. Our children will be in the high 
place before the sun goes to sleep this night.' He stood up 
abruptly. 'Good hunting,' he growled, turned and went back to 
join his fellows and the still terrified Trolls. 


we still have to proceed as if things were normal,' Vanion told 
them as they gathered near the fire a couple of hours past noon. 
The sun, Sparhawk noted, was already going down. 'Klael can 



probably appear at any time and any place. We can't plan for 
him - any more than we can plan for a blizzard or a hurricane. 
If you can't plan for something, about the only thing you can 
do is take a few precautions and then ignore it.' 
'Well spoken,' Queen Betuana approved. Betuana and Vanion 
were getting along well. 
'What do we do then, friend Vanion?' Tikume asked.
'We're soldiers, friend Tikume,' Vanion replied. 'We do what 
soldiers do. We get ready to fight armies, not Gods. Scarpa's 
coming up out of the jungles of Arjuna, and I'd expect another 
thrust to come out of Cynesga. The Trolls will probably hamper 
Scarpa, but they can only move out a short way from those 
mountains in southern Tamul Proper because of the climate. 
After the initial shock of encountering Trolls, Scarpa will probably 


 try to go around them.' Vanion consulted his map. 'We'll 
have to have forces in plate to respond either to Scarpa or to an 
army coming out of Cynesga. I'd say that Samar would be the 
best location.'


'Sama,' Betuana disagreed. 
'Both,' Ulath countered. 'Forces in Samar could cover everything 


 from the southern edge of the Atan Mountains to the 
Sea of Arjuna and be in position to strike eastward to the 
southern Tamul Mountains if Scarpa evades the Trolls. Forces
in Sama could block the invasion route through the Atan 
mountains. ' 
'His point's well taken,' Bevier said. 'it divides our forces, but 
we don't have much choice.' 
'We could put the knights and the Peloi in Samar and the 
Atan infantry in Sama,' Tynian added. 'The lower valley of the 
River Sarna's ideal for mounted operations, and the mountains
around Sama itself are natural for Atans.' 
'Both positions are defensive,' Engessa objected. 'Wars aren't 
won from defensive positions.' 
Sparhawk and Vanion exchanged a long look. 'invade 
Cynesga?' Sparhawk asked dubiously. 
'Not yet,' Vanion decided. 'Let's wait until the Church Knights 
get here from Eosia before we do that. When Komier and the 
others cross into Cynesga from the west, that's when we'll want 
to come at the place from the east. We'll put Cyrgon in a vice. 
With that sort of force coming at him from both sides, he can 
raise every Cyrgai whore ever lived, and he'll still lose.'
'Right up until the moment he unleashes Klael,' Aphrael added 
moodily. 
'No, Divine One,' Sparhawk told her. 'Bhelliom wants Cyrgon 
to send Klael against us. If we do it this way, we'll force the 
'issue in a place and time that we choose. We'll pick the spot 
Cyrgon will unleash Klael, and I'll unleash Bhelliom. Then all 
we have to do is sit back and watch.' 


'We'll go to the top of the wall the same way the Trolls went, 
Vanion-Preceptor,' Engessa said the following morning. 'We can 
climb as well as they can.' 
'it might take us a little longer,' Tikume added. 'We'll have to 
push boulders out of the way to get our horses up that slope.' 
'We will help you, Tikume-Domi,' Engessa promised.



'That's it, then,' Tynian summed up. 'The Atans and the Peloi 
will go south from here to take up positions in Sarna and Samar. 
We'll take the knights back to the coast, and Sorgi will ferry us 
back to Matherion. We'll go overland from there.' 
'it's the ferrying that concerns me,' Sparhawk said. 'Sorgi's
going to have to make at least a half-dozen trips.' 
Khalad sighed and rolled his eyes upward. 
'I gather you're going to embarrass me in public again,' Sparhawk 


 said. 'What am I overlooking?' 
'The rafts, Sparhawk,' Khalad said in a weary voice. 'Sorgi's
gathering up the rafts to take them south to the timber markets. 
He's going to lash them all together into a long log-boom. Put 
the knights in the ships, the horses on the boom, and we can 
all make it to Matherion in one trip.' 
'I forgot about the rafts,' Sparhawk admitted sheepishly. 
'That log-boom won't move very fast,' Ulath pointed out. 
Xanetia had been listening to their plans intently. She looked 
at Khalad and spoke diffidently, almost shyly. 'Might a steady 
wind behind thy logs assist thee, young Master?' Xanetia asked 
Khalad. 
'it would indeed, Anarae,' Khalad said enthusiastically. 'We 
can weave rough sails out of tree-limbs.'
'Won't Cyrgon - or Klael - feel you raising a breeze, dear 
sister?' Sephrenia asked. 
'Cyrgon cannot detect Delphaeic magic, Sephrenia,' Xanetia 
replied. 'Anakha can ask Bhelliom whether Klael is similarly unaware.' 


'How did you manage that?' ~Aphrael asked curiously. 
Xanetia looked slightly embarrassed. 'it was to hide from thee 
and thy kindred, Divine Aphrael. When Edaemus did curse us, 
he did so arrange his curse that our magic would be hidden 
from our enemies - for thus did we view thee at that time. Doth 
that offend thee, Divine One?' 
'Not under these circumstances, Anarae,' Flute replied, swarming


 up into Xanetia's arms and kissing her soundly. 


CHAPTER 2 


The log-boom Captain Sorgi's sailors had constructed from the 
rafts was a quarter of a mile long and a hundred feet wide. Most 
of it was taken up by the huge corral. It wallowed and wobbled 
its way south under threatening skies, and it was frequently 
raked by stinging sleet-squalls. The weather was bitterly cold, 
and the young knights who manned the raft were bundled to 
the ears in furs and spent most of their time huddled in the 
dubious shelter of the flapping tents. 
'it's all in attention to detail, Berit,' Khalad said as he tied off 
the rope holding the starboard end of one of their makeshift 
sails in place. 'That's all that work really is - details.' He squinted 
along the ice-covered line of what was really much more like a 
snow-fence than a sail. 'Sparhawk looks at the grand plan and 
leaves the details to others. It's a good thing, really, because 
he's a hopeless incompetent when it comes to little things and 
real work.' 
'Khalad!' Berit was actually shocked. 
'Have you ever seen him try to use tools? That was something 



our father used to tell us over and over."'Don't ever let Sparhawk 
pick up a tool." Kalten's fairly good with his hands, but Sparhawk's

 hopeless. If you hand him anything associated with 
honest work, he'll hurt himself with it.' Khalad's head came up 
sharply, and he swore. 
'What's wrong?' 
didn't you feel it? The port-side tow-ropes just went slack. 
Lets go wake up those sailors. We don't want this big cow 
turning broadside on us again.' The two fur-clad young men 
started across the icy collection of lashed-together rafts, skirting 
the huge corral where the horses huddled together in the bitterly 
cold breeze coming from astern. 
The idea of making a log-boom out of the rafts was very good 
in theory, but the problems of steering proved to be far more 
complex than either Sorgi or Khalad had anticipated. Khalad's 
thickly woven fences of evergreen boughs acted well enough 
as sails, moving the sheer dead weight of the boom steadily 
southward ahead of Xanetia's breeze. Sorgi's ships were supposed

 to provide steerageway by towing the boom, and that 
was where the problems cropped up. No two ships ever move 
at exactly the same rate of speed, even when propelled by the 
same wind. Thus, the fifty ships ahead and the twenty-five 
strung out along each side of the boom had to be almost constantly 

 fine-tuned to keep the huge raft moving in the right 
general direction. As long as everybody paid very close attention, 

 all went well. Two days south of Bhelliom's wall, however, 
a number of things had gone wrong all at once, and the log-boom 
had swung round sideways. No amount of effort had been able 
to straighten it out, and so they had been obliged to take it 
apart and reassemble it - back-breaking labor in the bitter cold. 
Nobody wanted to go through that again. 
When they reached the port side of the boom, Berit took a 
dented brass horn out from under his fur cape and blew a flat, 
off-key blast at the port-side tow-boats while Khalad picked up 
a yellow flag and began to wave it vigorously. The pre-arranged 
signals were simple. The yellow flag told the ships to crowd on 
more sail to keep the towing hawsers taut; the blue flag told 
them to put out the sea-anchors to slack off on the ropes; and 
the red flag told them to cast off all lines and get out of the 
way. 
The tow-ropes went tight again as Khalad's crisp signal 
trickled down through the ranks to the sailors who actually did 
the work aboard the ships. 
'How do you keep track of everything?' Berit asked his 
friend. 'And how do you know so quickly that something's 
wrong?' 
'Pain,' Khalad replied wryly. 'I don't really want to spend 
several days taking this beast apart and putting it back together 
again with the spray freezing on me, so I'm paying very close 
attention to the things my body's telling me. You can feel things 
'change in your legs and the soles of your feet. When (one of the 
hawsers goes slack, it changes the feel of how the boom moves.' 
'is there anything you don't know how to do?' 
'I don't dance very well.' Khalad squinted up into the first 
stinging pellets of another sleet-squall. 'it's time to feed and 
water the horses,' he said. 'Let's go tell the novices to stop sitting 


around admiring their title and get to work.' 
'You really dislike the aristocracy, don't you?' Berit asked as 
they started forward along the edge of the corral toward the 
wind-whipped tents of the apprentice knights. 
'No, I don't dislike them. I just don't have any patience with 
them, and I can't understand how they can be so blind to what's 
going on around them. A title must be a very heavy thing to 
carry if the weight makes you ignore everything else.' 
'You're going to be a knight yourself, you know.' 
'it wasn't my idea. Sparhawk gets silly sometimes. He 
thinks that making knights of my brothers and me is a way of 
honoring our father. I'm sure that Father's laughing at him right now.' 

They reached the tents, and Khalad raised his voice. 'All right, 
gentlemen!' he shouted, 'it's time to feed and water the animals. 
Let's get at it!' Then he critically surveyed the corral. Five thousand

 horses leave a great deal of evidence that they have been 
present. 'I think it's time for another lesson in the virtue of 
humility for our novices,' he said quietly to Berit. Then he raised 
his voice again. 'And after you've finished with that, you'd 
better break out the scoop-shovels and wheel-barrows again. 
We wouldn't want to let the work pile up on us, would we, 
gentlemen?' 

Berit was not yet fully adept at some of the subtler forms of 
magic. That part of the Pandion training was the study of a 
lifetime. He was far enough along, however, to recognize 'tampering' 

 when he encountered it. The log-boom seemed to be lumbering 

 southward at a crawl, but the turning of the seasons was 
giving some things away. It should have taken them much 
longer to escape the bitter cold of the far north, for one thing, 
and the days should not have become so much longer in such 
a short time for another. 
However it was managed, and whoever managed it, they 
arrived at a sandy beach a few miles north of Matherion late 
one golden autumn afternoon long before they should have and 
began wading the horses ashore from the wobbly collection of 
rafts. 
'Short trip,' Khalad observed laconically as the two watched 
the novices unloading the horses. 
'You noticed,' Berit laughed. 
'They weren't particularly subtle about it. When the spray 
stopped freezing in my beard between one minute and the next, 
I started having suspicions.' He paused. 'is magic very hard to 
learn?' he asked. 
'The magic itself isn't too hard. The hard part is learning the 
Styric language. Styric doesn't have any regular verbs. They're 
all irregular - and there are nine tenses.' 
'Berit please speak plain Elenic.' 
'You know what a verb is, don't you?' 
'Sort of, but what's a tense?' 
Somehow that made Berit feel better. Khalad did not know 
everything. 'We'll work on it,' he assured his friend. 'Maybe 
Sephrenia can make some suggestions.' 
The sun was going down in a blaze of color when they rode 
through the opalescent gates into fire-domed Matherion, and it 


was dusk when they reached the imperial compound. 
'What's wrong with everybody?' Khalad muttered as they 


rode through the gate. 
'I didn't follow that,' Berit confessed. 
'Use your eyes, man. those gate-guards were looking at SParhawk 


 as if they expected him to explode - or maybe turn into 
a dragon. Something's going on, Berit.' 
The Church Knights rode off across the twilight-dim lawn to 
their barracks while the rest of them clattered across the drawbridge


 into Ehlana's castle. They dismounted in the torch-lit
courtyard and trooped inside. 
'it's even worse here,' Khalad murmured. 'Let's stay close to 
Sparhawk in case we have to restrain him. The knights at the 
drawbridge seemed to be actually afraid of him.' 
They went up the stairs to the royal apartment. Mirtai was 
not in her customary place at the door, and that made Berit even 
more edgy. Khalad was right. Something here was definitely 
not the way it should be. 
Emperor Sarabian, dressed in his favorite purple doublet and 
hose, was nervously pacing the blue-carpeted floor of the sitting 


room as they entered, and he seemed to shrink back as Sparhawk 


 and Vanion approached him. 
'Your Majesty,' Sparhawk greeted him, inclining his head. 'it's 
good to see you again.' He looked around. 'Where's Ehlana?' he 
asked, laying his helmet on the table. 
'Uh - in a minute, Sparhawk. How did things go on the North 
Cape?' 
'More or less the way we'd planned. Cyrgon doesn't command


 the Trolls any more, but we've got another problem that 
might be even worse.' 
'Oh?' 


'We'll tell you about it when Ehlana joins us. It's not such a 
pretty story that we'd want to go through it twice.' 
The Emperor gave Foreign Minister Oscagne a helpless look. 
'let's go speak with Baroness Melidere, Prince Sparhawk,' 
Oscagne suggested. 'Something's happened here. She was present, 


 so she'll be able to answer your questions better than we 
would.' 
'All right.' Sparhawk's gaze was level, and his voice was 
steady, despite the fact that Sarabian's nervousness and 
Oscagne's evasive answer fairly screamed out the fact that something 


 was terribly wrong. 


Baroness Melidere sat propped up in her bed. She wore a fetching 


 blue dressing-gown, but the sizeable bandage on her left 
shoulder was a clear indication that something serious had happened. 
Her face was Pale, but her eyes were cool and rocksteady. 


 Stragen sat at her bedside in his white satin doublet, his 
face filled with concern. 
well,' Melidere said, 'finally.' Her voice was crisp and 
businesslike. She flicked a withering glance at the Emperor and 
his advisers. 'I see that these brave gentlemen have decided to 
let me tell you about what happened here, Prince Sparhawk. I'll 



try to be brief. One night a couple of weeks ago, the Queen, 
Alcan, and I were getting ready for bed. There was a knock on 
the door, and four men we thought were Peloi came in. Their 
heads were shaved and they wore Peloi clothing, but they 
weren't Peloi. One of them was Krager. The other three were 
Elron, Baron Parok, and Scarpa. ' 
Sparhawk did not move, and his face did not change expression. 
'And?' he asked, his voice still unemotional. 
'You've decided to be sensible, I see,' Melidere said coolly. 
'Good. We exchanged a few insults, and then Scarpa told Elron 
to kill me - just to prove to the Queen that he was serious. Elron 
lunged at me, and I deflected his thrust with my wrist. I fell 
down and smeared the blood around to make it appear that I'd 
been killed. Ehlana threw herself over me, pretending to be 
hysterical, but she'd seen what I'd done.' The Baroness took a 
ruby ring out from under her pillow. 'This is for you, Prince 
Sparhawk. Your wife hid it in my bodice. She also said, "Tell 
Sparhawk that I'm all right, and tell him that I forbid him to 
give up Bhelliom, no matter what they threaten to do to me." 
Those were her exact words. Then she covered me with a 
blanket.' 
Sparhawk took the ring and slipped it onto his finger. 'I see,' 
he said in a calm voice. 'What happened then, Baroness?' 
'Scarpa told your wife that he and his friends were taking her 
and Alcan as hostages. He said that you were so foolishly 
attached to her that you'd give him anything for her safe return. 
He obviously intends to exchange her for the Bhelliom. Krager 
had a note already prepared. He cut off a lock of Ehlana's hair 
to include in the note. I gather that there'll be other notes, and 
each one will have some of her hair in it to prove that it's authentic. 

Then they took Ehlana and Alcan and left.' 
'Thank you, Baroness,' Sparhawk said, his voice still steady. 
'You've shown amazing courage in this unfortunate business. 
May I have the note?' 
Melidere reached under her pillow again, took out a folded 
and sealed piece of parchment, and handed it to him. 
Berit had loved his Queen from the moment he had first seen 
her sitting on her throne encased in crystal, although he had 
never mentioned the fact to her. There would be other loves in 
his life, of course, but she would always be the first. So it was 
that when Sparhawk broke the seal, unfolded the parchment, 
and gently removed the thick lock of pale blonde hair, Berit's 
mind suddenly filled with flames. His grip tightened round the 
haft of his war-axe. 
Khalad took him by the arm, and Berit was dimly startled by 
just how strong his friend's grip was. 'That's not going to do 
anybody any good at all, Berit,' he said in a crisp voice. 'Now 
why don't you just give me the axe before you do something 
foolish with it?' 
Berit drew in a deep, trembling breath pushing away his 
sudden, irrational fury. 'Sorry, Khalad,' he said. 'I sort of lost 
my grip there for a moment. I'll be all right now.' He looked at 
his friend. 'Sparhawk's going to let you kill Krager, isn't he?' 
'So he says.' 
'Would you like some help?' 
Khalad flashed him a quick grin. 'it's always nice to have 


company when you're doing something that takes several days,' he said. 

Sparhawk quickly read the note, his free hand still gently 
holding the lock of Ehlana's pale hair. Berit could see the muscles 
rippling along his friend's jaw as he read. He handed the note 
to Vanion. 'You'd better read this to them,' he said bleakly. 
Vanion nodded and took the note. He cleared his throat. 
"'Well now, Sparhawk," ' he read aloud. "'I gather that your 
temper-tantrum's over. I hope you didn't kill too many of the 
people who were supposed to be guarding your wife. 
"'The situation here is painfully obvious, I'm afraid. We've 
taken Ehlana hostage. You will behave yourself, won't you, old 
boy? The tiresomely obvious part of all of this is that you can 
have her back in exchange for Bhelliom and the rings. We'll give 
you a few days to rant and rave and try to find some way out 
of this. Then, when you've come to your senses and realize that 
you have no choice but to do exactly as you're told, I'll drop 
you another note with some rather precise instructions. Do 
be a good boy and follow the instructions to the letter. I'd 
really rather not be forced to kill your wife, so don't try to be 
creative. 
"'Be well, Sparhawk, and keep an eye out for my next note. 
You'll know it's from me because I'll decorate it with another 
lock of Ehlana's hair. Pay very close attention, because if our 
correspondence continues for too long, your wife will run out of 
hair, and I'll have to start using fingers." 
'And it's signed "Krager",' Vanion concluded. 
Kalten smashed his fist into the wall, his face rigid with fury. 
'That's enough of that!' Vanion snapped. 
'What are we going to do?' Kalten demanded. 'We have to do 
something! ' 
'We're not going to jump eight feet into the air and come down 
running, for a start,' Vanion told him. 
'Where's Mirtai?' Kring's voice had a note of sudden alarm. 
'She's perfectly all right, Domi,' Sarabian assured him. 'She 
was a little upset when she found out what happened.' 
'A little?' Oscagne murmured. 'it took twelve men to subdue 
her. She's in her room, Domi Kring - chained to the bed, actually. 

 There are some guards there as well to keep her from doing 
herself any injury.' 
Kring abruptly turned and left Melidere's bedroom. 
'We're tiring you, aren't we, Baroness?' Sarabian said then. 
'Not in the least, your Majesty,' she replied in a cool voice. 
She looked around at them. 'it's a bit cramped in here. Why 
don't we adjourn to the sitting-room? I'd imagine we'll be most 
of the night at this, so we might as well be comfortable.' She 
threw back her blankets and started to get out of bed. 
Stragen gently restrained her. Then he picked her up. 
'I can walk, Stragen,' she protested. 
'Not while I'm around, you can't.' Stragen's customary 
expression of civilized urbanity was gone as he looked around 
at the others, and it had been replaced with one of cold, tightly 
suppressed rage. 'One thing gentlemen,' he told them. 'When 
we catch up with these people, Elron's mine. I'll be very put 
out with anybody who accidentally kills him.' 
Baroness Melidere's eyes were quite content, and there was a 


faint smile on her face as she laid her head on Stragen's shoulder. 

Caalador was waiting for them in the sitting-room. His knees 
and elbows were muddy, and there were cobwebs in his hair. 
'I found it, your Majesty,' he reported to the Emperor. 'it comes 
out in the basement of that barracks the Church Knights have 
been using.' He looked appraisingly at Sparhawk. 'i'd heard 
you were back,' he said. 'We've managed to pick up a little 
information for you.' 
'I appreciate that, Caalador,' Sparhawk replied quietly. 
The big Pandion's almost inhuman calm had them all more than a 
little on edge. 'Stragen was a bit distracted after what happened to the 

Baroness here,' Caalador reported, 'so I was left more or less 
to my own devices. I took some fairly direct steps. The ideas 
were all mine, so don't blame him for them.' 
'You don't have to do that, Caalador,' Stragen said, carefully 
tucking a blanket round Melidere's shoulders. 'You didn't do 
anything I didn't approve of.' 

'I take it that there were a few atrocities,' Ulath surmised. 
'Let me start at the beginning,' Caalador said, brushing his 
hands through his hair, trying to dislodge the cobwebs. 'One of 
the men we'd been planning to kill during the Harvest Festival 
managed to evade my cut-throats, and he sent me a message 
offering to exchange information for his life. I agreed to that, 
and he told me something I didn't know about. We knew that 
there were tunnels under the lawns here in the imperial compound,

 but what we didn't know is that the ground under the 
whole city's honeycombed with more tunnels. That's how 
Krager and his friends got into the imperial grounds, and that's 
how they took the Queen and her maid out.' 
'Prithee, good Master Caalador, stay a moment,' Xanetia said. 
'I have seen into the memories of the Minister of the Interior, 
and he had no knowledge of such tunnels.' 
'That wouldn't be hard to explain, Anarae,' Patriarch Emban 
told her. 'Ambitious underlings quite often conceal things from 
their superiors. Teovin, Director of the Secret Police, probably 
had his eye on Kolata's position.' 
'That's most likely it, your Grace,' Caalador agreed. 'Anyway, 
my informant knew the location of some of the tunnels, and I 
put men down there to look around for more while I questioned 
various members of the Secret Police who were in custody. My 
methods were fairly direct, and the ones who survived the questioning 

 were more than happy to co-operate. 
The tunnels were very busy on the night the Queen was 
abducted. The diplomats who were forted up in the Cynesgan 
Embassy knew about the scheme, and they realized that we'd 
kick down their walls as soon as we found out that the Queen 
was gone. They tried to escape through the tunnels, but I already 
had men down in those rat-holes. There were a number of noisy 
encounters, and we either rounded up or killed just about the 
entire embassy staff. The Ambassador himself survived, and I 
let him watch while I interrogated several under-secretaries. I'm 
very fond of Queen Ehlana, so I was quite firm with them.' He 
looked at Sephrenia. 'I don't think I need to go into too much 


detail,' he added. 
Thank you,' Sephrenia murmured. 
The Ambassador didn't really know all that much,' Caalador 
continued apologetically, 'but he did tell me that Scarpa and his 
friends were going south from here - which may or may not 
have been a ruse. His Majesty ordered the ports of Micae and 
Saranth sealed, and he put Atan patrols on the road from Toea 
to the coast, just to be on the safe side. Nothing's turned up 
yet, so Scarpa either got away ahead of us, or he's gone down 
a hole someplace nearby.' 
The door opened, and Kring rejoined them, his face gloomy. 
'Did you unchain her?' Tynian asked him. 
'That wouldn't be a good idea right now, friend Tynian. She 
feels personally responsible for the Queen's abduction. She 
wants to kill herself. I took everything with any kind of sharp 
edge out of the room, but I don't think it's really safe to unshackle 

 her just yet.' 
'Did you get that spoon of hers away from her?' Talen asked. 
Kring's eyes went wide. 'Oh, God!' he exclaimed, bolting for 
the door. 

'if he'd only yell at us or bang his fist against the wall or something,' 

 Berit murmured to Khalad the next morning when they 
gathered once again in the blue-draped sitting-room. 'All he 
does is sit there.' 
'Sparhawk keeps his feelings to himself,' Khalad replied. 
'it's his wife we're talking about, Khalad He sits there like a 
lump. Doesn't he have any feelings at all?' 
'Of course he does, but he's not going to take them out and 
wave them around for us to look at. Right now it's more important 

 for him to think than to feel. He's listening and putting 
things together. He's saving up his feelings for when he gets 
his hands on Scarpa.' 
Sparhawk sat in his chair with his daughter in his lap. He 
seemed to be studying the floor, and he was absently stroking 
Princess Danae's cat. 
Lord Vanion was telling the Emperor and the others about 
Klael and about their strategic disposition of forces: the Trolls to 
the Tamul mountains in south-central Tamul Proper, the Atans 
to Sarna and Tikume's Peloi to Samar. 
Flute was sitting quietly on Sephrenia's lap. Berit noticed 
something that hadn't occurred to him before. He glanced first 
at Princess Danae and then at the Child Goddess. They appeared 
to be about the same age, and their bearing and manner seemed 
very much alike for some reason. 
The presence of the Child Goddess was having a peculiar 
effect on Emperor Sarabian. The brilliant, erratic ruler of the 
continent seemed dumbfounded by her presence and he sat gazing

 wide-eyed at her. His face was pale, and he was obviously 
not hearing a word Lord Vanion was saying. 
Aphrael finally twisted round and returned his gaze. Then 
she slowly crossed her eyes at him. 
The Emperor started back violently. 
'Didn't your mother ever tell you that it's not polite to stare, 
Sarabian?' she asked him. 
'Mind your manners,' Sephrenia chided. 


'He's supposed to be listening. If I want adoration, I'll get 
myself a puppy.' 
'Forgive me, Goddess Aphrael,' the Emperor apologized. 'I 
seldom have divine visitors.' He looked at her rather closely. 'I 
hope you don't mind my saying so, but you rather resemble 
Prince Sparhawk's daughter. Have you ever met her Royal 
Highness?' Sparhawk's head came up sharply, and there was a strange, 

almost wild look in his eyes. 
'Now that you mention it, I don't think I have,' Flute said. 
She looked across the room at the Princess. Berit noticed that 
Sephrenia's eyes were also just a bit wild as Flute slid down out 
of her lap and went across the room to Sparhawk's chair. 'Hullo, 
Danae,' the Child Goddess said in an offhand sort of way. 
'Hullo, Aphrael,' the Princess replied in almost exactly the 
same tone. 'Are you going to do something to get my mother 
back home?' 
'i'm working on it. Try to keep your father from getting too 
excited about this. He's no good to any of us when he flies all 
to pieces and we have to gather him up and put him back 
together again.' 
'I know. I'll do what I can with him. Would you like to hold 
my cat?' Flute glanced at Mmrr, whose eyes were filled with a look of 

absolute horror. 'I don't think she likes me,' she declined. 
'I'll take care of my father,' Danae assured the little Goddess. 
"you deal with these others.' 
'All right.' Aphrael paused. 'I think we'll get on well together,' 
she said. 'You wouldn't mind if I stopped by from time to time, 
would you?' 
'Any time, Aphrael.' 
Something very peculiar was going on. Berit saw nothing 
unusual in the conversation between the two little girls, but 
Sparhawk's face - and Sephrenia's - clearly showed that they 
were both very disturbed. Berit kept his expression casual and 
looked around. Everyone else had faintly indulgent smiles on 
their faces as they watched the exchange - all except Lord 
Vanion and Anarae Xanetia. Their faces were no less strained 
than Sparhawk's and Sephrenia's. Evidently something titanic 
had just happened, but for the life of him, Berit could not fathom 
out what it might have been. 

'I don't think we should discount the possibility,' Oscagne said 
gravely. 'Baroness Melidere has demonstrated again and again 
the fact that she has a very penetrating mind.' 
'Thank you, your Excellency,' Melidere said sweetly. 
'I wasn't really being complimentary, Baroness,' he replied 
coolly. 'Your intelligence is a resource to be exploited in this 
situation. You've seen Scarpa and we haven't. Do you really 
believe he's mad?' 
'Yes, your Excellency, quite mad. It wasn't only his behavior 
that convinced me of it. Krager and the others treated him the 
way you'd treat a live cobra. They're terrified of him.' 
'That dovetails rather neatly with some of the reports I got 
from the thieves of Arjuna,' Caalador agreed. 'There's always a 
certain amount of exaggeration involved when people talk about 


madmen, but every report that came in mentioned it.' 
'if you're trying to make Sparhawk and me feel better, you're 
going at it in a strange way, Caalador,' Kalten accused. 'You're 
suggesting that the women we love are the prisoners of a crazy 
man. He could do anything.' 
'it might not be as bad as it looks, Sir Kalten,' Oscagne
said. 'if Scarpa's mad, couldn't this abduction have been his 
idea alone? If that's the case, our solution becomes almost too 
simple. Prince Sparhawk simply follows the instructions he 
receives to the letter, and when Scarpa appears with Queen 
Ehlana and Alcan, his Highness simply hands over the
Bhelliom. We all know what'll happen to Scarpa as soon as he
touches it.' 
'You're equating insanity with feeble-mindedness, Oscagne,' 
Sarabian disagreed, 'and that's simply not the way it works. 
Zalasta knows that the rings would protect him if he ever 
managed to get his hands on Bhelliom, and if he knows, then 
we have to assume that Scarpa does, too. He'll demand the rings 
before he even tries to touch the jewel.' 
'We have three possibilities then,' Patriarch Emban summed 
it all up. 'Either Cyrgon instructed Zalasta to arrange for the 
abduction, or Zalasta came up with the notion on his own, or 
Scarpa's so crazy that he thinks he can just pick up Bhelliom 
and start giving it commands with no instruction or preparation 
at all.' 
'There's one more possibility, Your Grace,' Ulath said. 'Klael 
could already be in charge, and this could be his way to force
Bhelliom to come to him for their customary contest.' 
'What difference does it make at this point?' Sparhawk asked 
suddenly. 'We won't know whose idea it is until we see who 
shows up to make the exchange. ' 
'We should have some plans in place, Prince Sparhawk,' 
Oscagne pointed out. 'We should try to think our way through 
each situation so that we'll know what to do.' 
'I already know what I'm going to do, your Excellency,' Sparhawk 


 told him bleakly. 
'At the moment, we can't do anything,' Vanion said, moving 
in rather quickly. 'All we can do is wait for Krager's next 
note.' 
Truly,' Ulath agreed. 'Krager's going to give Sparhawk 
instructions. Those instructions might give us some clues about 
whose idea this really is.' 


"you noticed it, too, didn't you?' Berit said to Khalad that 
evening when the two of them were getting ready for bed. 
'Noticed what?' 
"Don't play the innocent with me, Khalad. You see everything 
that's Going on around you. Nothing gets by you. Sparhawk and 
Sephrenia were behaving very peculiarly when Flute and Danae 
were talking to each other.'
"yes,' Khalad admitted calmly. 'So what?' 
'Aren't you curious about why?' 
"has it occurred to you that "why" might not be any of our 
business?' 
Berit stepped round that. 'Did you notice how much the two 
girls resemble each other?'



Khalad shrugged. 'You're the expert on girls.' 
Berit suddenly blushed and silently cursed himself for 
blushing. 
'it isn't a secret, you know,' Khalad told him. 'Empress Elysoun's 


fairly obvious. She doesn't hide her feelings any more
than she ' hides - well, you know.' 
'She's a good girl,' Berit quickly came to her defense. 'it's just 
that her people don't pay any attention to our kind of morality. 
They can't even comprehend the notion of fidelity.' 
'i'm not throwing rocks at her. If the way she behaves doesn't bother her 
husband, it certainly doesn't bother me. I'm a country boy, remember? We're 
more realistic about things like that. I just wouldn't get too attached to 
her, Berit. Her attention may wander in time.' 
'it already has,' Berit replied. 'She doesn't want to discontinue 
our friendship, though. She wants to be friendly to me and to 
him - and to the half-dozen or so others she neglected to mention 


 earlier.' 
'The world needs more friendliness, Berit,' Khalad grinned. 
'There wouldn't be so many wars if people were friendlier.' 


Krager's next note arrived two days later, and it was authenticated 


 by another lock of Ehlana's hair. The thought of the sodden 
drunkard violating his Queen's pale blonde hair enraged Berit 
for some obscure reason. Vanion once again read the note to 
them while Sparhawk sat somewhat apart, gently holding the 
lock of his wife's hair in his fingers. 
"'Sparhawk, old boy," ' the note began. "'You don't mind if 
I call you that, do you? I always admired the way Martel sort of 
tossed that off when everything was going his way. It was possibly 


the only thing about him that I admired.


"'Enough of these fond reminiscences. You're going to be 
making a trip, Sparhawk. We want you to take your squire and 
travel by the customary overland route to Beresa in southeastern 
Arjuna. You'll be watched, so don't take any side-trips, don't 
have Kalten and the other baboons trailing along behind you, 
don't have Sephrenia disguised as a mouse or a flea hidden in 
your pocket, and most definitely don't use Bhelliom for anything 
at all - not even for building campfires. I know we can depend 
on your absolute co-operation, old boy, since you'll never see 
Ehlana alive again if you misbehave. 
"'it's always a pleasure to talk with you, Sparhawk particularly 
in view of the fact that it's your hands that are chained this 
time. Now stop wasting time. Take Khalad and the Bhelliom and 
go to Beresa. You'll receive further instructions there. Fondly, 
Krager" 


CHAPTER 3 


They talked and talked and talked, and every 'maybe' or 'possibly' 


 or 'probably' or 'on the other hand' set Sparhawk's teeth 
on edge. It was all pure speculation, useless guessing that circled
and circled and never got to the point. He sat slightly apart from
them holding the lock of pale hair. The hair felt strangely alive, 
coiling round his fingers in a soft caress.
It was his fault, of course. He should never have permitted 



Ehlana to come to Tamuli. It went further than that, though. 
Ehlana had been in danger all her life, and it had all been because 
of him - because of the fact that he was Anakha. Xanetia had 
said that Anakha was invincible, but she was wrong. Anakha 
was as vulnerable as any married man. By marrying Ehlana, he 
had immediately put her at risk, a risk that would last for as 
long as she lived. 
He should never have married her. He loved her, of course, 
but was it an act of love to put her in danger? He silently cursed 
the weakness that had led him to even consider the ridiculous 
notion when she had first raised it. He was a soldier, and soldiers 
should never marry - particularly not scarred, battered old veterans

 with too many years and too many battles behind them 
and too many enemies still about. Was he some selfish old fool? 
Some disgusting, half-senile lecher eager to take advantage of a 
foolish young girl's infatuation? Ehlana had extravagantly 
declared that she would die if he refused her, but he knew better 
than that. People die from a sword in the belly, or from old age, 
but they do not die from love. He should have laughed in her 
face and rejected her absurd command. Then he could have 

'arranged a proper marriage for her, a marriage to some handsome 
young nobleman with good manners and a safe occupation. 
If he had, she would still be safely back in Cimmura instead 

of in the hands of madmen, degenerate sorcerers and alien Gods 
to whom her life meant nothing at all. 
And still they talked on and on and on. Why were they wasting 

 all their breath? There wasn't any choice in the matter. Sparhawk 

 would obey the instructions because Ehlana's life 
depended on it. The others were certain to argue with him about 
it, and the arguments would only irritate him. The best thing 
would probably be just to take the Bhelliom and Khalad and slip 
out of Matherion without giving them the chance to drive him 
mad with their meaningless babble. 
It was the touch of a springlike breeze on his cheek and a soft 
nuzzling on his hand that roused him from his gloomy reverie. 
'it was not mine intent to disturb thy thought, Sir Knight,' 
the white deer apologized, 'but my mistress would have words 
with thee.' 
Sparhawk jerked his head round in astonishment. He no 
longer sat in the blue-draped room in Matherion, and the voices 
of the others had faded away to be replaced by the sound of the 
gentle lapping of waves upon a golden strand. His chair now 
sat on the marble floor of Aphrael's temple on the small verdant 
island that rose gem-like from the sea. The breeze was soft under 
the rainbow-colored sky, and the ancient oaks around the alabaster 

 temple rustled softly. 
Thou hast forgotten me,' the gentle white hind reproached 
him, her liquid eyes touched with sorrow. 
'Never,' he replied. 'I shall remember thee always, dear creature, 

 for I do love thee, even as I did when first we met.' The 
extravagant expression came to his lips unbidden. 
The white deer sighed happily and laid her snowy head in 
his lap. He stroked her arched white neck and looked around. 
The Child Goddess Aphrael, gowned in white and surrounded 

 by a glowing nimbus, sat calmly on a branch of one of 


the nearby oaks. She lifted her many-chambered pipes and blew
an almost mocking little trill. 
What are you up to now, Aphrael?' he called up to her, deliberately


 forcing away the flowery words that jumped to his lips. 
I thought you might want to talk,' she replied, lowering the 
pipes. 'Did you want some more time for self-mortification? 
Would you like a whip so that you can flog yourself with it? 
Take as much time as you want, Father. This particular instant 
will last for as long as I want it to.' She reached out with one 
grass-stained little foot, placed it on nothing at all and calmly 
walked down a non-existent stairway to the alabaster floor of 
her temple. She sank down on it, crossed her feet at the ankles 
and lifted her pipes again. 'Will it disturb your sour musings if 
I play?' 
'Just what do you think you're doing?' he demanded. 
She shrugged. 'You seem to have this obscure need for penance 


 of some kind, and there's no time for it. I wouldn't be 
much of a Goddess if I couldn't satisfy both needs at the same 


time, now would I?' She raised her pipes. 'Do you have any 
favorites you'd like to hear?' 
'You're actually serious, aren't you?' 
'Yes.' She breathed another little trill into the pipes. 
He glared at her for a moment, and then he gave up. 'Can 
we talk about this?' he asked her. 
'You've come to your senses? Already? Amazing.' 
He looked around at the island. 'Where is this place?' he asked 
curiously.
The Child Goddess shrugged. 'Wherever I want it to be. I 
carry it with me everyplace I go. Were you serious about what 
you were just thinking, Sparhawk? Were you really going to 
snatch up Bhelliom, grab Khalad by the scruff of the neck, leap 
onto Faran's back and try to ride off in three directions at the 
same time?' 
'All Vanion and the others are doing is talking, Aphrael, and 
the talk isn't going anywhere.' 
'Did you speak with Bhelliom about this notion of yours?' 
'The decision is mine, Aphrael. Ehlana's my wife.' 
'How brave you are, Sparhawk. You're making a decision 
that involves the Bhelliom without even consulting it. Don't be 
misled by its seeming politeness, Father. That's just a reflection 
Of its archaic speech. It won't do something it knows is wrong, 
no matter how sorry you're feeling for yourself, and if you grow 
too insistent, it might just decide to create a new sun - about six 
inches from your heart.' 
'I have the rings, Aphrael. I'm still the one giving the orders.' 
She laughed at him. 'Do you really think the rings mean anything, 


 Sparhawk? They have no control over Bhelliom at all. 
That was just a subterfuge that concealed the fact that it has an 
awareness - and a will and purpose of its own. It can ignore 
the rings any time it wants to.' 
'Then why did it need me?'
'Because you're a necessity, Sparhawk - like wind or tide or 
rain. You're as necessary as Klael is - or Bhelliom - or me, for 
that matter. Someday we'll have to come back here and have a 
long talk about necessity, but we're a little pressed for time right 



now.' 
'And was that little virtuoso performance of yours yesterday 
another necessity as well? Would the world have come to an 
end if you hadn't held that public conversation with yourself?' 
'What I did yesterday was useful, Father, not necessary. I am 
who I am, and I can't change that. When I'm going through one 
of these transitions, there are usually people around who know 
both of the little girls, and they start noticing the similarities. I 
always make it a point to have the girls meet each other in public. 
It puts off tiresome questions and lays unwanted suspicions to 
rest.' 
'You terrified Mmrr, you know.' 
She nodded. 'I'll make it up to her. That's always been a 
problem. Animals can see right through my disguises. They 
don't look at us in the way that we look at each other.' 
He sighed. 'What am I going to do, Aphrael?' 
'I was hoping that a visit here would bring you back to your 
senses. A stopover in reality usually has that effect.' 
He looked up at her private, rainbow-colored sky. 'This is your 
notion of reality?' 
'Don't you like my reality?' 
'it's lovely,' he told her, absently stroking the white deer's 
neck, 'but it's a dream.' 
'Are you really sure about that, Sparhawk? Are you so certain 
that this isn't reality and that other place isn't the dream?' 
'Don't do that. It makes my head hurt. What should I do?' 
'i'd say that your first step ought to be to have a long conversation

 with Bhelliom. All of your moping around and contemplating 

 arbitrary decisions has it more than a little worried.' 
'All right. Then what?' 
'I haven't gotten that far yet.' She grinned at him. 'i'm 
a-workin' on it though, Dorlin',' she added. 

'They're going to be all right, Kalten,' Sparhawk said, gently 
laying his hand on his suffering friend's shoulder. 
Kalten looked up, his eyes filled with hopeless misery. 'Are 
you sure, Sparhawk?' 
'They will be if we can just keep our heads. Ehlana was in 
much more danger when I came back from Render, and we took 
care of that, didn't we?' 
'I suppose you're right.' Kalten straightened up in his chair 
and jerked down his blue doublet. His face was bleak. 'I think 
I'm going to find some people and hurt them,' he declared. 
'Would you mind if I came along?' 
'You can help if you like.' Kalten rubbed at the side of his 
face. 'I've been thinking,' he said. 'You know that if you follow 
those orders in Krager's note, he'll be able to keep you plodding 
from one end of Tamuli to the other for the next year or more, 
don't you?' 
'Do I have any choice? They're going to be watching me.' 
'Let them. Do you remember how we met Berit?' 
'He was a novice in the Chapterhouse in Cimmura,' Sparhawk 
shrugged. 
'Not when I first saw him, he wasn't. I was coming back from 
exile in Lamorkand, and I stopped at a roadside tavern outside 
of Cimmura. Berit was there with Kurik, and he was wearing 


your armor. I've known you since we were children, and even 
I couldn't tell that he wasn't you. If I couldn't tell, Krager's 
spies certainly won't be able to. If somebody has to plod around 
Tamuli, let Berit do it. You and I have better things to do.' 
Sparhawk was startled. 'That's the best idea I've heard yet.' 
He looked around at the others. 'Could I have your attention, 
please?' he said. 
They all looked sharply at him, their faces apprehensive. 
'it's time to get to work,' he told them. 'Kalten here just
reminded me that we've used Sir Berit as a decoy in the past. 
Berit and I are nearly the same size, and my armor fits him more 


 or less - and with his visor down, nobody can really tell 
that he isn't me. If we can prevail on him to masquerade as a 
broken-down old campaigner again, we might just be able to 
prepare a few surprises for Krager and his friends.' 
'You don't even have to ask, Sparhawk,' Berit said. 
'Get some details before you volunteer like that, Berit,' Khalad 
told his friend in a pained voice. 
'Your father used to say almost exactly the same thing,' Berit 
recalled. 
'Why didn't you listen to him?' 
'it's an interesting plan, Prince Sparhawk,' Oscagne said a bit 
dubiously, 'but isn't it extremely dangerous?' 
'i'm not afraid, your Excellency,' Berit protested. 
'I wasn't talking about your danger, young sir. I'm talking 
about the danger to Queen Ehlana. The moment someone penetrates 


 your disguise - well . . .' Oscagne spread his hands. 
'Then we'll just have to make sure that his disguise is foolproof,' 


 Sephrenia said. 
'He can't keep his visor down forever, Sephrenia,' Sarabian
objected. 
'I don't think he'll have to,' Sephrenia replied. She looked 
speculatively at Xanetia. 'Do we trust each other enough to cooperate, 


 Anarae?' she asked. 'i'm talking about something a little 
deeper than we've gone so far.' 
'I will listen most attentively to thy proposal, my sister.'
'Delphaeic magic is directed primarily inward, isn't it?'
Xanetia nodded. 
That's probably why no one can hear or feel it. Styric magic 
is just the reverse. We alter things around us, so our magic 
reaches out. Neither form will work by itself in this particular 
situation, but if we were to combine them . . .' She left it hanging 


 in the air between them. 
'interesting notion,' Aphrael mused. 
'i'm not sure I follow,' Vanion said. 
The Anarae and I are going to have to experiment a bit,' 
Sephrenia told him, 'but if what I've got in mind works, we'll 
be able to make Berit look so much like Sparhawk that they'll 
be able to use each other for shaving mirrors.' 


'As long as each of us knows exactly what the other's doing, 
it's not too difficult, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia assured him later 
when he and Berit joined her, Vanion and the Anarae in the 
room she shared with Vanion. 
will it really work?' he asked her dubiously. 
They haven't actually tried it yet, Sparhawk,' Vanion told 



him, 'so we're not entirely positive.' 
That doesn't sound too promising. This isn't much of a face, 
but iCs the only one I've got.' 
'There will be no danger to thee or to young Sir Berit, Anakha,' 
Xanetia said. 'in times past it hath oft been necessary for my 
people to leave our valley and to go abroad amongst others. 
This hath been our means of disguising our true identity.' 
'it works sort of like this, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia explained. 
'Xanetia casts a Delphaeic spell that would normally imprint 
your features on her own face, but just as she releases her spell, 
I release a Styric one that deflects the spell to Berit instead.' 
'Won't every Styric in Matherion feel it when you release your 
spell?' Sparhawk asked. 
'That's the beauty of it, Sparhawk,' Aphrael told him. "the 
spell itself originates with Xanetia, and others can't feel or hear 
a Delphaeic spell. Cyrgon himself could be in the next room and 
he wouldn't hear a thing.' 
'You're sure it's going to work?'
'There's one way to find out.' 
Sparhawk, of course, did not feel a thing. He was only the 
model, after all. It was a bit disconcerting to watch Berit's 
appearance gradually change, however.
When the combined spell had been completed, Sparhawk 
carefully inspected his young friend. 'Do I really look like that 
from the side?' he asked Vanion, feeling a bit deflated. 
'I can't tell the two of you apart.' 
'That nose is really crooked, isn't it?' 
'We thought you knew.' 
'I've never looked at myself from the side this way before.' 
Sparhawk looked critically at Berit's eyes. 'You should probably 
try to squint just a little,' he suggested. 'My eyes aren't as good
as they used to be. That's one of the things you have to look 
forward to as you get older.'
'I'll try to remember that.' Even Berit's voice was different. 
'Do I really sound like that?' Sparhawk was crestfallen.
Vanion nodded. 
Sparhawk shook his head. 'Seeing and hearing yourself as 
others do definitely lowers your opinion of yourself,' he admitted. 


 he looked at Berit again. 'I didn't feel anything, did you?' 
Berit nodded, swallowing hard. 
'What was it like?' 
'i'd really rather not talk about it.' Berit gently explored his 
new face with cringing fingertips, wincing as he did. 
'I still can't tell them apart,' Kalten marveled, staring first at Berit 
and then at Sparhawk. 
'That was sort of the idea,' Sparhawk told him. 
'Which one are you?' 
"try to be serious, Kalten.' 
'Now that we know how it's done, we can make some other 
changes as well,' Sephrenia told them. 'We'll give you all different 


 faces so that you'll be able to move around freely - and we'll 
put men Wearing your faces here in the palace. I think we can 
all expect to be watched, even after the Harvest Festival, and 
this should nullify that particular problem.' 
'We can make more detailed plans later,' Vanion said. 'Let's 
get Berit and Khalad on their way first. What's the customary 



route when someone wants to go overland from here to Beresa?' 
He unrolled a map and spread it out on the table. 
'Most travelers go by sea,' Oscagne replied, 'but those who 
don't usually cross the peninsula to Micae and then take a ship 
across the gulf to the mainland.' 
There don't seem to be any roads over there,' Vanion 
frowned, looking at the map. 
'it's a relatively uninhabited region, Lord Vanion,' Oscagne 
shrugged. 'salt marshes and the like. What few tracks there are 
wouldn't show up on the map.' 
'Do the best you can,' Vanion told the two young men. 'Once 
you get past the Tamul Mountains, you'll hit that road that skirts 
the western side of the jungle.' 
'i'd make a special point of staying out of those mountains 
Berit,' Ulath advised. 'There are Trolls there now.' 
Berit nodded. 
'You'd better have a talk with Faran, Sparhawk,' Khalad suggested. 'I 

 don't think he'll be fooled just because Berit's wearing 
your face and Berit's going to have to ride him if this is going 
to be convincing.' 
'i'd forgotten that,' Sparhawk admitted. 
'I thought you might have.' 
'All right then,' Vanion continued his instructions to the two 
young men. "follow that road down to hydros, then take the 
road around the southern tip of Arjuna to Beresa. That's the 
%ici tote, and they'll probably be expecting you to go that 
way.' 

 That's going to take quite a while, Lord Vanion,' Khalad said. 
'I know. Evidently Krager and his friends want it to. If they 
were in a hurry, they'd have instructed Sparhawk to go by sea." 
'Give Berit your wife's ring, Sparhawk,' Flute instructed. 
'What?' 
'Zalasta can sense the ring, and if he can, Cyrgon can, too and 

 Klael will definitely feel it. If you don't give Berit the ring, 
changing his face was just a waste of time.' 
'You're putting Berit and Khalad in a great deal of danger,' 
Sephrenia said critically. 
'That's what we get paid for, little mother,' Khalad shrugged. 
'I'll watch over them,' Aphrael assured her sister. She looked 
critically at Berit. 'Call me,' she told him. 
'Ma'am?' 
'Use the spell, Berit,' she explained with exaggerated patience. 
'I want to be sure you're doing it right.' 
'Oh.' Berit carefully enunciated the spell of summoning, his 
hands moving in the intricate accompanying gestures. 
'You mispronounced "Knjernsticon",' she corrected him. 
Sephrenia was trying without much success to suppress a 
laugh. 
'What's so funny?' Talen asked her. 
'Sir Berit's pronunciations raised some questions about his 
meaning,' Stragen explained. 
'What did he say?' Talen asked curiously. 
"just never mind what he said,' Flute told him primly. 'We're 

not here to repeat off-color jokes about the differences between 
boys and girls. Practice on that one, Berit. Now try the secret 


summoning. ' 
'What's that?' Itagne murmured to Vanion. 
'it's used to pass messages, your Excellency,' Vanion replied. 
'it summons the awareness of the Child Goddess, but not her 
presence. We can give her a message to carry to someone else 
by using that spell.' 
'isn't that just a little demeaning for the Child Goddess? 
Do you really make her run errands and carry messages that 
way?' 
'i'm not offended, Itagne.' Aphrael smiled. 'After all, we live 
only to serve those we love, don't we?' 
Berit's pronunciation of the second spell raised no objections. 
'You'll probably want to use that one most of the time anyway, 
Berit,' Vanion instructed. 'Krager warned Sparhawk about using 
magic, so don't be too obvious about things. If you get any 


further instructions along the road, make some show of following 


 them, but pass the word on to Aphrael.'
'There's no real point in decking him out in Sparhawk's armor 
now, is there, Lord Vanion?' Khalad asked. 
'Good point,' Vanion agreed. 'A mail-shirt should do, Berit. 
We want them to see your face now.' 
'Yes, my Lord.' 
'Now you'd better get some sleep,' Vanion continued. 'You'll 
be starting early tomorrow morning.' 
'Not too early, though,' Caalador amended. 'We purely
wouldn't want th' spies t' oversleep therselfs an' miss seein' y' 
leave. Gittin' a new face don't mean shucks iffn y' don't git no 
chance t' show it off, now does it?' 


It was chill and damp in the courtyard the following morning, 
and a thin autumn mist lay over the gleaming city. Sparhawk 
led Faran out of the stables. 'Just be careful,' he cautioned the 
two young men in mail-shirts and travelers' cloaks. 
'You've said that already, my Lord,' Khalad reminded him. 
'Berit and I aren't deaf, you know.' 
'You'd better forget that name, Khalad,' Sparhawk said critically. 
'Start thinking of our young friend here as me. A slip of 
the tongue in the wrong place could give this all away.' 
'I'll keep that in mind.' 
'Do you need money?' 
'I thought you'd never ask.'
'You're as bad as your father was.' Sparhawk pulled a purse 
from under his belt and handed it to his squire. Then he firmly 
took Faran by the chin and looked straight into the big roan's 
eyes. 'I want you to go with Berit, Faran,' he said. 'Behave 
exactly as you would if he were me.' 
Faran flicked his ears and looked away. 
'Pay attention,' Sparhawk said sharply. 'This is important.' 
Faran sighed.
'He knows what you're talking about, Sparhawk,' Khalad 
said. 'He's not stupid - just bad-tempered.' 
Sparhawk handed the reins to Berit. Then he remembered
something. 'We'll need a password,' he said. 'The rest of us are 
going to have different faces, so you won't recognize us if we 
have to contact you. Pick something ordinary.' 



 They all considered it. 
'How about "ramshorn"?' Berit suggested. 'it shouldn't be too 
hard to work it into an ordinary conversation, and we've used 
it before.' 
Sparhawk suddenly remembered Ulesim, most-favoreddisciple 
-of-holy-Arasham, standing atop a pile of rubble with 
Kuriks's crossbow bolt sticking out of his forehead and the word 
ramshorn still on his lips. 'Very good, Berit - ah - Sir Sparhawk, 
that is. It's a word we all remember. You'd better get started.' 
They nodded and swung up into their saddles. 
'Good luck,' Sparhawk said. 
'You too, my Lord,' Khalad replied. And then the pair turned 
and rode slowly toward the drawbridge. 

'All we've really got to work with is the name Beresa,' Sarabian 
mused, somewhat later. 'Krager's note said that Sparhawk 
would receive further instructions there.' 
'That could be a ruse, your Majesty,' Itagne pointed out. 
'Actually, the exchange could take place at any time - and any 
place. That might have been the reason for the instructions to 
go overland.' 
'That's true,' Caalador agreed. 'Scarpa and Zalasta might just 
be waiting on the beach on the west side of the Gulf of Micae 
wanting to make the trade right there, for all we know.' 
'We're going to an awful lot of trouble here,' Talen said. 'Why 
doesn't Sparhawk just have Bhelliom go rescue the Queen? It 
could pick her up and have her back here before Scarpa even 
knew she was gone.' 
'No,' Aphrael said, shaking her head. 'Bhelliom can't do that 
any more than I can.' 
'Why not?' 
'Because we don't know where she is - and we can't go looking 
for her, because they'll be able to sense us moving around.' 
'Oh. I didn't know that.' 

Aphrael rolled her eyes upward. 'Men!' she sighed. 
'it was very resourceful of Ehlana to slip her ring to Melidere,' 

Sephrenia said, 'but locating her would be much easier if she 
still had it with her.' 
'I sort of doubt that, dear,' Vanion disagreed. 'Zalasta of all 
people knows that the rings can be traced. If Ehlana had still 
been wearing it, the first thing Scarpa would have done would 

 been to send Krager or Elron off in the opposite direction 
with it.' 
'You're assuming that Zalasta's involved in this,' she disagreed. 
'There is the possibility that Scarpa's acting on his own, 
you know. ' 
'it's always better to assume the worst,' he shrugged. 'Our 
situation is much more perilous if Zalasta and Cyrgon are 
involved. If it's only Scarpa, he'll be relatively easy to dispose 
of.' 
'But only after Ehlana and Alcan are safe,' Sparhawk amended. 
That goes without saying, Sparhawk,' Vanion said. 
'Everything hinges on the moment of the exchange then, 
doesn't it?' Sarabian noted. 'We can make some preparations, 


but we won't be able to do anything at all significant until the 
moment that Scarpa actually produces Ehlana.' 
'And that means that we have to stay close to Berit and 
Khalad,' Tynian added. 
'No.' Aphrael was shaking her head. 'You'll give everything 
away if you all start hovering over those two. Let me do the 
staying close. I don't wear armor, so no one will be able to 
smell me from a thousand paces off. Itagne's right. The exchange 
could come at any time. I'll let Sparhawk know the very instant 
scarpa shows up with Ehlana and Alcan. Then Bhelliom can set 
him down - with knife - right on top of them. Then we'll have 
the ladies back, and we'll be more or less in charge of things 
again.' 
'And that brings us right back to a purely military situation,' 
Patriarch Emban mused. 'I think we'll want to send word to 
Komier and Bergsten. We're going to need the Church Knights 
in Cynesga and Arjuna, not in Edam or Astel - or here in 
Matherion. Let's have them ride southeast after they come down 
out of the mountains of Zemoch. We'll have the Atans in Sarna, 
the eastern Peloi and the Church Knights we've already got in 
Samar, the Trolls in the Tamul Mountains and Komier and Bergsten

 on the western side of the Desert of Cynesga. We'll be able 
to squeeze the land of the Cyrgai like a lemon at that point.' 
'And see what kind of seeds come popping out,' Kalten added 
bleakly. 

Patriarch Emban, First Secretary of the Church of Chyrellos, 
was a man who absolutely adored lists. The fat little churchman 
automatically drew up a list when any subject was being discussed.

 There is a certain point in most discussions when things 
have all been settled, and the participants start going back over 
the various points. Inevitably, that was the point at which 
Emban pulled out his list. 'All right then,' he said in a tone that 
clearly said that he was summing up, 'Sparhawk will take ship 
for Beresa, along with Milord Stragen and young master Talen, 
right?' 
'it puts him in place in case Berit and Khalad do, in fact, have 
to ride all the way down there, your Grace,' Vanion said. 'And 
Stragen and Talen have contacts in Beresa, so they'll probably 
be able to find out just who else is in town.' 
Emban checked that off his list. 'Next. Sir Kalten, Sir Bevier 
and Master Caalador will sail south on a different ship and go 
into the jungles of Arjuna.' 
Caalador nodded. 'I've got a friend in Delo who has contacts 
with the robber bands in those jungles,' he said. 'We'll join one 
of those bands, so we'll be able to keep an eye on Natayos and 
pass the word if Scarpa's army starts to move.' 
'Right.' Emban checked that off. 'next. Sir Ulath and Sir 
Tynian will go to the Tamul Mountains to stay in touch with 
the Trolls.' He frowned. 'Why is Tynian going there?' he asked. 
'He doesn't speak Trollish.' 
'Tynian and I get along well,' Ulath rumbled, 'and I'll get 
terribly lonely if there's no one around to talk with but Trolls. 
You have no idea of how depressing it is to be alone with Trolls, 
your Grace.' 
'Whatever makes you happy, Sir Ulath.' Emban shrugged. 


'Now then, Sephrenia and Anarae Xanetia will go to Delphaeus 
to advise Anari Codon about all these recent developments and 
to explain what we're doing.' 
'And to see what we can do to make peace between Styricum 
and the Delphae,' Sephrenia added. 
Emban checked off another item. He said, 'Lord Vanion, Queen 
Betuana, Ambassador Itagne and Domi Kring will take the five 
thousand knights and go to Western Tamul Proper to join with 
the forces they have in place in Sarna and Samar.' 
'Where is Domi Kring?' Betuana asked, looking around for the 
little man. 
'He's standing guard over Mirtai,' Princess Danae said. 'He's 
still about half afraid she might try to kill herself.' 
'We could have a problem there,' Bevier observed. 'Under 
those circumstances, Kring might not be willing to leave 
Matherion.' 
'We can get along without him if we have to,' Vanion said. 'I 
can deal with Tikume directly. Having Kring around would 
make it easier, but I can make do without him if he really thinks 
that Mirtai might do something foolish.' 
Emban nodded. 'Emperor Sarabian, Foreign Minister Oscagne 
and I will stay here in Matherion to hold down the fort, and the 
Child Goddess will keep us all in touch with each other. Have 
I left anything out?' 
'What do you want me to do, Emban?' Danae asked sweetly. 
'You'll stay here in Matherion with us, your Royal Highness,' 
Emban replied, 'to brighten our gloomy days and nights with 
the sunshine of your smile.' 
'Are you making fun of me, your Grace? 
'Of course not, Princess.' 

To say that Mirtai was unhappy would have been the grossest 
of understatements. She was in chains when Kring brought her 
into the council chamber with a hopeless kind of look on his 
face. 'Nothing I say even reaches her,' the Domi told them. 'I 
think she's even forgotten that we're betrothed.' 
The golden Atan giantess would not look at any of them, but 
sank instead to the floor in abject misery. 
'She has failed her owner.' Betuana shrugged. 'She must 
either avenge or die.' 
'Not quite, your Majesty,' Sparhawk's daughter said firmly. 
She slipped down from the chair in the corner from which she 
had been watching the proceedings. She deposited Rollo in one 
corner of the chair and Mmrr in the other and crossed the room 
to Mirtai with a businesslike look on her small face. 'Atana Mirtai,' 

she said crisply, 'get up off the floor.' 
Mirtai looked sullenly at her, then slowly rose, her chains 
rattling. 
In my mother's absence, I am the queen,' Danae declared. 
Sparhawk blinked. 
"you're not Ehlana,' Mirtai said. 
i'm not pretending to be. I'm stating a legal fact. Sarabian, 
isn't that the way it works? Isn't my mother's power mine while 
she's away?' 
'Well - technically, I suppose.' 
'Technically my foot. I'm Queen Ehlana's heir. I'm assuming 


her position until she returns. That means that I temporarily 
own everything that's hers - her throne, her crown, her jewels, 
and her personal slave.' 
'i'd hate to have to argue against her in a court of law,' Emban 
admitted. 
'Thank you, your Grace,' Danae said. 'All right, Atana Mirtai, 
you heard them. You're my property now.' 
Mirtai scowled at her. 
'Don't do that,' Danae snapped. 'Pay attention. I am your 
owner, and I forbid you to kill yourself. I also forbid you to run 
off. I need you here. You're going to stay here with Melidere 
and me, and you're going to guard us. You failed my mother. 
Don't fail me.'
Mirtai stiffened, and then she broke her chains with an angry 
wrench of her arms. 'it shall be as you say, your Majesty,' she 
snapped, her eyes blazing. 
Danae looked around at the rest of them with a smug little 
smile. 'See,' she said. 'Now that wasn't so hard, was it?' 


CHAPTER 4 


It was a small, single-masted coastal freighter with a leaky 
bottom and patched sails. It definitely did not skim the waves. 
Berit and Khalad wore their mail-shirts and travelers' cloaks and 
They stood in the bow looking out across the leaden expanse of 
the Gulf of Micae as the wretched vessel wallowed along. 'is 
that coast up ahead?' Berit asked hopefully. 
Khalad looked out across the choppy water. 'No, just a cloudbank.


 We're not moving very fast, my Lord. We won't make the 
Coast today, I'm afraid.' He looked aft and lowered his voice. 
'Stay alert after the sun goes down,' he instructed. 'The crew of 
this tub is made up of waterfront sweepings, and the captain 
isn't much better. I think we should take turns sleeping tonight.' 
Berit glanced back along the deck at the assortment of ruffians 
loitering there. 'I wish I had my axe,' he muttered. 
'Don't say things like that out loud, Berit,' Khalad muttered. 
'Sparhawk doesn't use a war-axe. Krager knows that, and one of 
these sailors may' be working for him.' 
"Still? after the Harvest Festival?' 
'Nobody's ever figured out a way to kill all the rats, my Lord, 
and it only takes one. Let's both behave as if we're being 
watched and every word we say is being overheard - just to be 
on the safe side.' 
'I'll be a lot happier once we get ashore. Did we really have 
to make this leg of the trip by sea?' 
'it's the custom.' Khalad shrugged. 'Don't worry. We can hold 
off these sailors if we have to.' 
That's not what's bothering me, Khalad. This scow waddles
through the water like a whale with a sprained back. It's making 
me queasy.' 
'Eat a piece of dry bread. 
'i'd rather not. This is really miserable, Khalad.' 
'But we're having an adventure, my Lord,' Khalad said
brightly. 'Doesn't the excitement make up for the discomfort?' 
'No. Not really.' 
'You're the one who wanted to be a knight.' 



'Yes, I know - and right now I'm trying to remember why. 

Patriarch Emban was very displeased. 'This is really outrageous, 
Vanion,' he protested as he waddled along with the others 
toward the chapel in the west wing. 'if Dolmant ever finds out 
that I've permitted the practice of witchcraft in a consecrated 
place of worship, he'll have me defrocked.' 
'it's the safest place, Emban,' Vanion replied. 'The pretense 
of "sacred rites" gives us an excuse to chase all the Tamuls out 
of the west wing. Besides, the chapel's probably never really 
been consecrated anyway. This is an imitation castle built to 
make Elenes feel at home. The people who built it couldn't have 
known the rite of consecration.' 
'You don't know that it hasn't been consecrated.' 
'And you don't know that it has. If it bothers you all that 
much, Emban, you can re-consecrate it after we finish.' 
Emban's face blanched. 'Do you know what's involved in that, 
Vanion?' he protested. 'The hours of praying - the prostration 
before the altar - the fasting?' His chubby face went pale. 'Good 
God, the fasting!' 
Sephrenia, Flute, and Xanetia had slipped into the chapel several 

 hours earlier, and they were sitting unobtrusively in one 
corner listening to a choir of Church Knights singing hymns. 
Emban and Vanion were still arguing when they joined the 
ladies. 'What's the problem?' Sephrenia asked. 
'Patriarch Emban and Lord Vanion are having a disagreement 
about whether or not the chapel's been consecrated, little 
mother,' Kalten explained. 
'it hasn't,' Flute told him with a little shrug. 
'How can you tell?' Emban demanded. 
She gave him a long-suffering look. 'Who am I, your Grace?' 
she asked him. 
He blinked. 'Oh. I keep forgetting that for some reason. Is 
there actually a way you can tell whether or not a place has been 
consecrated?' 
'Well of course there is. Believe me, Emban, this chapel's never 
been consecrated to your Elene God.' She paused. 'There was a 
spot not far from here that was consecrated to a tree about eighteen

 thousand years ago, though.' 
'A tree?' 
'it was a very nice tree - an oak. It's always an oak for some 
reason. Nobody ever seems to want to worship an elm. Lots of 
people used to worship trees. They're predictable, for one thing.' 
'How could anybody in his right mind worship a tree?' 
'Who ever said that religious people were in their right minds? 
Sometimes you humans confuse us a great deal, you know.' 
Since there was an exchange of features involved in most cases 
here, Sephrenia and Xanetia had experimented a bit to alter the 
spell which had imprinted Sparhawk's face on Berit. No 
exchange was necessary for Sparhawk, however, so they modified

 him first. He sat beside his old friend, Sir Endrik, a veteran 
with whom he, Kalten and Martel had endured their novitiates. 
Xanetia approached them with the color draining from her features 

 and that soft radiance suffusing her face. She examined 
Endrik meticulously, and then her voice rose as she began to 
intone the Delphaeic spell in her oddly accented, archaic Tamul. 


Sephrenia stood at her side simultaneously casting the Styric 
spell. 
Sparhawk felt nothing whatsoever as Xanetia released her 
spell. Then at the crucial instant, Sephrenia extended her hand, 
interposing it between Sir Endrik's face and Xanetia's and simultaneously 


 releasing the Styric spell. Sparhawk definitely felt that. 
His features seemed to somehow soften like melting wax, and 
he could actually feel his face changing, almost as wet clay is 
changed and molded by the potter's hand. The straightening of 
his broken nose was a bit painful, and the lengthening of his 
jaw made his teeth ache as they shifted in the bone. 
'What do you think?' Sephrenia asked Vanion when the Process 


 had been completed. 
'I don't think you could get them any closer,' Vanion replied, 
examining the two men closely. 'How does it feel to be twins, Endrik?'


'I didn't feel a thing, my Lord,' Endrik replied, staring curiously 


 at Sparhawk.
'I did,' Sparhawk told him, gingerly touching his re-shaped 
nose. 'Does the ache go away eventually, Anarae?' he asked. 
'Thou wilt notice it less as time doth accustom thee to the 
alteration, Anakha. I did warn thee that some discomfort is 
involved, did I not?' 
'You did indeed.'' Sparhawk shrugged. 'it's not unbearable." 
'Do I really look like that?' Endrik asked. 
'Yes,' Vanion replied. 
'I should take better care of myself. The years aren't being 
good to me. '
'Nobody stays young and beautiful forever, Endrik,' Kalten 
laughed. 'is that all that needs to be done to these two, Anarae?' Vanion 


asked. 
'The process is complete, Lord Vanion,' Xanetia replied. 
'We need to talk, Sparhawk,' the Preceptor said. 'Let's go into 
the vestry where we'll be out of the way while the ladies modify 
the others.' 
Sparhawk nodded, stood up and followed his friend to the 
small door to the left of the altar. 
Vanion led the way inside and closed the door behind them. 
'You've made all the arrangements with Sorgi?' he asked. 
Sparhawk sat down. 'I talked with him yesterday,' he replied. 
'I told him that I had some friends that had to go to Beresa 
without attracting attention. He's had the usual desertions, and 
he's holding three berths open. Stragen, Talen and I'll merge 
with the crew. We should be able to slip into Beresa without 
being noticed.' 
'I imagine that cost you. Sorgi's prices are a little steep 
sometimes. ' 
Sparhawk massaged the side of his aching jaw. 'it wasn't all 
that bad,' he said. 'Sorgi owes me a couple of favors, and I gave 
him time to pick up a cargo to cover most of the cost.' 
'You'll be going directly to the harbor from here?' 
Sparhawk nodded. 'We'll use that tunnel Caalador found 
under the barracks. I told Sorgi that his three new crew members 
would report to him about midnight.' 
'You'll sail tomorrow then?'



Sparhawk shook his head. 'The day after. We have to load 
Sorgi's cargo tomorrow.' 
'honest work, Sparhawk?' Vanion smiled.


'You're starting to sound like Khalad.' 
'He does have opinions, doesn't he?' 
'So did his father.' 
"Quit rubbing your face like that, Sparhawk. You'll make your 


skin raw.' Vanion paused. 'What was it like? 


'Very strange.' 


'Painful?' 


'The nose was. It feels almost as if somebody broke it again. 


Be glad you don't have to go through it.' 


There wouldn't be much point in that. I won't be sneaking 


down alleys the way the rest of you will. ' Vanion looked sympathetically 
at his friend. 'We'll get her back, Sparhawk,' he said. 


'Of course. Was that all?' Sparhawk's tone was deliberately 


unemotional. The important thing here was not to feel. 


"Just be careful, and try to keep a handle on your temper.' 


Sparhawk nodded. 'Let's go see how the others are coming. 


The alterations were confusing, there was no question about 


that. It was hard to tell exactly who was talking, and sometimes 


Sparhawk was startled by just who answered his questions. 


They said their goodbyes and quietly left the chapel with the 


main body of the Church Knights. They went out into the 


torch-lit courtyard, crossed the drawbridge, and proceeded 


across the night-shrouded lawn to the barracks of the knights, 


where Sparhawk, Stragen and Talon changed into tar-smeared 


sailor's smocks while the others also donned the mis-matched 


clothing of commoners. Then they all went down to the cellar. 


Caalador, who now wore the blocky face of a middle-aged 


Deiran knight, led the way into a damp, cobweb-draped tunnel 


with a smoky torch. When they had gone about a mile, he 


stopped and raised the torch. 'This yere's yet exit, Sporhawk,' 


he said, pointing at a steep, narrow stairway. 'You'll come out 


in an alley - which it is oz don't smell none too sweet, but is 


S an' dark.' He paused. 'Sorry, Stragen,' he apologized. 'I 


wanted to give you something to remember me by.' 


"you're too kind,' Stragen murmured. 


"Good luck, Sparhawk,' Caalador said then. 


Thanks, Caalador.' The two shook hands, and then Caalador 


lifted his torch and led the rest of the party off down the musty-smelling 
passageway toward their assorted destinations, leaving 


Sparhawk, Talon, and Stragen alone in the dark. 


'They won't be in any danger, Vanion,' Flute assured the Preceptor 
as the ladies were packing. 'I'll be going along, after all, and 


I can take care of them.' 


'Ten knights then,' he amended his suggestion downward. 


'They'd just be in our way, love,' Sephrenia told him. 'I do 


want you to be careful, though. A body of armed men is far 
more likely to be attacked than a small party of travelers.' 
'But it isn't safe for ladies to travel alone,' he protested. 'There 
are always robbers and the like lurking in the forest.' 



'We won't be in one place long enough to attract robbers or
anybody else,' Flute told him. 'We'll be in Delphaeus in two 
days. I could do it in one, but I'll have to stop and have a long 
talk with Edaemus before I go into his valley. He might just take
a bit of convincing.' 
'When art thou leaving Matherion, Lord Vanion?' Xanetia 


asked. 


'About the end of the week, Anarae,' he replied. 'We've got 
to spend some time on our equipment, and there's always the 
business of organizing the supply train.' 
'Take warm clothing,' Sephrenia instructed. 'The weather 
could change at any time.'
'Yes, love. How long will you be at Delphaeus?' 
'We can't be sure. Aphrael will keep you advised. We have a 
great deal to discuss with Anari Codon. The fact that Cyrgon
has summoned Klael complicates matters.' 
'Truly,' Xanetia agreed. 'We may be obliged to entreat edaemus


 to return.' 
'Would he do that?' 
Flute smiled roguishly. 'I'll coax him, Vanion,' she said, 'and 
you know how good I am at that. If I really want something, I 
almost always get it.' 


'You there! Look lively.' Sorgi's bull-necked bo'sun bellowed, 
Popping his whip at Stragen's heels. 
Stragen, who now wore the braids and sweeping mustaches 
of a blond Genidian Knight, dropped the bale he was carrying 
across the deck and reached for his dagger. 
'No!' Sparhawk hissed at him. 'Pick up that bale!' 
Stragen glared at him for a moment, then Bent and lifted the 
bale again. 'This wasn't part of the agreement,' he muttered. 
'He's not really going to hit you with that whip,' Talen assured 
%ming Thalesian. 'Sailors all complain about it, but the whip's
just for show. A bo'sun who really hits his men with his whip
usually gets thrown over the side some night during the 
dogwatch." 
'maybe,' Stragen growled darkly, 'but I'll tell you this right 
now. If that cretin so much as touches me with that whip of his,
he won't live long enough to go swimming. I'll have his guts in 
a pile on the deck before he can even blink.' 
'You new men!' the bo'sun shouted, 'do your talking on your 
own time! You're here to work, not to discuss the weather!' and 
he cracked his whip again. 


'She could do it, Khalad,' Berit insisted. 
'I think you've been out in the sun too long,' Khalad replied. 
They were riding south along a lonely beach under an overcast 


 sky. The beach was backed by an uninviting salt marsh 
where dry reeds clattered against each other in the stiff onshore 
breeze. Khalad rose in his stirrups and looked around. Then 
he settled back in his saddle again. 'it's a ridiculous idea, 
my Lord.' 
Try to keep an open mind, Khalad. Aphrael's a Goddess. She 
an do anything.' 



'i'm sure she can, but why would she want to?' 
"well -' Berit struggled with it. 'She could have a reason, 
couldn't she? Something that you and I wouldn't even
understand?"
'is this what all that Styric training does to a man? You're 
starting to see Gods under every bush. It was only a coincidence. 
The two of them look a little bit alike, but that's all.' 
'You can be as skeptical as you want, Khalad, but I still think 
that something very strange is going on.'
'And I think that what you're suggesting is an absurdity.' 
'Absurd or not, their mannerisms are the same, their 
expressions are identical, and they've both got that same air of 
smug superiority about them.' 
'Of course they do. Aphrael's a Goddess, and Danae's a 
Crown Princess. They are superior - at least in their own minds 
and I think you're overlooking the fact that we saw them both 
in the same room and at the same time. They even talked to each 
other, for God's sake.' 
Khalad, that doesn't mean anything. Aphrael's a Goddess. 
She can probably be in a dozen different places all at the same
time if she really wants to be.' 
'That still brings us right back to the question of why? What 
would be the purpose of it? Not even a God does things without 
any reason.' 
'We don't know that, Khalad. Maybe she's doing it just to 
amuse herself.' 
'Are you really all that desperate to witness miracles, Berit?' 
'She could do it,' Berit insisted. 
'All right. So what?' 
'Aren't you the least bit curious about it?
'Not particularly,' Khalad shrugged. 


Ulath and Tynian wore bits and pieces of the uniforms of one 
of the few units of the Tamul army that accepted volunteers 
from the Elene kingdoms of western Daresia. The faces they had 
borrowed were those of grizzled, middle-aged knights, the faces 
of hard-bitten veterans. The vessel aboard which they sailed 
was one of those battered, ill-maintained ships that ply coastal 
waters. The small amount of money they had paid for their 
passage bought them exactly that - passage, and nothing else. 
They had brought their own food and drink and their patched 
blankets, and they ate and slept on the deck. Their destination 
was a small coastal village some twenty-five leagues east of the 
foothills of the Tamul mountains. They lounged on the deck in 
the daytime, drinking cheap wine and rolling dice for pennies. 
The sky was overcast when the ship's longboat deposited 
them on the rickety wharf of the village. The day was cool, and 
the Tamul Mountains were little more than a low smudge on the 
horizon. 
'What was that horse-trader's name again?' Tynian asked. 
'Sablis,' Ulath grunted. 
'I hope Oscagne was right,' Tynian said. 'if this Sablis has 
gone out of business, we'll have to walk to those mountains.' 
Ulath stepped across the wharf to speak to a pinch-faced fellow 


 who was mending a fish net. 'Tell me, friend,' he said
politely in Tamul, 'where can we find Sablis the horse-trader?'



'What if I don't feel like telling you?' the scrawny net-mender 
replied in a whining, nasal voice that identified him as one of 
those mean-spirited men who would rather die than be helpful, 
or even polite. Tynian had encountered his kind before, small 

men, usually, with an inflated notion of their own worth, men 
who delighted in irritating others just for the fun of it. 'Let 
me,' he murmured, laying one gently restraining hand on his 
Thalesian companion's arm. Ulath's bunched muscles clearly 
spoke of impending violence. 
'Nice net,' Tynian noted casually, picking up one edge of it. 
Then he drew his dagger and began cutting the strings. 
'What are you doing?' the pinch-faced fisherman screamed. 
'i'm showing you what,' Tynian explained. 'You said, "what 
if I don't feel like telling you?" This is what. Think it over. My 
friend and I aren't in any hurry, so take your time.' He took a 
fistful of net and sawed through it with his knife. 
'Stop.' the fellow shrieked in horror. 
'Ah - where was it you said we might find Sablis?' Ulath asked 
innocently. 
'His corrals are on the eastern edge of town.' The words came 
tumbling out. Then the scrawny fellow gathered up his net in 
both arms and held it to his chest, almost like a mother shielding 
a child from harm. 
'Have a pleasant day, neighbor,' Tynian said, sheathing his 
dagger. 'I can't begin to tell you how much we've appreciated 
your help here. You've been absolutely splendid about the 
whole affair.' And the two knights turned and walked along the 
wharf toward the shabby-looking village. 

Their camp was neat and orderly with a place for everything 
and everything exactly where it belonged. Berit had noticed that 
Khalad always set up camp in exactly the same way. He seemed 
to have some concept of the ideal camp etched in his mind and, 
since it was perfect, he never altered it. Khalad was very rigid 
in some ways. 
'How far did we come today?' Berit asked as they washed up 
their supper dishes. 
Ten leagues,' Khalad shrugged, 'the same as always. Ten 
leagues is standard on level terrain.' 
This is going to take forever,' Berit complained. 
'No. It might seem like it, though.' Khalad looked around and 
then lowered his voice until it was hardly more than a whisper. 
'We're not really in any hurry, Berit,' he said. 'We might even 
want to slow down a bit.' 
What?' 
'Keep your voice down. Sparhawk and the others have a long 
way to go, and we want to be sure they're in place before Krager 
- or whoever it is - makes contact with us. We don't know when 
or where that's going to happen, so the best way to delay it is 
to slow down.' Khalad looked out into the darkness beyond the 
circle of firelight. 'How good are you at magic?' 
'Not very,' Berit admitted, scrubbing diligently. 'I've still got 
a lot to learn. What did you want me to do?' 
'Could you make one of our horses limp - without actually 
hurting him?' 


Berit probed through his memory. Then he shook his head. 
'I don't think I know any spells that would do that.' 
'That's too bad. A lame horse would give us a good reason to 
slow down.' 
It came without warning: a cold prickling kind of sensation 
that seemed to be centered at the back of Berit's neck. 'That's 
good enough,' he said in a louder voice. 'i'm not getting paid 
enough to scrub holes in tin plates.' He rinsed off the dish he'd 
been washing, shook most of the water off it and stowed it back 
into the pack. 
'You felt it, too?' Khalad's whisper came out from between 
motionless lips. That startled Berit. How could Khalad have 
known? 

Berit buckled the straps on the pack and gave his friend a curt 
nod. 'Let's build up the fire a bit and then get some sleep.' He 
said it loudly enough to be heard out beyond the circle of firelight. 

 The two of them walked toward their pile of firewood. 
Berit was murmuring the spell and concealing the movements 
of his hands at the same time. 
'Who is it?' Again, Khalad's lips did not move. 
'i'm still working on that,' Berit whispered back. He released 
the spell so slowly that it seemed almost to dribble out of the 
ends of his fingers. 
The sense of it came washing back to him. It was something 
on the order of recognizing an accent - except that it was done 
when nobody was talking. 'It's a Styric,' he said quietly. 
'Zalasta?' 
'No, I don't believe so. I think I'd recognize him. It's somebody 

 I've never been around before.' 
'Not too much wood, my Lord,' Khalad said aloud. 'This pile 
has to get us through breakfast too, you know.' 
'Good thinking,' Berit approved. He reached out again, very 
cautiously. 'He's moving away,' he muttered. 'How did you 
know we were being watched?' 
'I could feel it,' Khalad shrugged. 'I always know when somebody's

 watching me. How noisy is it when you get in touch 
with Aphrael?' 
'That's one of the good spells. It doesn't make a sound.' 
'You'd better tell her about this. Let her know that we are 
being watched and that it's a Styric who's doing the watching.' 
Khalad knelt and began to carefully stack his armload of broken-off 

 limbs on their campfire. 'Your disguise seems to be working, ' 
he noted. 
'How did you arrive at that?' 
'They wouldn't waste a Styric on us if they knew who you 
really are.' 
'Unless they don't have anybody left except Styrics. Stragen's 
celebration of the Harvest Festival might have been more effective 

 than we thought.' 
'We could probably argue about that all night. just tell Aphrael 
about our visitor out there. She'll pass it on to the others, and 
we'll let them get the headache from trying to sort it out with 
logic.' 
'Aren't you curious about it?' 
'Not so curious that I'm going to lose any sleep over it. 


That's one of the advantages of being a peasant, my Lord. 
We're not required to come up with the answers to these 
earth-shaking questions. You aristocrats get the pleasure of 
doing that.' 
'Thanks,' Berit said sourly. 
'No charge, my Lord,' Khalad grinned. 


Sparhawk had never actually worked for a living before, and he 
discovered that he did not like it very much. He quickly grew 
to hate Captain Sorgi's thick-necked bo'sun. The man was crude, 
stupid, and spitefully cruel. He fawned outrageously whenever 
Sorgi appeared on the quarterdeck, but when the captain 
returned below decks, the bo'sun's natural character re-asserted 
itself. He seemed to take particular delight in tormenting the 
newest members of the crew, assigning them the most tedious, 
exhausting and demeaning tasks aboard ship. Sparhawk found 
himself quite suddenly in full agreement with Khalad's class 
prejudices, and sometimes at night he found himself contemplating 
murder. 
'Every man hates his employer, From,' Stragen told him, using 
Sparhawk's assumed name. 'It's a very natural part of the 
scheme of things.' 
'I could stand him if he didn't deliberately go out of his way 
to be offensive,' Sparhawk growled, scrubbing at the deck with 
his block of pumice-stone.
'He's paid to be offensive, my friend. Angry men work harder. 
Part of your problem is that you always look him right in the 
eye. He wouldn't single you out the way he does if you'd keep 
your eyes lowered. If you don't, this is going to be a very long 
voyage for you.' 
'Or a short one for him,' Sparhawk said darkly. 
He considered it that night as he tried, without much success, 
to sleep in his hammock. He fervently wished that he could get 
his hands on the idiot who had decided that humans could sleep 
in hammocks. The roll of the ship made it swing from side to 
side, and Sparhawk continually felt that he was right on the 
verge of being thrown out. 
'Anakha.' The voice was only a whisper in his mind. 
Sparhawk was stunned. 'Blue Rose?' he said. 
'Prithee, Anakha, do not speak aloud. Thy voice is as the 
thunder in mine ears. Speak silently in the halls of thine awareness. 


I will hear thee.' 
'How is this possible?' Sparhawk framed the thought. 'Thou 
art confined.'
'Who hath power to confine me, Anakha? When thou art alone 
and thy mind is clear of other distraction, we may speak thus.' 
'I did not know that.' 
'Until now, it was not needful for thee to know.' 
'I see. But now it is?' 
'Yes.' 
'How dost thou penetrate the barrier of the gold?' 
'It is no barrier to me, Anakha. Others may not sense me 
within the confines of thine excellent receptacle. I, however, 
may reach out to thee in this manner. This is particularly true 
when we are so close.' 
Sparhawk laid his hand on the leather pouch hanging on a 



thong about his neck and felt the square outline of the box. 'And 
should it prove needful, may I speak so with thee?' 
'Even as thou dost now, Anakha.' 
This is good to know.' 
'I sense thy disquiet, Anakha, and I share thine anxiety for 
the safety of thy mate.' 
'Thou art kind to say so, Blue Rose.' 
'Expend thou all thine efforts to securing thy Queen's release, 
Anakha. I will keep watch over our enemies whilst thou art so 
occupied.' The jewel under Sparhawk's hand paused. 'Hear me 
well, my friend,' Bhelliom continued, 'should it come to pass 
that no other course be open to thee, fear not to surrender me 
up to obtain thy mate's freedom.' 
'That I will not do - for she hath forbidden it.' 
'Do not be untranquil if it should come to pass, Anakha. I will 
not submit to Cyrgon, even though mine own child, whom I 
love,even as thou lovest thine, be endangered by my refusal. 
Be comforted in the knowledge that I will not permit my child 


- nor thee and all thy kind - to be enslaved by Cyrgon - or 
worse yet, by Klael. Thou hast my promise that this will never 
happen. Should it appear that our task doth verge on failure, I 
give thee my solemn vow that I shall destroy this child of mine 
and all who' dwell here to prevent such mischance.' 
'is that supposed to make me feel better?' 
CHAPTER 5 

She was always tired, hovering at times on the verge of exhaustion,

 and she was nearly always wet and dirty. Her clothes were 
riPPed and tattered, and her hair was a ruin. Those things were 
unimportant, however. She willingly submitted to discomfort 
and indignities to keep the madman who was their captor from 
hurting the terrified Alcan. 
The realization that Scarpa was mad had come to her slowly. 
She had known from the first moment she had seen him that 
he was ruthless and driven, but the evidence of his insanity had 
become gradually more and more overwhelming as the endless 
days of her captivity ground on. 
He was cruel, but Ehlana had encountered cruel men before. 
After she and Alcan had been hurried through the dank tunnels 
under the streets of Matherion to the outskirts of the city, they 
had been roughly shoved into the saddles of waiting horses, 
bound securely in place, and literally dragged at breakneck 
sPeed down the road leading to the port of Micae on the southwestern 

 coast of the peninsula, seventy-five leagues away. A 
normal man does not mistreat the animals upon which he is 
totally dependent. That was the first evidence of Scarpa's madness. 

 He drove the horses, flogging them savagely until the poor 
beasts were staggering with exhaustion, and his only words 
during those dreadful four days were, 'Faster! Faster.' 
Ehlana shuddered as she recalled the horror of that endless 
ride. They had Her 

 horse stumbled in the muddy path, and she was jolted 
forward, bringing her attention back into the immediate present. 
The cord which tightly bound her wrists to the saddlebow dug 
into her flesh, and the bleeding started again. She tried to ease 


into a different position so that the 
cord would no longer cut into the already open wounds. 
'What are you doing?' Scarpa demanded. His voice was harsh, 
and it came out almost as a scream. Scarpa almost always 
SCreamed when he was talking to her. 
'i'm just trying to keep the cord from cutting deeper into 
my wrists, Lord Scarpa,' she replied meekly. She had been 
instructed early in her captivity to address him so and she had 
quickly found that failure to do so resulted in savage mistreatment

 of Alcan and the withholding of food and water. 
"you're not here to be comfortable, woman!' he raged at her. 
"you're here to obey! I see what you're doing there! If you don't 
stop trying to loosen those cords, I'll use wire!' his eyes bulged, 
and she saw again that strange, bluish cast to the whites of those 
eyes and the abnormally large pupils. 
'Yes, Lord Scarpa,' she said in 'her most submissive tone. 
He glared at her, his face filled with suspicion and his mad 
eyes looking hungrily for some excuse to punish or humiliate 
his prisoners further. 
She lowered her gaze to stare fixedly at the rough, muddy 
track that wound deeper and deeper into the rank, vine-choked 
forest of the southeast coast of Daresia. 
The ship they had boarded at the port of Micae had been a 
sleek, black-hulled corsair that could not have been built for 
any honest purpose. She and Alcan had been unceremoniously 
dragged below decks and confined in a cramped compartment 
that smelled of the bilges and was totally dark. After they had 
been two hours at sea, the compartment door had opened and 
Krager had entered with two swarthy sailors, one carrying what 
appeared to be a decent meal, and the other, two pails of hot 
water some soap and a wad of rags for use as towels. Ehlana 
had resisted an impulse to embrace the fellow. 
i'm really sorry about all this, Ehlana,' Krager had apologized, 
squinting at her nearsightedly, 'but I have no control of the 
situation. Be very careful of what you say to Scarpa. You've 
probably noticed that he's not entirely rational.' He had looked 
around nervously, then laid a handful of cheap tallow candles 
on the rough table and left, chaining the door shut behind him. 
They had been five days at sea and had reached Arian, a port 
city on the edge of the jungles of the southeast coast some time 
after midnight. Then she and Alcan had been hustled into a 
closed carriage with the pouchy-eyed Baron Parok at the reins. 
During the transfer from the ship to the carriage, Ehlana had 
discreetly looked at each of her captors, seeking some weakness. 
Krager, despite his habitual drunkenness, was too shrewd, and 
Parok was Scarpa's long-time confederate, a man evidently 
untroubled by his friend's madness. Then she had coolly 
appraised Elron. She had noticed that under no circumstances 
would the foppish Astellian poet look her in the eye. His apparent 

 murder of Melidere had evidently filled him with remorse. 
Elron was a poseur rather than a man of action, and he clearly 
had no stomach for blood. She had recalled moreover, how vain 
he had been about his long curls when she had first met him 
and had wondered what form of duress Scarpa had used to force 
him to shave his head in order to pose as one of Kring's Peloi. 
She had surmised that the violation of his hair had raised certain 


strong resentments in him. Elron was clearly reluctant to participate 


 in this affair, and that made him the weak link. She kept 
that fact firmly in mind now. The time might come when she 
could use it to her advantage. 
The carriage had carried them from the waterfront to a large 
house on the outskirts of Arian. It had been there that Scarpa 
had spoken with a gaunt Styric with the lumpy features characteristic 


 of the men of his race. The Styric's name was Keska, and 
his eyes had the look of one hopelessly damned. 
'I don't care about the discomfort!' Scarpa had half-shouted 
to the gaunt man at one point. 'Time is important, Keska, time! 
Just do it! As long as it doesn't kill us, we can endure it!' 
The next morning the significance of that command had 
become all too obvious. Keska was evidently one of those outcast
Styric magicians, but not a very good one. He could, with a 
great deal of clearly exhausting effort, compress the miles that 
lay between them and Scarpa's intended destination, but only 
a few miles each time, and the compression was accompanied 
by a horrid kind of wrenching agony. It seemed almost as if the 
clumsy magician were jerking them up and hurling them blindly 
forward with every ounce of his strength, and Ehlana could 
never be certain after each hideous, bruising jump that she was 
still intact. She felt torn and battered, but did what she could to 
conceal her pain from Alcan. The gentle girl with the large eyes
wept almost continuously now, overcome by her pain and fear 
and the misery of their circumstances. 
Ehlana drew her mind into the present and looked about 
warily. It was approaching evening again. The overcast sky was 
gradually darkening:, and the time of day Ehlana dreaded the 
most would soon be upon them. 
Scarpa looked with some scorn at Keska, who slumped in his 
saddle like a wilted flower, obviously near exhaustion. 'This is
far enough,' he said. 'Set up some kind of camp and get the 
women down off those horses.' his brittle eyes grew bright as
he looked Ehlana full in the face. 'It's time for the bedraggled
Queen of the Elenes to beg for her supper again. I do hope she'll 
be more convincing this time. It really distresses me to have to 
refuse her when her pleas aren't sufficiently sincere.' 


'Ehlana,' Krager whispered, touching her shoulder. The fire had 
died down to embers, and Ehlana could hear the sound of snores 
coming from the other side of their rude camp. 
'What?' she replied shortly. 


'Keep your voice down.' He was still wearing the black leather 
Peloi jerkin, his shaved head was sparsely stubbled, and his 
wine-reeking breath was nearly overpowering. 'i'm doing You 
a favor. Don't put me in danger. I assume you realize by now 
that Scarpa's completely insane?' 
'Really?' she replied sardonically. 'What an amazing thing.' 
'Please don't make this any more difficult. I seem to have 
made a small error in judgment here. If I'd fully realized how 
deranged that half-Styric bastard is, I'd have never agreed to 
take part in this ridiculous adventure.' 
'What is this strange fascination you have with lunatics, 
Krager?' 



He shrugged. 'Maybe it's a character defect. Scarpa actually 
believes that he can outwit his father - and even Cyrgon. He 
doesn't really believe that Sparhawk will surrender Bhelliom in 
exchange for your return, but he's managed to about halfconvince 

 the others. I'm sure you realize by now how he feels 
about women. ' 
'He's demonstrated it often enough,' she said bitterly. 'Does 
he share Baron Harparin's fondness for little boys instead?' 
'Scarpa isn't fond of anything except himself. He is his only 
Passion. I've seen him spend hours trimming that beard of his. 
It gives him the opportunity to adore his reflection in the mirror. 
You haven't had the opportunity to see his delightful personality 
in full flower. The details of this trip are keeping what he chooses 
to call his mind occupied. Wait until we get to lqatayos and you 
hear him start raving. He makes Martel and Annias seem like 
the very souls of sanity by comparison. I don't dare stay too 
long, so listen closely. Scarpa believes that Sparhawk will bring 
Bhelliom with him when he comes right enough, but he doesn't 
believe he'll bring it to trade for you. Scarpa's absolutely certain 
that your husband's coming in order to have it out with Cyrgon, 
and he believes that they'll destroy each other in the course of 
the argument.' 
'Sparhawk has Bhelliom, you fool, and Bhelliom eats Gods 
for breakfast.' 
'i'm not here to argue about that. Maybe Sparhawk will win, 
and maybe he won't. That's really beside the point. What's 
important to us is what Scarpa believes. He's convinced himself 
that Sparhawk and Cyrgon will fight a war of mutual extinction. 
Then he thinks that Bhelliom will be left lying around free for 
the taking.' 
'What about Zalasta?' 
'I get the strong feeling that Scarpa doesn't expect Zalasta to 
be around when the fight's over. Scarpa's more than willing to 
kill anybody who gets in his way.' 
'He'd kill his own father?' 
Krager shrugged. 'Blood ties don't mean anything to Scarpa. 
When he was younger, he decided that his mother and his halfsisters 

 knew things about him that he didn't want them to share 
with the authorities, so he killed them. He hated them anyway, 
so that may not mean all that much. If Sparhawk and Cyrgon 
do kill each other, and if Zalasta's broken out in a sudden rash 
of mortality during the festivities, Scarpa might just be the only 
one left around to take possession of the Bhelliom. He's got an 
army in these jungles, and if he has the Bhelliom as well, he 
might be able to pull it off. He'll march on Matherion, take the 
city and slaughter the government. Then he'll crown himself 
emperor. I'm personally betting against it, though, so for God's 
sake keep your temper under control. You're not really important 

 to his plans, but you're vital to Zalasta's - and mine. If you 
do anything at all to set Scarpa off, he'll kill you as quickly as 
he ordered Elron to kill your lady-in-waiting. Zalasta and I 
believe that Sparhawk will trade Bhelliom for you, but only if 
you're alive. Don't enrage that maniac. If he kills you, all our 
plans will collapse.' 
'Why are you telling me this, Krager? There's something else 
too, isn't there?' 


'Of course. if things go against us, I'd like to have you available 

 to speak out in my behalf when the trials start.' 
'That wouldn't do any good, I'm afraid,' she told him sweetly. 
'There won't be any trial for you, Krager. Sparhawk's already 
given you to Khalad and Khalad's already made up his mind.' 
'Khalad?' Krager's voice sounded a little weak. 
'Kurik's oldest son. He seems to feel that you had some part 
in his father's death, and he feels obliged to do something about 
it. I suppose you could try to talk him out of it, but I'd advise 
you to talk fast if you do. Khalad's a very abrupt young man, 
and he'll probably have you hanging from a meat-hook before 
you get out three words.' 
Krager didn't answer, but slipped away instead, his shaved 
scalp pale in the darkness. It wasn't much of a victory, Ehlana 
privately conceded, but in her situation victories of any kind 
were very hard to come by. 

'They actually do that?' Scarpa's harsh voice was hungry. 
'it's an old custom, Lord Scarpa,' Ehlana replied in a meek 
voice, keeping her eyes downcast as they plodded along the 
muddy path. 'Emperor Sarabian is planning to discontinue the 
practice, however.' 
'It will be reinstituted immediately following my coronation.' 
Scarpa's eyes were very bright. 'It is a proper form of respect.' 
Scarpa had an old purple velvet cloak, shiny with wear, that he 
had dramatically pulled over one shoulder in a grotesque imitation

 of an imperial mantle, and he struck absurd poses with each 
pronouncement. 
'As you say, Lord Scarpa.' It was tedious to go over the same 
things again and again, but it kept Scarpa's mind occupied, and 
when his attention was firmly fixed on the ceremonies and practices 

 of the imperial court in Matherion he was not thinking of 
ways to make life unbearable for his captives. 
'Describe it again,' he commanded. 'I'll need to know precisely 
how it's supposed to be done - so that I can punish those who 
fail to perform it properly.' 

 Ehlana sighed. 'At the approach of the imperial person, the 
members of the court kneel 'O 
n both knees?' 
'Yes, Lord Scarpa.' 
'Excellent. excellent!' His face was exalted. 'Go on.' 
'Then, as the emperor passes, they lean forward, put the 
palms of their hands on the floor and touch their foreheads to 
the tiles.' 
'Capital!' ~He suddenly giggled, a high-Pitched, almost girlish 
sound that startled her. She gave him a quick, sidelong glance. 
His face was grotesquely distorted into an expression of unholy 
exaltation. And then his eyes grew wide and his expression 
became one of near-religious ecstasy. 'And the Tamuls who rule 
the world shall be ruled by me!' he intoned in a resonant, 
declamatory voice. 'All power shall be mine. the governance of 
the world shall be in my hands, and disobedience will be death!' 
Ehlana shuddered as he raved on. 
And he came to her again as humid night settled over their 
muddy forest encampment, drawn to her by a hunger, a greed, 
that was beyond his ability to control. It was revolting, but 


Ehlana realized that her knowledge of the particulars of traditional 

 court ceremonies gave her an enormous power over 
him. His hunger was insatiable, and only she could satisfy it. 
She grasped that power firmly, drawing strength and confidence 
from it, actually relishing it even as Krager and the others withdrew

 with expressions of frightened revulsion. 
'Nine wives, you say?' Scarpa's voice was almost Pleading. 
'Why not ninety? Why not nine hundred?' 
'It is the custom, Lord Scarpa. The reason for it should be 
obvious.' 
'Oh, of course, of course.' He brooded darkly over it. 'I shall 
have nine thousand!' he proclaimed. 'And each shall be more 
desirable than the last. And when I have finished with them, 
they shall be given to my loyal soldiers. Let no woman dare to 
believe that my favor in any way empowers her. all women are 
only whores. I shall buy them and throw them away when I tire 
of them!' his mad eyes bulged, and he stared into the camPfire. 
The flickering flames reflected in those eyes seemed to seethe 
like the madness that lay behind them. 
he leaned toward her, laying a confiding hand on her arm. 
'I have seen that which others are too stupid to see,' he told 
her. 'Others look, but they do not see - but I see. Oh, yes, I 
see very well. They are all in it together, you know - all 
of them. They watch me. They have always watched me. I can 
never get away from their eyes - watching, watching, watching 
_ and talking - talking behind their hands, breathing their cinnamon 
-scented breath into each other's faces. All foul and corrupt 

- scheming, plotting against me, trying to bring me down. Their 
eyes - all soft and hidden and veiled with the lashes that hide 
the daggers of their hatred, watching, watching, watching.' His 
voice sank lower and lower. 'And talking, talking behind their 
hands so that I can't hear what they're saying. Whispering. I 
hear it always. I hear the hissing susurration of their endless 
whispering. Their eyes following me wherever I go - and their 
laughing and whispering. I hear the hiss, hiss of their whispering endless 
whisper - always my name - Ssscar-pa, Ssscar-pa, 
Ssscar-pa, again and again, hissing in my ears. Flaunting their 
rounded limbs and rolling their soot-lined eyes. Plotting, scheming

 with the endless hissing whispers, always seeking ways to 
hurt me. Ssscar-pa, Ssscar-pa, trying to humiliate me.' His bluetinged 

 eyeballs were starting from his face, and his lips and 
beard were flecked with foam. 'I was nothing. They made me 
nothing. They called me Selga's bastard and gave me pennies 
to lead them to the beds of my mother and my sisters and cuffed 
me and spat on me and laughed at me when I cried and they 
lusted after my mother and my sisters and all around me the 
hissing in my ears - and I smell the sound - that sweet cloying 
sound of rotten flesh and stale lust all purple and writhing with 
the liquid hiss of their whispers and -' 
Then his mad eyes filled with terror, and he cringed back from 
her and fell, grovelling in the mud. 'Please, Mother!' he wailed. 
'I didn't do it! Silbie did it! pleasepleascplease don't lock me in 
there again. please not in the dark. pleasepleaseplease not in the 

 dark. not in the dark!' And he scrambled to his feet and fled 
back into the forest with his 'Pleasepleaseplease' echoing back 
in a long, dying fall. 


Ehlana was suddenly overcome with a wrenching, unbearable 
pity and she bowed her head and wept. 

Zalasta was waiting for them in Natayos. The sixteenth and 
early seventeenth centuries had seen a flowering of Arjuni 

civilization, a flowering financed largely by the burgeoning 
slave-trade. An ill-advised slave-raid into southern Atan, however, 
coupled with a number of gross policy blunders by the 
Tamul administrators of that regioN had unleashed an uncontrolled

 Atan punitive expedition. Natayos had been a virtual 
%Ssm of a city with stately buildings and broad avenues. It was 
now a forgotten ruin buried in the jungle, its tumbled buildings 
snarled in ropelike vines, its stately halls now the home of 
chattering monkeys and brightly colored tropical birds, and its 
darker recesses inhabited by snakes and the scurrying rats which 
were their prey. 
But now humans had returned to Natayos. Scarpa's army was 
quartered there, and Arjunis, Cynesgans, and rag-tag battalions 
of Elenes had cleared the quarter near the ancient city's northern 
gate of vines, trees, monkeys and reptiles in order to make it 
semi-habitable. 
Zalasta stood leaning on his staff at the half-fallen gate, his 
silvery-bearded face drawn with fatigue and a look of hopeless 
pain in his eyes. His first reaction when his son arrived with 
the captives was one of rage. He snarled at Scarpa in Styric, a 
language that seemed eminently suited for reprimand and one 
which Ehlana did not understand. She took no small measure 
of satisfaction, however, in the look of sullen apprehension that 
crossed Scarpa's face. For all his blustering and airs of preeminent 

 superiority, Scarpa still appeared to stand in a certain 
awe and fear of the ancient Styric who had incidentally sired 
him. 
Once, and only once, apparently stung by something Zalasta 
said to him in a tone loaded with contempt, Scarpa drew himself 
up and snarled a reply. Zalasta's reaction was immediate and 
savage. He sent his son reeling with a heavy blow of his staff, 
then leveled its polished length at him, muttered a few words, 
and unleashed a fiery spot of light from the tip of the staff. The 
burning spot struck the still-staggering Scarpa in the belly, and 
he doubled over sharply, clawing at his stomach and shrieking 
in agony. He fell onto the muddy earth, kicking and convulsing 
as Zalasta's spell burned into him. His father, the deadly staff 
still leveled, watched his writhing son coldly for several endless 
minutes. 
'Now do you understand?' he demanded in a deadly voice, 
speaking in Tamul this time. 
'Yes. yes! Father!' Scarpa shrieked. 'Stop! I beg you!' 
Zalasta let him writhe and squirm for a while longer. Then he 
lowered the staff. 'You are not master here,' he declared. 'You are 
no more than a brain-sick incompetent. Any one of a dozen 
otherrs here could command this army, so do not try my patience ".. 
further. Next time, son or no son, I will let the spell follow its 
natural course. Pain is like a disease, Scarpa. After a few days 
_ or weeks - the body begins to deteriorate. A man can die from 
pain. Don't force me to prove that to you.' And he turned his 


back on his pale-faced, sweating son. 'My apologies, your Majesty,' 


 he said to Ehlana. 'This was not what I intended.' 
'And what did you intend, Zalasta?' she asked coldly. 
The dispute is between your husband and myself, Ehlana. It 
was never in my mind to cause you such discomfort. This cretin 
I must unfortunately acknowledge took it upon himself to mistreat' 


 you. I promise you that he will not live to see the sunset 
of the day in which he does it again.' 
I see. The humiliation and pain were not your idea, but the 
.captivity was. Where's the difference, Zalasta?' 
He sighed and passed a weary hand over his eyes. 'It is necessary,' 


he told her. 
for what reason? Sephrenia will never submit to you, you 
know. Even if Bhelliom and the rings fall into your hands, you 
cannot compel her love.' 
There are other considerations as well, Queen Ehlana,' he 
said sorrowfully. 'Please bring your maid and come with me. 
I'll see you to your quarters. ' 
'Some dungeon, I suppose.' 
He sighed. 'No, Ehlana, the quarters are clean and comfortable. 


 I've seen to that myself. Your ordeal is at an end, I promise 
you." 
"My ordeal, as you call it, will not be at an end until I'm 


united with my husband and my daughter.' 
That, we may pray, will be very soon. It is, however, in the 
hands of Prince Sparhawk. All he must do is follow instructions. 
YOUR quarters are not far. Follow me, please.' He led them to a 
nearby building and unlocked the door.
Their prison was very nearly luxurious, an apartment of sorts, 
complete with several bedrooms, a dining hall, a large sittingroom 


 and even a kitchen. The building had evidently been the 
palace of some nobleman and, although the upper stories had 
since collapsed, the ground-floor rooms, their ceilings 
supported by great arches, were still intact. The furnishings in 
the rooms were ornate, though mis-matched, and there were rugs 


on the floors and drapes to cover the windows - windows, 
Ehlana noticed, which had recently been fitted with stout 
iron bars. 
The fireplaces were cavernous, and they were all filled with 
blazing logs, not so much to ward off the minimal chill of the 
Arjuni winter but to dry out rooms saturated with over a millennium


 of dank humidity. There were beds and fresh linen and 
clothing of an Arjuni cut, but most important of all, there was 
a fair-sized room with a large marble bathtub set into the floor. 


Ehlana's eyes fixed longingly on that ultimate luxury. It so completely 


 seized her attention that she scarcely heard Zalasta's 
apologies. After a few vague replies from her, the Styric realized
that his continued presence was no longer appreciated, so he 
politely excused himself and left. 
'Alcan, dear,' Ehlana said in an almost dreamy voice, 'that's 
quite a large tub - certainly large enough for the two of us, 
wouldn't you say?' 
Alcan was also gazing at the tub with undisguised longing. 



'Easily, your Majesty,' she replied. 
'How long do you think it might take us to heat enough water 
to fill it?' 
'There are plenty of large pots and kettles in that kitchen, my 
Queen,' the gentle girl said, 'and all the fireplaces are going. It 
shouldn't take very long at all.' 
'Wonderful,' Ehlana said enthusiastically. 'Why don't we get 
started?' 


"Just exactly who is this Klael, Zalasta?' Ehlana asked the Styric 


several days later when he came by to call. Zalasta came to their 
prison often, as if his visits in some way lessened his guilt, and 
he always talked, long, rambling, sometimes disconnected talk
that often revealed far more than he probably intended for her 
to know. 
'Klael is an eternal being,' he replied. Ehlana noted almost 
absently that the heavily accented Elenic which had so irritated 
her when they had first met in Sarsos was gone now. Another 
of his ruses, she concluded. 'Klael is far more eternal than the 
Gods of this world,' he continued. 'He's in some way connected 
to Bhelliom. They're contending principles, or something along 
those lines. I was a bit distraught when Cyrgon explained the 
relationship, so I didn't fully understand.' 
'Yes, I can imagine,' she murmured. Her relationship with 
Zalasta was peculiar. The circumstances made ranting and 
denunciation largely a waste of time, so Ehlana was civil to him. 
He appeared to be grateful for that, and his gratitude made 
him more open with her. That civility, which cost her nothing, 
enabled her to pick up much information from the Styric's rambling 


 conversation.
'Anyway,' Zalasta continued, 'Cyzada was terrified when 
Cyrgon commanded him to summon Klael, and he tried very 
hard to talk the God out of the notion. Cyrgon was implacable, 
though, and he was filled with rage when Sparhawk neatly 
plucked the Trolls right out of his grasp. We'd never even considered 


 the possibility that Sparhawk might release the TrollGods 


 from their confinement. ' 
That was Sir Ulath's idea,' Ehlana told him. 'Ulath knows a 
great deal about trolls." 
'Evidently so. At any rate, Cyrgon forced Cyzada to summon 
klael, but klael no sooner appeared than he went in search of 
Bhelliom. That took Cyrgon aback. It had been his intention to 
hold klael in reserve - in hiding, so to speak - and to unleash him 
by surprise. That went out the window when Klael rushed off 
to the North Cape to confront Bhelliom. Sparhawk knows that 
Klael is here now - although I have no idea what he can do 
about it. That was what made the summoning of klael such 
idiocy in the first place. Klael can't be controlled. I tried to explain 
that to Cyrgon, but he wouldn't listen. Our goal is to gain possession


 of Bhelliom, and klael and Bhelliom are eternal enemies. 
As soon as Cyrgon takes Bhelliom in his hands, Klael will attack 
him, and I'm fairly certain that klael is infinitely more powerful 
than he is.' Zalasta glanced around cautiously. 'The Cyrgai are 
in many ways a reflection of their God, I'm afraid. Cyrgon 
abhors any kind of intelligence. He's frighteningly stupid 



sometimes. ' 
I hate to point this out, Zalasta,' she said insincerely, 'but 
you have this tendency to ally yourself with defectives. Annias 
was clever enough, I suppose, but his obsession with the Archprelacy 

 distorted his judgment, and Martel's drive for revenge 
made his thinking just as distorted. From what I gather, Otha 
was as stupid as a stump, and Azash was so elemental that all 
he had on his mind were his desires. Coherent thought was 
beyond him.' 
'You know everything, don't you, Ehlana?' he said. 'How on 
earth did you find all of this out?' 
'i'm not really at liberty to discuss it,' she replied. 
'No matter, I suppose,' he said absently. A sudden hunger 
crossed his face. 'How is Sephrenia?' he asked. 
'Well enough. She was very upset when she first found out 
about you, though - and your attempt on Aphrael's life was 
really ill-conceived, you know. That was the one thing that convinced 

her of your treachery.' 
'I lost my head,' he confessed. 'That cursed Delphaeic woman 
destroyed three hundred years of patient labor with a toss of 
her head.' 
'I suppose it's none of my business, but why didn't you just 
accept the fact that Sephrenia was wholly committed to Aphrael 
and let it go at that? There's no way you can ever compete with 
the Child Goddess,' you know.' 
'Could you have ever accepted the idea that Sparhawk was 
committed to another, Ehlana?' His tone was accusing. 
'No,' she admitted, 'I suppose I couldn't have. We do strange 
things for love, don't we, Zalasta? I was at least direct about it, 
though. Things might have worked out differently for you if 
you hadn't tried deceit and deception. Aphrael's not completely 
unreasonable, you know.' 
'Perhaps not,' he replied. Then he sighed deeply. 'But we'll 
never know, will we?' 
'No. It's far too late now.' 

'The glazier cracked the pane when he was setting it into the 
frame, my Queen,' Alcan said quietly pointing at the defective 
triangle of bubbled glass in the lower corner of the window. 'He 
was very clumsy.' 
'How did you come to know so much about this, Alcan?' 
Ehlana asked her. 
'My father was apprenticed to a glazier when he was young,' 
the doe-eyed girl replied. 'He used to repair windows in our 
village.' She touched the tip of the glowing poker to the bead 
of lead that held the cracked pane in place. 'I'll have to be very 
careful,' she said, frowning in concentration, 'but if I do it right 
I can fix it so that we can take out this little section of glass and 
put it back inagain. That way, we'll be able to hear what they're 
talking about out there in the street, and then we'll be able to 
put the glass back in again so that they'll never know what we've 
found out. I ththought you might want to be able to listen to them, 
they always seem to gather just outside this window.' 

 "you're an absolute treasure, Alcan!' Ehlana exclaimed, imPulsively 
embracing the girl. 
be careful, my Lady.' Alcan cried in alarm. 'The hot iron!' 


Alcan was right. The window with the small defective pane 
was at the corner of the building, and Zalasta, Scarpa and the 
Others were quartered in the attached structure. It appeared that 
whenever they wanted to discuss something out of the hearing 
of the soldiers, they habitually drifted to the walled-in cul-de-sac 
just outside the window. The small panes of cheap glass leaded 
%late the window-frame were only semi-transparent at best, and 
so,' with minimal caution, Alcan's modification of the cracked 
pane permitted Ehlana to listen and even marginally observe 
without being seen. 
On the day following her conversation with Zalasta, she saw 
the white-robed Styric approaching with a look of bleakest melancholy 

 on his face and with Scarpa and Krager close behind 
him. 'You've got to snap out of this, Father,' Scarpa said 
urgently. 'The soldiers are beginning to notice.' 
'Let them,' Zalasta replied shortly. 
no, Father,' Scarpa said in his rich, theatrical voice, 'we can't 
do that. These men are animals. They function below the level 
of~thought. If you walk around through these streets with the 
aiR of a little boy whose dog just died, they're going to think 
that something's wrong and they'll start deserting by the regiment. 

 I've spent too much time and effort gathering this army 
to have you drive them away by feeling sorry for yourself. ' 
"you'd never understand, Scarpa,' Zalasta retorted. 'You can't 
even begin to comprehend the meaning of love. You don't love 
anything." 
"Oh, yes I do, Zalasta,' Scarpa snaPPed. 'I love me. That's the 
only kind of love that makes any sense.' 
Ehlana just happened to be watching Krager. The drunkard's 
eyes were narrowed, shrewd. He casually moved his everpresent 
tankard around behind him and poured most of the 
, wine out. Then he raised the tankard and drank off the dregs 
Then he belched. 'Parn'me,' he slurred, reaching out his 
hand to the wall to steady himself as he weaved back and forth 
on his feet. 
Scarpa gave him a quick, irritated glance, obviously dismissing 
him. Ehlana, however, rather quickly re-assessed Krager. He 
was not always nearly as drunk as he appeared to be. 
'It's all been for nothing, Scarpa,' Zalasta groaned. 'I've allied 
myself with the diseased, the degenerate and the insane for 
nothing. I had thought that once Aphrael was gone, Sephrenia 
might turn to me. But she won't. She'd die before she'll have 
anything to do with me.' 
Scarpa's eyes narrowed. 'Let her die then,' he said bluntly. 
'Can't you get it through your head that one woman's the same 
as any other? Women are a commodity - like bales of hay or 
barrels of wine. Look at Krager here. How much affection do 
you think he has for an empty wine barrel? It's the new ones, 
the full ones, that he loves, right, Krager?' 
Krager smirked at him owlishly and then belched again. 
'Parn'me,' he said. 
'I can't really see any reason for this obsession of yours anyway,' 

 Scarpa continued to grind on his father's most sensitive 
spot. 'Sephrenia's only damaged goods now. Vanion's had her 
dozens of times. Are you so poor-spirited that you'd take the 
leavings of an Elene?' 


Zalasta suddenly smashed his fist against the stone wall with 
a snarl of frustration. 
'He's probably so used to having her that he doesn't even 
waste his time murmuring endearments to her any more,' Scarpa 
went on. 'He just takes what he wants from her, rolls over and 
starts to snore. You know how Elenes are when they're in rut. 
And she's probably no better. He's made an Elene out of her, 
Father. She's not a Styric any more. She's become an Elene - or 
even worse, a mongrel. I'm really surprised to see you wasting 
all this pure emotion on a mongrel.' He sneered. 'She's no better 
than my mother or my sisters, and you know what they were.' 
Zalasta's face twisted, and he threw back his head and actually 
howled. 'i'd rather see her dead!' 
Scarpa's pale, bearded face grew sly. 'Why don't you kill her 
then, Father?' he asked in an insinuating whisper. 'Once a 
decent woman's been bedded by an Elene, she can never be 
trusted again, you know. Even if you did persuade her to marry 
you, she'd never be faithful.' He laid an insincere hand on his 


arm. 'Kill her, Father,' he advised. 'At least your memory 


of her will be pure, she never will be.' 
Zalasta howled again and clawed at his beard with his long 
nails. Then he turned quickly and ran off down the street. 
Crager straightened, and his seeming drunkenness slid away. 
"you took an awful chance there, you know,' he said in a cautious 


tone. 
Scarpa looked sharply at him. 'Very good, Krager,' he murmmured.
"you played the part of a drunkard almost to perfection.' 
I've had lots of practice,' Krager shrugged. 'You're lucky 
he didn't obliterate you, Scarpa - or tie your guts in knots." 
he couldn't,' Scarpa smirked. 'i'm a fair magician myself, you 


know, and I'm skilled enough to know that you have to have a 
clear head to work the spells. I kept him in a state of rage. He 
~couldn't have worked up enough magic to break a spider-web. 
Lets hope that he does kill Sephrenia. That should really scatter 
Sparhawk's wits, not to mention the fact that as soon as the 
desire of his life is no more than a pile of dead meat, Zalasta's 
very likely to conveniently cut his own throat.' 
"you really hate him, don't you?' 
Wouldn't you, Krager? He could have taken me with him 
when I was a child, but he'd come to visit for a while, and he'd 
show me what it meant to be a Styric, and then he'd go off alone, 
leaving me behind to be tormented by whores. If he doesn't have 
the stomach to cut his own throat, I'd be more than happy to 
lend him a hand.' Scarpa's eyes were very bright, and he was 
smiling broadly. 'Where's your wine barrel, Krager?' he asked. 
right now I feel like getting drunk.' And he began to laugh, a 
long insane laugh empty of any mirth or humanity. 


it's no use!' ~Ehlana said, flinging the comb across the room. 
look at what they've done to my hair!' She buried her face in 
her hands and wept. 
it's not hopeless, my Lady,' Alcan said in her soft voice.
there's a style they wear in Cammoria.' She lifted the mass of 
blonde hair on the right side of Ehlana's head and brought it 



over across the top. 'You see,' she said. 'It covers all the bare 
parts, and it really looks quite chic.' 
Ehlana looked hopefully into her mirror. 'It doesn't look too 
bad, does it?' she conceded. 
'And if we set a flower just behind your right ear, it would 
really look very stunning.' 
'Alcan, you're wonderful!' the Queen exclaimed happily. 
'What would I ever do without you?' 
It took them the better part of an hour, but at last the unsightly 
bare places were covered, and Ehlana felt that some measure of 
her dignity had been restored. 
That evening, however, Krager came to call. He stood swaying 
in the doorway, his eyes bleary and a drunken smirk on his 
face. 'Harvest-time again, Ehlana,' he announced, drawing his 
dagger. 'It seems that I'll need just a bit more of your hair.' 

CHAPTER 6 

The sky remained overcast, but as luck had it, it had not yet 
rained. The stiff wind coming in off the Gulf of Micae was raw, 
however, and they rode with their cloaks wrapped tightly about 
them. Despite Khalad's belief that it was to their advantage to 
move slowly, Berit was consumed with impatience. He knew 
that what they were doing was only a small part of the over- 
all strategy, but the confrontation they all knew was coming 
loomed ahead, and he desperately wanted to get on with it. 
'How can you be so patient?' he asked Khalad about midafternoon

 one day when the onshore wind was particularly chill and damp. 

i'm a farmer, Sparhawk,' Khalad replied, scratching at his 
short black beard. 'Waiting for things to grow teaches you not 
to expect changes overnight.' 
'I suppose I've never really thought about what it must be like 
just sitting still waiting for things to sprout.' 
There's not much sitting still when you're a farmer,' Khalad 
told him. 'There are always more things to do than there are 
hours in the day, and if you get bored, you can always keep a 
close watch on the sky. A whole year's work can be lost in a 
dry-spell or a sudden hailstorm.' 
I hadn't thought about that either.' Berit mulled it over. 
That's what makes you so good at predicting the weather, isn't 
it? 
It helps.' 
There's more to it than that, though. You always seem to 
know about everything that's going on around you. When we 
were on that log-boom, you knew instantly when there was the 
slightest change in the way it was moving.' 
'It's called "'paying attention", my Lord. The world around 
you is screaming at you all the time, but most people can't seem 
to hear it. That really baffles me. I can't understand how you 
can miss so many things.' 
Berit was just slightly offended by that. 'All right, what's the 
world screaming at you right now that I can't hear?' 
'It's telling me that we're going to need some fairly substantial 
shelter tonight. We've got bad weather coming.' 
'How did you arrive at that?' 


Khalad pointed. 'You see those seagulls?' he asked. 
'Yes. What's that got to do with it?' 
Khalad sighed. 'What do seagulls eat, my Lord?' 
"Just about everything - fish mostly, I suppose.' 


'Then why are they flying inland? They aren't going to find 
very many fish on dry land, are they? They've seen something 
they don't like out there in the gulf and they're running away 
from it. Just about the only thing that frightens a seagull is wind


- and the high seas that go with it. There's a storm out to sea, 
and it's coming this way. That's what the world's screaming at 
me right now.' 
'It's just common sense then, isn't it?' 
'Most things are, Sparhawk - common sense and experience.' 
Khalad smiled slightly. 'I can still feel Krager's Styric out there 
watching us. If he isn't paying any more attention than you 
were just now, he's probably going to spend a very miserable 
night.' Berit grinned just a bit viciously. 'Somehow that information 
fails to disquiet me,' he said. 
It was more than a village, but not quite a town. It had three 
streets, for one thing, and at least six buildings of more than 
one story, for another. The streets were muddy, and pigs 
roamed freely. The buildings were made primarily of wood and 
they were roofed with thatch. There was an inn on what purported 

 to be the main street. It was a substantial-looking building, 

 and there were a pair of rickety wagons with dispirited 
mules in their traces out front. Ulath reined in the weary old 
horse he had bought in the fishing village. 'What do you think?' 
he said to his friend. 
'I thought you'd never ask,' Tynian replied. 
'Let's go ahead and take a room as well,' Ulath suggested. 
'The afternoon's wearing on anyway, and I'm getting tired 
of sleeping on the ground. Besides, I'm a little overdue for a 
bath.' 
Tynian looked toward the starkly outlined peaks of the Tamul 
Mountains lying some leagues to the west. 'i'd really hate to 
keep the Trolls waiting, Ulath,' he said with mock seriousness. 
'It's not as if we had a definite appointment with them. Trolls 
wouldn't notice anyway. They've got a very imprecise notion of 
time.' 
They rode on into the innyard, tied their horses to a rail outside 

 the stable and went on into the inn. 
'We need a room,' Ulath told the innkeeper in heavily 
accented Tamul. 
The innkeeper was a small, furtive-looking man. He gave 
them a quick, appraising glance, noting the bits and pieces of 
army uniform that made up most of their dress. His expression 
hardened with distaste. Soldiers are frequently unwelcome in 
rural communities for any number of very good reasons. 'Well,' 
he replied in a whining, sing-song sort of voice, 'I don't know. 
It's our busy season -' 
'Late autumn?' Tynian broke in skeptically. 'That's your busy 
season?' 
'Well - there are all the wagoneers who can come by at any 
time, you know.' 


Ulath looked beyond the innkeeper's shoulder into the low, 
smoky taproom. 'I count three,' he said flatly. 
'There are bound to be more along shortly,' the fellow replied 
just a bit too quickly. 
'Of course there are,' Tynian said sarcastically. 'But we're here 
now, and we've got money. Are you going to gamble a sure 
thing against the remote possibility that some wagon might stop 
here along about midnight?'
'He doesn't want to do business with a couple of pensioned-off 


 veterans, Corporal,' Ulath said. 'Let's go talk with the local 
commissioner. I'm sure he'll be very interested in the way this
fellow treats his Imperial Majesty's soldiers.'
'i'm his Imperial Majesty's loyal subject,' the innkeeper said quickly 'and 
I'll be honored to have brave veterans of his army under my roof. '
'How much?' Tynian cut him off. 
'A half-crown?' 
'He doesn't seem very certain. does he, Sergeant?' Tynian 
asked his friend. 'I think you misunderstood,' he said then to 
the nervous innkeeper. 'We don't want to buy the room. We 
just want to rent it for one night.' 
Ulath was staring hard at the now-frightened little Tamul. 


'Eight pence,' he countered with a note of finality. 
'Eight?' the innkeeper objected in a shrill voice. 
'Take it or leave it - and don't be all day about it. We'll need 
a little daylight to find the Commissioner.'
'You're a hard man, Sergeant.' 
'Nobody ever promised you that life would be easy, did they?' 
Ulath counted out some coins and jingled them in his hand. 'Do 
you want these or not?' 
After a moment of agonized indecision, the innkeeper reluctantly 


 took the coins. 
'You took all the fun out of that, you know,' Tynian complained 
as the two went back out to the stable to see to their 
horses. 'i'm thirsty,' Ulath shrugged. 'Besides, a couple of ex-soldiers 

would know in advance exactly how much they were willing to 
pay, wouldn't they?' He scratched at his face. 'I wonder if Sir 
Gerda would mind if I shaved off his beard,' he mused. 'This 
thing itches.' 
'It's not really his face, Ulath. It's still yours. You've just been 
modified to look like him.' 
'Yes, but when the ladies switch our faces back, they'll use 
this one as a model for Gerda, and when they're done, he'll be 
standing there with a naked face. He might object.' 
They unsaddled their horses put them into stalls and went on 
into the taproom. Tamul drinking establishments were arranged 
differently from those owned by Elenes. The tables were much 
lower, for one thing, and here the room was heated by a porcelain

 stove rather than a fireplace. The stove smoked as badly 
as a fireplace, though. Wine was served in delicate little cups 
and ale in cheap tin tankards. The smell was much the same, 
however. They were just starting on their second tankard of ale when 

an officious-looking Tamul in a food-spotted wool mantle came 
into the room and walked directly to their table. 'I'll have a look 


'at your release papers, if you don't mind,' he told them in a 
loftily superior tone. 
'And if we do?' Ulath asked. 
The official blinked. 'What?'
'You said if we don't mind. What if we do mind?' 
'I have the authority to demand to see those documents.' 
'Why did you ask, then?' Ulath reached inside his red uniform 
jacket and took out a dog-eared sheet of paper. 'in our old regiment, 


 men in authority never asked.' 
The Tamul read through the documents Oscagne had provided 


 them as a part of their disguise. 'These seem to be in 
order,' he said in a more conciliatory tone. 'Sorry I was so abrupt. 
We've been told to keep our eyes out for deserters - all the 
turmoil, you understand. I guess the army looks a lot less attractive 


 when there's fighting in the wind.' He looked at them a bit 
wistfully. 'I see you were stationed in Matherion.' 
Tynian nodded. 'It was good duty - a lot of inspections and 
polishing, though. Sit down, Commissioner.' 
The Tamul smiled faintly. 'Deputy-Commissioner, I'm afraid, 
Corporal. This backwater doesn't rate a full Commissioner.' He 
slid into a chair. 'Where are you men bound?' 
'Home,' Ulath said, 'back to Verel in Daconia.' 
"you'll forgive my saying so, Sergeant, but you don't look all 
that much like a Dacite.' 
Ulath shrugged. 'I take after my mother's family. She was an 
Astel before she married my father. Tell me, Deputy-Commissioner, 


 would we save very much time if we went 
straight on across the Tamul Mountains to reach Sepal? We 
thought we'd catch a fery or some trading ship there, go across 
the Sea of Arjun to Tiara and then ride on down to Saras. It's 
only a short way from there to Verel.' 
'i'd advise staying out of the Tamul Mountains, my friends.' 
'Bad weather?' Tynian asked him. 
That's always possible at this time of year, Corporal, but there 
have been some distirbing reports coming out of those mountains. 


 It seems that the bears up there have been breeding like 
rabbits. Every traveler who's come through here in the past 
few weeks reports sighting the brutes. Fortunately they all run 
away.' 
"bears, you say?' 
The Tamul smiled. 'i'm translating. The ignorant peasants 
around here use the word "monster", but we all know what a 
large, shaggy creature who lives alone in the mountains is, don't 
we?' 
'Peasants are an excitable lot, aren't they?' Ulath laughed, 
draining his tankard. 'We were out on a training exercise once, 
and this peasant came running up to us claiming that he was 
being chased by a pack of wolves. When we went out to take a 
look, it turned out to be one lone fox. The size and number of 
any wild animal a peasant sees seems to grow with each passing 
hour.' 
'Or each tankard of ale,' Tynian added. 
They talked with the now-polite official for a while longer, 
and then the man wished them a good journey and left. 
'Well, it's nice to know that the Trolls made it this far south,' 
Ulath said. 'i'd hate to have to go looking for them.' 



'Their Gods were guiding them, Ulath,' Tynian pointed out. 
'You've never talked with the Troll-Gods, I see,' Ulath 
laughed. 'Their sense of direction is a little vague - probably 
because their compass only has two directions on it.'
'Oh?' 
'North and not-north. It makes finding places a little difficult." 


The storm was one of those short, savage gales that seem to 
come out of nowhere in the late autumn. Khalad had dismissed 
the possibility of finding any kind of shelter in the salt marshes 
and had turned instead to the beach. At the head of a shallow 
inlet he had found the mountain of driftwood he'd been seeking. 
A couple of hours of fairly intense labor had produced a snug, 
even cozy little shelter on the leeward side of the pile. 
The gale struck just as the last light was fading. The wind 
screamed through the huge pile of driftwood. The surf crashed 
and thundered against the beach, and the rain sheeted horizontally


 across the ground in the driving wind. 
Khalad and Berit, however, were warm and dry. They sat with 
their backs against the huge, bleached-white log that formed the 
rear wall of their shelter and their feet stretched out toward their 
crackling fire. 'You always amaze me, Khalad,' Berit said. 'How did you 


know that there'd be boards mixed in amongst all this 
driftwood?' 
'There always are,' Khalad shrugged. 'Any time you find one 
of these big heaps of driftwood, you're going to find sawed 
lumber as well. Men make ships out of boards, and ships get 
wrecked. The boards float around until the wind and currents 
and tides push them to the same sheltered places where the 
sticks and the logs have been accumulating.' He reached up and 
patted the ceiling. 'Finding this hatch-cover all in one piece was 
a stroke of luck, though, I'll grant you that.' He rose to his feet 
and went to the front of the shelter. 'It's really blowing out 
there,' he noted. He extended his hands toward the fire. 'Cold, 
too. The rain's probably going to turn to sleet before midnight.' 
'Yes,' Berit agreed pleasantly. 'I certainly pity anybody caught 
out in the open on a night like this.' He grinned. 
'Me too,' Khalad grinned back. He lowered his voice, although 
there was no real need. 'Can you get any sense of what he's 
thinking?' 
'Nothing specific,' Berit replied. 'He's seriously uncomfortable, 


though.' 
'What a shame.' 
'There's something else, though. He's going to come and talk 
with us. He has a message of some kind for us.' 
'is he likely to come in here tonight?' 
Berit shook his head. 'He has orders not to make contact until 
tomorrow morning. He's very much afraid of whoever told him 
what to do and when to do it, so he'll obey those orders to the 
letter. How's that ham coming?' 
Khalad drew his dagger and used its point to lift the lid of 
the iron pot half-buried in embers at the edge of the fire. The 
steam that came boiling out smelled positively delicious. 'It's 
ready. As soon as the beans are done, we can eat.' 
'if our friend out there is down-wind of us, that smell should 



add to his misery just a bit.' Berit chuckled. 
'I sort of doubt it, Sparhawk. He's a Styric, and he's not
allowed to eat pork.' 
'Oh, yes. I'd forgotten about that. He's a renegade, though. 
maybe he's discarded his dietary prejudices.' 
'We'll find out in the morning. When he comes to us
tomorrow, I'll offer him a piece. Why don't you saw off a few 
slices of that loaf of bread? I'll toast them on the pot-lid here.' 


The wind had abated somewhat the following morning, and the 
rain had slacked off to a few fitful spatters stuttering on the 
hatch-cover roof. They had more of the ham and beans for breakfast 


 and began to get things ready to pack. 'What do you think?' 
Berit asked. 
'Let's make him come to us. Sitting tight until the last of the 
rain passes wouldn't be all that unusual.' Khalad looked speculatively 


at his friend.
'Would you be offended by a bit of advice, my Lord?' he asked. 
'Of course not.' 
'You look like Sparhawk, but you don't sound very much like 
him, and your mannerisms aren't quite right. When the Styric 
comes, make your face colder and harder. Keep your eyes narrow.


 Sparhawk squints. You'll also want to keep your voice low 
and level. Sparhawk's voice gets very quiet when he's angry and 


 he calls people "neighbor" a lot. He can put all sorts of 
meaning into that one word.' 
'That's right, he does call just about everybody "neighbor", 
doesn't he? I'd almost forgotten that. You've got my permission 
to correct me any time I start to lose my grip on the real Sparhawk,


 Khalad.' 
'Permission?'
'Poor choice of words there, I suppose."
'You might say that, yes.' 


'The climate got a little too warm for us back in Matherion,' 
Caalador said, leaning back in his chair. He looked directly at 
the hard-faced man seated across from him. 'i'm sure you take 
my meaning, Order.' 
The hard-faced man laughed. 'Oh, yes,' he replied. 'I've left 
a few places about one jump ahead of the law a time or two 
myself.' Order was an Elene from Vardenaise who ran a seedy 
tavern on the waterfront in Delo. He was a burly ruffian who 
prospered here because Elene criminals felt comfortable in the 
familiar surroundings of an Elene tavern and because Order was 
willing to buy things from them - at about a tenth of their real 
value - without asking questions. 
'What we really need is a new line of work.' Caalador gestured 
at Kalten and Bevier, disguised with new faces and rough, mismatched 


 clothing. 'A fairly high personage in the Ministry of the 
Interior was in charge of the group of policemen who stopped by 
to ask us some embarrassing questions.' He grinned at Bevier, 
who wore the face of one of his brother Cyrinics, an evil-looking 
knight who had lost an eye in a skirmish in Render and covered 
the empty socket with a black patch. 'My one-eyed friend there 
didn't care for the fellow's attitude, so he lopped his head off 
with that funny-looking hatchet of his.' 



Order looked at the weapon Bevier had laid on the table 
beside his ale-tankard. 'That's a lochaber axe, isn't it?' he asked. 
Bevier grunted. Kalten felt that Bevier's flair for dramatics 
was pushing him a little far. The black eye-patch was' probably 
enough, but Bevier's participation in amateur theatricals as a 
student made him seem to want to go to extremes. His intent 
was obviously to appear dangerously competent. What he was 
achieving, however, was the appearance of a homicidal maniac. 
'Doesn't a lochaber usually have a longer handle?' Order 
asked. 
'It wouldn't fit under my tunic,' Bevier growled, 'so I sawed 
a couple of feet off the handle. It works well enough - if you 
keep chopping with it. The screaming and the blood don't bother 
me all that much, so it suits me just fine.' 
Order shuddered and looked slightly sick. 'That's the meanest 
-looking weapon I've ever seen,' he confessed. 
'Maybe that's why I like it so much,' Bevier told him. 
Order looked at Caalador. 'What line were you and your 
friends thinking of taking up, Ezek?' he asked. 
'We thought we might try our hand at highway robbery or 
something along those lines,' Caalador said. 'You know, fresh 
air, exercise, wholesome food, no policemen in the neighborhood that 

 sort of thing. We've got some fairly substantial prices 
on our heads, and now that the Emperor's disbanded Interior, 
all the policing is being done by the Atans. Did you know that 
you can't bribe an Atan?' 
Order nodded glumly. 'Oh, yes,' he said. 'It's shocking.' He 
squinted speculatively at 'Ezek', who appeared to be a middle-aged 

 Deiran. 'Why don't you describe Caalador to me, Ezek? 
I'm not doubting your word, mind. It's just that things are a 
little topsy-turvy right now, what with all the policemen we 
used to bribe either in jail or dead, so we all have to be careful.' 
'No offense taken at all, Order,' Caalador assured him. 'I 
wouldn't trust a man who wasn't careful these days. Caalador's 
a Cammorian, and he's got curly hair and a red face. He's sort 
of blocky - you know, big shoulders, thick neck, and a little 
stout around the middle.' 
Order's eyes narrowed shrewdly. 'What did he tell you? 
Repeat his exact words.' 
'Wal, sir,' Caalador replied, exaggerating the dialect just a bit, 
'Ol' Caalador, he tole us t' come down yore t' Delo an' look up 
a feller name o' Order - on accounta this yore Order, he's 
th' one oz knows whut's whut in the shadowy world o' crime 
herebouts.' 
Order relaxed and laughed. 'That's Caalador, all right,' he 
said. 'I knew you were telling me the truth before you'd said 
three words.' 
'He certainly mangles the language,' Caalador agreed. 'He's 
not as stupid as he sounds, though.' 
Kalten covered a smile with his hand. 
'Not by a darg sight, he ain't,' Order agreed, imitating the 
dialect. 'I think you'll find that highway robbery isn't very 
profitable around here, Ezek, mainly because there aren't that 
many highways. It's safe enough out in the jungle - not even 
the Atans can find anybody in all that underbrush - but pickings 
are slim. Three men alone in the bush won't be able to make 


ends meet. I think you'll have to join one of the bands out there. 
They make a fair living robbing isolated estates and raiding various 

 towns and villages. That takes quite a number of men, so 
there are always job openings.' He sat back and tapped one 
finger thoughtfully against his chin. 'Do you want to go a long 
way from town?' he asked. 
'The further out the better,' Caalador replied. 
'Narstil's operating down by the ruins of Natayos. I can 
guarantee that the police won't bother you there. A fellow 
named Scarpa's got an army stationed in the ruins. He's a crazy 
revolutionary who wants to overthrow the Tamul government. 
Narstil has quite a few dealings with him. There's some risk 
involved, but there's a lot of profit to be made in that 
neighborhood. ' 
'I think you've found just what we're looking for, Order,' 
Caalador said eagerly. 
Kalten carefully let out a long sigh of relief. Order had come 
up with the exact answer they'd been looking for without even 
being prompted. If they joined this particular band of robbers, 
they'd be close enough to Natayos to smell the smoke from the 
chimneys, and that was a better stroke of luck than they'd even 
dared to hope for. 
'I'll tell you what, Ezek,' Order said, 'why don't I write a 
letter to Narstil introducing you and your friends?' 
'We'd definitely appreciate it, Order.' 
'But before I waste all that ink and paper, why don't we have 
a talk about how much you're going to pay me to write that 
letter?' 

The Styric was wet and muddy and very nearly blue with the 
cold. He was shivering so violently that his voice quavered as 
he hailed their camp. 'I have a message for you,' he called. 
'Don't get excited and do something foolish.' He spoke in Elenic, 
and that made Berit quite thankful, since his own Styric was not 
all that good. It was the one major flaw in his disguise. 
'Come on in, neighbor,' he called out to the miserable-looking 
fellow at the upper end of the beach. 'Just keep your hands out 
in plain sight.' 
'Don't order me around, Elene,' the Styric snapped. 'i'm the 
one who's giving the orders here.' 
'Deliver your message from right there then, neighbor,' Berit 
said coldly. 'Take your time, if you want. I'm warm and dry in 
here, so waiting while you make up your mind won't be all that 
unpleasant for me.' 
'It's a written message,' the man said in Styric. At least Berit 
thought that was what he said. 
'Friend,' Khalad said, stepping in quickly, 'we've got a slightly 
touchy situation here. There are all sorts of chances for misunderstandings, 

 so don't make me nervous by talking in a language 

 I don't understand. Sir Sparhawk here understands 
Styric, but I don't, and my knife in your belly will kill you just 
as quick as his will. I'll be very sorry afterward, of course, but 
you'll still be dead.' 
'Can I come in?' the Styric asked, speaking in Elenic. 
'Come ahead, neighbor,' Berit told him. 
The lumpy-faced messenger approached the front of their 


shelter, looking longingly at the fire. 
"you really look uncomfortable, old boy,' Berit noted. 
'Couldn't you think of a spell to keep the rain off?' 
The Styric ignored that. 'i'm instructed to give you this,' he 
said, reaching inside his homespun smock and drawing out an 
oilskin-covered packet. 
Tell me what you're going to do before you stick your hand 
inside your clothes like that, neighbor,' Berit cautioned him in 
a low voice and squinting at him as he said it. 'As my friend 
just pointed out, we've got some wonderful opportunities for 
misunderstandings here. Startling me when I'm this close to you 
isn't a good way to keep your guts on the inside.' 
The Styric swallowed hard and stepped back as soon as Berit 
took the packet. 
'Would you care for a slice of ham while my Lord Sparhawk 
reads his mail, friend?' Khalad offered. 'It's nice and greasy, so 
it'll lubricate your innards.' 
The Styric shuddered, and his face took on a faintly nauseated 
look. 
'There's nothing quite like a few gobs of oozy pork-fat to slick 
up a man's gullet,' Khalad told him cheerfully. 'It must come 
from all the garbage and half-rotten swill that pigs eat.' 
The Styric made a retching sound. 
'You've delivered your message, neighbor Berit said coldly. 
'i'm sure you have someplace important to go, and we certainly 
wouldn't want to keep you.'
'Are you sure you understand the message?' 
'I've read it. Elenes read very well. We're not illiterates like 
you Styrics. The message didn't make me very happy, so it's 
not going to pay you to stay around.' 
The Styric messenger backed away, his face apprehensive. 
Then he turned and fled. 
'What does it say?' Khalad asked. 
Berit gently held the identifying lock of the Queen's hair in 
his hand. 'It says that there's been a change of plans. We're 
supposed to go on down past the Tamul Mountains and then 
turn west. They want us to go to Sepal now.' 
'You'd better get word to Aphrael.' 
There was a sudden, familiar little trill of pipes. The two young 
men spun around quickly. 
The Child Goddess sat cross-legged on Khalad's blankets, 
breathing a plaintive Styric melody into her many-chambered 
pipes. 'Why are you staring at me?' she asked them. 'I told you 
I was going to look after you, didn't I?' 
'is this really wise, Divine One?' Berit asked her. 'That Styric's 
no more than a few hundred yards away, you know, and he 
can probably sense your presence.' 
'Not right now, he can't,' Aphrael smiled. 'Right now he's too 
busy concentrating on keeping his stomach from turning inside 
out. All that talk about pork-fat was really cruel, Khalad.' 
'Yes. I know.' 
'Did you have to be so graphic?' 
'I didn't know you were around. What do you want us to do?' 
'Go to Sepal the way they told you to. I'll get word to the 
others.' She paused. 'What did you do to that ham, Khalad?' 
she asked curiously. 'You've actually managed to make it smell 



almost edible.' 
'It's probably the cloves,' he shrugged. 'Nobody's really all 
that fond of the taste of pork, when you get right down to it, 
but my mother taught me that almost anything can be made 
edible - if you use enough spices. You might want to keep that 
in mind the next time you're thinking about serving up a goat.' 
She stuck her tongue out at him, and then she vanished. 


` 
CHAPTER 7 

It was snowing in the mountains of Zemoch, a dry, brittle snow 
that settled like a cloud of feathers in the dead calm air. It was 
bitterly cold, and a huge cloud of steam hung like a low-lying 
fog over the horses of the army of the Knights of the Church as 
they plodded forward, their hooves sending the powdery snow 
swirling into the air again. The preceptors of the militant orders 
rode in the lead, dressed in full armor and bundled in furs. 
Preceptor Abriel of the Cyrinic Knights, still vigorous despite 
his advanced age, rode with Darellon, the Alcione Preceptor, 
and with Sir Heldin, a scarred old veteran who was filling in as 
leader of the Pandions during Sparhawk's absence. Patriarch 
Bergsten rode somewhat apart. The huge Churchman was 
muffled to the ears in fur, and his Ogre-horned helmet made 
him look very warlike, an appearance offset to some degree by 
the small, black-bound prayer book he was reading. Preceptor 
Komier of the Genidians was off ahead with the scouts. 
'I don't think I'll ever be warm again,' Abriel groaned, pulling 
his fur cloak tighter about him. 'Old age thins the blood. Don't 
ever get old, Darellon.' 
'The alternative isn't very attractive, Lord Abriel.' Darellon 
was a slender Deiran who appeared to have been swallowed up 
by his massive armor. He lowered his voice. 'You didn't really 
have to come along, my friend,' he said. 'Sarathi would have 
understood. ' 
'Oh, no, Darellon. This is probably my last campaign. I 
wouldn't miss it for the world.' Abriel peered ahead. 'What's 
Komier doing out there?' 
'Lord Komier said that he wanted to take a look at the ruins 
of Zemoch,' Sir Heldin replied in his rumbling basse. 'I guess 
Thalesians take a certain pleasure in viewing the wreckage after 
a war's over.' 
'They're a barbaric people,' Abriel muttered sourly. He 
glanced quickly at Bergsten, who seemed totally immersed in 
his prayer book. 'You don't necessarily have to repeat that, 
gentlemen,' he said to Darellon and Heldin. 
'I wouldn't dream of it, Abriel,' Bergsten said, not looking up 
from his prayer book. 
'You've got unwholesomely sharp ears, your Grace. 
'It comes from listening to confessions. People tend to shout 
the sins of others from the rooftops, but you can barely hear 
them when they're describing their own.' Bergsten looked up 
and pointed. 'Komier's coming back.' 
The Preceptor of the Genidian Knights was in high spirits as 
he reined in his horse, swirling up a huge billow of the dustlike 
snow. 'Sparhawk doesn't leave very much standing when he 
destroys a place,' he announced cheerfully. 'I didn't entirely 


believe Ulath when he told me that our broken-nosed friend 
blew the lid off the Temple of Azash, but I do now. You've 
never seen such a wreck. I doubt if there's a habitable building 
left in the whole city.' 
'You really enjoy that sort of thing, don't you, Komier?' Abriel 
accused. 
'That's enough of that, gentlemen!' Bergsten cut in quickly. 
'We're not going to resurrect that worn-out old dispute again. 
We make war in different ways. Arcians like to build forts and 
castles, and Thalesians like to knock them down. It's all part of 
making war, and that's what we get paid for.' 
'We, your Grace?' Heldin rumbled mildly. 
'You know what I mean, Heldin. I don't personally get 
involved in that any more, of course, but -' 
'Why did you bring your axe along then, Bergsten?' Komier 
asked him. 
Bergsten gave him a flat stare. 'For old times' sake - and 
because you Thalesian brigands pay closer attention to a man 
who's got an axe in his hands.' 
'Knights, your Grace,' Komier mildly corrected his countryman. 
'We're called knights now. We used to be brigands, but 
now we're behaving ourselves.' 
'The Church appreciates your efforts to mend your ways my 
son, even though she knows that you're lying in your teeth.' 
Abriel carefully covered a smile. Bergsten was a former Genidian 

 Knight himself, and sometimes his cassock slipped a bit. 
'Who's got the map?' he asked, more to head off the impending 
argument than out of any real curiosity. 
Heldin unbuckled one of his saddle-bags, his black armor 
clinking. 'What did you want to know, my Lord?' he asked, 
taking out his map. 
'The usual. How far? How long? What sort of unpleasantness 
up ahead?' 
'It's just over a hundred leagues to the Astellian border, my 
Lord,' Heldin replied, consulting his map, 'and nine hundred 
leagues from there to Matherion.' 
'A hundred days at least,' Bergsten grunted sourly. 
'That's if we don't run into any trouble, your Grace,' Darellon 
added. 
'Take a look back over your shoulder, Darellon. There are a 
hundred thousand Church Knights behind us. There's no 
trouble that we can't deal with. What sort of terrain's up ahead, 
Heldin?' 
'There's some sort of divide about three days east of here, 
your Grace. All the rivers on this side of it run down into the 
Gulf of Merjuk. On the other side, they run off into the Astel 
Marshes. I'd imagine that we'll be going downhill after we cross 
that divide - unless Otha fixed it so that water runs uphil here 
in Zemoch.' 
A Genidian Knight rode forward. 'A messenger from Emsat 
just caught up with us, Lord Komier,' he reported. 'He says he 
has important news for you.' 
Komier nodded, wheeled his horse and rode back toward the 
army. The rest of them pushed on as it started to snow a little 
harder. Komier was laughing uproariously when he returned with the 


travel-stained messenger who had chased them down. 
'What's so funny?' Bergsten asked him.
'We have good news from home, your Grace,' Komier said. 


 'Tell our beloved Patriarch what you just told me,' he 
instructed the messenger. 
'Yes, my Lord,' the blond-braided Thalesian said. 'It happened 


 a few weeks back, your Grace. One morning the palace 
servants couldn't find a trace of the Prince Regent anywhere 
at all. the Guards tore the place apart for two straight days, but 
the little weasel seemed to have vanished entirely.' 
'Mind your manners, man,' Bergsten snapped. 'Avin's the 
Prince Regent, after all - even if he is a little weasel.' 
'Sorry your Grace. Anyway, the whole capital was mystified. 
AVIn Wargunsson never went anywhere without taking a brass 
band along to blow fanfares announcing his coming. Then one 
of the servants happened to notice a full wine barrel in Avin's 
study. That seemed odd, because Avin didn't have much 
stomach for wine, so they got to looking at the barrel a little 
more closely. It was clear that it had been opened, because quite 
a bit of wine had been spilled on the floor. Well, your Grace, 
they'd all worked up quite a thirst looking for Avin, so they 
decided to open the barrel, but when they tried to pry it open, 
they found out that it had been nailed shut. Now nobody nails 
a wine barrel shut in Thalesia, so everybody got suspicious right 
away. They took some pliers and pulled out the nails and lifted 
the lid - and there was Avin, stone dead and floating face down 
in the barrel.'
"you're not serious!' 
"yes, your Grace. Somebody in Emsat's got a very warped
Sense of humor, I guess. He went to all the trouble of rolling 
that wine barrel into Avin's study just so that he could stuff him 
in and nail down the lid. Avin seems to have struggled a bit. 
He had splinters under his fingernails, and there were clawmarks 


 on the underside of the lid. It made an awful mess. I 
guess the wine drained out of him for a half an hour after they 
fished him out of the barrel. The palace servants tried to clean 
him up for the funeral, but you know how hard wine-stains are 
to get out. He was very purple when they laid him out on the 
bier in the Cathedral of Emsat for his funeral.' The messenger 
rubbed at the side of his face reflectively. 'It was the strangest 
funeral I've ever attended. The Primate of Emsat kept trying to 
keep from laughing while he was reading the burial service, but 
he wasn't having much luck, and that got the whole congregation 


 to laughing too. There was Avin lying on that bier, no
bigger than a half-grown goat and as purple as a ripe plum, and 
there was the whole congregation, roaring with laughter.' 
'At least everybody noticed him,' Komier said. 'That was 
always important to Avin.' 
'Oh, they noticed him all right, Lord Komier. Every eye in 
the Cathedral was on him. Then, after they put him in the royal 
crypt, the whole city had a huge party, and we all drank toasts 
to the memory of Avin Wargunsson. It's hard to find something 
to laugh about in Thalesia when winter's coming on, but Avin 
managed to brighten up the whole season.' 
'What kind of wine was it?' Patriarch Bergsten asked gravely. 



'Arcian red, your Grace.' 
'Any idea of what year?' 
'Year before last, I believe it was.' 
'A vintage year,' Bergsten sighed. 'There was no way to save 
it, I suppose?'
'Not after Avin had been soaking in it for two days, your 
Grace.' 
Bergsten sighed again. 'What a waste,' he mourned. And then 
he collapsed over his saddlebow, howling with laughter. 


It was cold in the Tamul Mountains as Ulath and Tynian rode 
up into the foothills. The Tamul Mountains were one of those 
geographic anomalies which crop up here and there, a cluster 
of worn-down, weary-looking peaks with no evident connection 
to neighboring and more jagged peaks forested by fir and spruce 
and pine. The gentler slopes of the Tamul Mountains were 
covered with hardwoods which had been stripped of their leaves
by the onset of winter. 
The two knights rode carefully, staying in the open and
making enough noise to announce their presence. 'It's very 
unwise to startle a Troll,' Ulath explained.
'Are you sure they're out there?' Tynian asked as they wound 
deeper into the mountains.
Ulath nodded. 'I've seen tracks - or places where they've tried 
to brush out their traces - and fresh dirt where they've buried 
their droppings. Trolls take pains to conceal their presence from 
humans. It's easier to catch supper if it doesn't know you're 
around.' 
'The Troll-Gods promised Aphrael that their creatures 
wouldn't eat humans any more.' 
'It may take a few generations for that notion to sift down 
into the minds of some of the stupider Trolls - and a Troll can 
be fearfully stupid when he sets his mind to it. We'd better stay 
alert. As soon as we get up out of these foothills, I'll perform 
the ceremony that calls the Troll-Gods. We should be safe after 
that. It's these foothills that are dangerous.' 
'Why not just perform the ceremony now. ?' 
Ulath shook his head. 'Bad manners. You're not supposed to 
call on the Troll-Gods until you're up higher - up in real Troll 
country.' 
'This isn't Troll country, Ulath.' 
'It is now. Let's find a place to camp for the night.' 
They built their camp on a kind of stair-stepped bench so that 
they had a solid cliff to their backs and a steep drop to the front. 
They took turns standing watch, and as the first faint light of 
dawn began to wash the darkness out of the overcast sky,
Tynian shook Ulath awake. 'There's something moving around 
in the brush at the foot of the cliff,' he whispered. 
Ulath sat up, his hand going to his axe. He cocked his head 
to listen. 'Troll,' he said after a moment. 
'How can you tell?' 
'Whatever's making all the noise is doing it on purpose. A 
deer wouldn't crash around like that, and the bears have all 
denned up for the winter. The Troll wants us to know he's 
there.' 
'What do we do?' 



'Let's build up the fire a bit - let him know that we're awake. 
We've got a touchy situation here, so let's not move too fast.' 
He pushed his blankets aside and rose to his feet as Tynian piled 
more limbs on the fire. 
'Should we invite him in to get warm?' Tynian asked. 
'He isn't cold.'
'It's freezing, Ulath.' 
'That's why he's got fur. Trolls build fires for light, not heat. 
Why don't you go ahead and get started with breakfast? He's 
not going to do anything until full daylight.' 
'It's not my turn.' 
'I have to keep watch. ' 
'I can keep watch as well as you can.' 
'You wouldn't know what to look for, Tynian.' Ulath's tone 
was reasonable. It usually was when he was talking his way out 
of doing the cooking. 
The light grew gradually stronger. It was a process that is 
always strange. A man can be looking directly at a dark patch 
in the surrounding forest and suddenly realize that he can see 
trees and rocks and bushes where there had been only darkness 
before. 
Tynian brought Ulath a plate of steaming ham and a chunk 
of leathery-crusted bread. 'Leave the ham on the spit,' Ulath 
told him. 
Tynian grunted, picked up his own plate, and joined his friend 
at the front edge of the rocky shelf. They sat and kept watch on 
the birch forest that ran down the steep slope beneath them as 


they ate. 'There he is,' Ulath said gravely, 'right beside that big 
rock.' 
'Oh, yes,' Tynian replied. 'I see him now. He blends right in, 
doesn't he?' 
'That's what being a Troll is all about, Tynian. He's a part of 
the forest.' 
'Sephrenia says that we're distantly related to them.' 
'She's probably right. There aren't really all that many differences


 between us and the Trolls. They're bigger, and they have 
a different diet is about all.'
'How long is this likely to take?' 
'I have no idea. As far as I know, this has never happened 
before.' 
'What'll he do next?' 
'As soon as he's sure we know he's there, he'll probably try 
to communicate in some way.' 
'Does he know that you speak Trollish?'
'He might. The Troll-Gods are acquainted with me, and they 
know that I run in the same pack with Sparhawk.' 
'That's an odd way to put it.' 
'i'm trying to think like a Troll. If I can get it right, I might be 
able to anticipate what he's going to do next.' 
Then the Troll shouted up the hill to them. 
'What did he say?' Tynian asked nervously. 
'He wants to know what he's supposed to do. He's very 
confused.'
'He's confused? What about me?' 
'He's been told to meet us and take us to the Troll-Gods. He 



doesn't have any idea of our customs or the proper courtesies. 
We'll have to guide him through this. Put your sword back in 
its sheath. Let's not make things any worse than they already 
are.' Ulath stood up, being careful not to move too fast. He 
raised his voice and called to the creature below in Trollish. 


'Come to this child of Khwaj which we have made. We will take 
eat together and talk of what we must do.' 
'What did you tell him?' 
'I invited him to join us for breakfast.' 
'You did what? You want a Troll that's no more than a few 
feet from you to start eating?' 
'It's a precaution. It would be discourteous of him to kill us 
after he's taken food from us.' 
'Discourteous? That's a Troll out there, Ulath.' 
"just because he's a Troll doesn't mean that he has bad 


manners. Oh, I almost forgot. When he comes into camp, he'll 
want to sniff us. It's polite to sniff him as well. He won't smell 
very nice, but do it anyway. Trolls do that so that they'll recognize 


 each other if they ever meet again.' 
'I think you're losing your mind.' 
"just follow my lead, and let me do the talking.' 
'What else can I do, you clot? I don't speak Trollish, 
remember?' 
"you don't? What an amazing thing. I thought every educated 


man spoke Trollish. ' 
The Troll approached cautiously, moving smoothly up
through the birch forest. He used his arms a great deal as he 
moved, grasping trees to pull himself along, moving with his 
whole body. He was about eight and a half feet tall and had 
glossy brown fur. His face was simian to a degree, though he
did not have the protruding muzzle of most apes, and there was 
a glimmer of intelligence in his deep-sunk eyes. He came up 
onto the bench where the camp lay and then squatted, resting 
his forearms on his knees and keeping his paws in plain sight. 
I have no club,' he half-growled. 
Ulath made some show of setting his axe aside and held out 
his empty hands. 'I have no club,' he repeated the customary 
greeting. 'Undo your sword-belt, Tynian,' he muttered. 'Lay it 
aside.' 
Tynian started to object, but decided against it. 
The child of Khwaj you have made is good,' the Troll said, 
pointing at their fire. 'Khwaj will be pleased.' 
It is good to please the Gods,' Ulath replied. 
The Troll suddenly banged his fist on the ground. 'This is not 
how it should be!' he declared in an unhappy voice. 
no,' Ulath agreed, dropping down into a squat much like the 
Troll's, 'it is not. The Gods have their reasons for it, though. 
They have said we must not kill each other. They have also said 
we must not eat each other.' 
'I have heard them say it. Could we have misunderstood 
them?' 
'I think we have not.' 
'Could it be that their minds are sick?' 



'It is possible. We must still do as they tell us, though.'
'What are you two talking about?' Tynian asked nervously. 
'We're discussing philosophy,' Ulath shrugged. 
Tynian stared at him. 
'It's fairly complex. It has to do with whether or not we're 
morally obliged to obey the Gods if they've gone crazy. I'm 
saying that we are. Of course my position's a little tainted by 
self-interest in this particular situation.' 
'Can it not speak!' the Troll asked, pointing at Tynian. 'Are 
those bird-noises the only sounds it can make?' 
'The bird-noises pass for speech among those of our kind. 
Will you take some of our eat with us?' 
The Troll looked appraisingly at their horses. 'Those?' he 
asked. 
'No.' Ulath shook his head. 'Those are the beasts which carry 
US.' 
'Are your legs sick? Is that why you are so short?' 
'No. The beasts can run faster than we can. They carry us 
when we want to go fast.' 
'What kind of eat do you take?' 
'Pig.' 
'Pig is good. Deer is better.' 
'Yes. ' 
'Where is the pig? Is it dead? If it is still alive, I will kill 


it. 
'It is dead.' 
The Troll looked around. 'I do not see it.' 
'We have only brought part of it.' Ulath pointed at the large 
ham spitted over the fire. 
'Do you share your eat with the child of Khwaj?' 
Ulath decided not to explain the concept of cooking at that 
particular moment. 'Yes,' he said. 'It is our custom.' 
'Does it please Khwaj that you share your eat with his child?' 
'It is our thought that it does.' Ulath drew his dagger, lifted 
the spit from off the fire and sawed off a chunk of ham weighing perhaps 
three pounds.
'Are your teeth sick?' The Troll even sounded sympathetic. 'I 
had a sick tooth once. It caused me much hurt.' 
'Our kind does not have sharp teeth,' Ulath told him. 'Will 
you take some of our eat?'
'I will.' The Troll rose to his feet and came to the fire, towering 
over them. 
'The eat has been near the child of Khwaj,' Ulath warned. 'It 
is hot. It may cause hurt to your mouth.' 
'I am called Bhlokw,' the Troll introduced himself. 
'I am called Ulath.' 
'U-lat? That is a strange thing to be called.' Bhlokw pointed 
at Tynian. 'What is it called?' 
'Tynian,' Ulath replied. 
'Tin-in. That is stranger than U-lat.' 
'The bird-noises of our speech make what we are called sound 
strange. ' 
The Troll leaned forward and snuffled at the top of Ulath's 
head. Ulath suppressed a strong urge to shriek and run for the 
nearest tree. He politely sniffed at Bhlokw's fur. The Troll actually 



 didn't smell too bad. Then the monster and Tynian 
exchanged sniffs. 'Now I know you,' Bhlokw said. 
'It is good that you do.' Ulath held out the chunk of steaming 
ham. 
Bhlokw took it from him and stuffed it into his mouth. Then 
he quickly spat it back out into his hand. 'Hot,' he explained a 
little sheepishly. 
'We blow on it to make it cool so that we can eat it without 
causing hurt to our mouths,' Ulath instructed. 
Bhlokw blew noisily on the piece of ham for a while. Then he 
rammed it back into his mouth. He chewed reflectively for a 
moment. Then he swallowed. 'It is different,' he said, diplomatically. 


 Then he sighed. 'I do not like this, U-lat,' he confided 
unhappily. 'This is not how things should be.' 
'No,' Ulath agreed, 'it is not.' 
We should be killing each other. I have killed and eaten you 
man-things since you first came to the Troll-range. That is how 
things should be. It is my thought that the Gods are sick in their 
minds to make us do this.' He sighed a hurricane sort of sigh. 
"your thought is right, though. We must do as they tell us to 
do. Someday their minds will get well. Then they will let us kill 
and eat each other again.' He stood up abruptly. 'They want to 
see you. I will take you to them.' 
'We will go with you.' 
They followed Bhlokw up into the mountains all that day and 
half of the next, and he led them finally to a snow-covered 
clearing where a fire burned in a large pit. The Troll-Gods were 
waiting for them there. 
'Aphrael came to us,' the enormity that was Ghworg told 
them. 
'She said that she would do this,' Ulath replied. 'She said that 
when things happened that we should know about, she would 
come to us and tell us.' 
'She put her mouth on our faces.' Ghworg seemed puzzled. 
'She does this. It gives her pleasure.' 
'It was not painful,' Ghworg conceded a bit dubiously, touching 


 the cheek where Aphrael had kissed him. 
'What did he say?' Tynian asked quietly. 
'Aphrael came here and talked with them,' Ulath replied. 'She 
even kissed them a few times. You know Aphrael.' 
'She actually kissed the Troll-Gods?' Tynian's face grew pale. 
'What did it say?' Ghworg demanded. 
'It wanted me to say what you had said.'
'This is not good, Ulath-from-Thalesia. It should not talk to 
you in words we do not understand. What is its name?' 
'It is called Tynian-from-Deira.' 
'I will make it so that Tynian-from-Deira knows our speech.' 
'Brace yourself,' Ulath warned his friend.
'What? What's happening, Ulath?' 


'Ghworg's going to teach you Trollish.' 
'Now, wait a minute -' Then Tynian suddenly clapped his 
hands to the sides of his head, cried out and fell writhing into 
the snow. The paroxysm passed quickly, but Tynian was pale 
and shaking as he sat up, and his eyes were wild. 
'You are Tynian-from-Deira?' Ghworg demanded in Trollish. 



'Y-yes.' Tynian's voice trembled as he replied. 
'Do you understand my words?' 
'They are clear to me.' 
'It is good. Do not speak the other kind of talk when you 
%are near us. When you do, you make it so that we do not tins 
you.' 
'I will remember that. 
'It is good that you will. Aphrael came to us. She told us that 
the one called Berit has been told not to go to the place Beresa 
He has been told to go to the place Sepal instead. She said that 
you would understand what this means.' 
He paused, frowning. 'Do you?' he asked. 
'Do we?' Tynian asked Ulath, speaking in Trollish. 
'I am not sure.' Ulath rose, went to his horse, and took a map 
out of his saddle-bag. Then he returned to the fire. 'This is a 
picture of the ground,' he explained to the enormous presences. 
'We make these pictures so that we will know where we are 
going.' 
Schlee looked briefly at the map. 'The ground does not look 
like that,' he told them. He squatted and thrust his huge fingers 
down through the snow into the dirt. 'This is how the ground 
looks.' 
Ulath jumped back as the earth under his feet shuddered 
slightly. Then he stared down. It was not so much a map as it 
was a miniaturized version of the continent itself. 
'This is a very good picture of the ground,' he marveled. 
Schlee shrugged. 'I put my hand into the ground and felt its 
shape. This is how it looks.' 
'Where is Beresa?' Tynian asked Ulath, staring in wonderment 
at hair-thin little trees bristling like a two-day growth of beard 
on the sides of tiny mountains. 
Ulath checked his map and walked several yards south to a 
shimmering surface covered with minuscule waves. His feet 
even sank slightly into Schlee's recreation of the southern Tamul 
sea. 'It is right here,' he replied in Trollish, bending and putting 
his finger on a spot on the coastline. 
'That is where the ones who took Anakha's mate away told 
him to go,' Tynian explained to the Troll-Gods. 
'We do not understand,' Khwaj said bluntly. 
'Anakha is fond of his mate.' 
'That is how it should be.' 
'He grows angry when his mate is in danger. The ones who 
took his mate away know this. They said that they will not give 
her back to him unless he gives them the Flower-Gem.' 
The Troll-Gods all frowned, puzzling their way through it. 
Then Khwaj suddenly roared, belching out a great, billowing 
cloud of fire and melting the snow for fifty yards in every 
direction. 'That is wickedness!' he thundered. 'It is not right to do this! 

Their quarrel was with Anakha, not with his mate! I will find these wicked 
ones! I will turn them into fires that will 
never go out. They will cry out with hurt forever!' 
Tynian shuddered at the enormity of that idea. Then, with a 
great deal of help from Ulath, he explained their disguises and 
the subterfuges those disguises made possible. 
'Do you in truth look different from how you looked before, 


Ulath-from-Thalesia?' Ghworg asked peering curiously at 
Ulath. 
'Much different, Ghworg.' 
'That is strange. You seem the same to me.' The God considered


 it. 'Perhaps it is not so strange,' he amended. 'Your kind 
all look the same to me.' He clenched his huge fists. 'Khwaj is 
right,' he said. 'We must cause hurt to the wicked ones. Show 
us where the one called Berit has been told to go.' 
Ulath consulted his map again and crossed the miniature 
world to the edge of the large lake known as the Sea of Arjun. 
'It is here, Ghworg,' he said, bending again and putting his 
finger to a spot on the coast. Then he Bent lower and stared at 
the shore-line. 'It is really there.' he gasped. 'I can see the tiny 
little buildings. that is SePal!' 
'Of course,' Schlee said as if it were of no particular moment. 
'It would not be a good picture if I had left things out.' 
'We have been tricked,' Tynian said. 'It was our thought that 
our enemies were in the place Beresa. They are not. They are 
in the place Sepal instead. The one called Berit does not have 
the Flower-Gem. Anakha has the Flower-Gem. Anakha takes it 
to Beresa. If the wicked ones meet with Berit in the place Sepal, 
he will not have the Flower-Gem with him to give to the wicked 
ones. They will be angry, and they may cause hurt to Anakha's
mate.' 
'It may be that I taught it too well,' Ghworg muttered. 'It talks 
much now.' 
Schlee, however, had been listening carefully to Tynian's 
oration. 'It has spoken truly, however. Anakha's mate will be 
in danger. Those who have taken her away may even kill her.' 
The skin on his enormous shoulders flickered, absently shaking 
off the snowflakes which continually fell on him, and his face 
twisted as he concentrated. 'It is my thought that this will anger 
Anakha. He may be so angry that he will raise up the Flower
gem and make the world go away. We must keep the wicked
ones from causing hurt to her.' 
'Tynian-from-Deira and I will go to the place Sepal,' Ulath 
said. 'The wicked ones will not know us because our faces have 
been changed. We will be nearby when the wicked ones tell the 
one called Berit that they will give him Anakha's mate if he will 
give them the Flower-Gem. We will kill them and take Anakha's
mate back when they do this.' 
'It speaks well,' Zoka told the other Troll-Gods. 'its thought 
is good. Let us help it and the other one - but let us not permit 
it to kill the wicked ones. Killing them is not enough. The 
thought of Khwaj is better. Let Khwaj make them into fires that 
will never go out instead. Let them burn always. That will be 
better.' 
'I will put these man-things into the time which does not 
move,' Ghnomb said. 'We will watch them in Schlee's picture 
of the ground as they go to the place Sepal while the world 
stands still.' 
'Can you truly see something as small as a man-thing in 
Schlee's picture of the ground?' Ulath asked the God of Eat with 
some surprise.
'Can you not?' Ghnomb seemed even more surprised. 'We will 
send Bhlokw with you to help you, and we will watch you in 



Schlee's picture of the ground. Then, when the wicked ones 
show her to the one called Berit to prove to him that they truly 
have her, you and Tynian-from-Deira will step out of the time 
which does not move and take her away from them.' 
Then I will reach into Schlee's picture of the ground and take 
them up in my hands,' Khwaj added grimly. 'I will bring them 
here and make them into fires that will never go out.' 
'can you truly reach into Schlee's picture of the ground and 
pick the wicked ones out of the real world?' Ulath asked in 
astonishment. 
'It is easy,' Khwaj shrugged.
Tynian was shaking his head vigorously.
'What?' Schlee demanded.
The one called Zalasta can also come into the time which does
not move. We have seen him do this.' 
'It will not matter,' Khwaj told him. 'The one called Zalasta 
IS one of the wicked ones. I will make him into a fire which will 
never go out as well. I will let him burn forever in the time 
which does not move. The fire will be just as hot there as it will 
be here.' 


The snow was heavier - and wetter - after they crossed the 
rocky spine that divided the rivers flowing west from those that 
flowed east. The huge cloud of humid air that hung perpetually 
above the Astel Marshes lapped against the eastern slopes of 
the Mountains of Zemoch, unloosing phenomenal snowfalls that 
buried the forests and clogged the passes. The Church Knights 
grimly forced their way through sodden drifts as they followed 
the valley of the south fork of the River Esos toward the Zemoch 
town of Basne. 
Patriarch Abriel of the Cyrinic Knights had begun this 
campaign with a certain sense of well-being. His health was 
good, and a lifetime of military training had kept him in peak 
physical condition. He was, however, fast approaching his 
seventieth year and he found that starting out each morning 
was growing harder and harder, though he would never 
have admitted it. 
About mid-morning on a snowy day, one of the scouting parties


 ranging ahead returned with three goatskin-clad Zemochs. 
The men were thin and dirty, and they had terrified expressions 
on their faces. Patriarch Bergsten rode on ahead to question 
them. When the rest of them caught up to the gigantic churchman, 


 he was having a rather heated discussion with an Arcian 
Knight. 'But they're Zemochs, your Grace,' the knight protested. 


'Our quarrel was with Otha, Sir Knight,' Bergsten said coldly, 
'not with these poor, superstitious devils. Give them some food 
and warm clothing and let them go.' 
'But -' 
'We're not going to have trouble about this, are we, Sir 
Knight?' Bergsten asked in an ominous tone, swelling even 


larger. The knight seemed to consider his situation. He backed up a 


few paces. 'Ah - no, your Grace,' he replied, 'I don't believe 
SO.' 



'Our Holy Mother appreciates your obedience, my son,' Bergsten

 told him. 'Did those three have anything useful for us?' Komier asked. 
'Not much,' Bergsten replied, hauling himself back up into 
his saddle. 'There's an army of some kind moving into place 
somewhere to the east of Argoch. There was a lot of superstition 
mixed up in what they told me, so I couldn't get anything very 
accurate out of them.' 
'A fight then,' Komier said, rubbing his hands together in 
anticipation. 
'I sort of doubt that,' Bergsten disagreed. 'As closely as I could 
make out from all the gibberish, the force up ahead is composed 
largely of irregulars - religious fanatics of some kind. Our Holy 
Mother in Chyrellos didn't make many friends in this part of 
the world when she tried to re-assimilate herself with the 
branches of Elene faith in western Daresia during the ninth 
century.' 
'That was almost two thousand years ago, Bergsten,' Komier 
objected. 'That's a long time to hold a grudge.' 
Bergsten shrugged. 'The old ones are the best. Send your 
scouts out a little further, Komier. Let's see if we can get some 
kind of coherent report on the welcoming committee. A few 
prisoners might be useful.' 
'I know how to do this, Bergsten.' 
'Do it then. Don't just sit there talking about it.' 

They passed Argoch, and Komier's scouts brought in several 
prisoners. Patriarch Bergsten interrogated the poorly clad and 
ignorant Elene captives briefly, and then he ordered them 
released. 
"your Grace,' Darellon protested, 'that was very unwise. 
Those men will run back to their commanders and report everything

 they've seen.' 
"yes,' Bergsten replied, 'I know. I want them to do that. I also 
want them to tell all their friends that they've seen a hundred 
thousand Church Knights coming down out of the mountains. 
I'm encouraging defections, Darellon. We don't want to kill 
those poor misguided heretics, we just want them to get out of 
our way.' 
'I still think it's strategically unsound, your Grace.' 
"you're entitled to your opinion, my son,' Bergsten said. 'This 
isn't an article of the faith, so our Holy Mother encourages disagreement 

 and discussion.' 
There isn't much point to discussion after you've already let 
them go, your Grace.' 
"you know, that very same thought occurred to me.' 

They encountered the opposing force in the broad valley of 
the River esos just to the south of the Zemoch town of Basne 
thirty leagues or so to the west of the Astellian border. The 
reports of the scouts and the information gleaned from the captives

 proved to be accurate. What faced them was not so much 
an army as it was a mob, poorly armed and undisciplined. 
The preceptors of the Four Orders gathered around Patriarch 
Bergsten to consider options. 'They're members of our own 
faith,' Bergsten told them. 'Our disagreements with them lie in 
the area of Church Government, not in the substance of our 


common beliefs. Those matters aren't settled on the battlefield, 
so I don't want too many of those people killed.' 
'I don't see much danger of that, your Grace,' Preceptor Abriel 
said. 'They outnumber us about two to one, Lord Abriel,' Sir Heldin


pointed out. 'One charge should even things out, Heldin,' Abriel replied. 


'Those people are amateurs, enthusiastic but untrained, and 
about half of them are only armed with pitchforks. If we all drop 
our visors, level our lances and charge them en masse, most of 
them will still be running a week from now." 
And that was the last mistake the venerable Lord Abriel was 
ever to make. The mounted knights fanned out with crisp preCiSion 


 to form up on a broad front stretching across the entire 
valley. Rank after rank of Cyrinics, Pandions, Genidians, 
and Alciones, all clad in steel and mounted on belligerent 
horses, lined up in what was probably one of the more
intimidating displays of organized unfriendliness in the known 
world. The preceptors waited in the very center of the front rank as


their subalterns formed up the rear ranks and the messengers 
galloped forward to declare that all was in readiness. 
'That should be enough,' Komier said impatiently. 'I don't 
think the supply wagons will have to charge too.' he looked 
around at his friends. 'Shall we get started, gentlemen? Let's 
show that rabble out there how real soldiers mount an attack.' 
He made a curt signal to a hulking Genidian Knight, and the 
huge blond man blew a shattering blast on his Ogre-horn 
trumpet. The front rank of the knights clapped down their visors and
spurred their horses forward. The perfectly disciplined knights 
and horses galloped forward in an absolutely straight line like 
a moving wall of steel. 
Midway through the charge the forest of upraised lances came 
down like a breaking wave, and the defections in the opposing
army began. The ill-trained serfs and peasants broke and ran, 
throwing away their weapons and squealing in terror. Here and 
there were some better-trained units that held their ground, 
but the flight of their allies from either side left their flanks 
dangerously exposed. 
The knights struck those few units with a great, resounding 
crash. Once more Abriel felt the old exulting satisfaction of 
battle. His lance shattered against a hastily raised shield, and 
he discarded the broken weapon and drew his sword. He looked 
around and saw that there were other forces massed behind the 
wall of peasants that had concealed them from view, and that 
army was like none Abriel had ever seen before. The soldiers 
were huge, larger than even the Thalesians. They wore breastplates


 and mail, but their cuirasses were more closely moulded 
to their bodies than was normal. Every muscle seemed starkly 
outlined under the gleaming steel. Their helmets were exotic 
steel re-creations of the heads of improbable beasts, and they 
did not have visors as such but steel masks instead, masks which
had been sculpted to bear individualized features, the features, 
Abriel thought, of the warriors who wore them. The Cyrinic 
Preceptor was suddenly chilled. The features the masks revealed
were not human. 



There was a strange domed leather tent in the center of 
that inhuman army, a ribbed., glossy black tent of gigantic 
dimensions. 
But then it moved, opening, spreading wide - two great 
wings, curved and batlike. And then rising up from under the 
shelter of those wings, was a being huge beyond imagining, a 
creature of total darkness with a head shaped like an inverted 
wedge and with flaring, pointed ears. Two slitted eyes blazed 
in that awful absence of a face, and two enormous arms 
stretched forth hungrily. Lightning seethed beneath the glossy 
black skin, and the earth upon which the creature stood smoked 
and burned. 
Abriel was strangely calm. He lifted his visor to look full into 
the face of Hell. 'At last,' he murmured, 'a fitting opponent.' 
And then he clapped his visor down again, drew his warlike 
shield before his body, and raised the sword he had carried with 
honor for over half a century. His unpalsied hand brandished 
the sword at the enormity still rising before him. 'For God and 
Arcium.' he roared his defiance, set himself, and charged 
directly into obliteration. 

CHAPTER 8 

To say that Edaemus was offended would be the grossest of 
understatements. The blur of white light that was the God of 
the Delphae was tinged around the edges with flickers of reddish 
orange, and the dusting of snow that covered the ground in the 
little swale above the valley of the Delphae fumed tendrils of 
steam as it melted in the heat of his displeasure. 'No!' he said 
adamantly. 'Absolutely not!' 
'Oh, be reasonable, Cousin,' Aphrael coaxed. 'The situation 
has changed. You're holding on to something that no longer 
has any meaning. There might have been some justification for 
"eternal enmity" before. I'll grant you that my family didn't 
behave very well during the war with the Cyrgai, but that was 
a long time ago. Clingng to your injured sensibilities now is 
pure childishness.' 
'How couldst thou, Xanetia?' Edaemus demanded accusingly. 
'How couldst thou do this thing?' 
'It was in furtherance of our design, Beloved,' she replied. 
Sephrenia was more than a little startled by the intensely personal 

 relationship Xanetia had with her God. 'Thou didst command

 me to render assistance unto Anakha, and by reason of 
his love for Sephrenia, I was obliged to reach accommodation 
with her. Once she and I did breach the wall of enmity which 
did stand between us and did learn to trust each other, respect 
and common purpose did soften our customary despite, and all 
unbidden, love did gently creep in to replace it. In my heart is 
she now my dear sister. ' 
'That is an abomination! Thou shalt not speak so of this Styric 
in my presence again.' 
'As it please thee, Beloved,' she agreed, submissively bowing 
her head. But then her chin came up, and her inner light glowed 
more intensely. 'But will ye, nil ye, I will continue to think so 


of her in the hidden silence of my heart.' 


'Are you ready to listen, Edaemus?' Aphrael asked, 'or would 
you like to take a century or two to throw a temper-tantrum first?' 
'Thou art pert, Aphrael,' he accused. 
'Yes, I know. It's one of the things that makes me so delightful. 
You do know that Cyrgon's trying to get his hands on Bhelliom, 
don't you? Or have you been so busy playing leap-frog with the 
stars that you've lost track of what's happening here?'
'Mind your manners,' Sephrenia told her crisply. 
'He makes me tired. He's been cuddling his hatred to his 
breast like a sick puppy for ten thousand years.' The Child Goddess 


 looked critically at the incandescent presence of the God 
of the Delphae. 'The light-show doesn't impress me, Edaemus
I could do it too, if I wanted to take the trouble.' 
Edaemus flared even brighter, and the reddish-orange nimbus
around him became sooty. 
'How tiresome,' Aphrael sighed. 'i'm sorry, Xanetia, but we're 
wasting our time here. Bhelliom and I are going to have to deal 
with klael on our own. Your tedious God wouldn't be any help 
anyway.' 
'klael!' Edaemus gasPed. 
'Got your attention, didn't I?' She smirked. 'Are you ready to 
listen now?' 
'Who hath done this? Who hath unloosed Klael again upon 
the earth?'
'Well, it certainly wasn't me. Cyrgon had everything going his 
way, and then Anakha turned things around on him. You know
how much Cyrgon hates to lose, so he started breaking the rules. 
Do you want to help us with this - or would you rather sit 
around and pout for another hundred eons or so? Quickly, 
quickly, Edaemus,' she said, snapping her fingers at him. 'Make 
up your mind. I don't have all day, you know.' 


'What makes you think I need any more men?' Narstil
demanded. Narstil was a lean, almost cadaverous Arjuni with 
StRingy arms and hollow cheeks. He sat at a table set under a 
spreading tree in the center of his encampment deep in the 
jungles of Arjuna. 
'You're in a risky kind of business,' Caalador shrugged, looking 


 around at the cluttered camp. 'You steal furniture and carpets 


 and tapestries. That means that you've been raiding villages 
and mounting attacks on isolated estates. People fight back 
when you try that, and that means casualties. About half of your 
men are wearing bandages right now, and you probably leave 
a few dead behind you every time you try to steal things. A 
leader in your line always needs more men.' 
'I don't have any vacancies just now.' 
'I can arrange some,' Bevier told him in a menacing voice, 
melodramatically drawing his thumb across the edge of his 
lochaber. 
'Look, Narstil,' Caalador said in a somewhat less abrasive 
tone, 'we've seen your men. Be honest now. You've gathered
up a bunch of local bad-boys who got into trouble for stealing 
chickens or running off somebody else's goats. You're very light 
on professionals, and that's what we're offering you - professionalism. 



 Your bad-boys bluster and try to impress each 
other by looking mean and nasty, but real killing isn't in their 
nature, and that's why they get hurt when the fighting starts. 
Killing doesn't bother us. We're used to it. Your young bravos
have to prove things to each other, but we don't. Order knows 
who we are. He wouldn't have sent you that letter otherwise.' 
His eyes narrowed slightly. 'Believe me, Narstil, life will be 


much easier for all of us if we're working with you rather than 
setting up shop across the street.' 
Narstil looked a little less certain of himself. 'I'll think about 
it,' he said. 
'Do that. And don't get any ideas about trying to eliminate 
potential competition in advance. Your bad-boys wouldn't be 
up to it, and my friends and I would sort of be obliged to take 
it personally.'


'Stop that.' Sephrenia chided her sister as the four of them 
moved through the corridorlike streets of Delphaeus toward the 
home of Codon, the Anari of Xanetia's people. 
'Edaemus is doing it,' Aphrael countered. 
'It's his city, and these are his people. It's not polite to do that 
when you're a guest.' 
Xanetia gave them a puzzled look. ' 
'My sister's showing off,' Sephrenia explained. 
'Am not,' Aphrael retorted.
'Yes you are too, Aphrael, and you and I both know it. We've 
had this argument before. Now stop it.' 
'I do not understand,' Xanetia confessed.
'That's because you've grown accustomed to the sense of her 
presence, sister,' Sephrenia explained wearily. 'She's not supposed


 to flaunt her divinity this way when she's around the 
worshippers of other Gods. It's the worst form of bad manners, 
and she knows it. She's only doing it to irritate Edaemus. I'm 
surprised she hasn't flattened the whole city or set fire to the 
thatching on the roofs with all that divine personality.' 
'That's a spiteful thing to say, Sephrenia,' Aphrael accused. 
'Behave yourself then.' 
'I won't unless Edaemus does.' 
Sephrenia sighed, rolling her eyes upward. 
They entered the southern wing of the extended city-building 
that was Delphaeus and proceeded down a dim hallway to ' 
Codon's door. The Anari was waiting for them, his ancient face 
filled with wonder. He fell to his knees as the light that was 
Edaemus approached, but his God dimmed, assumed a human 
form, and reached out gently to raise him to his feet again. ' 
"That is not needful, my old friend,' he said. 
'Why, Edaemus,' Aphrael said, 'you're really quite handsome. 


 You shouldn't hide from us in all that light the way 
you do.' A faint smile touched the ageless face of the Delphaeic God. 
'Seek not beguile me with flattery, Aphrael. I know thee, and I 
know thy ways. Thou shalt not so easily ensnare me.'
'Oh, really? Thou art ensnared already, Edaemus. I do but toy 
with thee now. My hand is already about thine heart. In time, 
I shall close it and make thee mine.' And she laughed a silvery 
little peal of laughter. 'But that's between you and me, Cousin. 



Right now we have other things to do.' 

Xanetia fondly embraced the ancient Codon. 'As thou canst 

readily perceive, my dear old friend, momentous changes are 

afoot. The dire peril which we face doth reshape our entire 

world. Let us consider that peril first, and then at our leisure 

may we pause to marvel at how all about us is altered.' 

Codon led them down the three worn stone steps into his 

low-ceilinged chamber with its inwardly curving, white plastered 
walls, its comfortable furniture, and its cheery fire. 

'Tell them what's been going on, Xanetia,' Aphrael suggested, 

climbing up into Sephrenia's lap. 'That may explain why it was 

necessary for me to violate all the rules and come here.' She 

gave Edaemus an arch look. 'Regardless of what you may think, 

Cousin, I do have good manners, but we've got an emergency 

on our hands.' 

Sephrenia leaned back in her chair as Xanetia began her 

account of the events of the past several months. There was a 

sense of peace, an unruffled calm about Delphaeus that 

Sephrenia had not perceived during her last visit. At that time, 

her mind had been so filled with obsessive hatred that she had 

scarcely taken note of her surroundings. The Delphae had 

appealed to Sparhawk to seal their valley away from the rest of 

the world, but that seemed somehow unnecessary. They were 

already separate - so separate that they no longer seemed even 

human. In a peculiar way, Sephrenia envied them. 

infuriating, aren't they?' the Child Goddess murmured. 'And 

the word you're looking for is "serenity".' 

'And you're doing everything in your power to disturb that, 

aren't you?' 

'They're still a part of this world, Sephrenia - for a little while 

longer, anyway. All I'm doing is reminding them that the rest 

of us are still out here.' 

"you're behaving very badly toward Edaemus.' 

'i'm trying to jerk him back to reality. He's been off by himself 

for the past hundred centuries, and he's forgotten what it's like 

having the rest of us around. I'm reminding him. Actually, it's 

good for him. He was starting to get complacent.' She slipped 

down from her sister's lap. 'Excuse me,' she said. 'It's time for 

me to give him another lesson. ' She crossed the room and stood 

studying him with her large, dark eyes. 

The God of the Delphae was so engrossed in Xanetia's account 

that he scarcely noticed Aphrael and, when she held out her 

arms to him, he absently picked her up and settled her into his 

laP. 

Sephrenia smiled. 

'And most recently,' Xanetia concluded her report, 'young Sir 

berit hath been given further instruction. He is to turn aside and 

go to the town of Sepal on the coast of the Sea of Arjun. He 

hath advised the Child Goddess of this alteration of direction, 

and she in turn hath made the rest of us aware of it. It is the 

intent of the Troll-Gods to transport Sir Ulath and Sir Tynian to 

Sepal and to conceal them there in what they call "No-Time". 

It is their thought that when our enemies produce Queen Ehlana 

to exchange her for Bhelliom, they might leap from their concealment 
and rescue her.' 

'No-Time?' Codon asked, his face puzzled. 


'Suspended duration,' Aphrael explained. 'Trolls are hunters, 
and their Gods have found a new place of concealment for them 
so that they're able to stalk their prey unseen. It's clever, but it 
has its drawbacks.'
Edaemus asked her something in that language Sephrenia had 
tried several times to learn but had never really been able to 
grasp. Aphrael replied, speaking rapidly in a rather dry, technical 


 tone and making intricate gestures with her hands. 
'Ah,' he said finally, lapsing back into Tamul and with an 
expression of comprehension flooding his face. 'It is a peculiar 
notion.' 
'You know how the Troll-Gods are.' She made a little face. 
'Didst thou in truth wring acceptance of thine outrageous 
demands from them?' 
'I had something they wanted.' She shrugged. 'They've been 
trying to think up some way to escape from Bhelliom for three 
hundred centuries now. They didn't like my conditions, but they 
didn't have much choice.' 
'Thou are cruel, Aphrael.' 
'Not really. I was driven by necessity, and necessity's neither 
cruel nor kindly. It just is. I kissed them a few times when I 
stopped by a couple of days ago, and that made them feel better 
it did once they realized that I wasn't going to take a bite out 
of them, anyway.' 
'Thou didst not!' He seemed aghast. 
'They aren't so bad,' she defended her action. 'I suppose I 
could have scratched them behind the ears, but that might have 
insulted them, so I kissed them instead.' She smiled. 'A few 
more kisses and I'd have had them licking my fingers like 
Puppies.' He straightened, then suddenly blinked as if realizing for the 


first time where she was sitting. 
She gave him another of those mysterious little smiles and 
patted his cheek. 'That's all right, Cousin,' she told him. 'You'll 
come around eventually. They always do.' And she slipped 
down from his lap and walked back across the room to rejoin 


her sister.


'That's my place!' a burly fellow of indeterminate race asserted 
threateningly as Kalten dropped his saddle-bags and bed-roll on
a clear spot under a large tree. 
'It was,' Kalten grunted. 
'You can't just walk in here and steal a man's place like this.' 
'Oh? Is it against the law or something?' Kalten straightened. 
He was at least a head taller than the other man, and he bulked 
large in his mail-shirt. 'My friends and I are going to be staying 
right here,' he stated flatly, 'so pick up your bed and all this 
other trash and go someplace else.' 
'i'm not in the habit of taking orders from Elenes!' 
'That's too bad. Now move away. I've got work to do.' Kalten 
was not in a good humor. Alcans peril gnawed at him constantly, 


 and even slight irritations rubbed his temper raw. Some 
of that must have showed on his face. The other man backed 
off a few steps.
'Further,' Kalten told him. 



'I'll be back,' the man blustered, retreating a few more steps. 
'I'll be back with all my friends.' 
'I can hardly wait.' Kalten deliberately turned his back on the 
man he had just dispossessed. 
Caalador and Bevier joined him. 'Trouble?' Caalador asked. 
'I wouldn't'! call it that,' Kalten shrugged. 'I was just establishing 


 some rank, is all. Any time you come into a new situation, 
you have to push a few people around to make everybody 
else understand that you're not going to put up with any foolishness. 

Let's get settled in.' 
They had erected their tent and were gathering leaves and 
moss for beds when Narstil stopped by. 'I see you're getting set 
up, Ezek,' he said to Caalador. His tone was conciliatory, though 
not quite cordial. 
'A few finishing touches are about all that's left,' Caalador 
replied. 
'You men make a good camp,' Narstil noted. 
'A cluttered camp is the sign of a cluttered mind,' Caalador 
said.


shrugged. 'i'm glad you stopped by, Narstil. We hear that 
there's an army camped out not far from here. Do they cause 
you any problems?' 
'We've got an agreement with them,' Narstil replied. 'We 
don't steal from them, and they leave us alone. That's not a real 
army in Natayos, though. It's more like a large band of rebels. 
They want to overthrow the government.' 
'Doesn't everybody?' 
Narstil laughed. 'Actually, having that mob in Natayos is very 
good for my business. The fact that they're all there keeps the 
police out of this part of the jungle, and one of the reasons they 
tolerate us is because we rob travelers, and that keeps people 
from snooping around Natayos. We do a fairly brisk business 
with them. They're a ready market for just about everything we 
steal.' 


'How far is this Natayos place from here?' 
'About ten miles. It's an old ruin. Scarpa - he's the one in 
charge over there - moved in with his rebels a couple of years 
back. He's fortified it, and he's bringing in more of his followers 
every day. I don't care much for him, but business is business.' 
'What's he like?' 
'He's crazy. Some days he's so crazy that he bays at the moon. 
He's convinced that he'll be emperor one day, and I expect it 
won't be long until he marches his rabble out of those ruins. 
He's fairly safe in this jungle, but just as soon as he gets out 
into open country, the Atans will grind him into dog meat right 
on the spot.' 
'Are we supposed to care about that?' Bevier asked. 
'I personally couldn't care less,' Narstil assured the apparently 
one-eyed ruffian. 'it's the loss of his business that concerns 
me ' 


'Can just anybody walk in and out of Natayos any time he 
feels like it?' Kalten asked as if only mildly curious. 
'if you're leading a mule loaded down with food or drink, 



they'll welcome you with open arms. I send an ox-cart loaded 
down with barrels of ale every few days. You know how soldiers 
like their ale.' 
'Oh, yes,' Kalten agreed. 'i've known a few soldiers in my 
time, and their whole world stops when somebody opens an 
ale barrel.' 

' It 'doth derive from our ability to control the light which doth 
emulate from us,' Codon explained. 'What we call sight is profoundly

 influenced by light. The subterfuge is not perfect. Some 
faint shimmers do appear, and we must be wary lest our 
shadows reveal our presence, but with a certain care, we can be 
unobserved. ' 
'Now there are some interesting contrasts,' Aphrael said. 'The 
Troll-Gods tamper with time, you tamper with light, and I tamper 

 with the attention of the people I want to hide from, but it's 
all an attempt to achieve some measure of invisibility.' 
'Knowest thou of any who can be truly invisible, Divine One?' 
Xanetia asked. 
'I don't. Do you, Cousin?' 
Edaemus shook his head. 
"We can come close, though,' the Child Goddess said. 'The 
real thing would probably have drawbacks. It's a very good idea, 
Anari Codon, but I don't want Xanetia to put herself in any kind 
of danger. I love her too much for that.' 
Xanetia flushed slightly, and then she gave Edaemus an 
almost guilty look. Sephrenia laughed. 'I must in honesty warn 
thee, Edaemus,' she said. 'Guard well thy worshippers. My 
Goddess is a notorious thief.' She frowned thoughtfully. 'if 
Xanetia could go unobserved into Sepal, it could be very useful. 
Her ability to reach into the thoughts of others would enable 
her to discover in short order whether Ehlana's there or not. If 
she is, we can take steps. If not, we'll know that Sepal's just 
another diversion.' 
Codon looked at Edaemus. 'I think, Beloved One, that we 
must extend our involvement in the world around us further 
than we had earlier planned. Anakha's concern for the safety of 
his wife doth take precedence in his mind o'er all else, and his 
promise to us doth stand in peril until she be returned to him 
safe and whole.' 
Edaemus sighed. 'it may be e'en as thou sayest, my Anari. 
Though it doth make me unquiet, it would appear that we must 
set aside our repugnance and join in the search for Anakha's 
wife, lending such aid as is within our power.' 
'Are you really sure you want to become involved in this 
edaemus?' APhrael asked him. 'Really, really sure?' 
I have said it, Aphrael.' 
'Aren't you the least bit interested in why I'm so concerned 
with the fate of a pair of Elenes? Elenes do have their own God, 
you know. Why do you imagine that I'd be so interested in 
them?' 

'Why is it ever thy wont to speak circuitously, Aphrael?' 
'Because I love to surprise people,' she replied sweetly. 'I 
really do want to thank you for your concern about the well-being 
of my mother and father, Cousin. You've touched me to the 


very heart.' 
He stared at her in stunned astonishment. 'Thou didst not!' he 
gasped. 'Somebody had to do it.' She shrugged. 'One of us had to keep 

an eye on Bhelliom. Anakha is Bhelliom's creature, but as long 
as I have my hand around his heart, I can more or less control 
the things he does.' 
'But they're Elenes!' 
'Oh, grow up, Edaemus. Elene, Styric, Delphae - what difference 

 does it make? You can love all of them if your heart's not 
closed.' 
'But they eat pigs!' 
'I know,' she shuddered. 'Believe me, I know. It's one of the 
things I've been working on.' 

Senga was a good-natured brigand whose racial origins were so 
mixed that no one could really tell what he was. He grinned a 
great deal, and he was loud and boisterous and had an infectious 
laugh. Kalten liked him, and Senga appeared to have found a 
kindred spirit in the Elene outlaw he knew as Col. He was laughing

 as he came across Narstil's cluttered compound where furniture 

 and other household goods were stacked in large, untidy 
heaps on the bare ground. 'Ho, Col!' he shouted as he 
approached the tree where Kalten, Caalador, and Bevier had 
pitched their tent. 'You should have come along. An ox-cart load 
of ale opens every door in Natayos.' 
'Armies make me nervous, Senga,' Kalten replied. 'The 
officers are always trying to enlist you - usually at sword-point 
and generals as a group tend to be overly moralistic for my 
taste. The term "martial law" makes my blood run cold for some 
reason.' 
'Scarpa grew up in a tavern, my friend,' Senga assured him, 
'and his mother was a whore, so he's accustomed to the seamier 
side of human nature.' 
'How did you make out?' Kalten asked. 
Senga grinned, rolled his eyes and jingled a heavy purse. 
'Well enough to make me consider giving up crime and opening 
my own brewery. The only problem with that is the fact that 
our friends at Natayos probably won't be there all that much 
longer. If I set up shop as a brewer and my customers all 
marched off to get killed by the Atans, I'd probably have to 
drink all that ale by myself, and nobody's that thirsty.' 
'Oh? What makes you think those rebels are getting ready to 
leave?' 
'Nothing very specific,' Senga said, sprawling out on the 
ground and offering Kalten his wineskin. 'Scarpa's been gone 
for the past several weeks. He and two or three Elenes left 
Natayos last month, and nobody I talked with knew where he 
was going or why.' 
Kalten carefully kept his expression disinterested. 'I hear that 
he's crazy. Crazy men don't need reasons for the things they 
do or the places they go.' 
'Scarpa's crazy enough, all right, but he can certainly whip 
those rebels of his into a frenzy. When he decides to make a 
speech, you'd better find a comfortable place to sit, because 
you're going to be there for six hours at least. Anyway, he went 


off a while back, and his army was getting settled in for the 
winter. That's all changed now that he's back.' 
Kalten became very alert. 'He's come back?' 
'That he has, my friend. Here, give us a drink.' Senga
took the wineskin and tipped it up, squirting a long stream of 
wine into his mouth. Then he wiped his chin on the back of 
his hand. 'He and those Elene friends of his came riding into 
Natayos not four days ago. They had a couple of women with 
them, I hear.'
Kalten sank down on the ground and made some show of 
adjusting his sword-belt to cover his sudden excitement. 'I 
thought Scarpa hated women,' he said, trying to keep his voice 
casual.
'Oh, that he does, my friend, but from what I hear, these two 
women weren't just some playthings he picked up along the 
way. They had their hands tied, for one thing, and the fellow I 
talked with said that they were a little bedraggled, but they 
didn't really look like tavern wenches. He didn't get a very good 
look at them, because Scarpa hustled them into a house that 
seems to have been fixed up for somebody a little special - fancy 
furniture and rugs on the floor and all that.' 
'Was there anything unusual about them?' Kalten almost held 
his breath. 
Senga shrugged and took another drink. 'just the fact that 
they weren't treated like ordinary camp followers, I suppose.' 
He scratched his head. 'There was something else the fellow told 
me,' he said. 'What was it now?' 
Kalten did hold his breath this time. 
'Oh, yes,' Senga said, 'now I remember. The fellow said that 
these two women Scarpa took all the trouble to invite to Natayos 
were Elenes. Isn't that odd?' 


CHAPTER 9 


The town of Beresa on the southeastern Arjuni coast was a low, 
unlovely place squatting toadlike on the beach lying between 
the South Tamul Sea and the swampy green jungle behind it. 
The major industry of the region was the production of charcoal, 
and acrid smoke hung in the humid air over Beresa like a curse. 
Captain Sorgi dropped his anchor some distance out from the 
wharves and went ashore to consult with the harbor master. 
Sparhawk, Stragen, and Talen, wearing their canvas smocks, 
leaned on the port rail staring across the smelly water toward 
their destination. 'I have an absolutely splendid idea, From,' 
Stragen said to Sparhawk. 
'Oh?' Sparhawk replied. 
'Why don't we jump ship?'
'Nice try, Vymer,' Talen laughed. They were all more or less 
at ease with the assumed names by now. 
Sparhawk looked around carefully to make sure that none of 
the rest of the crew was near. 'An ordinary sailor wouldn't leave 
Without collecting his pay. Let's not do anything to attract attention.


 All that's really left to do is the unloading of the cargo.' 
'Under the threat of the bo'sun's whip,' Stragen added
glumly. 'That man really tests my self-control. just the sight of 
him makes me want to kill him.' 



'We can endure him this one last time,' Sparhawk told him. 
This town's going to be full of unfriendly eyes. Krager's note 
told me to come here, and he'll have people here to make sure 
I'm not trying to sneak in reinforcements behind his back.' 
"that might just be the flaw in this whole plan, From,' Stragen 
said. 'Sorgi knows that we're not ordinary sailors. Is he the kind 
to let things slip?' Sparhawk shook his head. 'Sorgi knows how to keep his 


mouth shut. He was paid to get us to Beresa unnoticed, and 
Sorgi always does what he's paid to do.'
The captain returned late that afternoon, and they raised 
anchor and eased up to one of the long wharves protruding out 
into the harbor. They unloaded the cargo the next morning. 
The bo'sun cracked his whip only sparingly, and the unloading 
proceeded rapidly. 
Then, when the cargo holds were all emptied, the sailors lined 
up and filed along the quarterdeck where Sorgi sat at a small 
table with his account book and his stacks of coins. The captain 
gave each sailor a little speech as he paid him. The speeches 
varied slightly, but the general message was the same: 'Stay out 
of trouble, and get back to the ship on time. I won't wait for 
you when the time comes to sail.' He did not alter the speech 
when he paid Sparhawk and his friends, and his face did not 
in any way betray the fact they were anything other than ordinary 


 crew members. Sparhawk and his two friends went down the gangway with 


their sea-bags on their shoulders and with a certain amount of 
anticipation. 'Now I see why sailors are so rowdy when they 
reach port,' Sparhawk said. 'That wasn't really much of a woyage, 


 and I still feel a powerful urge to kick over the traces.' 
'Where to?' Talen asked when they reached the street. 
'There's an inn called the Seaman's Rest,' Stragen replied. 'it's 
supposed to be a clean, quiet place out beyond the main battle 
zone here along the waterfront. It should give us a base of operations


 to work from.'
The sun was just going down as they passed through the 
noisy, reeking streets of Beresa. The buildings were constructed 
for the most part of squared-off logs, since stone was rare here on 
the vast, soggy delta of the Arjun River, and the logs appeared to 
have been attacked by damp rot almost before they were in 
place. Moss and fungus grew everywhere, and the air was thick 
with the chill damp and the acrid wood smoke from the charcoal 
yards outside of town. The Arjunis in the streets were noticeably 
more swarthy than their Tamul cousins of the north, their eyes 
were shifty, and even their most casual gait through the muddy 


streets of their unlovely town seemed somehow furtive. 
Sparhawk muttered the spell under his breath as they passed 
along the shabby street, and he released it carefully to avoid 
alerting the watchers he was sure were there. 
'Well?' Talen asked. Talen had been around Sparhawk long 
enough to know the signs that the big Pandion was using magic. 
'They're out there,' Sparhawk replied. 'Three of them that I 
can pick up.' 
'Are they concentrating on us?' Stragen asked tensely.
Sparhawk shook his head. 'Their attention's sort of generalized. 



 They aren't Styrics, so they won't know I've gone looking 

 for them. Let's just move along. If they start to follow us, 
I'll let you know.' 
The Seaman's Rest was a square, tidy inn festooned with fish 
nets and other nautical decorations. It was run by a burly retired 
sea captain and his equally burly wife. They brooked no nonsense

 under their roof and they recited a long list of house rules 
to each prospective tenant before they would accept his money. 
Sparhawk had not even heard of some of the things that were 
prohibited. 
'Where to now?' Talen asked after they had stowed their seabags 

 in their room and come back out into the muddy street. 
'Back to the waterfront,' Stragen replied. 'The chief of the 
local thieves is a man named Estokin. He deals extensively with 
smugglers and with sailors who pilfer things from cargo holds. 
I've got a letter from Caalador. Ostensibly, we're here to make 
sure that he got his money's worth during the Harvest Festival. 
Arjunis aren't generally trusted, so Estokin won't be too surprised 

 to see us.' 
Estokin the Arjuni was a man who had clearly been destined 
for a life of crime from the day he was born. He had what was 
perhaps the most evil face Sparhawk had ever seen. His left eye 
peered perpetually off in a northeasterly direction, and he had 
a pronounced squint. His beard was sparse and straggly, and 
his skin was blotched with a scaly disease. He scratched at his 
face almost continually, showering white flakes like a winter 
sky. His high-pitched, nasal voice was very much like the whine 
of a hungry mosquito, and he reeked of garlic, cheap wine and 
pickled herring. 'is Caalndor accusing me of cheating him, 
Vymer?' he demanded with some show of indignation. 
'Of course not.' Stragen leaned back in the rickety chair in the 
back room of the smelly waterfront dive. 'if he thought you'd 
done that, you'd already be dead. He wants to know if we 
missed anybody, that's all. Were any local people particularly 
upset when the bodies started to turn up?' 
Estokin squinted at Stragen with his good eye. 'What's it 
worth to him?' he haggled. 
'We've been instructed to let you live if you co-operate," 
Stragen countered in a cool voice. 
'You can't threaten me like that, Vymer,' Estokin blustered. 
'I wasn't threatening you, old boy. I was just letting you know 
how things stand. Let's get to the point here. Who got excited 
here in Beresa after the killings?' 
'Not very many, really.' Stragen's chilly manner had evidently 
persuaded Estokin to behave himself. 'There was a Styric here 
who was fairly free with his money before the Harvest Festival.' 
'What was he buying?' 
'information, mostly. He was on the list Caalador gave me, 
but he managed to get away - rode off into the jungle. I've got 
a couple of local cut-throats on his trail.' 
'i'd sort of like to talk with him before they put him to sleep.' 
'Not much chance, Vymer. They're a long way out in the bush 
by now.' Estokin scratched at his forehead, stirring up another 
snow flurry. 'i'm not sure why Caalador wanted all those people 
killed,' he said, 'and I don't really want to know, but I'm getting 
a whiff or two of politics, and here in Arjuna that means Scarpa. 


You might want to warn Caalador to be very careful. I've talked 
with a few deserters from that rebel army in the jungle. We've 
all heard stories about how crazy Scarpa is, but let me tell 
you, my friend, the stories don't even come close. If only half 
of what I've heard is true, Scarpa's the craziest man who 
ever lived.' 
Sparhawk's stomach gave a lurch, and then it settled into a 
cold knot. 

'Father?' 
Sparhawk sat up in bed quickly. 
'Are you awake?' the Child Goddess asked, her voice roaring 
in his mind. 
'Of course. Please lower your voice a bit. You're jarring my 
teeth.' 
'I wanted to be sure I had your attention. Some things have 
happened. Berit and Khalad got some new instructions from 
Krager. They're supposed to go to Sepal now instead of coming 
here to Beresa.' 
Sparhawk swore. 
'Please don't use that kind of language, Father. I am just a 
little girl, you know.' 
He ignored that. 'is the trade going to take place in Sepal?' 
'it's hard to say. Bevier's been in touch with me too. Kalten 
talked with an outlaw who's been selling beer to the soldiers in 
Natayos, and he says that Scarpa's gone back there. Then the 
outlaw told Kalten that Scarpa had two Elene women with Him 
when he returned.' 
Sparhawk's heart leaped. 'Was he sure?' 
'Kalten thinks so. The fellow didn't have any reason to lie 
about it. Of course, Kalten's beer merchant didn't actually see 
them for himself, so don't get your hopes up too much. It could 
be a very carefully planted story. Zalasta's in Natayos, and he 
could be trying to lure you there or trying to trick you into giving 
away any secrets you might have tucked up your sleeve. He 
knows you well enough to know that you'll try to do something 
he doesn't expect.' 
'is there any way you could find out for sure if your mother's 
in Natayos?' 
'i'm afraid not. I could slip around Scarpa easily enough, but 
Zalasta would sense me immediately. It's too risky.' 
'What else is going on?' 
'Ulath and Tynian have reached the Troll-Gods. Ghnomb's 
going to take them to Sepal in that frozen time he's so fond of, 
and they'll be there when Berit and Khalad arrive. Ghnomb 
knows another way to play around with time, so he's going to 
skip Ulath and Tynian from moment to moment. It's a little 
complicated, but they'll be there and watching and nobody will 
be able to see them. If Scarpa and Zalasta try to make the trade 
in Sepal, Tynian and Ulath will be right on top of them to rescue 
Mother and Alcan.' 
'Zalasta can follow them into that frozen moment, you know.' 
That wouldn't really pay him, Father. Khwaj was outraged 
when he heard about Mother, so he's going to be lurking in 
NoTime. If Zalasta tries to follow Ulath and Tynian, Khwaj will 
set him on fire - and the fire won't ever go out.' 


'I could learn to grow fond of Khwaj.' 
'Sephrenia and Xanetia are in Delphaeus,' Aphrael continued. 
'Edaemus is being tiresome, but the news about Klael shook his 
tree, so I'll probably be able to coax him down out of the 
branches. He knows that Mother's captivity puts the arrangement

 you have with Codon at risk, so he's agreed to help us 
rescue her. I'll keep working on him. If I can push him just a 
little further, he might agree to let the Delphae come out of their 
valley. They could be enormously helpful to us.' 
'Why didn't you tell me about all of this earlier?' 
'What would you have done if I had, Sparhawk?' Jumped over 
the side of Sorgi's ship and swum ashore?' 
'I need to know these things when they happen, Aphrael.' 
'Why? Let me take care of the fretting and worrying, Sparhawk. 

 All it does is make you foul-tempered.' 
He let that pass. 'i'll tell this to Bhelliom.' 
'Absolutely not! We don't dare open that box. Cyrgon or Klael 
will feel Bhelliom instantly if we do.' 
'Didn't you know?' he asked her mildly. 'I don't have to open 
the box to speak with Bhelliom. We can talk with each other 
right through the gold.' 
'Why didn't you tell me?' 
'What would you have done if I had? Jumped into the sea and 
come swimming after Sorgi's ship?' 
There was a long moment of silence. 'You really enjoy turning 
my own words around and throwing them back in my teeth like 
that, don't you, Sparhawk?' 
'Naturally. Was there anything else you'd like to share with 
me, Divine One?' 
But the sense of her presence was gone, leaving only a slightly 
huffy silence behind. 

'Where's - ah - Vymer?' Sparhawk asked Talen as the boy 
entered the room a few minutes later. 
'He's out attending to something,' Talen replied evasively. 
'Attending to what?' 
'He asked me not to tell you.' 
'All right. I'm asking you to ignore him - and I'm right here 
where I can get my hands on you.' 
'That's a crude way to put it.' 
'Nobody's perfect. What's he up to?' 
Talen sighed. 'One of Estokin's men stopped by - just after 
you came up to go to bed. He said that there are three Elenes 
in town who are letting it be known they'll pay good money for 
information about any strangers who seem to be settling in for 
a long stay. Vymer decided to look them up.' Talen glanced 
meaningfully at the walls of their small room. 'i'd guess that he 
probably wants to find out just exactly what they mean by "good 
money". You know Vymer when there's some profit to be 
made.' 
'He should have told me,' Sparhawk said cautiously. "I'm not 
any more allergic to a quick profit than he is.' 
'Sharing isn't one of Vymer's strong points, From.' Talen 
touched his ear and then laid a finger to his lips. 'Why don't 
we go out and see if we can find him?' 
'Good idea.' Sparhawk quickly pulled on his clothes, and the 


two of them clattered down the stairs and out into the street. 
'I just had a religious experience,' Sparhawk murmured aS 
they walked into the noisy area near the docks. 
'Oh?' 
'One of those Divine visitations.' 
'Ah. What did your Divine visitor have to say?' 
'A broken-nosed friend of ours got another one of those notes. 
He's been told to go to Sepal instead of coming here.' 
Talen muttered a fairly vile oath. 
'My feelings exactly. Isn't that Vymer coming up the street?' 
Sparhawk pointed at a blond man in a tar-smeared smock who 
was lurching unsteadily toward them. 
Talen peered at the fellow. 'I think you're right.' He made a 
face. 'The ladies who changed things around may have gone a 
little far. He doesn't even walk the same any more.' 
'What are you two doing out this late?' Stragen asked as he 
joined them. 
'We got lonesome,' Sparhawk replied in a flat tone of voice. 
'For me? I'm touched. Let's go for a walk on the beach, my 
friends. I find myself yearning for the smell of salt water - and 
the nice loud sound of waves crashing on the sand.' 
They went on past the last of the wharves and then out onto 
the sand. The clouds had blown off, and there was a bright 
moon. They reached the water's edge and stood looking out at 
the long combers rolling in off the south Tamul Sea to hammer 
noisily on the wet sand. 
'What have you been up to, Stragen?' Sparhawk demanded 
bluntly. 
'Business, old boy. I just enlisted us in the intelligence service 
of the other side.' 
'You did what?' 
'The three you sensed when we first got here needed a few 
good men. I volunteered our services.' 
'Are you out of your mind?' 
'Of course not. Think about it for a while, Sparhawk. What 
better way is there to gather information? Our celebration of the 
Harvest Festival thinned their ranks drastically, so they can't 
afford to be choosy. I paid Estokin to vouch for us, and then I 
told them a few lies. They're expecting a certain Sir Sparhawk 
to flood the town with sharp-eyed people. We're supposed to 
report anybody we see who's acting a little suspicious. I provided 

 them with a prime suspect.' 
'Oh? Who was that?' 
'Captain Sorgi's bo'sun - you know, the fellow with the whip.' 
Sparhawk suddenly laughed. 'That was a truly vicious thing 
to do, Stragen.' 
'I rather liked it, myself.' 
'Aphrael came by to call,' Talen said. 'She told Sparhawk that 
Berit and my brother have been ordered to change direction. 
Now they're supposed to go to Sepal on the coast of the Sea of 
Arjun.' 
Stragen swore. 
'I already said that,' Talen told 'him. 
'We probably should have expected it,' Sparhawk said. 'Krager's 

 working for the other side, and he knows us well enough 
to anticipate some of the things we might try to do.' He suddenly 


banged his fist into the palm of his hand. 'I wish I could talk 
with Sephrenia!' he burst out. 
"You can, as I recall,' Stragen said. 'Didn't Aphrael fix it once 
so that you and Sephrenia talked together when she was in 
Sarsos and you were in Cimmura?' 
Sparhawk suddenly felt more than a little foolish. 'i'd forgotten 


about that,' he admitted. 
'That's all right, old boy,' Stragen excused him. 'You've got a 
lot on your mind. Why don't you have a word with her Divine 
little Whimsicality and see if she can arrange a council of war 
someplace? I think it might be time for a good, old-fashioned 
get-together. '


Sparhawk knew where he was before he even opened his eyes. 
The fragrance of wildflowers and tree blossoms immediately 
identified the eternal spring of Aphrael's own private reality. 
'Art thou now awake, Anakha?' the white deer asked him, 
touching his hand with her nose. ' 
'Yea, gentle creature,' he replied, opening his eyes and touching 


 the side of her face. He was in the pavilion again and he 
looked out through the open flap at the flower-studded
meadow, the sparkling azure sea, and the rainbow-colored sky 
above. 
'The others do await thy coming on the eyot,' the hind advised
him. 
'We must hasten, then,' he said, rising from his bed. He followed 


 her from the pavilion out into the meadow where the 
white tigress indulgently watched the awkward play of her 
large-footed cubs. He rather idly wondered if these were the 
same cubs she had been tending when he had first visited this 
enchanted realm a half-dozen years ago. 
'Well, of course they are, Sparhawk,' Aphrael's voice murmured 


 in his ear. 'Nothing ever changes here.'


He smiled. 
The white deer led him to that beautiful, impractical boat, a 
swan-necked craft with sails like wings, elaborate embellishment 
and so much of its main structure above the water line that a 
sneeze would have capsized it, had it existed in the real world. 
'Critic,' Aphrael's voice accused him. 
'it's your dream, Divine One. You can put any impossibility 
in it that you want.' 
'Oh, thank you, Sparhawk!' she said with effusive irony. 
The emerald green eyot, crowned with ancient oaks and 
Aphrael's alabaster temple, nestled in the sapphire sea, and the 
swan-necked boat touched the golden beach in only minutes. 
Sparhawk looked around as he stepped out onto the sand. The 
disguises most of them wore in the real world had been discarded, 


 and they all had their own features here in this eternal 
dream. Some of them had been here before. Those who had not 
had expressions of bemused wonderment as they all lounged in 
the lush grass that blanketed the slopes of the enchanted isle. 
The Child Goddess and Sephrenia sat side by side on an alabaster 


 bench in the temple. Aphrael's expression was pensive, 
and she was playing a complex Styric melody in a minor key on
her many-chambered pipes. 'What kept you, Sparhawk?' she 



asked, lowering the rude instrument. 
"The person in charge of my travel arrangements took me on 
a little side-trip,' he replied. 'Are we all here?'
'Everybody who's supposed to be. Come up here, all of you, 
and let's get started.' 
They climbed up the slope to the temple. 
'Where is this place?' Sarabian asked in an awed voice. 
'Aphrael carries it in her mind, your Majesty,' Vanion replied. 
'She invites us here from time to time. She likes to show it off.' 
'Don't be insulting, Vanion,' the Child Goddess told him. 
'Well, don't you?' 
'Of course, but it's not nice to come right out and say it like 
that.' 
'I feel different here, for some reason,' Caalador noted. 'Better, 
somehow.' 
Vanion smiled. 'it's a very healthy place, my friend,' he said. 'I 
was seriously ill at the end of the Zemoch war - dying, actually. 
Aphrael brought me here for a month or so, and I was disgustingly


 healthy by the time I left.' 
They all reached the little temple and took seats on the marble 
benches lining the columned perimeter. Sparhawk looked
around, frowning. 'Where's Emban?' he asked their hostess. 
'it wouldn't have been appropriate for him to be here, Sparhawk. 


 Your Elene God makes exceptions in the case of the 
Church Knights, but he'd probably throw a fit if I brought one 
of the Patriarchs of his Church here. I didn't invite the Atans 
either - or the Peloi.' She smiled. 'Neither group is comfortable 
with the idea of religious diversity, and this place would probably 


 confuse them.' She rolled her eyes upward. 'You wouldn't 
believe how long it took me to persuade Edaemus to permit Xanetia 
to come. He doesn't approve of me. He thinks I'm frivolous.' 
'You?' Sparhawk feigned some surprise. 'How could he possibly 

 believe something like that?' 
'Let's get at this,' Sephrenia said. 'Why don't you start, Berit? 
We know generally what happened, but we don't have any 
details.' 
'Yes, Lady Sephrenia,' the young knight replied. 'Khalad and 
I were coming down the coast, and we'd been watched from 
almost the moment we came ashore. I used the spell and identified 

 the watcher as a Styric. He came to us after several days 
and gave us another one of those notes from Krager. The note 
told us to continue down the coast, but once we get past the 
Tamul Mountains, we're supposed to cut across country to Sepal 
instead of continuing south. The note said that we'd get further 
instructions there. It was definitely from Krager. It had another 
lock of Queen Ehlana's hair in it.' 
'i'm going to talk with Krager about that when I catch up with 
him,' Khalad said in a bleak tone of voice. 'I want to be sure he 
understands just how much we resent his even touching the 
Queen's hair. Trust me, Sparhawk. Before I'm done with him, 
he's going to regret it - profoundly.' 
'i've got enormous confidence in you, Khalad,' Sparhawk 
replied. 
'Oh,' Khalad said then, 'there's something I almost forgot. 
Does anybody know of a way to make one of our horses limp 
without actually hurting him? I think Berit and I might want 


to be able to slow down from time to time without causing 
suspicion. An intermittently lame horse should explain it to the 
people who are watching us.' 
'i'll talk with Faran,' Aphrael promised. 
'You won't need to limp on your way to Sepal,' Ulath told 
Khalad. 'Ghnomb's going to see to it that Tynian and I are there 
long before you arrive. You might be able to see us when you 
get there, but you might not. I'm having a little trouble explaining 

 some things to the Troll-Gods. We'll be able to see you, 
though. If I can't make Ghnomb understand, I'll slip a note in 
your pocket.' 
'if we do come out in the open, you'll just love our traveling 
companion,' Tynian laughed. 
Berit gave him a puzzled look. 'Who's that, Sir Tynian?' 
'Bhlokw. He's a Troll.' 
'it's Ghnomb's idea,' Ulath explained. 'I have to go through 
a little ceremony before I can talk with the Troll-Gods. Bhlokw 
doesn't. It speeds up communication. Anyway, we'll be there 
and out of sight. If Scarpa and Zalasta try to make the trade 

there in Sepal, we'll step out of No-Time, grab the lot of you, 
and disappear again.' 
That's assuming that they're taking Queen Ehlana to Sepal 
to make the exchange,' Itagne said. 'We've got some things that 
don't match up, though. Sir Kalten picked up a rumor that 
Scarpa's holding the Queen and her maid in Natayos.' 
'I wouldn't want to wager the farm on it, your Excellency, 
Kalten said. 'it's second-hand information at best. The fellow I 
talked with probably isn't bright enough to make up stories, and 
he didn't have any reason to lie to me. He got his information 
from somebody else, though, and that makes the whole thing 
a little wormy.' 
'You've put your finger on the problem, Sir Kalten,' Sarabian 
said. 'Soldiers gossip worse than old women.' He tugged at one 
earlobe and looked up at the rainbow-colored sky. 'The other 
side knows that I wasn't entirely dependent on the Ministry of 
the Interior for information, so they'll expect me to have ears in 
Natayos. This story Sir Kalten heard could have been planted 
for our benefit. Prince Sparhawk, is there any way at all you 
could use Bhelliom to confirm the rumor?' 
'it's too dangerous,' Sephrenia said flatly. 'Zalasta would 
know immediately if Sparhawk did that.' 
'i'm not so sure, little mother,' Sparhawk disagreed. 'it was 
just recently that we found out that the gold box doesn't totally 
isolate Bhelliom. I'm getting a strong feeling that a great deal of 
what we think we know about Bhelliom is pure misdirection. 
The rings evidently don't really mean anything at all - except 
possibly as a means of communication, and the gold box doesn't 
appear to be relevant either. It could be an idea Bhelliom planted 
to keep us from enclosing it in iron. I'm guessing, but I'd say 
that the touch of iron is still painful to it, but whether it's painful 
enough to actually confine it isn't all that certain.' 
'He's right, you know,' Aphrael told her sister. 'A great deal 
of what we think we know about Bhelliom came from Ghwerig, 
and Bhelliom had absolute control of Ghwerig. Our mistake was 
believing that Ghwerig knew what he was talking about.' 


'That still doesn't answer the question about using Bhelliom 
to investigate things in Natayos,' Sparhawk said, 'and it's not 
the sort of thing I'd want to experiment with.' 
'I will go to Natayos,' Xanetia said quietly. 'it had been mine 
intent to go unseen to Sepal, but Sir Tynian and Sir Ulath will 
be there already, and well able to determine if the Queen be 
truly there. I will go to Natayos and seek her there instead.' 
'Absolutely not!' Sarabian said. 'I forbid it.' 
'I am not subject to thee, Sarabian of Tamuli,' she reminded 
him. 'But fear not. There is no peril involved for me. None will 
know that I am there, and I can reach out to those who are 
about me and share their thoughts. I will soon be able to determine

 whether or no the Queen and her maidservant are in 
Natayos. This is precisely the kind of service we offered when 
we concluded our pact with Anakha.' 
'it's too dangerous,' he said stubbornly. 
'it seemeth me that thou hast forgot mine other gift, Sarabian 
of Tamuli,' she told him quite firmly. 'The curse of Edaemus is 
still upon me, and my touch is still death, an I choose it so. Fear 
not for me, Sarabian, for should necessity compel me to it, I can 
spread death and terror through Natayos. Though it doth cause 

me pain to confess it, I can make Natayos once more a waste, 
a weed-choked ruin populated only by the dead.' 

CHAPTER 10 

The city of Sama in Western Tamul Proper lay just to the south 
of the Atan border in the deep gorge of the river from which it 
took its name. The surrounding mountains were steep and rugged 
and were covered with dark evergreens which sighed endlessly 

 in the prevailing wind sweeping down out of the 

wilderness to the north. The weather was cold, and the leaden 
sky spat stinging pellets of snow as Vanion's army of Church 
Knights slowly descended the long, steep road leading down 
into the gorge. Vanion and Itagne, muffled in their heavy cloaks, 
rode at the head of the column. 
'i'd have much preferred to stay on Aphrael's island,' Itagne 
said, shivering and pulling his cloak tighter. 'i've never been 
particularly fond of this time of year.' 
'We're almost there, your Excellency,' Vanion replied. 
'is it customary to campaign in the wintertime, Lord Vanion?' 
Itagne asked. 'In Eosia, I mean?' 
'We try to avoid it, your Excellency,' Vanion replied. 'The 
Lamorks attack each other in the winter, but the rest of us usually 

have better sense.' 
'it's a miserable time to go to war.' 
Vanion smiled faintly. 'That it is, my friend, but that's not 
why we avoid it. It's a question of economics, really. It's more 
expensive to campaign in winter because you have to buy hay 
for the horses. It's the expense that keeps Elene kings peaceful 
when there's snow on the ground.' Vanion stood up in his stirrups 

 to peer ahead. 'betuana's waiting,' he said. 'We'd better 
ride down to meet her.' 
Itagne nodded, and they pushed their horses into a jolting 


trot. 
The Queen of Atan had left them at Dasan on the eastern 
edge of the mountains to come on ahead. She had several very 
good reasons, of course, but Vanion privately suspected that 
her decision had been influenced more by impatience than 
necessity. Betuana was too polite to speak of it, but she clearly 
had little use for horses, and she seldom missed an opportunity 
to outrun them. She and Engessa, both garbed in otter-skins, 
waited at the roadside about a mile outside the city. 
'Was there any trouble?' the Atan Queen asked. 
'No, your Majesty,' Vanion replied, his black armor clinking 
as he swung down out of his saddle. 'We were watched, but 
there's nothing unusual about that. Has anything been happening 

in Cynesga?' 
'They're moving up to the border, Vanion-Preceptor,' Engessa 
replied quietly. 'They aren't being very subtle about it. We've 
been disrupting their supply lines and ambushing their scouting 
parties just to keep them off-balance, but it's fairly obvious that 
they plan to come across the line in force.' 
Vanion nodded. 'it's more or less what we expected, then. If 
it's all right with you, your Majesty, I'd like to get my men 
settled in before we get too involved in discussions. I can always 
think better after I've seen to all the details.' 
'Of course,' Betuana agreed. 'Engessa-Atan and I have 
arranged quarters for them. When will you be leaving for 
Samar?' 
Tomorrow or the next day, Betuana-Queen. Tikume's Peloi 
are probably spread a little thin down there. He has a lot of 
ground to cover.' 
'He sent back to Pela for more men, Vanion-Lord,' Engessa 
advised. 'You'll have a sizeable force in Samar in a week or so.' 
'Good. Let me go back and hurry the knights along. We have 
much to discuss.' 
Night settled early at the bottom of the gorge of the River 
Sama, and it was fully dark by the time Vanion joined the others 
in the headquarters of the city's Atan garrison. Like all Atan 
structures, the building was severely utilitarian and devoid of 
any embellishment. The lone exception in the conference room 
in which they gathered was a very large map covering one entire 
wall. The map was brightly colored and dotted here and there 
with fanciful illustrations. Vanion had bathed hurriedly and now 
wore plain clothing. The years had taught him that armor was 
impressive and even useful at times, but that no one had yet 
devised a way to make it comfortable or to eliminate its characteristic 

 smell. 'Are the quarters satisfactory?' Betuana enquired politely. 

'Most satisfactory, your Majesty,' he replied, settling into a 
chair. 'Have you been advised of the details of our meeting with 
the Child Goddess?' 
She nodded. 'itagne-Ambassador gave me a report,' she 
replied. She paused. 'One is curious to know why one was 
excluded,' she added. 
'Theological considerations, your Majesty,' Vanion explained. 
'As I understand it, the Gods have an exquisitely complex etiquette

 in these situations. Aphrael didn't want to offend your 
God by inviting his children to her island. There were some 


other rather conspicuous absences as well. Emperor Sarabian 

was there and Ambassador Itagne, but Foreign Minister 

Oscagne wasn't.' 

Itagne frowned slightly. 'The Emperor and I are skeptics agnostics, 
I suppose you could call us - but Oscagne's an out-and-out 

atheist. Would that account for it?' 

'it might. I'll ask Aphrael the next time I talk with her.' 

Engessa looked around. 'I didn't see Kring-Domi when we 

met you, Vanion-Preceptor,' he noted. 

'Kring took his men and veered off toward Samar not long 

after you and her Majesty left us to come on ahead. He thought 

he'd be more useful there than he would here in Sama - and 

you know how the western Peloi feel about mountains and 

forests. Have the Cynesgans made any forays across the border 

as yet?' 

'No, Vanion-Preceptor,' Engessa replied. 'They're massing 

in staging areas and bringng up supplies.' He rose and went 

to the map. 'A large force moved out of Cynestra a while 

back,' he said, pointing at the Cynesgan capital. 'They're 

positioned near the border more or less opposite us here. 

Another force has taken up a similar position just across the line 

from Samar.' Vanion nodded. 'Cyrgon's more like a general than a God in 

most ways. He's not going to leave fortified positions to his rear. 
He'll have to neutralize Samar and Sama before he can strike 

any deeper into Tamul Proper. I'd say that the force you're facing 

here has been ordered to take Sama, seal the southern border 

of Atan and then swing northeast toward Tualas. I'm sure they'd 

rather not have the entire Atan nation come swarming down 

out of these mountains.' 

'There aren't enough Cynesgans living to keep my people 

hemmed in,' Betuana told him. 

'i'm sure of it, your Majesty, but there probably are enough 

to slow you down, and Cyrgon can recruit armies from the past 

to hinder you all the more.' He studied the map, his lips pursed. 

'I think I see where he's going,' he said. 'Matherion's on a peninsula, 
and that narrow neck of land at Toea is the key to that. If 

I had to wager anything on it, i'd say that the main battle's 

going to take place there. Scarpa will move north out of Natayos. 

Probably the southern Cynesgans are planning to capture Samar 

and then swing around the north shore of the Sea of Arjun to 

join him somewhere in the vicinity of the Tamul Mountains. 

From there the combined army can march up the west shore of 

the Gulf of Micae to Toea.' He smiled faintly. 'Of course, there's 

a very nasty surprise waiting for them in the Tamul Mountains. 

I'd imagine that before this is over, Cyrgon will wish that he'd 

never heard of the Trolls.' 

'I will send an army out of northern Atan to Toea, VanionPreceptor,' 
Betuana said, 'but I'll leave enough of my people 

along the southern and eastern borders to tie up half of the 

Cynesgans. ' 

'In the meantime I think we can disrupt their preparations,' 

Engessa added. 'Raids in force across that border will delay their 

main attack.' 


'And that's all we really need,' Vanion chuckled. 'if we can 
delay them long enough, Cyrgon's going to have a hundred 
thousand Church KNights swarming across his western frontier. 
I think he'll forget about Toea at that point.' 

'Don't worry about him, From,' Stragen told Sparhawk. 'He can 
take care of himself.' 
'I think we sometimes forget that he's only a boy, Vymer. He 
doesn't even shave regularly yet.' 
'Reldin stopped being a boy before his voice started to 
change.' Stragen leaned back on his bed reflectively. 'Those of 
us in our particular line of work tend to lose our childhoods,' he 
said. 'it might have been nice to roll hoops and catch polliwogs, 
but...' He shrugged. 
'What are you going to do when this is all over?' Sparhawk 
asked him. 'Assuming that we survive?' 
'There's a certain lady of our acquaintance who proposed marriage

 to me a while back. It's part of a business arrangement 
that's very attractive. The notion of marriage never really 
appealed to me, but the business proposition's just too good to 
pass up.' 
'There's more, too, isn't there?' 
'Yes,' Stragen admitted. 'After what she did back in Matherion 
that night, I'm not about to let her get away from me. She's one 
of the coolest and most courageous people I've ever met.' 
'Pretty, too.' 
'You noticed.' Stragen sighed. 'i'm afraid I'm going to end up 
being at least semi-respectable, my friend.' 
'Shocking. ' 
'isn't it? First, though, there's this other little matter I 
want to deal with. I think I'll present my beloved with the head of a 
certain Astellian poet of our acquaintance. If I can find a good 
taxidermist, I may even have it stuffed and mounted for her.' 
'it's the kind of wedding present every girl dreams of. 
'Maybe not every girl,' Stragen grinned, 'but I'm in love with 
a very special lady.' 

'But there are so many of them, U-lat,' Bhlokw said plaintively. 
'They would not miss just one, would they?' 
'I am certain they would, Bhlokw,' Ulath told the huge, 
brown-furred Troll. 'The man-things are not like the deer. They 
pay very close attention to the other members of the herd. If 
you eat one of them, they will know that we are here. Catch 
and eat one of their dogs instead.' 
'is dog good-to-eat?' 
'I am not sure. Eat one and tell me if it is good.' 
Bhlokw grumbled and squatted down on his haunches. 
The process Ghnomb had called 'breaking the moments in 
two pieces' produced some rather strange effects. The brightness 
of noon was dimmed to twilight, for one thing, and the citizeNS 
of Sepal seemed to walk about their town with a fast, jerky 
kind of movement, for another. The God of Eat had assured 
them that because they were present in only a small part of each 
instant, they had been rendered effectively invisible. Ulath could 
see a rather large logical flaw in the explanation, but the belief 
that the spell worked seemed to override logic. 


Tynian came back up the street shaking his head. 'it's impossible 


 to understand them,' he reported. 'I can pick up a word or 
two now and then, but the rest is pure gibberish.' 
'it is talking in bird-noises again,' Bhlokw complained. 
'You'd better speak in Trollish, Tynian,' Ulath said. 'You're 
making Bhlokw nervous.' 
'I forgot,' Tynian admitted, reverting to the hideous language 
of the Trolls. 'I am -' he groped. 'What is the word that means 
that you want it that you had not done something?' he asked 
their shaggy companion. 
'There is no such word, Tin-in,' Bhlokw replied. 
'Can you ask Ghnomb to make it so that we can understand 
what the man-things are saying?' Ulath asked. 
'Why? What does it matter?' Bhlokw's face was puzzled. 
'if we can know what they are saying, we will know which 
ones of the herd we should follow,' Tynian explained. 'They 
will be the ones who will know about the wicked ones.' 
'They do not all know?' Bhlokw asked with some amazement. 
'No. Only some know.' 
'The man-things are very strange. I will talk with Ghnomb. 
He may understand this.' He rose to his feet, towering over 
them. 'I will do it as soon as I come back.' 


'Where are you going?' Tynian asked politely. 
'I am hungry. I will go eat a dog. Then I will come back and 
talk with Ghnomb.' He paused. 'I can bring a dog back for you 
as well, if you are also hungry.' 
'Ah - no, Bhlokw,' Tynian replied. 'I do not think I am hungry 
right now. It was good of you to ask, though.' 
'We are pack-mates now,' Bhlokw shrugged. 'it is right to do 
this.' And he shambled off down the street. 


'its not really all that far,' Aphrael told her sister as the two 
of them rode with Xanetia up out of the valley of Delphaeus toward


 the town of Dirgis in southern Atan, 'but Edaemus is still 
reluctant to help us, so I think I'd better mind my manners. 
He might be offended if I start "tampering" in the home of 
his children.' 
'You've never used that word to describe it before,' Sephrenia 
noted. 'Sparhawk's influence, I guess,' the Child Goddess replied.


'it's a useful sort of term. It glosses over things that we don't 
want to discuss in front of strangers. After we get to Dirgis, 
we'll be well clear of the home of the Delphae. Then I'll be able 
to tamper to my heart's content.' 
'How long dost thou think it will take us to reach Natayos, 
Goddess?' Xanetia asked. She had once again altered her coloration 


 and suppressed her inner radiance to conceal her racial 
characteristics.
'No more than a few hours - in real time,' Aphrael shrugged. 
'I can't quite jump us around the way Bhelliom does, but I can 
cover a lot of ground in a hurry when there's an emergency. If 
things were really desperate, I could fly us there.' 
Sephrenia shuddered. 'it's not that desperate, Aphrael.' 
Xanetia gave her Styric sister a puzzled look. 
'it makes her queasy,' Aphrael explained.



'No, Aphrael,' Sephrenia corrected, 'not queasy - terrified 
It's a horrible experience, Xanetia. She's done it to me about five 
times in the past three hundred years. I'm an absolute wreck 
for weeks afterward.' 
'I keep telling you not to look down, Sephrenia,' Aphrael told 
her. 'if you'd just look at the clouds instead of down at the 
ground, it wouldn't bother you so much.' 
'I can't help myself, Aphrael,' Sephrenia told her. 
'is it truly so disturbing, sister mine?' Xanetia asked. 
'You couldn't even begin to imagine it, Xanetia. You skim 
along with nothing but about five thousand feet of empty air 
between you and the ground. It's awful!' 
'We'll do it the other way,' Aphrael assured her. 
'i'll start composing a prayer of thanksgiving immediately.' 
'We'll stay the night in Dirgis,' Aphrael told them, 'and then 
tomorrow morning we'll run down to Natayos. Sephrenia and I'll 
stay out in the woods, Xanetia, and you can go into town and have 
a look around. If Mother's really being held there, we should be 
able to bring this little crisis to an end in short order. Once Sparhawk 

 knows exactly where she is, he'll fall on Scarpa and his 
father like a vengeful mountain. Natayos won't even be a ruin any 
more when he's done. it'll just be a big hole in the ground.' 

'He actually saw them,' Talen reported. 'He described them too 
well to have been making it up.' The young thief had just 
returned from his foray into the seamier parts of Beresa. 
'What sort of fellow was he?' Sparhawk asked. 'This is too 
important for us to be taken in by random gossip.' 
'He's a Dacite,' Talen replied, 'a guttersnipe from Jura. His 
pollitics go about as far as his Purse. His main reason for joining 
Scarpa's army in the first place was his enthusiasm for the idea 
of taking part in the looting of Matherion. We're not talking 
about a man with high ideals here. When he got to Natayos and 
found out that there might be actual fighting involved, he started 
to lose interest. Anyway, I found him in one of the shabbiest 
taverns I've ever seen, and he was roaring drunk. Believe me, 
From, he was in no condition to lie to me. I told him that I was 
thinking of joining Scarpa's army, and he turned all fatherly on 
me - "Don' even skink about it, boy. It's tur'ble there" - that sort 
of thing. He said that Scarpa's a raving lunatic with delusions of 
invincibility who thinks he can just blow on the Atans and make 
them go away. He said he'd just about decided to desert anyway, 
and then Scarpa came back to Natayos - along with Krager, Elron 
and Baron Parok. They had the Queen and Alcan with them, and 
Zalasta met them at the gate. The Dacite happened to be nearby, 
so he could hear what they were saying. Evidently, Zalasta's still 
got a few good manners, so he wasn't very happy about the way 
Scarpa had been treating his prisoners. The two of them had an 
argument about it, and Zalasta tied his son into a very complicated 
knot with magic. I guess Scarpa was squirming around like a 
%wont on a hot rock for a while. Then Zalasta took the ladies to a 
large house that had been fixed up for them. From what my 
deserter said, the house comes fairly close to being luxurious - if 
you discount the bars on the windows.' 
'He could have been coached,' Sparhawk fretted. 'Maybe he 
wasn't as drunk as he appeared to be.' 


'Believe me, From, he was drunk,' Talen assured him. 'I cut a 
purse on my way to that tavern - just to keep in practice - so I 

had plenty of money. I poured enough strong drink into him to 
stun a regiment.' 
'I think he's right, From,' Stragen said. 'There are just too 
many details for this to be a contrived story.' 
'And if this deserter had been sent to spin cobwebs for our 
benefit, why would he waste time and effort entertaining a 
young pickpocket?' Talen added. 'None of us look the way we 
did the last time Zalasta saw us, and I doubt that even he could 
have guessed how Sephrenia and Xanetia put their heads 
together to modify us.' 
'I still think we should hold off,' Sparhawk said. 'Aphrael's 
going to put Xanetia into Natayos in a day or so, and Xanetia 
can find out for sure if it's really Ehlana who's locked up in that 
house.' 
'We could at least get closer,' Stragen said. 
'Why? Distance doesn't mean anything to my blue friend 
here.' Sparhawk touched the bulge under the front of his tunic. 
'Just as soon as I know for certain that Ehlana's there, we'll go 
pay Zalasta and his bastard a call. I might even invite Khwaj to 
come along. He has some plans for them that sort of interest 
me.' 

The light was suddenly very bright, and the citizens of Sepal 
abruptly ceased jerking around like marionettes on strings and 
started to walk like normal humans. It had taken a half a day 
to explain to Ghnomb why it was necessary for them to return 
to real time, and the God of Eat still had some serious reservations

 about the whole idea. 
'i'll wait in that tavern just up the street,' Tynian said to Ulath 
as the two of them stepped out of the narrow alley. 'Do you 
remember the password?' 
Ulath grunted. 'I shouldn't be long,' he said. He walked across 
the street toward the pair of travelers who had just come into 
town. 'That's an interesting looking saddlebow you've got there, 
neighbor,' he said to one of them, a broken-nosed man on a 
roan horse. 'What's it made of? Ramshorn?' 
Berit gave him a startled look, then glanced quickly around 
the narrow street near the east gate of Sepal. 'I didn't think to 
ask the saddle-maker, Sergeant,' he replied, noticing the blond 
Elene's tattered-looking uniform jacket. 'Ah - maybe you could 
give my young friend and me some advice.' 
'Advice is free. Go ahead and ask.' 
'Do you happen to know of a good inn here in Sepal?' 
'The one my friend and I are staying at isn't too bad. It's about 
three streets over.' Ulath pointed. 'it's got the sign of a boar 
hanging out front - although the picture doesn't look very much 
like any boar I've ever seen.' 
'We'll look into it.' 
'Maybe my friend and I'll see you there. We're usually in the 
taproom after supper.' 
'We'll stop by - if we decide to stay there.' 
Ulath nodded and walked up the street to a tavern and went 
on inside, where he joined Tynian at a table near the fire. 'What 


did you do with our shaggy friend?' he asked. 
'He went out looking for another dog,' Tynian replied. 'You 
'might have made a mistake there, Sergeant. He seems to be 
developing a taste for them. There won't be a dog left in the 
whole town if we stay much longer.' 
Ulath sat down and leaned back. 'Ran into an Elene fellow 
out there in the street,' he said, loudly enough to be heard by 
the other tavern patrons. 
'Oh?' Tynian said casually. 'Astellian or Edomish?' 
'it was sort of hard to say. He'd had his nose broken at one 
tine or another, so it was a little difficult to determine his race. 
He was looking for a good inn, so I recommended the one where 
we're staying. We might see him there. It's good to hear somebody

 talking Elenic for a change. I get tired of listening to people 
babbling at me in Tamul. If you're about finished here, why 
don't we drift on down to the harbor and see if we can find 
somebody to ferry us on across the lake to Tiara.' 
Tynian drained his tankard. 'Let's go,' he said, standing up. 

The two of them left the tavern and strolled back to their inn, 
Walking casually and moving at the leisurely pace of men with 
nothing really pressing to do. 
I want to have a look at that shoe on my horse's left forehoof,' 
Ulath said when they arrived. 'Go on ahead. I'll meet you in 
the taproom. ' 
Where else?' Tynian laughed. 
Khalad was in the stable as Ulath had expected. He was 
making some show of currying Faran. 'I see that you and your 
friend decided to stay here,' the big Thalesian said in a casual 
tone. 
It was handy,' Khalad shrugged. 
listen carefully,' Ulath said in a voice hardly more than a 
whisper. 'We were able to pick up some information. Nothing's 
going to happen here. You'll get another one of those messages.' 
Khalad nodded. 
"it's going to tell you to go on across the lake to Tiara. Be 
careful of what you say on the boat, because there'll be a fellow 
on board who's working for the other side - an Arjuni with a 
long scar on his cheek.' 
'i'll keep an eye out for him,' Khalad said. 
'You'll get another message in Tiara,' Ulath continued. 'You'll 
be told to go on around the lake to Arjun.' 
'That's the long way around,' Khalad objected. 'We could 
take the road from here and be in Arjun in less than half 
the time.' 
'Evidently they don't want you to get there that soon. They've 
probably got some other irons in the fire. I won't swear to this, 
but I think they'll send you on to Verel from Arjun. If Kalten's 
right and Ehlana's being held in Natayos, that would be the next 
logical step.' 
Khalad nodded again. 'i'll tell Berit. I think we'd better stay 
out of that taproom. I'm sure we're being watched, and if we 
start talking with other Elenes, we'll just put the enemy on their 
guard.' 
The horses in the stable suddenly began to squeal and kick at 
the sides of their stalls. 


'What's wrong with the horses?' Khalad demanded. 'And 

what's that odd smell?' 

Ulath muttered an oath. Then he raised his voice and spoke 

in Trollish. 'Bhlokw, it is not good that you come into the dens 

of the man-things this way. You have been eating dog, and the 

man-things and their beasts can smell you.' 

There was an injured silence as Ulath's unseen travelingcompanion 
withdrew from the stable. 

Betuana and Engessa, dressed in sleek otter-skins, accompanied 

Vanion and the knights south from Sama. At Engessa's suggestion 
they proceeded due west to come down out of the mountains 
in eastern Cynesga. 

'We've been watching them, Vanion-Preceptor,' the towering 

Atan said as he loped along beside Vanion's horse. 'Their main 

supply dump is about five leagues west of the frontier.' 

'Did you have anything pressing to attend to, your Majesty?' 

Vanion asked Betuana, who was running along on the other 

side. 'Nothing that can't wait. What did you have in mind?' 

'Since we're here anyway, we might as well swing over and 

burn their supply dump. My knights are getting restless, and a 

little exercise might do them some good.' 

'it is rather chilly,' she observed with just the hint of a smile. 

'A fire would be nice.' 

'Shall we, then?' 

'Why don't we?' 

The Cynesgan supply dump covered about five acres. It lay 

in a rocky, treeless basin, and it was defended by about a regiment 
of Cynesgan troops in flowing robes. As the column of 

armored knights approached, the defenders galloped forth to 

meet them. That particular maneuver might best be described 

as a tactical blunder. The gravel-covered floor of the Desert of 

Cynesga was flat and clear of obstructions, so the charge of the 

Church Knights was unimpeded. There was an enormous crash 

as the two forces collided, and the knights, after only a nomentary 
hesitation, rode on, trampling the bodies of the wounded 

and slain under the steel-shod hooves of their mounts while the 

squealing horses of the Cynesgans fled in terror. 

'impressive,' Betuana conceded as she ran along beside 

Vanion's mount. 'But isn't it tedious to endure the weight - and 

the smell - of the armor for months on end for the sake of two 

minutes of entertainment?' 

'There are drawbacks to any style of warfare, your Majesty,' 

Vanion said, raising his visor. 'A part of the idea behind armored 

charges is to persuade others to avoid confrontations. It holds 

down the casualties in the long run.' 

'A reputation for extreme severity is a good weapon, VanionPreceptor,' 
she agreed. 

'We like it,' he smiled. 'Let's go build that bonfire so that your 

Majesty can warm her toes.' 

'That would be nice,' she smiled. 

There was a dust-covered hill directly ahead, rising like a 

slightly rounded pyramid to block the way to the supply dump. 

With simple arm-gestures, Vanion directed his knights to 

diverge and sweep around both sides of the hill to swarm over 

the accumulated supplies of Cyrgon's army. They galloped forward 


 with that vast, steely, clinking thunder that proclaims 
implacable invincibility. 
And then the hill moved. The dust which had covered it shuddered

 away in a great billowing cloud, and the two enormous 
wings unfurled their glossy blackness to reveal the wedge-shaped 

 face of Klael. The beast of ultimate darkness roared, and 
the fangs of lightning, jagged and flickering, emerged from 
behind snarling lips. 
And out from beneath the shelter of those two great wings 
came an army like no army Vanion had ever seen. 
They were as tall as the Atans and more bulky. Their bare 
arms were huge, and their steel breastplates fit them like a 
second skin, revealing every knotted muscle. Their helmets bore 
exotic-looking embellishments - horns or antlers or stiff steel 
wings - and, like their breastplates, their visors fit tightly over 
their faces, exactly duplicating the features of each individual 
warrior. There was no humanity in those polished faces. The 
brows were impossibly wide, and, like the face of klael himself, 
they narrowed down to almost delicately pointed chins. The 
eye-slits blazed, and there were twin holes in place of noses. 
The mouths of those masks were open, and they were filled 
with cruelly pointed teeth. 
They swarmed out from beneath klael's wings with his lightning

 playing around them. They brandished weapons that 
appeared to be part mace and part axe - steel atrocities dredged 
from nightmare. 
They were too close to permit any kind of orderly withdrawal, 
and the knights, still moving at a thunderous gallop, were committed 

 before they could fully comprehend the nature of the 
enemy. The impact as the two armies came together shook the earth, 

and that solid, steely crash shattered into a chaos of sound blows, 
shrieks, the agonized squeals of horses, the tearing of 
metal. 'Sound a withdrawal!' Vanion bellowed to the leader of the 

Genidians. 'Blow your heart into that Ogre-horn, man. Get our 
people clear!' The carnage was ghastly. Horses and men were being ripped 

to pieces by klael's inhuman army. Vanion drove his spurs 
home, and his horse leapt forward. The Pandion Preceptor drove 
his lance through the steel breastplate of one of the aliens and 
saw blood - at least he thought it might be blood, thick yellow 
blood - gushing from the steel-lipped mask. The creature fell 
back, but still swung its cruel weapon. Vanion pulled his hand 
clear of the butt of the lance, leaving the beast transfixed, skewered, 
as it were, and drew his sword. 
It took a long time. The thing absorbed blows which would 
have dismembered a human. Eventually, however, Vanion 
chopped it down - almost like a peasant chopping out a tough, 
stringy thorn-bush. 
'Engessa!' Betuana's shriek of rage and despair rang out above 
the other sounds of the battle. 
Vanion wheeled his horse and saw the Atan Queen rushing 
to the aid of her stricken general. Even the monstrous creatures 
klael had unleashed quailed in the face of her fury as she cut 
her way to Engessa's side. 


Vanion smashed his way through to her, his sword flickering 
in the chill light, spraying yellow blood in gushing fountains. 
'Can you carry him?' he shouted to Betuana. 
She bent and with no apparent effort lifted her fallen friend 
in her arms. 
'Pull back!' Vanion shouted. 'i'll cover you!' And he hurled 
his horse into the path of the monsters who were rushing to 
attack her. 
There was no hope in Betuana's face as she ran toward the 
rear, cradling Engessa's limp body in her arms, and her eyes 
were streaming tears. 
Vanion ground his teeth together, raised his sword, and 
charged. 

Sephrenia was very tired when they reached Dirgis. 'i'm not 
really hungry,' she told Xanetia and Aphrael after they had taken 
a room in a respectable inn near the center of the city. 'All I 
want is a nice hot bath and about twelve hours of sleep.' 
'Art thou unwell, sister mine?' Xanetia's voice was concerned. 
Sephrenia smiled wearily. 'No, dear,' she said, laying one 
hand on the Anarae's arm. 'i'm a little tired, that's 'all. This 
rushing around is starting to wear on me. You two go ahead 
and have some supper. just ask someone to bring a small pot 
of tea up to the room. That'll be enough for right now. I'll make 
up for it at breakfast time. Only don't make too much noise 
when you come up to bed.' 
She spent a pleasant half-hour immersed to her ears in steaming 

 water in the bath-house and returned to their room tightly 
wrapped in her Styric robe and carrying a candle to light her 
way. 
Their room was not large, but it was warm and cozy, heated 
by one of the porcelain stoves common here in Tamuli. 
Sephrenia rather liked the concept of a stove, since it kept the 
ashes and cinders off the floor. She drew a chair close to the fire 
and began to brush her long, black hair. 
'Vanity, Sephrenia? After all these years?' 
She started half to her feet at the sound of the familiar voice. 
Zalasta scarcely looked the same. He no longer wore his Styric 
robe, but rather a leather' jerkin of an Arjuni cut, stout canvas 
trousers, and thick-soled boots. He had even so far discarded 
his heritage that he wore a short sword at his waist. His white 
hair and beard were tangled, and his face was haggard. 'Please 
don't make a scene, love,' he told her. His voice was weary and 
devoid of any emotion beyond a kind of profound regret. He 
sighed. 'Where did we go wrong, Sephrenia?' he asked sadly. 
'What tore us apart and brought us to this sorry state?' 
'You don't really want me to tell you, do you, Zalasta?' she 
replied. 'Why couldn't you just let it go? I did love you, you 
know - not that way, of course, but it was love. Couldn't you 
accept that and forget about the other?' 
'Evidently not. It didn't even occur to me." 
'Sparhawk's going to kill you, you know. 
'Perhaps. To be honest with you, though, I no longer really 
care.' 
'What's the point of this then? Why have you come here?' 
'I wanted to see you one last time - hear the sound of your 


voice. ' He rose from the chair in the corner where he had been 
sitting. 'it all could have been so different - if it hadn't been for 
Aphrael. She was the one who took you into the lands of the 
Elenes and corrupted you. You're Styric, Sephrenia. We Styrics 
have no business consorting with the Elene barbarians.' 
'You're wrong, Zalasta. Anakha's an Elene. That's our business 

 with them. You'd better leave. Aphrael's downstairs eating 
supper right now. If she finds you here, she'll have your heart 
for dessert.' 
'In a moment. There's something I have to do first. After that, 

she can do anything to me she wants to do.' His face suddenly 
twisted into an expression of anguish. 'Why, Sephrenia? Why? 
How could you bear the unclean touch of that Elene savage?' 
'Vanion? You wouldn't understand. You couldn't even begin 
to comprehend it.' She stood, her face defiant. 'Do whatever it 
is you have to do and leave. The very sight of you sickens me.' 
'Very well.' His face was suddenly as cold as stone. 
She was not really surprised when he drew a long bronze 
dagger out from under his jerkin. In spite of everything, he was 
still Styric enough to loathe the touch of steel. 'You have no idea 
of how much I regret this,' he told her as he came closer. 
She tried to struggle, clawing at his face and eyes. She even 
felt a momentary sense of triumph when she seized his beard 
and saw him wince with pain. She jerked at his beard, sawing 
his face this way and that as she called out for help, but then 
he jerked free, roughly shoving her back from him. She 
stumbled back and half-fell over a chair, and that was what 
ultimately defeated her. Even as she struggled to regain her feet, 
he caught her by the hair, and she knew that she was lost. 
Despairing, she drew Vanion's face from her memory, filling 
her eyes and heart with his features even as she attempted again 
to claw at Zalasta's eyes. 
And then he drove the dagger directly into her breast and 
wrenched it free again. 
She cried out, falling back and clutching at the wound, feeling 
the blood spurting out between her fingers. 
He caught her in his arms. 'I love you, Sephrenia,' he said in 
a broken voice as the light faded from her eyes. 

PART TWO 

Natayos 

CHAPTER 11 

'I can't find anybody willing to stay in one place long enough 
for me to ask him any questions,' Komier growled when he 
returned late one cloudy afternoon with his scouts. He looked 
sourly back across the empty, winter-fallow fields all neatly bordered 

 with low stone walls, carefully shifting his broken right 
arm. 'These Astellian serfs all take one look at us and bolt for 
the woods like frightened deer.' 
'What's ahead?' Darellon asked him. Darellon's helmet hung 
from his saddlebow, one side so crushed in that it no longer fit 
his bandaged head. His eyes were unfocused, and his bandage 


was blood-soaked. 
Komier took out his map and studied it. 'We're coming to 
the River Astel,' he replied. 'We saw a city over on the other 
side - Darsas, most likely. I couldn't catch anybody to tell 
me for sure, though. I'm not the prettiest fellow in the world, 
but I've never had people flee from me in terror like this 
before. ' 
'Emban warned us about that,' Bergsten said. 'The countryside's

 crawling with agitators. They're telling the serfs that we've 
all got horns and tails and that we're coming here to burn down 
their churches and ram assorted heresies down their throats at 
'sword-point. This fellow called Sabre seems to be the one behind 
it all.' 
'He's the one I want,' Komier muttered darkly. 'I think I'll 
run him down and set him up as the centerpiece in a bonfire.' 
'Lets not stir up the locals any more than they already are, 
Komier,' Darellon cautioned. 'We're not in any condition for 
confrontations at the moment.' He glanced back at the battered 
column and the long string of wagons bearing the gravely 
wounded. 
'Did you see any signs of organized resistance?' Heldin asked 
Komier. 
'Not yet. I expect we'll find out how things really stand when 
we get to Darsas. If the bridge across the Astel's been torn down 
and the tops of the city walls are lined with archers, we'll know 
that Sabre's message of peace and goodwill's reached the people 
in authority.' The Genidian Preceptor's face darkened, and he 
squared his shoulders. 'That's all right. I've fought my way into 
towns before, so it won't be a new experience.' 
'You've already managed to get Abriel and about a third of 
the Church Knights killed, Komier,' Bergsten told him pointedly. 'i 
'd say that your place in history's secure. Let's try a bit 
of negotiation before we start battering down gates and burning 
houses.' 
'You've had a clever mouth ever since we were novices, Bergsten.

 I should have done something about it before you put on 
that cassock.' 
Bergsten hefted his war-axe a couple of times. 'I can take my 
cassock off any time it suits you, old friend,' he offered. 
'You're getting side-tracked, gentlemen,' Darellon said, his 
speech slightly slurred. 'Our wounded need attention. This isn't 
the time to pick fights - either with the local population or with 
each other. I think the four of us should ride on ahead under a 
flag of truce and find out which way the wind's blowing before 
we start building siege-engines.' 
'Am I hearing the voice of reason here?' Heldin rumbled 
mildly. They tied a gleaming white Cyrinic cape to Sir Heldin's lance 

and rode ahead through the cheerless afternoon to the west 
bank of the River Astel. 
The city beyond the river was clearly Elene, an ancient town 
with soaring towers and spires. It stood proudly and solidly on 
the far shore of the river under its snapping pennons of red and 
blue and gold proclaiming, or so it seemed, that it had always 
been there and always would be. It had high, thick walls and 
massive, closed gates. The bridge across the Astel was blocked 


by towering, bronze-faced warriors wearing minimal armor and 
carrying very unpleasant-looking weapons. 'Atans,' Sir Heldin 
identified them. 'We definitely don't want to fight those people.' 
The ranks of bleak-faced infantry parted, and an ancient, 
bald Tamul in a gold-colored mantle flanked by a vastlybearded 

 Astellian clergyman all in black came forward to meet 
them. 'Well-met, Sir Knights,' the hairless old Tamul greeted 
the armored men in a dry, dusty voice. 'King Alberen's a tribe 
curious as to your intentions. We don't see Church Knights in 
this part of the world very often.' 
'You would be Ambassador Fontan,' Bergsten said. 'Emban 
described you very well.' 
'I thought he had better manners,' Fontan murmured. 
Bergsten flashed him a brief smile. 'You might want to send 
word back to the city, your Excellency. Assure His Majesty that 
our intentions are entirely peaceful.' 
'i'm sure he'll be happy to hear that.' 
'Emban and Sir Tynian came back to Chyrellos a couple 
months ago,' Bergsten continued. 'Sparhawk sent word that 
things were getting out of hand here. Dolmant dispatched us to 
help restore order.' The huge Patriarch made a sour face. 'We 
didn't get off to a very good start, I'm afraid. We had an unfortunate

 encounter near Basne and we have many wounded in need 
of medical attention.' 
'I'll send word to the nearby monasteries, Sir Knight,' the 
bearded clergyman standing at Fontan's elbow offered. 
'Bergsten's not a knight any more, your Reverence,' Komier 
corected him. 'He used to be, but God had other plans for him. 
He's a Patriarch of the Church now. He prays well enough, I 

suppose, but we haven't been able to get his axe away from him 
yet.' 
"dy manners must be slipping,' Fontan apologized. 'My 
friend here is Archimandrite Morsel, the duly anointed head of 
the Church of Astel.' 
"your Grace.' Bergsten inclined his head politely. 
"your Grace,' Morsel replied, looking curiously at the warlike 
churchman. 'Your friend Emban' and I had some very stimulating 
discusssions about our doctrinal differences. You and I might 
want to continue those, but let's see to your wounded first. How 
many injured men do you have?' 
Twenty thousand or so, your Grace,' Komier answered 
blakly. 'it's a little hard to keep an exact count. A few score die 
on us every hour or so.' 
'What in God's name did you encounter up in those nountains?' 

 Morsel gasped. 
'The King of Hell, as closely as we can determine, your Grace,' 
Darellon replied. 'We left thirty thousand dead on the field mostly 

 Cyrinics. Lord Abriel, their Preceptor, led the charge, 
and his knights followed closely behind him. They were fully 
engaged before they realized what they were up against.' He 
sighed. 'Abriel was nearing seventy, and he seemed to think he 
was leading his last charge.' 
'He was right about that,' Komier grunted sourly. 'There 
wasn't enough of him left to bury.' 
'He died well, though,' Heldin added. 


'His name's Valash,' Stragen told Sparhawk and Talen as the 
three of them, still wearing their tar-smeared sailor's smocks, 
stepped out of the noisy, torch-lit street into a dark, foulsmelling 

 alley. 'He and his two friends are Dacites from Verel. 
'Have you been able to find out who they're working for? 
Sparhawk asked him as they stopped to let their eyes adjust to 
the darkness and their noses to the smell. The alleys of Beresa 
were particularly unpleasant. 
'I heard one of them mention Ogerajin,' Stragen replied. 'it 
makes sense, I guess. Ogerajin and Zalasta seem to be old 
friends.' 
'I thought Ogerajin's brains were rotting out,' Talen objected. 
'Maybe he has lucid moments. It doesn't really matter who 
sent them, though. While they're here, they're reporting to 
Krager. As closely as I can make out, they've been sent here to 
assess the damage we did to them during the Harvest Festival 
and to pick up any bits and pieces of information that fall to 
hand. They've got money, but they don't want to turn much of 
it loose. They're in this strictly for gain - and for the chance to 
seem important.' 
'Does Krager come here to get their reports?' Sparhawk asked. 
'He hasn't recently. Valash communicates with him by messenger. 

 These three Dacites are seriously out of their depth here. 
They want to hold on to as much of the money Ogerajin gave 

them as they can, but they don't want to miss anything important. 

 They aren't professionals by any stretch of the imagination. 
They spend most of their time trying to figure out some way to 
get information without paying for it.' 
'A swindler's dream,' Talen noted. 'What did they do for a 
living back in Verel?' 
'They sold children to people whose tastes run in that direction,' 

 Stragen replied in a disgusted tone. 'As I understand it, 
Ogerajin used to be one of their best customers.' 
'That puts them right at the bottom, doesn't it?' 
'Probably even lower than that.' Stragen glanced around to 
make sure they were alone. 'Valash wants to meet you two.' 
Stragen pointed toward the end of the alley. 'He's just up those 
stairs. He's renting a corner in the loft from a fellow who deals 
in stolen goods.' 
Talen smiled a rather nasty little smile. 'if these Dacites happened 

 to pass too much erroneous information and false rumors 
on to Krager, he might just decide that they've outlived their 
usefulness, wouldn't you say?' 
'Probably,' Stragen shrugged. 
'That sort of stirs my creativity.' 
'Oh? Why's that?' 
'I don't like people who sell children. It's a personal sort of 
thing. Let's go meet this Valash. I'd like to find out if he's as 
gullible as you say.' 
They climbed a rickety outside stairway to a door that was 
flimsy and patched and showed some signs of having been 
kicked in a few times. The loft beyond the door was incredibly 
cluttered with all manner of worn clothing, battered furniture, 
and dented kitchen utensils. There were even broken farm tools 


gathering dust in the corners. 'Some people will steal anything,' 
Talen sniffed. 
A lone candle guttered on the far side of the room, and a bony 
Elene sat drowsing at a table by its uncertain light. He wore a 
short, green brocade jacket of a Daconian cut, and his sparse, 
mud-colored hair stood almost straight up, looking much like a 
thin, dirty halo round his gaunt head. As they crossed the loft 
toward him, he stirred himself and quickly picked up some 
papers and began to shuffle them in a self-important manner. 
He looked up with feigned impatience as they approached. 
"you're late, Vymer,' he accused in a high-pitched, nasal voice. 
'Sorry, Master Valash,' Stragen apologized in a servile tone. 
'From and I were busy extricating young Reldin here from a 
tense situation. Reldin's very good, but he overextends himself 
sometimes. Anyway, you wanted to meet my associates.' He 
laid one 'hand on Sparhawk's shoulder. 'This is From. He's a 
tavern brawler, so we let him deal with any situation that can 
be settled with a few quick punches or a kick in the belly. The 
boy there is Reldin, the nimblest sneak-thief I've ever known. 
He can wriggle through mouse-holes, and his ears are sharp 
enough to hear ants crossing the street on the other side of 
town.' 
'I just want to hire him, Vymer,' Valash said. 'I don't want to 
buy him.' He giggled at his own joke. He smirked at them, 
clearly expecting them to join in his laughter. Talen, however, 
did not laugh. His eyes took on an icy glitter. 
Valash seemed a bit abashed by their reception of his feeble 
joke. 'Why are you all dressed as sailors?' he asked, more for 
something to say than out of any real curiosity. 
Stragen shrugged. 'it's a port city, Master Valash. The streets 
are crawling with sailors, so three more won't attract any particular 

attention.' 
Valash grunted. 'Have you anything for me that I might 
find worth my while?' he asked in a superior, bored tone of 
voice. Talen snatched off his cap. 'You'll have to decide that for 

yourself, Master Valash,' he whined, as he bowed awkwardly. 
'I did come across something, if you'd care to hear it.' 
'Go on,' Valash told him. 
'Well, sir, there's this rich Tamul merchant who owns a big 
house over in the fancy part of town. He's got a tapestry on the 
wall of his study that I've had my eye on for quite some time 
now. It's a very good one - lots of tiny stitches, and the color 
hasn't faded very much. The only trouble is that it covers the 
whole wall. You can get a fortune for really good tapestry, but 
only if you can get it all out in one piece. It's not worth much 
if you have to cut it up to carry it out. Anyway, I went into his 
house the other night to try and come up with some way to get 
it out without butchering it. The merchant was in the study, 
though, and he had a friend with him - some noble from the 
imperial court at Matherion. I listened at the door, and the noble 
was telling the merchant about some of the rumors running 
around the imperial palace. Everybody's saying that the 
Emperor's very unhappy with these people from Eosia. That 
attempt to overthrow the government last fall really frightened 
him, and he'd like to come to some kind of agreement with his 


enemies, but this Sparhawk person won't let him. Sarabian's 
convinced that they're going to lose, so he's secretly outfitted a 
fleet of ships all loaded down with treasure and as soon as 
trouble shows up on the horizon, he's going to make a run for 
it. The courtiers all know about his plans, so they're stealthily 
making arrangements for their own escapes when the fighting 
starts. Some morning very soon this Sparhawk's going to wake 
up and find an unfriendly army at his gates and nobody around 
to help hold them off.' He paused. 'Was that the sort of information 

 you wanted?' 
The Dacite made some effort to conceal his excited interest. 
He put on a deprecating expression. 'it's nothing we haven't 
heard before. About all it does is help to confirm what we've 
already picked up.' He tentatively pushed a couple of small 
silver coins across the table. 'i'll pass it on to Panem-Doa and 
see what they think about it.' 
Talen looked at the coins and then at Valash. Then he 
crammed his cap back on. 'i'll be leaving now, Vymer,' he said 
in a flat tone, 'and don't waste my time on this cheapskate 
again.' 
'Don't be in such a rush,' Stragen said placatingly. 'Let me 
talk with him first.' 
'You're making a mistake, Valash,' Sparhawk told the Dacite. 
'You've got a heavy purse hanging off your belt. If you try to 
cheat Reldin, he'll come back some night and slice open the 
bottom of it. He won't leave you enough to buy breakfast.' 
Valash put his hand protectively over his purse. Then he 
opened it with what appeared to be extreme reluctance. 
'I thought Lord Scarpa was at Natayos,' Stragen said casually. 
'Has he moved his operations to Panem-Doa?' 
Valash was sweating as he counted out coins, his fingers lingering

 on each one as if he were parting with an old friend. 'There 
are a lot of things you don't know about our operation, Vymer,' 
he replied. He gave Talen a pleading look as he tentatively 
pushed the money across the table. 
Talen made no move to accept the coins. 
Valash made a whimpering sound and added more coins. 
'That's a little better,' Talen told him, scooping up the money. 
'Then Scarpa's moved?' Stragen asked. 
'Of course not,' Valash retorted. "You didn't think his whole 
army's at Natayos, did you?' 
'That's what I'd heard. He has other strongholds as well, I 
take it?' 
'Of course. Only a fool puts his entire force in one place, 
and Scarpa's far from being a fool, I'll tell the world. He's been 
recruiting men in the Elene kingdoms of western Tamuli for 
years now, and he sends them all to hydros and then on to 
Panem-Doa for training. After that, they go on to either Synagua 
or Norenja. Only his crack troops are at Natayos. His army's at 
least five times larger than most people believe. These jungles 
positively seethe with his men.' 
Sparhawk carefully concealed a smile. Valash obviously had 
a great need to appear important, and that need made him reveal 
things he shouldn't be talking about. 
'I didn't know Scarpa's army was so big,' Stragen admitted. 
'it makes me feel better. It might be nice to be on the winning 


side for a change.' 
'it's about time,' Sparhawk growled. 'i'm getting a little tired 
of being chased out of every town we visit before I've even had 
the time to unpack my sea-bag.' He squinted at Valash. 'As 
long as the subject's come up anyway, could we expect Scarpa's 
people out there in the brush to take us in if things turn sour 
and we have to make a run for it?' 
'What could possibly go wrong?" 
'Have you ever taken a good look at an Atan, Valash? They're 
as tall as trees, and they've got shoulders like bulls. They do 
unpleasant things to people, so I want a friendly place to come 
down if I suddenly have to take flight. Are there any other safe 
places out there in the woods?' 
Valash's expression grew wary as if he had suddenly realized 
that he'd said too much already. 
'Ah - I think we know what we need to, From,' Stragen interposed 

 smoothly. 'There are safe places out there if we really 
need to find them. I'm sure there are many things Master Valash 
knows that he's not supposed to talk about.' 
Valash puffed himself up slightly, and his expression took on a 
knowing, secretive cast. 'You understand the situation perfectly 
Vymer,' he said. 'it wouldn't be proper for me to reveal things 
Lord Scarpa's told me in strictest confidence.' He pointedly 
picked up his papers again. 
'We won't keep you from important matters, Master Valash,' 
Stragen said, backing away. 'We'll nose around town some more 
and let you know if we find out anything else.' 
'i'd appreciate' that, Vymer,' Valash replied, shuffling his 
papers as his visitors departed. 
'What an ass,' Talen muttered as the three of them carefully 
descended the rickety staircase to the alley again. 
'Where did you learn so much about tapestry?' Sparhawk 
asked him. 
'I don't know anything about tapestry. 
'You were talking as if you did.' 
'I talk about a lot of things I don't know anything about. It 
fills in the gaps when you're trying to peddle something that's 
worthless. I could tell by the way Valash's eyes glazed over 
when I mentioned the word "tapestry" that he didn't know any 
more about it than I did. He was too busy trying to make us 
think that he's important to pay any real attention. I could get 
rich from that one. I could sell him blue butter.' 
Sparhawk gave him a puzzled look. 
'it's a swindler's term,' Stragen explained. 'The meaning's a 
little obscure.' 
'i'm sure it is. 
'Did you want me to explain it?' 
'Not particularly, no,' 

'is it a family custom? Or just a way to honor your father?' Berit 
asked Khalad as the two of them, wearing mail-shirts and grey 
cloaks, lounged against the forward rail of the scruffy lake-freighter 

 plodding across the Sea of Arjun from Sepal to Tiara. 
Khalad shrugged. 'No, it's nothing like that. It's just that the 
men in our family all have heavy beards - except for Talen. If I 
decided not to wear a beard, I'd have to shave twice a day. I 


clip it close with scissors once a week and let it go at that. It 
saves time. ' 
Berit rubbed at his altered cheek. 'I wonder what Sparhawk 
would do if I let his beard grow,' he mused. 
'He might not do anything, but Queen Ehlana would probably 
peel you like an apple. She likes his face just the way it is. She's 
even fond of that crooked nose.' 
'it looks as if we've got weather up ahead.' Berit pointed 
toward the west. 
Khalad frowned. 'Where did that come from? The sky was 
clear just a minute ago. It's funny I didn't smell it coming.' 
The cloud-bank hovering low on the western horizon was 
purplish black, and it roiled ominously, swelling upward with 
surprising speed. There were flickers of lightning deep inside 
the cloud, and the sullen rumble of thunder came to them across 
the dark, choppy waters of the lake. 
'I hope these sailors know what they're doing,' Berit said. 
'That has the earmarks of a very nasty squall.' 
They continued to watch the inky cloud as it boiled higher 
and higher, covering more and more of the western sky. 
'That's not a natural storm, Berit,' Khalad said tensely. 'it's 
building too fast.' 
Then there was a shocking crash of thunder, and the cloud 
blanched and shuddered as the lightning seethed within it. Both 
the young men saw the shadowy shape in the instant that the 
bluish lightning thrust back the darkness to reveal what lay 
hidden in the cloud. 'Klael!' Berit gasPed, staring at the 
monstrous, winged shape half-concealed in the churning 
storm-front. The next crash of thunder ripped the sky, and the shabby 

vessel shuddered in the overwhelming sound. The inverted 
wedge of Klael's face seemed to ripple and change in the midst 
of its veiling cloud, and the slitted eyes flamed in sudden rage. 
The great, batlike wings began to claw at the approaching storm, 
and the awful mouth opened to roar forth the thunder of klael's 
frustration. He howled in vast fury, and his enormous arms 
stretched up into the murky air, reaching hungrily to clutch at 
something that was not there. 
And then the thing was gone, and the unnatural cloud tattered 
and streamed harmlessly off to the southeast to become no more 
than a dirty smudge on the horizon. The air, however, was filled 
with a sulphurous reek. 
'You'd better pass the word to Aphrael,' Khalad said grimly. 
'Klael's loose again. He was looking for something, and he didn' 
find it. God knows where he'll look next.' 

'Komier's arm is broken in three places,' Sir Heldin rumbled 
when he joined the mail-skirted Patriarch Bergsten, Ambassador 
Fontan, and Archimandrite Morsel in Morsel's book-littered 
study in the east wing of the palace, 'and Darellon's still seeing 
two of everything. Komier can travel if he has to, but I think 
we'd better leave Darellon here until he recovers.' 
'How many knights are fit to ride?' Bergsten asked. 
'Forty thousand at most, your Grace.' 
'We'll just have to make do with what we've got. Emban knew 
that we'd probably come this way, and he's been sending messengers 


 by the platoon. Things are coming to a head in southeastern 

 Tamuli. Sparhawk's wife has been taken hostage, and 
our enemies are offering to trade her for Bhelliom. There's a 
rebel army in the Arjuni jungles preparing to march on 
Matherion, and two more armies massing on the eastern frontier 
of Cynesga. If those armies all join up, the game's over. Emban 
wants us to ride east across the steppes until we're past the 
Astel Marshes and then turn south and lay siege to the Cynesgan 
capital. He needs a diversion of some kind to pull those armies 
back from the border.' 
Sir Heldin pulled out his map. 'it's workable,' he said after a 
moment's study, 'but we're going to be a little light for that kind 
of job.' 
'We'll get by. Vanion's in the field, but he's badly outnumbered 

 along that Cynesgan frontier. If we don't create 
enough of a disturbance to relieve some of the pressure on him, 
he'll be swarmed under.' 
Heldin looked speculatively at the huge Thalesian patriarch. 
'You're not going to like this, your Grace,' he said, 'but there's 
not much choice in the matter.' 
'Go ahead,' Bergsten told him. 
'You're going to have to lay your cassock aside and take command.

 Abriel's been killed, Darellon's incapacitated, and if Komier 

 gets into a fight, the weight of his axe will cripple him.' 
'You're still here, Heldin. You can take charge.' 
Heldin shook his head. 'i'm not a Preceptor, your Grace, and 
everybody in the army knows it. I'm also a Pandion, and the 
other orders have strong feelinSs about us. We haven't made 
very many friends in the past couple of centuries. The other 
orders won't accept me as commander. You're a Patriarch, and 
you speak for Sarathi - and the Church. They'll accept you with 
nO argument.' 
'it's out of the question." 
'Then we'll have to sit here until Dolmant sends us a new 
commander. ' 
'We can't wait!' 
'My point exactly. Do I have your permission to tell the 
knights that you're taking command?' 
'I can't, Heldin. You know that I'm forbidden to use magic.' 
'We can work our way around that, your Grace. There are 
plenty of accomplished magicians in the ranks. Just tell us what 
you want done, and we'll see to it.' 
'i've taken an oath.' 
'You took another one earlier, Lord Bergsten. You promised to 
defend the Church. That oath takes precedence in this situation.' 
The hugely bearded and black-robed Archimandrite Morsel 
looked speculatively at the reluctant Thalesian. Then he spoke in 
a neutral sort of way. 'Would you like an independent opinion, 
Bergsten?' 
Bergsten scowled at him. 
'You're going to get it anyway,' the Astellian churchman said 
with unruffled calm. 'Given the nature of our opponent, we're 
face to face with a "Crisis of the Faith", and that suspends all 
the other rules. God needs your axe, Bergsten, not your theology.' 

 He squinted at the Thalesian Patriarch. 'You don't seem 
convinced,' he said. 


'i'm not trying to be offensive, Morsel, but "Crisis of the 
Faith" can't just be pulled out and dusted off whenever we want 
to bend some rules.' 
'All right, let's try this one then. This is Astel, and your 
Church at Chyrellos recognizes my authority here. As long as 
we're in Astel, I speak for God.' 
Bergsten pulled off his helmet and absently polished the 
glossy black Ogre-horns on his sleeve. 'Technically, I suppose,' 
he conceded. 
'Technicalities are the very soul of doctrine, your Grace.' Morsel's

 huge beard bristled with disputational fervor. 'Do you agree 
that I speak for God here in Astel?' 
'All right, for the sake of argument, yes.' 
'i'm glad you agree, I'd hate to have to excommunicate you. 
Now then, I speak for God here, and God wants you to take 
command of the Church Knights. Go forth and smite God's 
enemies, my son, and may heaven strengthen your arm.' 
Bergsten squinted out the window at the dirty-looking sky for 
a long moment, mulling the clearly specious argument over in 
his mind. 'You take full responsibility, Morsel?' he asked. 
'I do.' 
'That's good enough for me, then.' Bergsten crammed his 
helmet back on his head. 'Sir Heldin, go tell the knights that 
I'm assuming command of the four orders. Instruct them to 
make all the necessary preparations. We march first thing in the 
morning.' 
'At once, General Bergsten,' Heldin replied, coming to 
attention. 

'Anakha,' Bhelliom's voice echoed in the vaults of Sparhawk's 
mind, 'thou must awaken.' 
Even before he opened his eyes, Sparhawk could feel a light 
touch on the thong about his neck. He caught the little hand 
and opened his eyes. 'What do you think you're doing?' he 
demanded of the Child Goddess. 
'I hav to have the Bhelliom, Sparhawk!' her voice was desperate, 

 and her eyes were streaming tears. 
'What's going on, Aphrael? Calm down and tell me what's 
happened. ' 
'Sephrenia's been stabbed! She's dying! Please, Sparhawk! 
Give me the Bhelliom!' 
He came to his feet all in one motion. 'Where did this happen?' 
'In Dings. She was getting ready for bed, and Zalasta 
came into her room. He stabbed her in the heart, Sparhawk! 
please, Father, give me the Bhelliom! I've got to have it to 
save her!' 
'She's still alive?' 
"yes, but I don't know for how long! Xanetia's with her. She's 
using a Delphaeic spell to keep her breathing, but she's dying, 
my sister's dying!' She wailed and hurled herself into his arms, 
weeping uncontrollably. 
'Stop that, Aphrael. this isn't helPing. When did this 
happen?' 
'A couple of hours ago. Please, Sparhawk! Only Bhelliom can 
save her!' 
We can't, Aphrael. If we take Bhelliom out of that box, Cyrgon 


will know immediately that we're trying to trick him, and Scarpa 
will kill your mother!' 
The Child Goddess clung to him, sobbing uncontrollably. 'I 
know!' she wailed. 'What are we going to do, Father? We can't 
just let her die!' 
'Can't you do something?' 
'The knife touched her heart, Sparhawk. I can't reverse that! 
Only Bhelliom has that kind of power!' 
Sparhawk's soul seemed to shrivel, and he smashed at the 
wall with his fist. He lifted his face. 
'What can I do?' he hurled his voice upward. 'What in God's name can I do?" 
'Compose thyself, Anakha!' Bhelliom's voice was sharp in his 
mind. 'Thou wilt serve neither Sephrenia nor thy mate by this 
unseemly display!' 
'We have to do something, Blue Rose!' 
'Thou art not at this moment fit to decide. Thou must therefore 
be ruled by me. Go at once and do as the Child Goddess doth 
entreat thee.'
'Thou wilt condemn my wife!' 
'That is not certain, Anakha. Sephrenia, however, doth linger 
on the brink of death. That much is certain. It is her need that 
is most pressing.' 
'No. I can't do that!' 


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


thee!' 


CHAPTER 12 


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


floor. 


'What are you doing?' Aphrael demanded urgently. 'We have 


to hurry!' 


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


'Here.' She held out her hand, and a sheet of parchment 


appeared in it. 


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


'Get on with it, Sparhawk.' 


'I need something to write with.' 


She muttered something in Styric and handed him a quill and 


a small inkpot. 


'Vymer,' Sparhawk scribbled, 'something's come up, and I'll 


be gone for a while. Keep Reldin out of trouble.' And he signed 


it, 'From.' Then he laid it in the center of Stragen's bed.


"Now can we go?' she asked impatiently. 


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


"We have to get out of town first. I don't want anybody to see 


us. What's the quickest way to the woods?' 


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


'Let's go.' 


They left the room, went down the stairs and on out into the 


Street. Sparhawk picked her up and half-enfolded her in his 


cloak.


'I can walk,' she protested.


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


'Can't you go any faster?'
"just let me handle this part of it, Aphrael. If I start running, 
people will think I've stolen you.' He looked around to make 
sure no one on the muddy street was close enough to hear. 
'How are you going to manage this?' he asked her. 'There are 
people out there who can feel it when you tamper with things, 
you know. We don't want to attract attention.' 
She frowned. 'i'm not sure. I was upset when I came here. ' 
'Are you trying to get your mother killed?' 
'That's a hateful thing to say.' She pursed her little mouth in 
thought. 'There's always a certain amount of noise,' she mused. 
'I didn't quite follow that.' 
'it's one of the disadvantages of having our two worlds overlap 


 the way they do. The sounds of one sort of spill over into 
the other. Most humans can't hear us - or feel us - when we 
move around, but we can definitely hear and feel each other.' 
Sparhawk crossed the street to avoid a noisy brawl that had 
just erupted from a sailors' tavern. 'if the others can hear you., 
how are you going to hide what you're doing?' 
'You didn't let me finish, Sparhawk. We're not alone here. 


There are others all around us - my family, the Tamul Gods, 
your Elene God, various spirits and ghosts, and the air's positively


 littered with the Powerless Ones. Sometimes they flock
up ,like migrating birds.' 
He stopped and stepped back to let a rickety charcoal wagon 
creak past. 'Who are these "Powerless Ones?"?' he asked her. 
'Are they dangerous?' 
'Hardly. They don't even really exist any more. They're nothing 


 but memories - old myths and legends.'
'Are they real? Could I see them?' 
'Not unless you believe in them. They were Gods once, but 
their worshippers either died out or were converted to the worship


 of other Gods. They wail and flutter around the edges of 
reality without substance or even thought. All they have is 
need.' She sighed. 'We go out of fashion, Sparhawk - like last 
years gowns or old shoes and hats. The Powerless Ones are 
discarded Gods who shrink and shrink as the years go by until 
they're finally nothing at all but a kind of anguished wailing.' 
She sighed again. 'Anyway,' she went on, 'there's all this noise 
in the background, and it makes it very hard to concentrate or
pick out specifics.' 
They passed another smelly tavern loud with drunken song. 
'is this noise something like that?' Sparhawk asked, jerking his 
head toward the singing. 'Meaningless sound that fills up your 
ears and keeps you from hearing what you're really listening 
for?' 
'More or less. We have a couple of senses that you don't, 
though, so we know when others are around, for one thing, 
and we know when they're doing things - tampering, if you 
want to call it that - for another. Maybe I can hide what I'm 
doing in all that other noise. How much further do we have to 



go?' He turned a corner into a quiet street. 'We're coming to the 

edge of town now.' He shifted her in his arms and continued 
on up the street, walking a little faster now. The houses here 
on the outskirts of Beresa were more substantial, and they were 
set back from the streets in aloof, self-important pride. 'After 
we go through the charcoal yards, we'll come to the woods,' he 
told her. 'Are you sure this noise that I can't hear will be loud 
enough to hide your spells?' 
'I'll see if I can get some help. I just thought of something. 
Cyrgon doesn't know exactly where I am, and it'll take him a 
little while to identify me and pinpoint my exact location. I'll 
ask some of the others to come here and have a party or something. 

 If they're loud enough, and if I move fast enough, he 
won't even know that I've been here.' 
There were only a few workmen tending the sullen fires in 
the charcoal yards that ringed Beresa, incurious men, blackened 
by their tasks and far gone with drink, who lurched around 
the smoky flames like hellish imps dancing on eternal coals. 
Sparhawk walked even faster now, carrying the distraught Child 
Goddess toward the shadowy edge of the tangled forest. 
'I'll need to be able to see the sky,' she told him. 'I don't 
want any tree-limbs in my way.' She paused. 'Are you afraid of 
heights?' she asked. 
'Not particularly, why?' 
"Just asking. Don't get excited when we start. I won't let anything 

 happen to you. You'll be perfectly safe as long as I'm 
holding your hand.' She paused again. 'Oh, dear,' she murmured. 'I 

 just remembered something.' 
'What?' He pushed aside a branch and slipped past it into the 
darkness of the forest. 
'I have to be real when I do this.' 
'What do you mean "real? you're real now, aren't you?' 
'Not exactly. Don't ask questions, Sparhawk. Just find me a 
patch of open sky and don't bother me for a while. I have to 
appeal for some help - if I can find them.' 
He pushed through the tangled brush, a cold knot in his 
stomach and his heart like a stone in his chest. The hideous 
dilemma they faced tore at him, seeming almost to rip him apart. 
Sephrenia was dying, but he must endanger Ehlana in order 
to save her life. It was only the force of Bhelliom's will that 
kept him moving at all. His own will was paralyzed by the conflicting 

 needs of the two he loved most in all the world. He 
pushed at the tangle surrounding him in a kind of hopeless 
frustration. 
Then he broke through the screen of brush into a small clearing 

 carpeted by deep moss where a pool of water fed by a gurgling 

 spring winked back at the stars strewn like bright grain 
across the velvet night. It was a quiet place, almost enchanted, 
but his eyes refused to accept its beauty. He stopped and set 
Aphrael down. Her small face was devoid of expression, and 
her eyes were blank, unseeing. Sparhawk waited tensely. 
'Well, finally.' she said at last in an exasperated tone of voice. 
'it's so hard to explain anything to them. They never stop bahbling 

 long enough to listen.' 
'Who's this we're talking about?' 


'The Tamul Gods. Now I can see why Oscagne's an atheist 
I finally persuaded them to come here to do their playing. That 
should help to hide you and me from Cyrgon.' 
'Playing?' 
'They're children, Sparhawk, babies who run and play and 
squeal and chase each other for months on end. Cyrgon absolutely

 hates them, so he won't go anywhere near them. That 
should help. They'll be here in a few minutes, and then we'll 
be able to start. Turn your back, Father. I don't like having 
people watch me change.' 
'i've seen you before - your reflection anyway." 
'That part doesn't bother me. The process of the changeover's 
a little degrading, though. Just turn your back, Father. You 
wouldn't understand.' 
He obediently turned and gazed up at the night sky. Several 
familiar constellations were either missing or in the wrong 
places. 
'All right, Father, you can turn around now.' Her voice was 
richer and more vibrant. 
He turned. 'Would you please put some clothes on?' 
'Why?' 
"just do it, Aphrael. Humor my quirks.' 

'This is so tedious.' She reached out and took hold of a gauzy 
kind of veil she had spun out of nothing and wrapped herself 
in it. 'Better?' she asked. 
'Not much. Can we leave now?' 
'I'll check.' Her eyes went distant for a moment. 'They're 
coming,' she reported. 'They got side-tracked. It doesn't take 
much to distract them. Now, listen very carefully. Try to stay 
calm when we do this. Just keep the fact firmly in mind that I'm 
not going to let you get hurt. You won't fall.' 
'Fall? Fall from where? What are you talking about?' 
'You'll see. I'd do it differently, but we have to get to Dirgis 
in a hurry, and I don't want Cyrgon to have time to locate me. 
We'll take it in easy stages at first, so you'll have time to get 
used to the idea.' She turned her head slightly. 'They're here,' 
she said. 'We can start now.' 
Sparhawk cocked his head slightly. He seemed to hear the distant 

 sound of childish laughter, though it might have been only 
the sound of an errant breeze rustling the leaves in the treetops. 
'Give me your hand,' she instructed. 
He reached out and took her by the hand. It seemed very 
warm and somehow comforting. 
"Just look up at the sky, Sparhawk,' the heartbreakingly 

beautiful young woman instructed. 
He raised his face and saw the upper edge of the moon come 
creeping pale and luminous up above the treetops. 
"you can look down now.' 
They were standing some ten feet above the rippled waters 
of the pool. Sparhawk's muscles tensed. 
'Don't do that!' she said sharply. 'Just relax. You'll slow us 
down if I have to drag you through the air like a water-logged 
cat. he tried, but he didn't have much success. He was certain 
that his eyes were lying to him, though. He could feel solidity 


under his feet. He stamped on it, and it was as firm as earth 
ought to be. 
'That's just for now,' the Goddess told him. 'In a little while 
you won't need it any more. I always have to put something 
solid down for Sephrenia -' Her voice broke off with a strange 
little sob. 'please get control of yourself, Sparhawk,' she pleaded. 
'We must hurry. Look at the sky again. We're going a little 
higher.' He felt nothing at all, no rush of air, no sinking in the pit of 

his stomach, but when he looked down again, the clearing and 

its enchanted pool had shrunk to a dot. The tiny lights of Beresa 

twinkled from minuscule windows, and the moon had laid a 

long, glowing path out across the Tamul Sea. 

'Are you all right!' Her inflections were still Aphrael's, but 

her voice, and most definitely her appearance, were totally different. 
Her face peculiarly combined Flute's features with 

Danae's, making her the adult who had somehow been both 

little girls. Sparhawk didn't answer, but instead stood stamping 

one foot on the solid nothing under him. 

'I won't be able to keep that there when we start,' she warned. 

'We'll be going too fast. Just hold onto my hand, but don't get 

excited and break my fingers. ' 

'Don't do anything to surprise me, then. Are you going to 

sprout wings?' 

'What an absurd idea. I'm not a bird, Sparhawk. Wings would 

only get in my way. Just lean back and relax.' She looked intently 

at him. 'You're really handling this well. Sephrenia's usually in 

hysterics at this point. Would you be more at ease if you sat 

down?' 

'On what?' 

'Never mind. Maybe we'd better stand. Take a couple of deep 

breaths, and let's get started.' 

He found that looking up helped. When he was looking at 

the stars and the newly risen moon, he could not see the awful 

emptiness under him. 

There was no sense of movement, no whistle of the wind in 

his ears, no flapping of his cloak. He stood holding Aphrael's 

hand and looking intently at the moon as it receded ponderously 

southward. Then there was a pale luminosity coming up from beneath them. 

'Oh, bother,' the Goddess said. 

"What's wrong?' His voice was a little shrill. 
"look down." 

He looked down and saw a fairy-tale world under them. 

cloud, glowing in the moonlight, stretched out 

as if forever. Mountains of airy mist swelled up from a folded, 
insubstantial plain, and pillars and castles of curded cloud stood 
sentinel-like between. Sparhawk's mind filled with wonder as
the soft, moonlit cloudscape flowed smoothly back below them. 
'beautiful,' he murmured. 
"maybe, but I can't see the ground.' 
I think I prefer it that way.' 
I need reference points, Sparhawk. I can't see where I am, 
so I can't tell where I'm going. Bhelliom can find a place with 
nothing but a name to work with, but I can't. I need landmarks, 
and I can't see them with all these clouds in the way.'



Why don't you use the stars?' 
"What?" 
That's what sailors do when they're out at sea. The stars don't 
move, so the sailors pick out a certain star or constellation and 
steer toward it.' 
There was a long silence while the swiftly receding rush of 
cloud beneath them slowed and finally stopped. 'Sometimes 
you're so clever that I can't stand you, Sparhawk,' the Goddess 
holding his hand said tartly. 
~ you mean you've never even thought of it?' he asked her 
incredulously. 
I don't fly at night very often.' Her tone was defensive. 'We're 
going down. I have to find a landmark.' 
They sank downward, the clouds rushing up to meet them, 
and then they were immersed in a dense, clinging mist. 'They're 
made out of fog, aren't they? Clouds, I mean.' Sparhawk was 
%edid you think they were?' 

I doa't know. I've never thought of it before. It just seems 
strange for some reason.' 

e bmke out of the underside of the cloud - clouds no 
bathed in moonglow, now hanging close over their heads 
a ly ceiling that closed off the light. The earth beneath 
them was enveloped in almost total darkness. They drifted 
gliding in air and veering this way and that, peering 
and searching for something recognizable. 
'Over there.' Sparhawk pointed. 'it must be a fair-sized town. 
There's quite a lot of light.' 
They moved in that direction, drawn toward the light like 
mindless insects. There was a sense of unreality as Sparhawk 
looked down. The town lying beneath them seemed tiny. It 
huddled like a child's toy on the edge of a large body of water. 
Sparhawk scratched at his cheek, trying to remember the details 
of his map. 'it's probably Sepal,' he said. 'That lake almost has 
to be the Sea of Arjun.' He stopped, his mind suddenly reeling. 
'That's over three hundred leagues from where we started, 
Aphrael!' he exclaimed. 'Almost a thousand miles!' 
'Yes - if that town really is Sepal.' 
'it has to be. The Sea of Arjun's the only large body of water 
on this part of the continent, and Sepal's on the east side of it. 
Arjun's on the south side, and Tiana's on the west.' He stared 
at her incredulously. 'A thousand miles. and we only left Beresa 
a half un hour ago. just how fast are we going?' 
'What difference does it make? We got here. That's all that 
matters.' The young woman holding his hand looked speculatively 

 down at the miniature town on the lake-shore. 'Dirgis is 
off to the west a little way, so we won't want to go straight 
north.' She shifted them around in mid-air until they were facing 
in a slightly northwesterly direction. 'That should be fairly close. 
Don't move your head, Sparhawk. Keep looking in that direction. 

 We'll go back up, and you pick out a star.' 
They rose swiftly through the clouds, and Sparhawk saw the 
familiar constellation of the wolf lying above the misty horizon 
ahead. 'There,' he pointed. 'The five stars clustered in the shape 


of a dog's head.' 
'it doesn't look like any dog I've ever seen. 
'You have to use your imagination. How is it you've never 
thought of steering by the stars before?' 
She shrugged. 'Probably because I can see farther than you 
can. You see the sky as a surface - a kind of overturned bowl 
with the stars painted on it all at the same distance from you. 
That's why you can see that cluster of stars as a dog's head. I 
can't, because I can see the difference in distances. Keep an eye on your 
dog, Sparhawk. Let me know if we start to drift 
off." The oeu moon-bathed cloud beneath them began to flow smoothly 

back again, and they flew on in silence for a while. 'This isn't 

so bad,' Sparhawk said. 'At least not when you get used to it.' 
'it's better than walking,' the gauze-clad Goddess replied. 
'it made my hair stand on end right at first, though.' 
'Sephrenia's never gotten past that stage. She starts gibbering 
in panic as soon as her feet come up off the ground.' 
Sparhawk remembered something. 'Wait a minute,' he 
objected. 'When we killed Ghwerig and stole the Bhelliom, you 
came floating up out of that chasm in his cave, and she walked 
out across the air to meet you. She wasn't gibbering in panic 
then.' 
'No. It was probably the bravest thing she's ever done. I was 
so proud of her that I almost burst.' 
Was she conscious at all? When you found her, I mean?' 
'Off and on. She was able to tell us who'd attacked her. I 
managed to slow her heartbeat and take away the pain. She's 
very calm now.' Aphrael's voice quavered. 'She expects to die, 
Sparhawk. She can feel the wound in her heart, and she knows 
what that means. She was giving Xanetia a last message for 
Vanion when I left.' The young Goddess choked back a sob. 
'Can we talk about something else?' 
'Of course.' Sparhawk's eyes flickered away from the constellation

 in the night sky. 'There are mountains sticking up out of 
tHe clouds just ahead.' 
"We're almost there, then. Dirgis is in the big basin lying 
beyond that first ridge.' 
Their rapid flight began to slow. They passed over the snowy 
peaks of the southern-most expanse of the mountains of Atan, 
peaks that rose out of the clouds like frozen islands, and found 
that there was only thin cloud-cover over the basin lying beyond. 
They descended, drifting down like dandelion puffs toward 
the forest-covered hills and valleys of the basin, a landscape 
thaiply etched in the moonlight that leeched out all color. There 
~ another cluster of lights some distance to the left - ruddy 
torches in narrow streets and golden candlelight in little 
windows. 'That's Dirgis,' Aphrael said. 'We'll set down outside 
of town. I should probably change back before we go on in.' 
"either that or put on some more clothes.' 
That really bothers you, doesn't it, Sparhawk? Am I ugly or 
something?' 
Quite the opposite - and that bothers me all the more. I 
can't think while you're standing around naked, Aphrael.' 
'i'm not really a woman, Sparhawk - not in the sense that 


seems to bother you so much, anyway. Can't you think of me 
as a mare - or a doe?' 
'No, I can't. Just do whatever you have to do, Aphrael. I don't 
really think we need to talk about how I think of you.' 
'Are you blushing, Sparhawk?' 
'Yes, as a matter of fact I am. Now can we drop it?' 
'That's really rather sweet, you know.' 
'Will you stop?' 
They came down in a secluded little glen about a half-mile 
from the outskirts of Dirgis, and Sparhawk turned his back while 
the Child Goddess once again assumed the more familiar form 
of the Styric waif they all knew as Flute. 'Better?' she asked 
when he turned around. 
'Much.' He picked her up and started toward town, his long 
legs stretching out in a rapid stride. He concentrated on that. It 
seemed to help him avoid thinking. 
They went directly into town, made one turn off the main 
street, and came to a large, two-story building. 'This is it,' 
Aphrael said. 'We'll just go in and up the stairs. I'll make the 
innkeeper look the other way.' 
Sparhawk pushed open the door, crossed the common-room 
on the main floor and went up the stairs. 
They found Xanetia all aglow and cradling Sephrenia in her 
arms. The two women were on a narrow bed in a small room 
with roughly squared-off log walls. It was one of those snug, 
comfortable rooms such as one finds in mountain inns the world 
over. It had a porcelain stove, a couple of chairs, and a nightstand

 beside each bed. A pair of candles cast a golden light on 
the pair on the bed. The front of Sephrenia's robe was covered 
with blood, and her face was deathly pale, tinged slightly with 
that fatal grey. Sparhawk looked at her, and his mind suddenly 
filled with flames. 'I will cause hurt to Zalasta for this,' he 
growled in Trollish. 
Aphrael gave him a startled look. Then she also spoke in the 
guttural language of the Trolls. 'Your thought is good, Anakha.' 
she agreed fiercely. 'Cause much hurt to him.' The rending 
sound of the Trollish word for "hurt" seemed very satisfying to 
both of them. 'His heart still belongs to me, though,' she added. 
'Has there been any change?' she asked Xanetia, lapsing into 
e, Divine One,' Xanetia replied in a voice near to exhaustion. 
"I am lending our dear sister of mine own strength to sustain 

 her, but I am nearly spent. Soon both she and I will die.' 
'Nay, gentle Xanetia,' Aphrael said. 'I will not lose you. Fear 
not, however. Anakha hath come with Bhelliom to restore ye 
both.' 
"but that must not be,' Xanetia protested. 'To do so would 
put the life of Anakha's Queen in peril. Better that thy sister 
and I both perish than that.' 
"don't be noble, Xanetia,' Aphrael told her tartly. 'it makes 
my hair hurt. Talk to Bhelliom, Sparhawk. Find out how we're 
supposed to do this.' 
"blue Rose,' Sparhawk said, touching his fingers to the bulge 
under his smock. 
I hear thee, Anakha.' The voice in Sparhawk's mind was a 
whisper. 
"We have come unto the place where Sephrenia lies stricken.' 


"yes.' 
"What must we now do? I implore thee, Blue Rose, do not 
Increase the peril of my mate.' 
"Thine admonition is unseemly, Anakha. It doth bespeak a 
lack of trust. Let us proceed. Surrender thy will to me. It is 
through thy lips that I must speak with Anarae Xanetia.' 
A strange, detached lassitude came over Sparhawk, and he 
felt himselff somehow separating, his awareness sliding away 
from his body. 
'Attend to me, Xanetia.' It was Sparhawk's altered voice, but 
he had no consciousness of having spoken. 
"Most closely, World-Maker,' the Anarae replied in her 
exhausted voice. 
Let the Child Goddess assume the burden of supporting her 
sister. I have need of thy hands.' 
Aphrael slipped onto the bed and took Sephrenia from 
Xanetia's arms and held her in a tender embrace. 
'Take forth the box, Anakha,' Bhelliom instructed, 'and surnrender 

it up unto Xanetia.' 
Sparhawk's movements were jerky as he Pulled the golden 
box out from under his tunic and lifted the thong upon which 
it hung suspended up over his head. 
-"gather about thee that serenity which the curse of Edaemus 
bestowed upon thee, Xanetia,' Bhelliom instructed, 'and 
enfold the box - and mine essence - in thy hands, letting thy 
peace infuse that which thou dost hold.' 
Xanetia nodded and extended her glowing hands to take the 
box from Sparhawk's grasp. 
'Very good. Now, take the Child Goddess in thine arms. 
Embrace her and deliver me up unto her.' 
Xanetia clasped both Aphrael and Sephrenia in her arms. 
'Excellent. Thy mind is quick, Xanetia. This is even better. 
Aphrael, open thou the box and draw me forth.' Bhelliom 
paused. 'No tricks, it admonished her with uncharacteristic colloquialism. 'S 
eek not to ensnare me withh thy wiles and thy soft 
touch.' 
'Don't be absurd, World-Maker.' 
'I know thee, Aphrael, and I know that thou art more dangerous

 than ever Azash was or Cyrgon could be. Let us both concentrate 

 all our attention upon the cure of thy sister.' 
The Child Goddess opened the lid of the box and lifted out 
the glowing Sapphire Rose. Sparhawk, all bemused, saw the 
steady white glow which emanated from Xanetia take on a faint 
bluish flush as Bhelliom's radiance joined her own. 
'Apply me, poulticelike, to her wound that I may heal that 
injury which Zalasta hath inflicted." 
Sparhawk was a soldier and he knew a great deal about 
wounds. His stomach knotted when he saw the deep, seeping 
gash in the upper swell of Sephrenia's left breast. 
Aphrael reached out with Bhelliom and gently touched it to 
the bleeding wound. 
Sephrenia started to glow with an azure radiance. She halfraised 

 her head. 'No,' she said weakly, trying to push Aphrael's 
hand away. Sparhawk took both her hands in his and held them. 'it's all 
right, little mother,' he lied softly. 'Everything's been taken care 
of.' The wound in Sephrenia's breast had closed, leaving an ugly 


purple scar. Then, even as they watched, the Sapphire Rose 
continued its work. The scar shrank down to a thin white line 
that became fainter and fainter and finally disappeared entirely. 
Sephrenia began to cough. It was a gurgling, liquid kind of 
cough such as a nearly drowned man might make. 
'Hand me that basin, Sparhawk,' Aphrael instructed. 'She has 
to clear the blood out of her lungs.' 
Sparhawk reached out and took the large, shallow basin from 
the nightstand and handed it to her. 
"thank you,' she said. 'You can have this back now.' She gave him 
back the gold box, took the basin, and held it under Sephrenia's 
mouth. That's right,' she said encouragingly to her sister as the 
woman began coughing up chunks of clotted blood. 'Get 
it all out.' 
Sparhawk looked away. The procedure was not very pretty. 
"put thy mind at rest, Anakha,' Bhelliom's voice told him 
softly. 'Thine enemies are unaware of what hath come to pass.' 
The jewel paused. 'I have not given Edaemus his due, for he is 
very shrewd. Methinks none other could have perceived the 
true import of what he hath done. To curse his children as he 
hath was the only true way to conceal them. I shudder to 
Imagine the pain it must have caused him.' 
'I do not understand,' Sparhawk confessed. 
'A blessing rings and shimmers in the lucid air like bell-sound, 
Anakha, but a curse is dark and silent. Were the light which 
doth emanate from Anarae Xanetia a blessing, all the world 
would hear and feel its o'erwhelming love, but Edaemus hath 
made it a currse instead. Therein lay his wisdom. The accurse 
are cast out and hidden, and no one - man or God - can hear 
or feel their comings and goings up and down the land. When 
she did take the box in her hands, Anarae Xanetia did smother 
all sound and sense of my presence, and when she did embrace 
Aphrael and Sephrenia and enfold them in her luminous darkness,

 none living could detect me. Thy mate is safe - for now. 
Thine enemies have no knowledge of what hath come to pass.' 
Sparhawk's heart soared. 'I do sorely repent my lack of trust, 
blue Rose,' he apologized. 
Thou wert distraught, Anakha. I do freely forgive thee.' 
sparhawk.' Sephrenia's voice was little more than a whisper. 
"yes, little mother?' He went quickly to the side of the bed. 
"you shouldn't have agreed to this. You've put Ehlana in terrible 

 danger. I thought you were stronger.' 
'everything's all right, Sephrenia,' he assured her. 'Bhelliom 
just explained it to me. Nobody heard or felt a thing while you 
were being healed.' 
"How is that possible?' 
"it was Xanetia's presence - and her touch. Bhelliom says she 
easily muffled what was going on. It has to do with the 
difference between a blessing and a curse, as I understand it. 
However it works, what just happened didn't put Ehlana in any 
danger. How are you feeling?' 
'Like a half-drowned kitten, if you really want to know,' she 
smiled weaklly. Then she sighed. 'I would never have believed 
that Zalasta could be capable of what he did.' 
'i'll make him wish he'd never thought of it,' Sparhawk said 
grimly. 'i'm going to tear out his heart, roast it on a spit, and 


then serve it up to Aphrael on a silver plate.' 
'isn't he a nice boy?' Aphrael said fondly. 
'No.' Sephrenia's voice was surprisingly firm. 'I appreciate the 
thought, dear ones, but I don't want either of you to do anything 
to Zalasta. I'm the one he stabbed, so I want to be the one who 
decides who gets him.' 
'I suppose that's fair,' Sparhawk conceded. 
'What have you got in mind, Sephrenia?' Aphrael asked. 
'Vanion's going to be dreadfully upset when he hears about 
this. I don't want him raging and breaking up the furniture, so
i'm going to give Zalasta to him - all tied up in a bright red 
ribbon.' 


'I still get his heart, though,' Aphrael insisted. 


CHAPTER 13 


The Sky was overcast with sullen cloud, and a chill, arid wind 
%eooiaiLd the empty floor of the Desert of Cynesga as Vanion 
and the retreat eastward. Fully half of his armored knights had 
perished in the encounter with klael's soldiers, and very few of 
the survivors had escaped serious injury. Vanion had ridden 
out from Sama with an army. He was returning at the head 
of a column of groaning invalids, battered and dented, after 
what had really been no more than a skirmish. 
four Atans carried Engessa on a litter, and Queen Betuana 
walked along at his side, her face ravaged with grief. Vanion 
%bed. Engessa was still breathing, but only barely. 
The Preceptor straightened in his saddle, trying to shake off 
k dioi and dismay and to think rationally. The fight with
~a warriors had decimated his force of Church Knights, and 
IWJf had been central to the strategY of containment. Without 
tfooae armored horsemen, the eastern frontier of Tamul Proper 
sse no longer secure. 
Vanion muttered a sour oath. The only thing he could really 
do was to warn the others about the change in the situation. 
"Sir Eadrik,' he called to the old veteran riding some distance 
%~).knthrd"')'Srdrik came forward. 


 'take over here. I've got something to take care of.' 
"Keep them going east,' Vanion instructed. 'i'll be back in a 
moment. He spurred his tired horse into a loping canter and 
on ahead. 
h was about a mile in front of the column, he reined
the spell of summoning. 
Nothing happened. 
He cast it again, more urgently this time. 
'What?' Aphrael's voice in his ear was irritably impatient. 
'i've got some bad news, Divine One,' he told her. 
'What else can go wrong? Hurry up, Vanion. I'm very busy 
right now.' 
'We ran into Klael out in the desert. He had an army of giants 
with him, and we got very badly mauled. Tell Sparhawk and 
the others that I probably won't be able to hold Samar if the 
Cynesgans lay siege to it. I've lost half of the knights, and the 
ones I've got left aren't in any condition for a fight. Tikume's
Peloi are brave men, but they don't have any experience with 



,gWhen did this happen?' 
'About four hours ago. Can you find Abriel and the other 
preceptors? They should be in Zemoch or Western Astel by now. 
They have to be warned about Klael. Tell them that under no 
circumstances should they engage in any pitched battles with 
Klael's troops. We're no match for them. If the main body of the 
Church Knights gets waylaid and wiped out, we'll lose this war.' 
'Who are these giants you're talking about, Vanion?' 
'We didn't have time for introductions. They're bigger than 
the Atans, though - almost as big as Trolls. They wear very 
close-fitting armor and steel face-masks. Their weapons aren't 
like anything I've ever seen, and they've got yellow blood.' 
'Yellow? That's impossible!' 
'It's yellow all the same. You can come here and look at my 
sword-blade, if you'd like. I managed to kill a couple of them 
while I was covering Betuana's retreat.' 
'Retreat? Betuana?' 
'She was carrying Engessa.' 
'What's wrong with Engessa?' 
'He was out front a little ways, and Klael's soldiers attacked 
him. He fought well, but they swarmed him under. We charged 
into them, and Betuana cut her way through to Engessa. I 
ordered a retreat and covered Betuana while she carried Engessa 
to the rear. We're taking him back to Sama, but I think it's a 
waste of effort. The side of his head's been bashed in, and I'm 
afraid we're going to lose him.' 
'Don't say that, Vanion. Don't ever say that. There's always 
hope.' 
'Not much this time, Divine One. When somebody breaks 
into a man's brain, about all you can do for him is dig a grave.' 
'i'm not going to lose him, Vanion. how fast can you get him 
back to Sama?' 
'Two days, Aphrael. It took us two days to get here, and two 
days out means two days back.' 
'Can he hold on that long?' 
'I doubt it.' 
She said a short, ugly word in Styric. 'Where are you?' 
'Twenty leagues south of Sama and about five leagues out 
into the desert.' 
'Stay there. I'll come and find you.' 
'Be a little careful when you approach Betuana. She's behaving 
very strangely.' 
'Say what you mean, Vanion. I don't have time for riddles.' 
'i'm not sure what I mean, Aphrael. Betuana's a soldier, and 
she knows that people sometimes get killed in battle. Her reaction

 to what's happened to Engessa is - well - excessive. She's 
broken down completely.' 
'She's an Atan, Vanion. They're a very emotional people. Go 
back and halt your column. I'll be there in a little while.' 
Vanion nodded, although there was no one there to nod to, 
turned his horse and rode back to rejoin his knights. 'Any 
change?' he asked Queen Betuana. 
She lifted her tear-streaked face. 'He opened his eyes once, 
Vanion-Preceptor,' she replied. 'I don't think he saw me, 
though.' She was holding Engessa's hand. 


'I talked with Aphrael,' he advised her. 'She's coming here to 
have a look at him. Don't give up hope yet, Betuana. Aphrael 
cured me, and I was closer to being dead than Engessa is.' 
'He is fairly strong,' she said. 'if the Child Goddess can heal 
his wound before it carries him off -' Her voice caught with an 
odd little note. 
'He'll be all right, your Majesty,' he said, trying to sound more 
certain than he really was. 'Can you get word to your husband? 
about Klael, I mean? He should know about those soldiers Klael 
hides under his wings.' 
'i'll send a runner. Should I tell Androl to come to Sama 
instead of going to Toea? Klael is here now, and Scarpa's army 
won't reach Toea for quite some time - and that's only if they 
can evade the Trolls.' 
'Let's wait until I've had the chance to talk with the others 
first. Is King Androl already on the march?' 
'He should be. Androl always jumps when I suggest something. 

 He's a good man - and very, very brave.' She said it 
almost as if defending her husband from some unspoken criticism, 
but Vanion noticed that she absently stroked Engessa's 
ashen face even as she spoke. 

'He must have been in a hurry,' Stragen said, still puzzling over
Sparhawk's terse note. 
'He's never been very good at writing letters,' Talen shrugged, 
'except for that one time when he spent days composing 
lies about what we were supposedly doing on the Isle of 
Tega.' 
'Maybe that took it all out of him.' Stragen folded the note 
and looked closely at it. 'Parchment,' he said. 'Where did he get 
his hands on parchment?' 
'Who knows? Maybe he'll tell us when he comes back. Let's 
go take a walk on the beach. I need some exercise.' 
'All right.' Stragen picked up his cloak, and he and the
younger thief went downstairs and out into the street. 
The southern Tamul Sea was calm, and the moon-path across 
its dark surface was unbroken and very bright. 'Pretty,' Talen 
murmured when the two reached the damp sand at the edge of 
the water. 
'Yes,' Stragen agreed. 
'I think I've come up with something,' Talen said. 
'So have I,' Stragen replied.
'Go ahead.' 
'No, let's hear yours first.' 
'All right. The Cynesgans are massing on the border, right? 
'Yes.' 
'A good story could un-mass them.' 
'I don't think there is such a word.' 
'Did we come here to discuss vocabulary? What will the 
Cynesgans do if they hear that the Church Knights are coming? 
Wouldn't they almost have to send an army to meet them?' 
'I think Sparhawk and Vanion want to keep the fact that the 
knights are coming more or less a secret.' 
'Stragen, how are you going to keep a hundred thousand men 
a secret? Let's say that I tell Valash that I've picked up a very 
reliable report that a fleet of ships flying Church banners has 



rounded the southern tip of Daconia bound for Kaftal. Wouldn't 
that cause the other side some concern? Even if they know about 
the knights coming across Zemoch, they'd still have to send 
troops to meet that fleet. They couldn't ignore the possibility that 
the knights are coming at them from two different directions.' 
Stragen suddenly laughed.
'What's so funny?' 
'You and I have been running together for too long, 
Talen. We're starting to think alike. I came up with the idea of 
telling Valash that the Atans are going to cross the steppes 
of eastern Astel and strike down into northern Cynesga toward 
the capital.' 
'Nice plan,' Talen said. 
'So's yours.' Stragen squinted out across the moon-bathed 
water. 'Either story's strategically credible,' he mused. 'They're 
exactly the kind of moves a military man would come up with. 
What we're really planning is a simultaneous strike from the east 
and the west. If we can make Cyrgon believe that we're going 
to hit him from the north and south instead, we'll pull him so 
far out of position that he'll never be able to get his armies back 
to meet our real attacks.' 
'Not to mention the fact that we'll cut his army in two.' 
'We'll have to be careful though,' Stragen cautioned. 'I don't 
think even Valash is gullible enough to swallow these stories if 
we drop them both on him at the same time. We'll have to 
spread them out and dribble them to him bit by bit. What I'd 
really like to do is let the fairy-tale about the Atans come from 
someone other than me.' 
'Sparhawk could probably get Aphrael to arrange that,' Talen 
suggested.
'if he ever comes back. His note was a little vague. We can 
get things rolling, though. Let's modify your story a bit. Push 
your make-believe fleet back to Valesia. Give Cyrgon some time 
to worry about it before we pinpoint Kaftal as the final destination. 


 I'll plant a couple of ambiguous hints about the Atans 
massing up near their northwestern frontier. We'll let things
stand that way until Sparhawk comes back.' 
Talen sighed. 
'What's wrong?' 
'This is almost legal, isn't it?' 
'I suppose you could say so, yes. Is there some problem with 
that?' 
'if it's legal, why am I having so much fun?' 


'Nothing?' Ulath asked, opening the neck of his red uniform 
jacket. 
'Not a peep,' Tynian replied. 'I cast the spell four times, and I 
still can't raise her.' 
'Maybe she's busy.' 
'It's possible, I guess.' 
Ulath rubbed at his cheek reflectively. 'I definitely think I'll 
shave off Sir Gerda's beard,' he muttered. 'You know, it could 
be that it's because we're in No-Time. When we did this the 
first time - back in Pelosia - none of our spells worked.' 
'I think this spell's different, Ulath. I'm not really trying to do 
anything. I just want to talk with Aphrael.' 



'Yes, but you're mixing magic. You're trying to use a Styric 
spell when you're up to your ears in a Trollish one.' 
'Maybe that's it. I'll try again when we get to Arjun and go 
back into real time.' 
Bhlokw came shambling back through the grey light of 
Ghnomb's frozen moment, passing a flock of stationary birds 
hanging in the air. 'There are some of the dens of the man-things
in the next valley,' he reported. 
'Many or few?' Ulath asked him. 
'Many,' Bhlokw replied. 'Will the man-things have dogs
there?' 
'There are always dogs near the dens of the man-things, 
Bhlokw.' 
'We should hurry then.' The shaggy Troll paused. 'What do 
the man-things call this place?' 
'It is the place Arjun - I think.' 
'That is the place where we want to go, is it not?' 
'Yes.' 
'Why?' 
'The wicked ones have told the one called Berit to go there. 


It is our thought that we should go there in Ghnomb's broken 
moment and listen to the bird-talk of the man-things. One of 
the man-things may say where the wicked ones will tell the one 
called Berit to go next. It may be that the next place will be the 
place where Anakha's mate is. It would be good to know this.' 
Bhlokw's shaggy brow furrowed as he struggled his way 
through that. 'Are the hunts of the man-things always so notsimple?' 


he asked. 
'It is the nature of our kind to be not-simple.' 
'Does it not make your head hurt?' 
Ulath smiled, being careful not to show his teeth. 'Sometimes 
it does,' he admitted. 
'It is my thought that a simple hunt is better than a not-simple 
hunt. The hunts of the man-things are so not-simple that sometimes 


 I forget why I am hunting. Trolls hunt things-to-eat. The 
man-things hunt thought.' 
Ulath was a bit startled at the Troll's perception. 'It is my 
thought that your thought may be good,' he admitted. 'The 
man-things do hunt thought. We put much value on it.' 
'Thought is good, U-lat, but you can not eat it.' 
'We hunt thought after our bellies are full.' 
'That is how Trolls and the man-things are different, U-lat. I 
am a Troll. My belly is never full. Let us hurry. It is my thought 
that it will be good to know if the dogs of this place are as 
good-to-eat as the dogs of the other place.' He paused. 'I do not 
wish to cause you anger, U-lat, but it is my thought that the dogs 
of the man-things are more good-to-eat than the man-things 
themselves.' He scratched at his cheek with one shaggy paw. 'I 
would still eat a man-thing if my belly was empty, but I would 
like a dog better.' 
'Let us go find you a dog then.' 
'Your thought is good, U-lat.' The huge beast reached out and 
affectionately patted Ulath on the head, nearly driving him to 
his knees. 



The Child Goddess touched her fingertips lightly to the sides of 
Engessa's broken head, and her eyes became distant. 
'Well?' Vanion asked, his tone urgent. 
'Don't rush me, Vanion. The brain is very complicated.' She 
continued her gentle probing. 'impossible,' she said finally, 
withdrawing her fingers. 
Betuana groaned. 
'Please don't do that, Betuana,' Aphrael said. 'All I meant was 
that I can't do it here. I'll have to take him someplace else to 
repair him.' 
'The island?' Vanion guessed. 
She nodded. 'I can control things there. This is still Cynesga 
Cyrgon's place. I don't think he'd give me permission no matter 


 how sweetly I asked him. Can you pray here, Betuana?' 
The Atan Queen shook her head. 'Only in Atan itself." 


'i'm going to talk to your God about that. It's really very inconvenient.' 


 She bent again and put her hand on Engessa's chest. 
The Atan general appeared to stop breathing, and his face 
and body were suddenly covered with frost. 
'You've killed him!' Betuana shrieked at her. 
'Oh, hush. I just froze him to stop the bleeding until I can get 
him to the island. The injury itself isn't so bad, but the bleeding's 
tearing up the rest of his brain. The freezing slows it down to 
a trickle. That's all I can do for right now, but it should be 
enough to keep his body from doing any more damage to itself 
while you're taking him back to Sama.' 
'There's no hope,' Betuana said with a look of anguish. 
'What are you talking about? I can have him back on his feet 
in a day or two - but I have to take him to the island where I 
can control time. The brain is easy. It's the heart that's so - well, 
never mind that. Listen closely, Betuana. As soon as you and 
Vanion get him to Sama, I want you to go to the Atan border 
as fast as you can run. As soon as you get across that line, fall 
on your knees and start praying to your God. He'll be stubborn 


- he always is - but keep after him. Make a pest of yourself until 
he gives in. I need his permission to take Engessa to my island. 
If nothing else works, promise him that I'll do something nice 
for him someday. Don't be too specific, though. Keep bearing 
down on the fact that I can save Engessa, and he can't.' 
'I will do as you have commanded, Divine One,' Betuana 
declared. 'I didn't command, Betuana. I only suggested. I don't have 
the authority to command you.' The Child Goddess turned to 
Vanion. 'Let me see your sword,' she said. 'I want to have a 
look at this yellow blood.' 
Vanion drew his sword and offered it to her hilt-first. 
She shuddered. 'You hold it, dear one. Steel makes me nausious.'


 She squinted at the stains on the blade. 'Astonishing,' 
she murmured. 'That isn't blood at all.' 
'It's what came out of them when we cut them.' 
'Perhaps, but it's still not blood. It's some kind of bile. Klael's 
going a little far afield for allies. Those giants you ran across 
don't come from here, Vanion. They aren't like any creatures
on this world.'
'We noticed that almost immediately, Divine One.' 



'i'm not talking about their size or shape, Vanion. They don't 
even seem to have the same kind of internal organs as the 
humans and animals. I'd guess that they don't even have 
lungs.' 
'Everything has lungs, Aphrael - except maybe fish.' 
'That's here, dear one. If these creatures have bile in their veins 
instead of blood, then they're relying on their livers for -' she 
broke off, frowning. 'I guess it is possible,' she said a little dubiously. 'i 
I'd hate to smell the air on their world, though.' 
'You do know that I haven't got the foggiest idea of what 
you're talking about, don't you?' 
She smiled. 'That's all right, dear one. I love you anyway. 
'Thank you. '
'Don't mention it.' 


'It could be good country, friend Tikume,' Kring said, adjusting


his black leather jerkin and looking around at the rocky desert. 


'It's open and not too rugged. All it needs is water - and a 


few good people.' The two of them rode at the front of their 


disorganized mob of Peloi. 


Tikume grinned. 'When you get right down to it, friend Kring, 


that's all Hell really needs.'


Kring laughed. 'How far is it to this Cynesgan camp?' he 


asked. 


'Another five leagues. It's easy fighting, Domi Kring. The 


Cynesgans ride horses and carry curved swords much like your 


sabers,. but their horses are scrubby and not very good, and 


the Cynesgans are too lazy to practice their swordsmanship. 


To make it even better, they wear flowing robes with big, 


floppy sleeves. Half the time they get tangled up in their own 


clothing.' 


Kring's grin was wolfish. 


They run fairly well,' Tikume added, but they always come 


back.' 


To the same camps?' Kring asked incredulously. 


Tikume nodded. 'It makes it even easier. We don't have to go 


looking for them.' 


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


'From what I've heard, they're getting their orders from


Cyrgon.' Tikume rubbed his shaved scalp. 'Do you think it 


might be heresy to suggest that even a God can be stupid?' 


'As long as you don't say it about our God, I think you're 


safe. ' 


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


'Patriarch Emban's a reasonable man, Domi Tikume. He won't 


denounce you if you say unflattering things about our enemy.' 


Kring raised up in his stirrups to peer across the brown, gravelstrewn 
expanse of the Desert of Cynesga. 'i'm looking forward 


to this,' he said. 'I haven't been in a real fight for a long time.' 


He sank back into his saddle. 'Oh, I almost forgot. I talked with 


friend Oscagne about the possibility of a bounty on Cynesgan


ears. He said no.' 


'That's a shame. Men fight better if they've got an incentive 


of some kind.'


'It even gets to be a habit. We had a fight with the Trolls up 


in northern Atan, and I had a dead Troll's ear half sawed-off 



before I remembered nobody was around to buy it from me. 
That's a funny-looking hill up there, isn't it?' He pointed ahead 
at an almost perfectly shaped dome rearing up out of the desert 
floor. 
'It is a little odd,' Tikume agreed. 'There aren't any rocks on 
its sides - just dust.' 
'Probably some kind of dust-dune. They have sand-dunes 
down in Render that look like that. The wind whirls the sand 
around and leaves it in round hills.' 
'Would dust behave like sand?' 
'Evidently so. There's the proof just up ahead.' 
And then, even as they watched, the hill split down the 
middle and its sides fanned out. They stared at the triangular 
face of Klael as he rose ponderously to his feet, shedding great 
waterfalls of dust from his gleaming black wings. 
Kring reined in sharply. 'I knew something wasn't right about 
that hill!' he exclaimed, cursing his own inattention, as their 
men surged around them. 
'He didn't come alone this time!' Tikume shouted. 'He had 
soldiers hidden under his wings. cold!' 
'Big devils, aren't they?' Kring squinted at the armored warriors 

 rushing toward them. 'Big or little, though, they're still 
infantry, and that's all the advantage we need, isn't it?' 
'Right!' Tikume chortled. 'This should be more fun than chasing 

 Cynesgans. 
'I wonder if they've got ears,' Kring said, drawing his saber. 
"If they do, we might just want to gather them up. I haven't 
given up on friend Oscagne yet.' 
'There's one way to find out,' Tikume said, hefting his javelin 
and leading the charge. 
The standard Peloi tactics seemed to baffle Klael's soldiers. 
The superb horses of the nomads were as swift as deer, and the 
eastern Peloi's preference for the javelin over the saber was an 
additional advantage. The horsemen split up into small groups 
and began their attack. They slashed forward in long files, each 
group concentrating on one of the steel-masked monsters and 
each Peloi hurling his javelin into the huge bodies at close range 
and then swerving away to safety. After a few such attacks, the 
front ranks of the enemy warriors bristled like hedgehogs with 
the short spears protruding from their bodies. 
The armored soldiers grew increasingly desperate, and they 
flailed ineffectually at their swift-charging tormentors with their 
brutal maces, savaging the unoffending air and almost never 
striking a solid blow. 
'Good fight!' Kring panted to his friend after several charges. 
They're big, but they're not quite fast enough.' 
'And not in very good condition either,' Tikume added. 'That 
last one I skewered was puffing and wheezing like a leaky 
bellows.' 
They do seem to be having some trouble getting their breath, 
don't they?' Kring agreed. His eyes suddenly narrowed. 'Wait 
a minute, let's try something. Tell your children to just ride 
in and then wheel and ride out again. Don't waste any more 
javelins.' 
'I don't quite follow, Domi.' 
'Have you ever gone up into the high mountains?' 


'A few times. Why?' 
"do you remember how hard it was to get your breath?' 
'Right at first, I suppose. I remember getting a little lightheaded." 


"exactly. I don't know where Klael went to recruit these soldiers, 


 but it wasn't from around here. I think they're used to
thicker air. Let's make them chase us. Why go to all the trouble 
of hilling somebody if the air's going to do the job for you?' 
'It's worth a try.' Tikume shrugged. 'It takes a lot of the fun 
out of it, though.' 
'We can have fun with the Cynesgans later,' Kring told him. 
'Let's run Klael's infantry to death first. Then we can go slaughter 
Cyrgon's cavalry.'


'Sort of follow my lead on this,' Stragen told Talen as the two 
mounted the rickety stairs leading up to the loft. 'i've gotten to 
know Valash fairly well, so I can gauge his reactions a little 
better than you can.' 
'All right,' Talen shrugged. 'He's your fish. I'll let you play 
him. ' 
Stragen opened the door to the stale-smelling loft, and the 
two of them threaded their way through the clutter to Valash's 


corner.
The bony Dacite in the brocade jacket was not alone. A gaunt 
Styric with open, seeping sores on his face slumped in a chair 
at the table. The Styric's right arm hung limply at his side, 
the right side of his ulcerated face sagged, and his right 
eyelid drooped down to almost totally cover the eye. He was 
mumbling to himself, evidently completely unaware of his 
surroundings. 'This isn't a good time, Vymer,' Valash said. 


'It's quite important, Master Valash,' Stragen said quickly. 
'All right, but don't take too long.' 
As they approached the table, Talen's stomach suddenly 
churned. An overpowering odor of putrefying flesh emanated 
from the comatose Styric. 
'This is my master,' Valash said shortly. 
'Ogerajin?' Stragen asked. 
'How did you know his name?' 
'You mentioned it to me once, I think - or maybe it was one 
of your friends. Isn't he a little sick to be out and about?' 
'That's none of your concern, Vymer. What's this important 
information you have for me?' 
'Not me, Master Valash. Reldin here picked up something. 
'Speak up then, boy.' 
'Yes, Master Valash,' Talen said, ducking his head in a sort 
of half-bow. 'I went into a waterfront tavern earlier today, and 
I heard a couple of Edomish sailors talking. They seemed very 
excited about something, so I slipped a little closer to find out 
why they were so worked up. Well, you know how Edomishmen 


 feel about the Church of Chyrellos.' 
"Get on with it, Reldin.' 
"yes, sir. I was only trying to explain. Anyway, one of the 
sailors had just reached port, and he was telling the other one 
to get word to somebody in Edam - Rebal, I think his name is. 



It seems that the first sailor had just come in from Valesia, and 
when he'd been leaving port there, his ship passed a fleet 
coming into the harbor at Valesia." 
"What's so significant about that?' Valash demanded. 
'I was just coming to that. What made the first sailor so excited 
was the fact that the ships he saw were all flying the banners 
of the Church of Chyrellos and the rails were lined with 
men wearing armor. He kept babbling something about 
Church Knights coming to impose heresies on the people of 
Tamuli. ' 

Valash was staring at him in open-mouthed horror. 
'As soon as I heard that part, I slipped away. Vymer here 
thought you might want to know about it, but I wasn't so sure. 
What difference should it make to us that the Elenes are arguing 
about religion? It doesn't involve us, does it?' 
'How many ships?' Valash demanded in a half-strangled tone. 
his eyes were bulging. 
The sailor wasn't too specific, Master Valash.' Talen smiled. 
I sort of got the impression that he ran out of the numbers that 
he knew the names of. I guess that fleet stretched from horizon 
to horizon. If those men in armor are Church Knights, I'd say 
that all of them are on board these ships. I've heard things about 
those people. I certainly wouldn't want to be the one they're 
coming after. How much would you say this information's 
worth, Master Valash?' 
Valash reached for his purse without any protest. 
'Have any messengers from those camps out in the woods 
gone by lately, Master Valash?' Stragen asked suddenly. 
That's none of your concern, Vymer.' 
Whatever you say, Master Valash. All I was getting at is that 
you ought to warn them about talking in public. I came across 
a couple of men who looked as if they've been living in the 
woods. One of them was telling the other that they couldn't do 
anything until Scarpa got instructions from Cyrga. 
Who's Cyrga? I've never heard of him.' 
'It's not a who, Vymer,' Talen said. 'It's a where. Cyrga's a 
town over in Cynesga.' 
'Really?' Stragen's expression grew curious. 'This is the first 
time I've ever heard the name. Where is it? What route would 
you take to get to Cyrga?' 
'The pathway lies close by the Well of Vigay,' the diseased 
Ogerajin announced in a loud, declamatory voice. 
Valash made a slightly strangled noise and ineffectually tried 
to wave his hands warningly in front of his master's face, but 
Ogerajin brushed him aside. 'Keep morning at thy back,' the 
Styric continued. 
'Master Ogerajin,' Valash protested in a squeaky tone. 
'Silence, knave,' Ogerajin thundered at him. 'I will answer 
this traveler's question. If it is his intent to present himself and 
bow down to Cyrgon, he must know the way. Proceed, traveler, 
past the Well of Vigay and trek northwesterly into the desert. 
Thy destination shall be the Forbidden Mountains where none 
may go without Cyrgon's leave except at their peril. When thou 
dost reach those black, forbidding heights, seek ye the Pillars of 
Cyrgon, for without them to guide thee, Cyrga will remain forever 


 hidden.' 
'Please, Master.' Valash was helplessly wringing his hands as 
he stared in chagrin at the raving old lunatic. 
'I have commanded thy silence, knave. Speak once more and 
thou shalt surely die.' He turned back to fix Stragen with his 
single wild eye. 'Be not dismayed, traveler, by the Plains of Salt 
which nomads fear to cross. Ride, boldly ride across the dead 
whiteness, empty of life save only where miscreants labor in the 
quarries to mine the precious salt. 
'From the verge of the Plains of Salt wilt thou behold low 
on the horizon before thee the dark shapes of the Forbidden 
Mountains, and, if it please Cyrgon, his fiery white pillars will 
guide thee to his Hidden City. ' 
Let not the Plain of Bones disquiet thee. The bones are those 
of the nameless slaves who toil until death for Cyrgon's chosen, 
and, having served their purpose, are then given to the desert. 
'Beyond the Plain of Bones wilt thou come to the Gates of 
illusion behind which lies concealed the Hidden City of Cyrga. 
The eye of mortal man cannot perceive those gates. Stark they 
stand as a fractured wall at the verge of the Forbidden Mountains 
to bar thy way. Bend thine eye, however, upon Cyrgon's two 
white pilars and direct thy steps toward the emptiness which 
doth lie between them. Trust not the evidence which thine eye 
doth present unto thee, for the solid-seeming wall is as mist and 
will not bar thy way. Pass through it and proceed along the 
dark coridor to the Glen of Heroes where lie the unnumbered 
regiments of Cyrgon in restless sleep, awaiting the trumpet call 
of his mighty voice summoning them forth once more to smite 
his enemies.' 
Valash stepped back a pace and urgently beckoned to Talen 
to follow him. 
Curious, Talen followed the Dacite. 'Don't pay any attention 
to Master Ogerajin, boy,' Valash said urgently. 'He hasn't been 
well lately, and he has these spells quite often.' 
'i'd already guessed that, Master Valash. Shouldn't you get 
him to a physician? He's really raving, you know.' 
"there's nothing a physician could do for him,' Valash 
shrugged. 'Just make sure that Vymer understands that the old 
man doesn't know what he's talking about.' Valash seemed 
unusually concerned about Ogerajin's ravings. 
'He already knows, Master Valash. Any time somebody starts 
throwing the "thee"s' and "thou"s' around, you can be fairly 
sure that his saddle's starting to slip.' 
The diseased Styric was still raving in that hollow, declamatory 

 voice. 'Beyond the Glen of Heroes wilt thou see the Well 
of Cyrgon, sparkling in the sun and sustaining the Hidden City. 
close by the well in fields laced with channels thou wilt see 
black Cyrga rising like a mountain within its walls of night. Go 
boldly there and into the city of the Blessed Cyrgai. Mount the 
steep streets to the summit of that enclosed peak, and there at 
the Crown of the known world thou wilt find amid that blackness 

 the white, where columns of chalk bear the lintels and roof 
of the Holy of Holies wherein Cyrgon burns eternal upon the sacred altar. 

'Fall upon thy face in that awful presence, crying "Vnnet, tyek 
Yalz Cyrgon!" and, should it please him, he will hear thee. 


And should it please him not, he will destroy thee. 
Thus, traveler, is the way to the Hidden City which lieth at 
the heart of Mighty Cyrgon, King and God of all that was, all 
that is, and all that shall ever be.' 
Then the crazed Styric's face contorted into a grotesque mask 
%of eer and he began to cackle in a shrill, meaningless giggle. 


CHAPTER 14 


'All right, Sparhawk, you can turn round now.' 
'Are you dressed?' 
She sighed. 'Just a minute.' There was a satiny rustle. 'Will 
this do?' she asked tartly. 
He turned. The Goddess was wrapped in a shimmering white 


robe. 'That's a little better,' he told her. 
'Prude. Give me your hand.' 
He took her slender hand in his and they drifted upward, 
rising out of the forested hills just east of Dirgis. 'Sarna's somewhat 


 to the west of due south,' he told her. 
'I know where it is.' Her tone was crisp. 


'I was just trying to be helpful.' 
The ground beneath them began to flow back as they sped 
southwesterly. 
'Can people see us from the ground?' he asked curiously. 
'Of course not. Why?' 
"Just wondering. It occurred to me that if they can it might 
explain a lot of the wild stories that crop up in folklore.'
'You humans are very creative. You can invent wild stories 
without any help from us.' 
'You're in a disagreeable frame of mind today. How long is it 


going to take us to get there?' 
"Just a few minutes.' 


'It's an interesting way to travel.' 
'It's overrated.' 
They drifted on in silence for a while. 'That's Sama just 
ahead,' Aphrael said. 
'Do you think Vanion's reached here by now?' 
'I doubt it. Later today probably. We're going down.' They 
settled gently to earth in a clearing a mile or so from the northern 
edge of the city, and Aphrael returned to the more familiar form 
of Flute. 'Carry me,' she said, reaching up to him. 
'You know how to walk.' 
'I just carried you all the way from Dirgis. Fair is fair, 
Sparhawk.' 
He smiled. 'Only teasing, Aphrael.' He lifted her into his arms
and started through the forest toward town. 'Where to?' he 
asked her. 
'The Atan barracks. Vanion says that Itagne's there.' She 
frowned. 'Oh, that's really impossible!' she burst out. 
'What's wrong?' 
'Sir Anosian's hopelessly inept. I can't make any sense out of 
what he's saying.' 



'Where is he?' 

'At Samar. He's trying to tell me about something Kring and 

Tikume just discovered, but I'm only getting about every third 

word. Why won't the man concentrate on his studies?' 

'Anosian's sort of - ah -' 

'The word you're looking for is "lazy", Sparhawk.' 

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

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

'What's the matter?' 

'I just thought of something.' 

'What now?' 

'It just occurred to me that Tynian may have been a little 

unselective when he was gathering those knights he brought 

back from Chyrellos.' 

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

'I think that's the problem. I've been wondering why I haven't 

been getting any reports from Komier. I don't think Tynian left 

him a single Pandion who has any more skill than Anosian does. 

There aren't all that many of you who can reach out more than 

a few leagues, and Tynian seems to have inadvertently commandeered 
them all.' 

'Could you make any sense at all about what Anosian was 

trying to tell you?' 

'It's something about breathing. Somebody's having problems 

with it. I'll run on down there after we talk with Itagne. Maybe 

Anosian can be coherent if I'm in the same room with him.' 

'Be nice.' 

They passed through the city gates and entered Sama. Sparhawk 
carried the Child Goddess through the narrow streets to 

the bleak stone fortress that housed the local Atan garrison. 

They found the red-mantled Itagne in a large conference room 

examining the map that covered one entire wall. 'Ah, Itagne,' 

Sparhawk said, 'there you are.' He set Flute down on her 

feet. 'i'm afraid you have the advantage of me, Sir -?' 

'It's me, Itagne - Sparhawk.' 

'i'll never get used to that,' Itagne said. 'I thought you were 

in Beresa.' 

'I was - until yesterday.' 

'How did you get here so fast?' 

Sparhawk laid his hand on Flute's little shoulder. 'Need you 

ask?' 

'Oh. What brings you to Sama?' 

'Vanion ran into trouble out in the desert. He's coming back. 

He and Betuana are bringing Engessa in on a litter.' 

'Do you mean there's somebody in this world big enough to 

hurt Engessa?' 

'Perhaps not in this world, Itagne,' Aphrael told him. 'klael's 

brought in an army from someplace else. They're very strange. 

Vanion and Betuana should get here this afternoon. Then Betuana 
has to go to Atan. How far is that?' 

Itagne looked at the map. 'Fifteen leagues.' 

'Good. It shouldn't take her long, then. She has to get her 

God's permission for me to take Engessa to the island. The side 


of his head's been bashed in, and I can't fix that here.'
'Good God!' Itagne exclaimed. 
'How nice of you to notice.'
He smiled faintly. 'What else is going on?' he asked
"Quite a bit,' Sparhawk told him. 'Zalasta tried to kill 


Sephrenia. ' 
'You're not serious!' 
'i'm afraid so. We had to use Bhelliom to save her life.' 
'Sparhawk!' Itagne's eyes widened. 
'It's all right Itagne,' Aphrael assured him, going across the 
room to him and holding out her hands. 
'didn't that endanger Queen Ehlana?' he asked, lifting her 
Into his lap. 
Sparhawk shook his head. 'Xanetia can muffle those telltale 
noises, I guess. Ehlana's still safe - or so Bhelliom tells me.' His 
face, however, was worried. 
Thank God!' 
"you're welcome,' Aphrael said, 'but it was really Bhelliom's 
idea. We still have some problems, though. Vanion's encounter
with klael's army cost him about half of his knights.' 
That's disastrous! We won't be able to hold Samar without 
those knights!' 
'Don't be quite so sure, Itagne,' she said. 'I just received a 
garbled message from a Pandion named Anosian. He's in Samar,
and Kring and Tikume have discovered something about Klael's 
soldiers. I'll run down there and find out what's going on.' 
'ulath's keeping an eye on Berit and Khalad,' Sparhawk continued. 
'They saw him while they were crossing the Sea of 
Arjun.' He rubbed at the side of his face. 'Can you think of 
anything else, Aphrael?' 
'Lots of things,' she replied, 'but they don't have anything to 
do with what we're doing here.' She kissed Itagne and slipped 
down out of his lap. 'I shouldn't be too long,' she told them. 'if 
Vanion gets here before I come back, break the news about 
Sephrenia to him gently and tell him that she's all right now. 
Keep a grip on him, gentlemen. It's wintertime, and you need 
the roof on this building.' She went to the door, opened it, and 
vanished as she stepped through. 


Tiara lay on the north shore of the large lake known as the Sea 
of Arjun. It was a bustling Tamul town with an extensive harbor. 
As soon as the scruffy lake-freighter docked, Berit and Khalad 
led their horses ashore and mounted. 'What was the name of 
that inn again?' Khalad asked. 
The White Gull,' Berit replied. 
%"oehc,' Khalad noted. 
The other names had probably already been used up. You 
can only have so many lions and dragons and boars in one town 
before people start to get confused.' 
'Krager's starting to give us more specific instructions in those 
notes,' Khalad said. 'When he sent us to Sepal, he just gave us 
the name of the town. Now he's picking our accommodations
for us. That might mean that we're getting closer to the end of 
this little excursion.' 
'Sir Ulath said that they're going to send us to Arjuna from 



here.' 
'if I'd known we were going to spend so much time wandering 
around this lake, I'd have brought a fishing line.' 
'i'm not really all that fond of fish, myself.' 
'Who is? It's an excuse to get out of the house is about all. 
My brothers and I found that if we laid around the house too 
long, our mothers started finding things for us to do.' 
'You've got a strange family, Khalad. Most men only have 
one mother.' 
'It was Father's idea. There's the White Gull.' Khalad pointed 
up the street. 
The inn was surprisingly clean and substantial. It had a wellmaintained 


 stable, and the rooms were neat almost to the point 
of fussiness. The two young men saw to their horses, dropped 
their saddlebags off in their room, and took advantage of the 
bath-house adjoining the rear of the inn. Then, feeling much 
improved, they adjourned to the taproom to pass the time until 
supper. Khalad rose and closely examined the porcelain stove. 
'It's an interesting idea,' he told Berit. 'I wonder if it'd catch on 
in Eosia.' 
'I sort of like looking at the fire myself,' Berit replied. 
'You can stare at the candles, if that's all you want. A fireplace 
isn't very efficient, and it makes an awful mess. A stove's a lot 
more practical - and you can cook on it. When we get home, I 
think I'll build one for my mothers.' 
Berit laughed. 'if you start tearing up their kitchen, they'll 
take their brooms to you.' 
'I don't think so. The notion of a stew that doesn't have cinders 
floating in it might appeal to them.' 
The man who approached their table wore a hooded smock, 
and the hood partially concealed his face. 'You don't mind If I 
join you, do you?' he asked, sitting down and pushing the hood 
back slightly. 
It was the same Styric they had last seen on the shore of the 
Gulf of Micae.
'You made good time, neighbor,' Berit said. 'Of course, you 
knew where you were going, and we didn't.' 
'How long did it take you to get dry?' Khalad asked him. 
'Shall we skip the pleasantries?' the Styric said coldly. 'I have 
further instructions for you.'
'You mean you didn't stop by just to renew our acquaintance?' 
Khalad said. 'i'm crushed.' 
'Very funny.' The Styric hesitated. 'i'm going to reach into my 
pocket for the note, so don't start drawing your knives.' 
'Wouldn't dream of it, old boy,' Khalad drawled. 
This is for you, Sparhawk.' The Styric handed Berit the sealed 
parchment. 
Berit took the parchment and broke the seal. He carefully lifted 
out the identifying lock of the Queen's hair and read aloud, 
'Sparhawk. Go overland to Arjun. You'll receive further instructions 


 there. Krager.' 
'He must have been drunker than usual,' Khalad observed. 
'He didn't bother with all the snide little comments this time. 
"Just out of curiosity, friend, why didn't he send us straight on 
to Arjun from Sepal? He could have saved everybody a great 
deal of time.' 



'That's really none of your business, Elene. Just do as you're 

told. ' 

'i'm a peasant, Styric, so I'm used to doing that. Prince Sparhawk 
here might get a little impatient, though, and that makes 

him bad-tempered.' Khalad squinted at the lumpy-faced messenger. 'S 

ince the subject's come up anyway, I've got a word 

of friendly advice for you, old boy. It's about twenty days on 

horseback from here to Arjun. He's going to be very unpleasant 

by the time he gets there. If you should happen to be the one 

who delivers the next message, I wouldn't get too close to him.' 

'I think we can come up with a way for him to work off his 

bad temper,' the Styric sneered. 'You don't have twenty days to 

get to Arjun. You have fourteen.' He stood up. 'Don't be late. 

He turned and started toward the door. 

'Lets go,' Khalad said. 

"Where?' 

'After him." 

What for?'' 

Khalad sighed. 'To shake him down, Berit,' he explained with 

exaggerated patience. 'I want to strip him and go through his 

clothes. He might just have the next message on him.' 

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

"Just because we rough up their messenger-boy? Don't be silly. 

They want the Bhelliom, and the Queen's the only thing they've 

got to trade for it. We could routinely kill every single one of 

their messengers, and they wouldn't do a thing to her. Let's go 

shake that Styric up a little bit and go through his pockets. If 

we can get hold of the next message, we might be able to get 

the jump on them.' 

'You know, I think you're right. They won't do anything to 

the Queen, will they?' 

'Not a chance, my Lord. Let's go teach that Styric some 

manners. It's exactly the sort of thing Sparhawk would do.' 

'He would, wouldn't he?' Berit looked closely at his friend 

'That fellow really irritates you, doesn't he?' 

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

'Well, let's go change it, then.' 

'i'm not going to do anything foolish,' Kalten said. 'I just want 
to have a look around.' The three of them were sitting under 
their tree in Narstil's cluttered jungle camp. They had a fire 
going, and three stolen chickens were spitted over it, dripping 
grease into the flames. 
'It won't hurt,' Caalador said to Bevier. 'if the time ever comes 
when we have to go in there, we should probably know the lay 
of the land.' 
'Are you sure you can keep a handle on your temper?' Bevier 
asked Kalten. 'You'll be all alone there, you know.' 
'i'm all grown up now, Bevier,' Kalten assured him. 'i'm not 
going to do anything noisy until after things are back the way 
they should be. We may not get a chance like this again. Senga's 
invited me to go along to help him sell beer. It's the most natural 
thing in the world, and nobody's going to recognize me. I can 
pick up some very valuable information in Natayos, and if I 
happen to see somebody I recognize standing in a window or 
something, we'll know for sure exactly where those two friends 


of ours are located. Then the fellow with the broken nose can 
have a word with his blue friend and they can lift them out 
before anybody even has time to blink. Then we can all go down 
there and explain just how unhappy we are to certain people.' 
'i'm in favor of it, myself,' Caalador said to Bevier. 
'It's tactically sound,' Bevier admitted, 'but - uh - Col here 
doesn't have any way to call for help if he gets in trouble.' 
'I won't need any help, because I'm not going to do anything 
out of the ordinary. I'm going anyway, Shallag, so don't waste 
your breath trying to talk me out of it.' 
Senga came across the littered camp. 'The cart's all loaded, 
Col,' he called. 'Are you about ready?' 
Kalten stood up. 'Any time you are, Senga,' he replied, pulling 
his half-cooked chicken off the spit and going to join his newfound

 friend. 'i'm getting bored just sitting here counting trees.' 
It took the two of them about three hours to reach Natayos, 
since there is no real way to hurry an ox. The trail was fairly well 
traveled, and it wound around through the jungle, following the 
course of least resistance. 
'There it is,' Senga said as the cart jolted through a ford that 
crossed a narrow stream. He pointed across the stump-dotted 
clearing at an ancient city, a ruin so old that the passage of 
centuries had rounded down the very stones. 'Stay close to me 
when we get there, Col. There are a couple of places we have 
to keep away from. There's one building right near the gate that 
they really don't want anybody to go near.' 
'Oh?' ~alten said, squinting at the mossy ruin ahead. 'What's 
inside that makes them so touchy?' 
'I haven't the faintest idea, and I'm not curious enough to risk 
my health by asking. ' 
'Maybe the building's their treasure house,' Kalten speculated. 'i 
f this army's as big as you say, they've probably picked 
up quite a bit of loot.' 
Senga shrugged. 'It could be, I suppose, but I'm not going to 
fight all those guards just to find out. We're here to sell beer, 
Col. We'll get a goodly share of their treasure that way, and it's 
not as risky.' 
'But it's so honest,' Kalten objected, grinning. 'isn't honest 
work immoral for people like us?' 
Senga laughed and tapped the ox's rump with the long, slender 

 stick he carried. The creaking cart jolted over the uneven 
ground toward the moldering walls. 
'Nor Senga!' one of the slovenly guards at the gate greeted 
Kalten's friend. 'What kept you? It's been as dry as a plate of 
sand since the last time you left. ' 
"you feRows are overworking my brewer,' Senga replied. 'He 
canm't keep up with the demand. We have to let the beer age a 
little while before you drink it. Green beer does funny things to 
a man's guts." 
'You haven't raised your prices again, have you?' 
'No. Same price as before.' 
'Ten times what you paid for the beer in the first place, I'll 
wager.' 
'Oh, not quite that much. Where do you want me to set 
uP?' 
'Same place as last time. I'll pass the word, and they'll start 

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


'i'll see to it. Save some for me.' 
The ox-cart clattered through the gate and into a wide street 
where most of the moss had been worn off the coblestones. A 
great deal of work had clearly taken place here in Natayos in 
the past few years. The squared-off stones of the broken walls 
had been rather carelessly re-stacked and then shored up with 
peeled log braces. Long-vanished roofs had been replaced with 
crude thatching made of tree-limbs, providing nesting sites for 
raucous tropical birds, and here and there blackened piles of 
half-burned trees and bushes marked the places where indifferent 


 workmen had attempted to dispose of the mountains of 
brush that had been cleared from the streets and houses. The 
men living here lounged idly in the streets. There were Elenes 
from Astel, Edam, and Daconia, as well as Arjuni and Cymesgans. 


 They were a roughly dressed, unshaven lot who showed 
no signs that they even knew the meaning of the word 
'discipline'. 
'What price are you getting for this?' Kalten asked, patting 
one of the beer barrels in the cart. 
'A penny a gill,' Senga replied. 
'That's outrageous!' 
'They don't have to buy it,' Senga shrugged. 'Get the money 
before you start to pour. Don't take promises.' 
'You've put my moral qualms to rest, Senga,' Kalten laughed. 
'At that price, this is hardly honest.' 
'There's that building I was telling you about.' 
Kalten tried to look casual as he turned to stare at the substantial 
-looking ruin. 'They really don't want anybody to look into 
that place,' he said. 'Those bars on the windows make it look 
like a jail.' 
'Not quite, Col. Those bars are there to keep people out, not 


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


 and laughing, but they were generally in a good humor. They 
lined up in an orderly fashion and came to the rear of the cart two 
by two, where Senga and Kalten fiLled their containers with the 
amber beer. There were a few arguments about the capacity of 
the assorted tankards, jugs, and pails, but Senga's word on the 



subject was final, and anyone who objected too loudly was sent 
back to the end of the line to think things over for an hour or so 
while he worked his way back to the front again. 
It was after the two entrepreneurs had drained the last barrel 
and sent the disappointed late-comers away that Kalten saw a 
familiar figure come weaving across the mossy square toward 
the ox-cart. Krager was not wearing well. His head was shaved 
and as pale as a fish-belly, and his dissipated face was eroded 
by decades of hard drinking. His clothing, though obviously 
expensive, was wrinkled and filthy. He shook continually with 
a palsied tremor that ran through him in waves. 
'I don't suppose you brought any wine,' he asked Senga 
hopefully. 
'Not much call for it,' Senga told him, re-fastening the tail-gate 
of the cart. 'Most of these fellows want beer.' 
'Do you know any place where you can get wine?' 
'I can ask around. What's your preference?' 
'Arcian red, if you can find any.' 
Senga whistled. 'That will cost you, my friend. I could probably 

 chase down some of the local reds for you, but the imported 
stuff - that's going to take a big bite out of your purse.' 
Krager smirked at him. 'It's no problem,' he said in his slurred 
voice. 'i'm what you might call independently wealthy at the 
moment. These local reds taste like pig-swill. I want real wine.' 
'It might take a while,' Senga told him dubiously. 'i've got 
contacts in Delo that might be able to find some for you, but 
Delo's a long way off.' 
'When are you coming back?' 
'A couple of days. The brewery where I buy this slop's running 

 day and night, but I still can't keep up.' 
'Bring me a couple of barrels of the local pig-swill then enough 

 to tide me over until you can find me some Arcian red.' 
'You can count on me,' Senga assured him. He gave Krager 
a hard look. 'i'll need something in advance, though. I'll have 
to buy the Arcian red before I can sell it to you. I'm doing fairly 
well, but I'm not that rich yet.' 
Krager fumbled for his purse. 
Kalten was suddenly gripped by an almost intolerable 
impatience. He was sure now that Alcan was here. Krager's 
presence virtually confirmed it. The prisoners were most likely 
being held in the building with barred windows. He absolutely 
had to get back to Narstil's camp so that Bevier could pass the 
word on to Aphrael. If Xanetia could enter Natayos unseen, she 
could either penetrate the prison walls or reach into Krager's 
wine-sodden mind to verify what was almost a certainty now. 
If all went well, it would be no more than a few days until he 
and Sparhawk were reunited with the women they loved. Then 
they could all come here and do unpleasant things to the people 
responsible. 

Vanion and Betuana reached Sama late that afternoon, and the 
Atan Queen scarcely paused before setting out for the border. 
'It was ghastly, Sparhawk,' Vanion said, leaning wearily back 
in his chair and putting his visored helmet on the table. 'They're 
like no soldiers I've ever seen before. They're big, and they're 
fast, and their hides are so tough that most of the time my sword 


just bounced off them. I don't know where Klael found them, 
but they've got yellow blood, and they made mincemeat out of 
my knights.' 
'Kring and Tikume ran into them as well, I guess,' Sparhawk 
told him. 'Anosian was trying to pass the word to Aphrael, but 
he garbled the spell so badly that she couldn't make any sense 
out of it. She's a little unhappy with Tynian. When he was 
gathering up the knights he brought back to Matherion, he 
accidentally picked every Pandion who has the least bit of skill 
with the spells. That's why she can't get any reports from 
Komier. ' 
'We might have to send somebody to join him and handle 
communications - except that it'd take weeks for him to get there.' 


'Not if Aphrael takes him, it won't,' Sparhawk disagreed. 'She 
carried me from Beresa to Sepal - almost a thousand miles - in 
about a half an hour.' 
'You're not serious!' 
'You'll love flying, Vanion.' 
'You're carrying tales, Sparhawk. 
They turned quickly. 
The Child Goddess was sitting in a chair at the far end of the 
room with her grass-stained little feet up on the table. 
'I wish you wouldn't do that,' Sparhawk told her. 


'Would you prefer some kind of announcement, Sparhawk? 
Multitudes of spirits bawling hymns of praise to introduce me? 
It's a little ostentatious, but I can arrange it.' 
"Just forget I said anything.' 


'I'll do that. I had a chat with Anosian. He's practicing now 


- very hard. Kring and Tikume ran across klael and his soldiers 
out in the desert, and they discovered something you gentlemen 
should know. I was right, Vanion. klael's soldiers have bile in 
their veins instead of blood because they breathe with their 
livers, and that means that the air where they come from isn't 
anything like the air here - probably something like marsh-gas. 
There's something in it that they need, and they can't get it out 
of our air. The Peloi used their standard cut-and-run tactics, and 
after a little while those monsters started to collapse. Next time 
you come up against them, just turn around and run away. If 
they try to chase you, they'll choke to death. Did Betuana leave?' 
"yes, Divine One,' Itagne replied. 
'Good. The quicker I can get Engessa to my island, the quicker 
I'll have him back on his feet.' 
'i've been meaning to ask you about that,' Sparhawk said. 
"you said that his brain's been injured.' 
'Yes.' 
The brain's very complicated, isn't it?' 
'Yours aren't quite as complex as ours, but they aren't simple, 
by any means.' 
'And you can heal Engessa's brain on your island?' 
'Of course.' 
'if you can fix a brain, you should be able to fix somebody's 
heart. Why didn't you just take Sephrenia to your island and 
heal her there? Why did you come to Beresa and try to steal 

Bhelliom?' 
'What's this?' Vanion exclaimed, coming to his feet. 
'Wonderful, Sparhawk,' Aphrael said dryly. 'i'm awed by 
your subtlety. She's all right, Vanion. Bhelliom brought her 
back.' Vanion smashed his fist down on the table and then controlled 
himself with an obvious effort. 'Would it inconvenience anybody 
to tell me what happened?' he asked them in an try voice. 
'We were in Dirgis,' Aphrael shrugged. 'Sephrenia was alone 
in the room, and Zalasta came in and stabbed her in the heart.' 
'Good God!' 
'She's fine, Vanion. Bhelliom took care of it. She's coming 
along very well. Xanetia's with her.' 
Vanion started toward the door. 
'Oh, come back here,' the Child Goddess told him. 'As soon 
as I get Engessa to the island and deal with his injury, I'll take 
you to Dirgis. She's asleep now anyway, and you've seen her 
sleep before - lots of times.' 
Vanion flushed slightly and then looked a bit sheepish.
'You still haven't answered my question,' Sparhawk said. 'if 
you can fix a brain, why can't you fix a heart?" 
'Because I can shut a brain down to work on it, Sparhawk,' 
she replied in a long-suffering tone. 'The heart has to keep on 
beating, and I can't work on it while it's jumping around like 
that.' 
'Oh, I guess that makes sense.' 
'Do you happen to know where I could find Zalasta?' Vanion 
asked in a dreadful voice. 
'He's probably gone back to Natayos,' Aphrael replied.
'After I visit Sephrenia, do you suppose you could take me 
there? I'd really like to have a talk with him.' 
'I get his heart,' the Child Goddess said. 
Vanion gave her a strange look. 
'It's an on-going joke,' Sparhawk told him.
'i'm not joking, Sparhawk,' Aphrael said bleakly. 
'We can't go to Natayos,' Sparhawk said. 'Ehlana might be 
there, and Scarpa will kill her if we come pounding on the gate. 
Besides, I think you'll have to talk with Khwaj before you do 
anything to Zalasta.' 
'Khwaj?' Vanion asked. 
'Tynian told Aphrael that Khwaj has his own plans for our 
Styric friend. He wants to set him on fire.' 
'i've got some more interesting ideas,' Vanion said grimly. 
'I wouldn't be so sure, my Lord. Khwaj wants to set Zalasta 
on fire, but he doesn't want to burn him to death. He's talking 
about an eternal flame - with Zalasta screaming in the middle 
of it - forever.' 
Vanion considered that. 'What a merry idea,' he said finally. 


'My lady,' Alcan whispered urgently, 'come quickly. Zalasta's 
returned.' 
Ehlana drew the linen head-cloth down over her forehead and 
joined her maid at the defective window. The wimple had been 
Alcan's idea. It fit snugly over the Queen's ravaged scalp, and 
covered her throat and the underside of her chin as well. It was 
uncomfortable, but it concealed the horror Kragers knife had 
made of her hair. She bent and looked out through the small 



triangular opening in the window. 
Zalasta's gaunt face was twisted with grief, and his eyes were 
dead. Scarpa came hurrying up, his face eager. 'Well?' he 
demanded. 
'Go away, Scarpa,' Zalasta told him. 
'I only wanted to be sure you were all right, Father,' Scarpa 
replied with obvious insincerity. Scarpa had fashioned a crude 
crown for himself out of a serving-bowl made of hammered 
gold. He was evidently unaware of how absurd he looked with 
the lop-sided adornment perched on his shaved head. 
'Leave me!' Zalasta thundered. 'Get out of my sight!' 
'is she dead?' ScarPa ignore'd the dreadful threat imPlicit in 
his father's voice. 
Zalasta's face hardened. 'Yes,' he replied in a strangely neutral 
tone. 'I drove my knife straight into her heart. I'm deciding right 
now whether or not I can live with what I've done. Please stay, 
Scarpa, by all means. This was your idea, after all. It was such 
a marvelous notion that I may want to reward you for it.' 
Scarpa backed away, his suddenly rational eyes now filled 
with fear. 
Zalasta barked two words in Styric and reached out his hand, 
his fingers curved like hooks. Scarpa clutched at his belly and 
screeched. His makeshift crown fell unnoticed as Zalasta implacably 

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

 His eyes suddenly burned. 'Your madness must be contagious, 

 my son. I'm starting to lose my grip on sanity myself. 
You talked me into killing Sephrenia, and I loved her far more 
than I could ever love you.' He unhooked his fingers. 'Run 
away, Scarpa. Pick up your cheap toy crown and run. I'll be 
able to find you when I decide to kill you. ' 
Scarpa fled, but Ehlana did not see him leave. Her eyes were 
filled with tears, and she turned from the window with a griefstricken 

wail. 

CHAPTER 15 

It was snowing in Sama when Sparhawk woke the following 
morning, a thick, heavy snow that swirled and danced in the 
driving wind coming down out of the Atan mountains lying to 
the north. Sparhawk gazed sourly out of the window of his room 
in the barracks, then pulled on his clothes and went looking for 
the others. 
He found Itagne sitting by the stove in the war-room with a 
sheaf of documents in his lap. 'Something important?' he asked 
as he entered. 
Hardly,' Itagne replied. He made a face and put the papers 
away. 'I made a serious blunder last spring before Oscagne 
uprooted me and sent me to Cynestra. I was teaching a class in 
foreign relations at the University, and I slipped and said the 
%6N words, "write a paper". Now I've got a bale of these things 


to plough through.' He shuddered. 
"bad?" 
'Unbelievably so. Undergraduates should never be allowed to 
%louth a quill-pen. So far I've encountered fifteen different versions


 of my own lecture notes - all couched in graceless, semiknemte 


prose.' 
"Where's Vanion?' 
He's checking on his wounded. Have you seen Aphrael yet 
this morning?' 
Sparhawk shook his head. 'She could be anywhere.'
"did she actually fly you here from Dirgis?' 
"Oh, yes - and up from Beresa before that. It's an unusual 
experience, and it always starts with the same argument.' 
Itagne gave him a questioning look. 
'She has to revert to her real form when she does it. 
'Blazing light? Trailing clouds of glory, and all that?' 
'No, nothing'like that. She always poses as a little 
girl. that's a subterfuge. Actually, she's a young woman.' 
'What do you argue with her about?'
'Whether or not she's going to wear clothes. The Gods evidently 


 don't need them, and they haven't quite grasped the 
concept of modesty Yet. She's a bit distracting when she first 
appears.' 
'I can imagine. 
The door opened, and Vanion came in, brushing the snow off 
the shoulders of his cloak. 
'How are the men?' Sparhawk asked him. 
'Not good,' the Preceptor replied. 'I wish we'd known more 
about klael's soldiers before we closed with them. I lost a lot of 
very good knights needlessly during that skirmish. If I'd had 
my wits about me, I'd have suspected something when they 
didn't pursue us after we broke off our attack.' 
'How long were you engaged?' 
'It seemed like hours, but it was probably no longer than ten 
minutes.' 
'When you get to Samar, you might want to talk with Kring 
and Tikume. We should try to get some idea of just how long 
those soldiers can function in our air before they start to 
collapse.' 
Vanion nodded. 
There was really nothing for them to do, and the morming 
dragged sluggishly by. 
It was shortly before noon when Betuana, clad in closefitting 


 otterskin clothing, came running effortlessly out of the 
SWirling snow. Her almost inhuman stamina was somehow 
unnerving. She seemed hardly winded and not even flushed 
as she entered the room where they waited. 'invigorating,' 
she noted absently as she peeled off her outer garment. She 
took one lock of her night-dark hair and stretched it out to 
look critically at its sodden length. 'Does anyone have a comb?' 
she asked. They all started at the sound of a blaring trumpet fanfare from 


the other end of the room. They spun around and saw the Child 
Goddess. She was surrounded by a nimbus of pure light, she 
floated sedately in mid-air, and she was smiling sweetly at Sparhawk. 
'Is that sort of what you had in mind?' she asked him.


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


"Of course. I always win.' She gently settled to the floor, and 
her light dimmed. 'Come here, Betuana. Let me comb that out 
for you.' She held out her hands, and a comb appeared in one 
and a brush in the other. 
The Queen of the Atans went to her and sat in a chair.
"What did he say?' Aphrael asked as she began to slowly pull 
the comb through Betuana's dripping hair. 
"He said "no" right at first,' the Queen replied, 'and "no", 
the second and third times as well. He started to weaken about 
the twelfth time, as I remember it.' 
'I knew it would work.' Aphrael smiled. 
'Are we missing something?' Vanion asked her. 
The Atans don't call on their God very often, so he almost has 


 to respond when they do. He was probably concentrating 
on something else, and each time Betuana called him, he had 
to put it down and go see what she wanted.' 
I was very polite.' Betuana smiled. 'But I did keep asking. 
He's very much afraid of you, Divine One.' 
I know.' Aphrael laid down her comb and picked up the 
brush. 'He thinks I'm going to steal his soul or something. He 
won't come anywhere near me.' 
I let him know that I was going to keep on calling him until 
he gave me permission,' Betuana went on, 'and he finally gave 
in." 
They always do,' Aphrael shrugged. 'You'll get what you 
want eventually if you just keep asking.' 
its called "nagging", Divine One,' Sparhawk told her. 
How would you like to listen to a few days of trumpet fanfares, 


 Sparhawk?' she asked. 
"no, thanks. It was good of you to ask, though.' 


"He definitely gave his permission?' Aphrael asked the Queen. 
Betuana Smiled. 'Very definitely. He said, "Tell her she can 
do anything she wants. just leave me alone!" 
'Good. I'll take Engessa to the island then.' Aphrael pursed 
her lips. 'Maybe you'd better send a runner to your husband, telling 
'. him about klael's soldiers. I know your husband, so you'll 
have to order him not to attack them. I've never known anyone 
so totally incapable of turning around as he is.' 
'i'll try to explain it to him,' Betuana said a little dubiously. 
'Good luck. Here.' Aphrael handed over the comb and brush. 
'i'll take Engessa to the island, thaw him out, and get started.' 


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


'We have reached the place where the one called Berit has 
been told to come,' Ulath told the huge Troll-God. 'It would be 
well now if we come out of No-Time and go into the time of 
broken moments.' 
Ghnomb gave him a baffled look, clearly not understanding 
what they were doing. 



'U-lat and Tin-in hunt thought,' Bhlokw explained. 'The manthings 

 have bellies in their minds as well as the bellies in their 
bellies. They have to fill both bellies. Their belly-bellies are full 
now. That is why they ask this. It is their wish to now fill their 
mind-bellies. ' 
A slow look of comprehension began to dawn on Ghnomb's 
brutish face. 'Why did you not say this before, Ulath-from-Thalesia?' 
Ulath groped for an answer. 
'It was Bhlokw who found that we have mind-bellies,' Tynian 
stepped in. 'We did not know this. We only knew that our minds 
were hungry. It is good that Ghworg sent Bhlokw to hunt with 
us. Bhlokw is a very good hunter.' 
Bhlokw beamed. 
Ulath quickly expanded the metaphor. 'Our mind-bellies 
hunger for thoughts about the wicked ones,' he explained. 'We 
can track those thoughts in the bird-noises the man-things make 
when they speak. We will stand on one side of the broken 
moment where they can not see us, and listen to the bird-noises 
they are making. We will follow those tracks to the ones we 
hunt, and they will not know we are there. Then we will listen 
to the bird-noises they make and learn where they have hidden 
Anakha's mate.' 
'You hunt well,' Ghnomb approved. 'I had not thought of 
this kind of hunting before. It is almost as good as hunting 
things-to-eat. I will help you in your hunt.' 
'It makes us glad that you will,' Tynian thanked him. 
ArJun was the capital of the Kingdom of Arjuna, a substantial 
city on the south shore of the lake. The royal palace and the 
stately homes of the noble families of the kingdom lay in the 
hills on the southern edge of town, and the commercial center 
was near the lake-front. 
Ulath and Tynian concealed their horses and proceeded on 
foot through the grey half-light of Ghnomb's broken moments 
into the city itself. Then they split up and began to search for 
the food their mind-bellies craved, while Bhlokw went looking 
for dogs. 
It was almost evening when Ulath came out of another of the 
seedy taverns near the docks on the east side of town. 'This is 
going to take all month,' he muttered to himself. The name 
Scarpa had cropped up in a few of the conversations he had 
overheard, and each time he heard it, he had eagerly drawn 
closer to listen. Unfortunately, however, Scarpa and his army 
were general topics of conversation here, and Ulath had not 
been able to pick up anything that was at all useful. 
'Get out of my way.' the voice was harsh, PeremPtory. Ulath 
turned to see who was being so offensive. 
The man was a richly dressed Dacite. He was riding a spirited 
black horse, and his face bore the marks of habitual dissipation. 
Though he had never seen the fellow before, Ulath recognized 
him immediately. Talen's pencil had captured that face almost 
perfectly. Ulath smiled. 'Well, now,' he murmured, 'that's a 
little better.' He stepped out into the street and followed the 
prancing black horse. 
Their destination was one of the grand houses near the royal 
palace. A liveried servant rushed from the house to greet the 
sneering Elene. 'We've been eagerly awaiting your arrival, my 


Lord,' he declared, bowing obsequiously.
'Get somebody to take care of my horse,' the Elene snapped 
as he dismounted. 'is everybody here?' 
'Yes, Baron Parok.' 
'Astonishing. Don't just stand there, fool. Take me to them 
at once. ' 
'Yes, my Lord Baron." 
Ulath smiled again and followed them into the house. 
The room to which the servant led them appeared to be a 
study of some kind. The walls were lined with book-cases, 
though the books shelved there showed no signs of ever having 
been opened. There were about a dozen men in the room: some
Elene, some Arjuni, and even one Styric.
'Let's get down to business,' Baron Parok told them, negligently 


 tossing his plumed hat and his gloves down on the table. 
'What have you to report?'
'Prince Sparhawk has reached Tiara, Baron Parok,' the lone 
Styric told him. 
'We expected that.' 
'We did not, however, expect his treatment of my kinsman. 
He and that brute he calls his squire followed our messenger 
and assaulted him. They tore off all his clothes and turned all 
his pockets inside out.' Parok laughed harshly. 
'i've met your cousin, Zorek,' he said. 
'i'm sure he richly deserved it. What did he say to the Prince to 
merit such treatment?' 
'He gave them the note, my Lord, and that ruffian of a squire 
made some insulting remark about a twenty-day journey on 
horseback. My cousin took offense at that and told them that 
they only had fourteen days to make the journey.' 
'That was not in the instructions,' Parok snapped. 'Did
Sparhawk kill him?' 
'No, my lord.' Zorek's tone was sullen. 
'Pity,' Parok said darkly. 'Now I'll have to attend to it myself. 
You Styrics get above yourselves at times. When I have leisure, 
I'm going to run your cousin down and hang his guts on a fence 
as an example to the rest of you. You're being paid to do as 
you're told, not to get creative.' He looked around. 'Who's got 
the next note?' he asked. 
'I have, my Lord,' a rather prosperous-looking Edomishman 
replied. 'You'd better hold off on delivering it. Zorek's cousin upset 


our timetable with his excursion into constructive creativity. Let 
Sparhawk cool his heels here for a week or so. Then give him 
the note that tells him to go on to Verel. Lord Scarpa wants his 
army to start moving north before we give Sparhawk that last 
message - the one that tells him to go on to Natayos for the 
%exc
'Bhaarnogne Parok,' a baggy-eyed Arjuni in a brocade doublet said
arrogantly, 'this delay - particularly here in the capital - poses some
threat to my king. This Sparhawk person is notoriously
, irrational, and he does still have the jewel of power in his possession. 


 His Majesty does not want that Elene barbarian lingering 
here in Arjun with spare time on his hands. Send him on to 
DVerel immediately. If he's going to destroy some place, let it be 
Verel instead of Arjun.' 



'You have amazingly sharp ears, Duke Milanis,' Parok said 
sardonically. 'Can you really hear what King Rakya is saying 
when you're a mile from the palace?' 
'i'm here to protect His Majesty's interests, Baron. I have full 
authority to speak for him. His Majesty's alliance with Lord 
Scarpa is not etched on a diamond. Keep Prince Sparhawk 
moving. We don't want him here in Arjun.' 
'And if I don't?' 
Milanis shrugged. 'His Majesty will abrogate the alliance and 
make a full report of what you people have been doing - and 
what you're planning to do - to the Tamul Ambassador.' 
'I see that the old saw about the stupidity of trusting an Arjuni 
still holds true.' 
"Just do as you're told, Parok,' Milanis snapped. 'Don't bore 

me with all these tedious protests and racial slurs. Don't make 
any blunders here, old boy. His Majesty's report to the ambassador 

 has already been written. All he requires is an excuse to 
send it across town.' 
A servant entered with a flagon and a tray of wine-glasses, 
and Ulath took advantage of the open door to slip from the 
room. It was going to take a while to round up Tynian and 
Blokw, and then they were going to have to compose a fairly 
extensive message to Aphrael. 
After he had slipped out of the house, however, Sir Ulath 
very briefly indulged himself. He leapt high into the air with a 
triumphant bellow, smacking his hands together with glee. Then 
he composed himself and went looking for his friends. 

The black-armored Sir Heldin returned to rejoin Patriarch Bergsten

 at the head of the column. 
'Any luck?' Bergsten asked him. 
Heldin shook his head. 'Sir Tynian was very thorough,' he 
rumbled in his deep bass. 'He winnowed through the ranks 
of the Pandion Order like a man panning for gold. I think he 
took just about everybody who can even pronounce the Styric Spells. 
'You know the spells.' 
'Yes, but Aphrael can't hear me. My voice is pitched too low 
for her ears.' 
'That raises some very interesting theological points,' Bergsten 
mused. 
'Could we ponder them some other time, your Grace? right 
now we have to get word of what happened in Zemoch to 
Sparhawk and Vanion. The war could be over by the time 
Ambassador Fontan's messengers reach them.' 
'Talk with the other orders, Heldin,' Bergsten suggested. 
'I don't think it would work, your Grace. Each order works 
through the personal God of the Styric who taught them the 
secrets. We have to get word to Aphrael. She's the one who's 
perched on Sparhawk's shoulder.' 
'Heldin, you spent too much time practicing with your 
weapons during your novitiate. Theology does have a purpose, 
you know.' 
'Yes, your Grace,' Heldin sighed, rolling his eyes upward and 
bracing himself for a sermon. 
'Don't do that,' Bergsten told him. 'i'm not talking about Elene 


theology. I'm talking about the misguided beliefs of the Styrics. 
How many Styric Gods are there?' 
'A thousand, your Grace,' Heldin replied promptly. 
'Sephrenia always made some issue of that.' 
'Do these thousand Younger Gods exist independently of each 
other?'
'As I understand it, they're all related - sort of like a family.' 
'Amazing. You did listen when Sephrenia was talking to you. 
You Pandions all worship Aphrael, right?' 
"'Worship" might be too strong a term, your Grace.' 
'i've heard stories about Aphrael, Heldin,' Bergsten smiled. 
'She has a private agenda. She's trying to steal the whole of 
human-kind. Now then, I'm a member of the Genidian Order.' 
He paused. 'I was,' he corrected himself. 'We make our appeals 
to Hanks, the Cyrinics work through Romalic, and the Alciones 
deal with Setras. Do you imagine that in their misty heaven 
somewhere above the clouds these Styric Gods might now and 
then talk with each other?' 
'Please don't beat me over the head, Bergsten. I overlooked 
something, that's all. I'm not stupid.' 
'Never said you were, old boy.' Bergsten smiled. 'You just 
needed spiritual guidance, that's all. That's the purpose of our 
Holy Mother. Come to me with your spiritual problems, my son. 
I will gently guide you - and if guidance doesn't work, I'll take 
my axe and drive you.' 
'I see that your Grace adheres to the notion of the Church 
Muscular,' Heldin said sourly. 
'That's my spiritual problem, my son, not yours. Now go find 
an Alcione. Legend has it that Aphrael and Setras are particularly 


 close. I think we can count on Setra's to pass things along 
to his thieving little cousin.' 
'Your Grace!' Heldin Protested. 
The Church has had her eye on Aphrael for centuries, Heldin. 
We know all about your precious little Child Goddess and her 
tricks. Don't let her kiss you, my friend. If you do, she'll pinch 
your soul while you're not looking.' 


There were a dozen wobbly ox-carts this time, all heavily laden 
with beer barrels, and Senga had recruited several dozen of 
Narstil's shabby outlaws to assist him in guarding and dispensing 


 his product. Kalten had rather smoothly insinuated Caalador 


 and Bevier into the company. 
'I still think you're making a mistake, Senga,' Kalten told his 
good-natured employer as their rickety cart jolted along the 
rough jungle path toward Natayos. 'You've got a complete lock 
on the market. Why lower your prices?' 
'Because I'll make more money if I do.' 
That doesn't make sense.'
'look, Col,' Senga explained patiently, 'when I came here 
before, I only had one cart-load of beer. I could get any price I 
asked, because my beer was so scarce.'
I guess that makes sense.' 
i've got an almost unlimited supply now, though, so I'm 
making my profit on volume instead of price.' 
"that's what doesn't make sense.' 
let me put it this way. Which would you rather do - steal 



%kni crowns from one man or a penny from each of ten thousand
men?' 
Kalten did some quick counting on his fingers. 'Oh,' he said. 
"Now I see what you're driving at. Very shrewd, Senga.' 
Senga puffed himself up a little. 'It never hurts to think long-range, 


 Col. My real concern is the fact that it's not really all that 
hard to make beer. If some clever fellow's got a recipe, he could 
set up his own brewery right here. I don't want to get involved 
in a price war just when things are starting to go well for me.' 
They had left Narstil's camp at daybreak, and so it was midmorning


 when they reached Natayos. They passed unchallenged 


 through the gates, rumbled by the house with barred
windows, and set up shop again in the same square as before. 
As Senga's closest associate, Kalten had been promoted to the 
position of Chief of Security. The reputation for unpleasantness 
he had established early on in Narstil's camp ensured that none 
of the outlaws would question his orders, and the presence of 
Bevier, patch-eyed, lochaber-armed, and obviously homicidal, 
added to his authority. 
'We ain't likely t' accomplish too much here, Col,' Caalador 
muttered to Kalten as the two of them stood guard near one of 
the busy beer-carts. 'Ol' Senga's so worried 'bout some feller 
slippin' by 'thout payin' that me'n you is tied down tighter'n a 
couple o' dawgs on short leashes.' 
'Wait until later, Ezek,' Kalten advised. 'We'll be able to move 
around a little more freely after everybody gets drunk.'
Bevier slouched over to join them, his short-handled lochaber 
in his fist. People automatically got out of his way for some 
reason. 'I just had a thought,' he said. 
'You want to kill somebody?' Kalten suggested. 
'Be serious, Col. Why don't you take your friend Senga aside 
and suggest that he set up a permanent establishment here in 
Natayos? It's the logical thing to do, and it'd give the three of 
us an excuse to stay here. If we cleaned out one of these ruined
buildings and opened a tavern, we could stay here and run it. 
It makes more sense than selling beer off the tail-gate of an 
ox-cart.' 
'He's got hisself a point there, Col,' Caalador said. 'Ol' Shallag 
here, he looks like he drinks blood for breakfast, but his head's 
still a-workin' in back o' that there eye-patch.' 
Kalten thought about it. 'It would set us up right here in
Natayos, wouldn't it? We'd be able to keep an eye on things.' 
He looked around. 'Senga's a little worried that somebody here 
might start his own brewery,' he said for the benefit of nearby 
soldiers. 'if the three of us are right here, we could probably 
persuade anybody who does that to take up another hobby. I'll 
go talk with Senga and see what he thinks of the notion.' 
He found his good-natured friend sitting at a makeshift table 
behind one of the ox-carts. The outlaw was counting money 
with an almost dreamy expression on his face. 'Oh, this is just 
fine, Col,' he almost crooned. 
'They're only pennies.' 
'I know, but there are so many of them.' 
'Shallag came up with an idea.' 
'He wants to thin out the crowd by hacking the head off every 
third man in line?' 



'Shallag's not really that bad.' 
'Oh, really? Every man in camp has nightmares about 
him.' 
'He hasn't killed a single man since he came to Arjuna.' 
'He's saving up. He's just biding his time until he can gather 
up a few thousand of us all together and kill all of us at once.' 
'Do you want to listen to his idea or haven't you finished 
making bad jokes yet?' 
'Sorry. Go ahead.' 
'He thinks we ought to clean out one of these empty ruins 
and set up a permanent tavern.' 
'You mean like a real business? With a counter and tables and 
chairs and all that?' 
Why not? Now that your brewer's working full time, you've 
got access to a steady supply, and this is where your customers 
are. If you set up shop here, you can sell beer all day every day 
instead of just coming here once a week. Then your customers 
would come to you in manageable numbers instead of by the 
regiment.' 
'I never thought of it,' Senga admitted. 'I just thought I'd 
make a quick profit and then run for the border. I could set up 
a real tavern here, Col - a real, honest-to-God legitimate business. 

 I wouldn't have to steal any more.' 
'i've seen your price-list, Senga. Don't worry. You're still 
Stealing. ' 
Senga ignored him. 'Maybe I could call it "Senga's Palace",' 
he said in a dreamy tone of voice. He frowned. 'No,' he decided. 
'That's a little too flashy for a beer-tavern. I think I'll just call it 
"Senga's". That'd definitely be a more lasting memorial than 
just a grave marker with the date when I got hung carved on 
it.' then he shook his head and sighed. 'No, Col,' he said regretfully. 
'it wouldn't work. If I took you and my other guards out 
of here, Scarpa's soldiers would just march in and drink up all 
my beer without paying.' 
'Why take us out, then? We can stay right here and make sure 
they pay.' 
'i'm not sure Narstil would like it if we didn't go back to camp 
at night.' 
'Senga,' Kalten said gently, 'do you really need Narstil any 
more? You're an honest businessman now. You shouldn't be 
associating with bandits.' 
Senga laughed. 'You're coming at me a little too fast, Col. 
Give me some time to adjust my thinking.' Then he suddenly 
swore. 
'What's wrong?' 
'It's a beautiful idea, Col, but it won't work.' 
'Why not?' 
'Because I'll need Scarpa's permission to set up shop here, 
and I'm not going to go anywhere near him to ask for it.' 
'I don't think you'll have to, my friend. I went rummaging 
around through those heaps of trash in Narstil's camp yesterday, 
and guess what I found?' 
'What?' 
'A very fancy, silver-mounted cask of Arcian red. It's even 
equipped with a silver spigot. The fellow who stole it didn't 
know how much it was worth - he's a beer man. I got it off him 


for half a crown. I'll sell it to you, and you can make a present 

of it to that Krager fellow. Why don't we let him persuade Scarpa 

to give you permission to go into business here?' 

'Col, you're a genius. What'll you take for that cask of Arcian 

red?' 

'Oh - five crowns, I guess.' 

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

'You ought to know, Senga. You're my friend, but business 

is business, after all.' 

They found the bleary-eyed Krager sitting on a broken wall 

watching the crowd of thirsty soldiers in the square without 

much interest. He held a tankard in one hand, and he drank 

from it occasionally with obvious distaste. 

'Ah, there you are, Master Krager,' Senga said jovially. 'Why 

don't you dump out that slop and try a sup of this?' He patted 

the ornate wine cask he was carrying under one arm. 

'More local swill?' Krager asked. 

"try it and see what you think,' Senga suggested. 

Krager emptied his wine out on the ground and held out his 

pewter tankard. Senga turned the handle of the silver spigot 

and dribbled about a half a cupful of Arcian red into it. 

Krager squinted into his mug and sniffed at it suspiciously. 

Then his eyes rolled up ecstatically. 'Oh, dearie, dearie me.' he 

breathed in a reverent tone of voice. He took a small sip and 

actually seemed to quiver with delight. 

'I thought you might like it,' Senga said. 'Now that I've got 

your attention, I've got a business proposition for you. I'd like 

to set up a permanent tavern here in Natayos, but I'll need 

permission to do that. I'd take it as a real favor if you could see 

your way clear to put in a good word for me with Lord Scarpa. 

I'd be very grateful to you if you can get his approval.' 

'How grateful?' Krager asked quickly. 

'Probably about this grateful.' Senga patted the silver-mounted 

cask again. 'Tell Lord Scarpa that I won't cause any problems. 

I'll pick one of these empty buildings a little way off from his 

main camp and clean it out and fix the roof my very own self. 

I'll provide my own security and make sure that none of his soldiers gets 

too drunk.' 

'Go ahead and get started, Master Senga,' Krager said, eyeing 

the cask. 'You've got my personal guarantee that Lord Scarpa 

will agree.' He reached out for the wine. 

Senga stepped back. 'After, Master Krager,' he said firmly. 'At 

the moment, I'm filled with appreciation. The gratitude comes 

after ScarPa gives his Permission.' 

Then Elron came hurrying across the crowded square. 

'Krager!' he said in a shrill voice. 'Come at once! Lord Scarpa's 

in a rage. he's commanded us all to meet him at headquarters 

immediately!' 

'What's the matter?' Krager rose to his feet. 

'Cyzada just came in from Cynesga. He told Zalasta and Lord 

Scarpa that Klael went to have a look at the fellow we've been 

following all this time! It's not Sparhawk, Krager! Whoever it is 

looks like Sparhawk, but Klael knew immediately that it's somebody 
else!' 

CHAPTER 16 


'I know it's him, my Lady,' Alcan insisted. 
'Alcan, dear,' Ehlana said gently, 'he doesn't look the least 
bit like Sir Kalten.' 
'I don't know how they've done it, but that's Kalten out there 
in the street,' the girl replied. 'My heart sings every time he 
walks by.' 
Ehlana peered through the little opening in the window. The 
man looked like an Elene, there was no question about that, and 
Sephrenia was a magician, after all. 
The thought of Sephrenia filled the Queen's eyes with tears 
again. She straightened, quickly wiping her eyes. 'He's gone 
by,' she said. 'What makes you so sure, dear?' 
'A thousand things, my Lady - little things. It's the way he 
holds his head, that funny way he rolls his shoulders when he 
walks, his laugh, the way he hitches up his sword-belt. They've 
changed his face somehow, but I know it's him.' 
'You could be right, Alcan,' Ehlana concluded a bit dubiously. 
'I could probably pick Sparhawk out of a crowd no matter whose 
face he happened to be wearing.' 
'Exactly, my Lady. Our hearts know the men we love.' 
Ehlana began to pace the floor, her fingers absently adjusting 
the wimple that covered her head. 'It's not impossible,' she conceded. 
'sparhawk's told me about all the times he disguised 
himself when he was in Render, and Styric magic might very 
well be able to change people's faces. And of course, if Sephrenia 
hadn't been able to do it, Bhelliom certainly could have. Let's 
trust your heart and say that it is Sir Kalten out there.' 
'I know it is, my Lady. 
'It does stand to reason,' Ehlana mused. 'if Sparhawk's somehow 

 found out that we're here, he'd most definitely want to have 
some of our friends close by when the rest of them come to 
rescue us.' She frowned as a thought came to her. 'Maybe he 
doesn't know for sure, though. Kalten might just be here to look 
around. We have to come up with some way to let him know 
that we're here before he gives up and moves on.' 
'But we're imprisoned, my Lady,' the girl with the huge eyes 
protested. 'if we try to call out to him, we'll put him in terrible 
danger.' She bent and looked out at the street again. 'He's 
coming back,' she said. 
'Sing, Alcan!' Ehlana exclaimed suddenly. 
'What?' 
'Sing! 'if anyone in the whole world would recognize your 
voice, Kalten would!' 
Alcan's eyes suddenly widened. 'He would!' she exclaimed. 
'Here. Let me watch his face. Sing your soul out, Alcan! Break 
his heart!' 
Alcan's voice throbbed as her clear soprano reached effortlessly 

 up in aching song. She sang 'My Bonnie Blue-Eyed Boy', 
a very old ballad which Ehlana knew held special significance 
for her maid and the blond Pandion. The Queen looked out 
the window again. The roughly dressed man in the street was 
standing stock-still, frozen in place by Alcan's soaring voice. 
All doubt vanished from Ehlana's mind. It was Kalten. his 
eyes streamed tears, and his expression had become exalted, 
adoring. 


And then he did something so unexpected that Ehlana was 
forced to revise her long-held opinion about his intelligence. He 
sat down on the mossy cobblestones, removed one shoe, and 
began to whistle an accompaniment to Alcan's song. He knew. 
And he was whistling to let them know that he knew! Not even 
Sparhawk could have responded so quickly, or come up with 
so perfect a way to convey his understanding of the situation. 
That's enough, Alcan.' Ehlana hissed. 'He got our message.' 
Alcan stopped singing. 
What are you doing there?' one of the Arjunis who guarded 
the door demanded, coming into view. 
'Stone in my shoe,' Kalten explained, shaking the shoe he'd 
just removed. 'It felt like a boulder.' 
'All right, move on.' 
Kalten's altered features took on a truculent look. He pulled 
his shoe back on and stood up. 'Friend,' he said in a pointed 
sort of way, 'you'll be getting off guard-duty before very long, 
and you might just decide to stop by Senga's tavern for a few 
tankards of beer. I'm in charge of security there, and if you start 
pushing me around here, I might just decide that you're too 
rowdy to be served when you get there. Understand?' 
'i'm supposed to keep people away from this building,' the 
guard explained, quickly modifying his tone. 
'But politely, friend, politely. Every man in this whole place 
is armed to the teeth, so we all have to be polite to each other.' 
Kalten threw a guarded glance at the barred window from which 
Ehlana watched. 'I learned politeness when I took up with Shallag you 

 know him, don't you? The one-eyed fellow with the 
lochaber axe?' 
The guard shuddered. 'is he as bad as he looks?' he 
asked. 
'Worse. He'll hack your head off if you even sneeze on him.' 
Kalten squared his shoulders. 'Well, I guess I'd better be getting 
back to the tavern. As my friend Ezek says, "Tain't hardly likely 
that I'll make no profit lollygaggin' around in the street." Come 
on by the tavern when you get off work, friend. I'll buy you a 
tankard of beer. ' And he went off down the street, still whistling 
'My Bonnie Blue-Eyed Boy'. 
'Treasure him, Alcan,' Ehlana said, her heart still soaring, 'and 
don't let that face deceive you. He gave me more information in 
two minutes than Sparhawk could have in an hour.' 
'My Lady?' Alcan looked baffled. 
'He knows that we're here. He started to whistle along while 
you were singing. He also told me that Sir Bevier and Caalador 
are here with him.' 
'How did he do that?' 
'He was talking with the guard. Bevier's probably the only 
man in Daresia right now with a lochaber axe, and his other 
friend sounds just like Caalador. They know we're here, Alcan, 
and if they know, Sparhawk knows. We might as well start 
packing. We'll be leaving here shortly and going back to 
Matherion.' She laughed delightedly and threw her arms round 
her maid. 

Kalten tried very hard to keep his face expressionless as he 
walked back along the moss-covered streets toward Senga's 


tavern, but the excitement kept bubbling up in him, and it was 
very difficult to keep from laughing out loud. 
Scarpa's army had cleared the northern quarters of Natayos 
and restored the buildings there to some degree of habitability 
when they had first arrived, but most of the city was still a vine-choked 

 ruin. Senga had considered several possible sites for his 
tavern and had rather shrewdly decided to set up operations some 
distance deeper into the old city to avoid interference from officious 

 sergeants or junior Elene officers with deep convictions and 
not much sense. He had chosen a low, squat building with thick 
walls but no roof, a deficiency easily overcome with tent-canvas. 
He had considered hiring off-duty soldiers to clear the brush out 
of the street leading from Scarpa's main camp to the tavern door, 
but Caalador had persuaded him to save his money. 'Then ain't 
no need, Senga,' the disguised Cammorian had told the harried 
businessman, reverting to his dialect. 'Them thirsty soldiers'll 
clear the street fer us then very own-selfs 'thout no money 
changin' hands a-tall.' The tavern crouched in the ruins, indistinguishable 

 from nearby buildings except for its canvas roof and 
the crudely lettered sign reading 'Senga's' out front. 
Kalten entered the tavern through the side door and paused to 
let his eyes adjust to the dimmer light. The place was moderately 
crowded, even at midday, and the six aproned outlaws from 
Narstil's camp hustled back and forth behind a rough plank 
counter, drawing foamy beer and collecting money. 
Kalten pushed through the noisy crowd, looking for Bevier 
and Caalador. He found them sitting at a table on the near side 
of the room. Bevier's sawed-off lochaber and Caalador's stout 
cudgel lay in plain sight on the table as a sort of constant 
reminder to the assembled revelers that while having a good 
time was encouraged, there were strictly enforced limits. 
Kalten carefully lowered himself onto the bench, keeping his 
exuberance tightly bottled in. He leaned forward, motioning his 
friends closer. 'They're here,' he said quietly. 
Caalador looked around the tavern. 'Wal,' he drawled, 'not 
quite all of 'em, but most likely ever'body who's off-duty.' 
i'm not talking about this crowd, Ezek. I'm talking about the 
house with the barred windows. The people we've been looking 
for are definitely inside that house.' 
'How do you know?' Bevier demanded in an intense whisper. 
'Did you see them?' 
'I didn't have to. One of them is a very special friend of mine, 
and this friend recognized me - even with this face. Don't ask 
me how.' 
'Are you sure?' Bevier pressed. 
'Oh, yes. This friend started to sing in a voice I'd recognize 
in the middle of a thunderstorm. It was a very old song that 
has a personal meaning for the two of us. Our friends inside 
recognized me, there's no question about it. This friend I was 
just talking about only sings that song for me.' 
'I don't suppose there was any way you could let them know 
that you'd received their message?' Caalador asked. 'Short of 
tearing down the door, I mean?' 
'No, I didn't have to tear down the door. I whistled along. 
I've done that before, so my friend knew what I was trying to 
say. Then I struck up a conversation with one of the guards, 


and I slipped in enough hints to let our friends inside know the 

things they ought to be aware of.' 

Caalador leaned back in his chair. 'Yet idee 'bout this yore 

tavern's workin' out real good, Shallag. We bin a-pickin' up all 

sorts o' useful information since we settled in.' 

Kalten looked around the tavern. 'Things are quiet right now,' 

he said quietly. 'The fights probably won't start until after the 

sun goes down. Why don't we take a stroll back into the ruins? I think we'd 

better have another chat with that certain little girl. 

This time we've got some good news for her.' 

'Let's get at it,' Caalador said, rising to his feet. He pushed 

his way through to the counter, spoke briefly with one of the 

foam-soaked outlaws and then led the way outside. They went 


around behind the tavern and pushed their way along a vine-choked 
side-street that ran on past some fallen buildings where 


bright-colored birds perched, squawking raucously. They went 


into a partially collapsed ruin, and Kalten and Caalador stood 


watch while Bevier cast the spell. 


The Cyrinic was grinning when he came out. 'You'd better 


brace yourself, Kalten,' he said. 


'What for?' 'Aphrael plans to kiss you into insensibility the next time she 


sees you.' 'I suppose I can live with that. I gather she was pleased?' 
She almost ruptured my eardrums.' 
'Well, as she always says, "We only live to please those we 
love."' 


Scarpa was screaming even before he came through the door. 
His voice was high and shrill, his eyes bulged, and his makeshift 
crown was askew. He was clearly in the throes of hysterical 
rage. His lips and beard were flecked with foam as he burst into 
the room. 'Your husband has betrayed you, woman!' he 
shrieked at Ehlana. 'You will pay for his perfidy! I will have 
your life for this!' He started toward her, his hands extended 
like claws. 
Then Zalasta was in the doorway. 'No!' he barked in an icy 


tone. 


Scarpa spun on his father. 'Stay out of this!' he shrieked. 'She 


is my prisoner. I will punish her for Sparhawk's treachery!' 


'No, actually' you won't. You'll do as I tell you to do.' Zalasta 


spoke in Elenic, and all traces of his accent were gone now. 


He disobeyed my orders. I will make him pay!' 


'Are you so stupid that you didn't expect this? I told you how 


devious the man was, but your mind's so clogged with cobwebs 


that you wouldn't listen.' 


'I gave him an order!' Scarpa's voice had risen to a squeal. He 


stamped his foot. Then he stamped the other. Then he began 


jumping up and down on the floor, quite literally dancing with 


rage. 'I am the emperor! He must obey me!' 


Zalasta did not even bother to use magic this time. He simply 


swung his staff and knocked his hysterical son to the floor, 


sending his crown rolling. 'You sicken me,' he said in a voice 


loaded with contempt. 'I have no patience with these tempertantrums. 
You are not the emperor. When you're in this condition, 
you're not even meaningful.' His face was unemotional, 



and his eyes were remote. 'Have a care, Scarpa,' he said in a 
dreadful voice. 'There's nothing in this world that I love now. 
You have freed me from all human attachments. If you annoy 
me, I'll squash you like a bug.' 
Scarpa scrambled away from the terrible old man, his eyes 
suddenly rational and filled with fear. 
What's happened?' Ehlana asked anxiously. 
'One of my associates - Cyzada of Esos - just arrived from 
Cynesga,' Zalasta replied calmly. 'He brought us some news 
that we probably should have expected. Your husband's a devious 

 man, Ehlana. We thought that we had him, but he managed 
to wriggle free.' 
'I don't understand.' 

'We left him instructions when we abducted you. He was 
supposed to take his squire and set out on horseback for the 
town of Beresa in southern Arjuna. We had people watching, 
and he seemed to be obeying. He was not, however. Evidently 
he's not as fond of you as we'd thought he was.' 
'he was simply following my orders, Zalasta. I told him that 
under no circumstances was he to give up the Bhelliom.' 
'How did you manage that?' Zalasta seemed actually startled. 
'Your lunatic son here told Elron to kill Baroness Melidere. 
Elron's a hopeless incompetent, so Melidere was able to deflect 
his sword-thrust. I have some remarkable people working for 
me, Zalasta. Melidere was able to play dead very convincingly. 
I feigned hysteria and managed to whisper instructions to her 
while I covered her with a blanket.' She gave him a rather malicious 

 sidelong glance. 'Your mind must be slipping, Zalasta. You 
didn't even notice that I no longer had my ring. I left that with 
Melidere as well.' 
'Very resourceful, Ehlana,' he murmured. 'You and your husband 

 are stimulating opponents.' 
'i'm so glad you approve. How did Sparhawk trick you?' 
'We're not entirely sure. We had people watching him from 
the moment he left the imperial compound in Matherion, and 
he followed our orders to the letter. We even diverted him a 
couple of times to prevent any tricks. Then Klael escaped again 
and went looking for Bhelliom. The man we thought was 
Sparhawk was on a ship crossing the Sea of Arjun with his 
squire, Khalad. Klael took one look and instantly knew that the 
man who appeared to be your husband was not Anakha. That's 
the news that Cyzada just brought to us.' 
She smiled almost beatifically at him. 'And so now Sparhawk's 
out there somewhere - with Bhelliom in his fist and murder in 
his heart - and you haven't the faintest idea of where he might 
be, and quite probably not even what he looks like. You've got 
a big problem, Zalasta.' 
'You're very quick, your Majesty. You think even faster than 
my colleagues.' 
'That isn't very difficult. You're surrounded with defectives. 
WHich particular stroke of my genius is it that you admire?' 
He smiled faintly. 'I rather like you, Ehlana,' he told her. 'You 
have spirit. My assorted defectives haven't yet fully grasped the 
implications of your husband's ploy. If he's somehow managed 
to make someone resemble him, he's surely able to alter his own 


features as well.' 
'He does it all the time, Zalasta. He had a great deal of experience 


 with disguises when he was in Render. It's all falling apart 
on you, isn't it? I'd suggest that you start running immediately.' 
'I'll be leaving shortly, right enough, but you'll be going with 
me. Tell your maid to start making preparations for a journey.' 
'What are you saying?' Scarpa scrambled to his feet. 'She can't 
leave here!' he shrieked. 'We're going to make the exchange 
here!' 
"you imbecile,' Zalasta sneered. 'You didn't really think I was 
going to let you go through with that, did you? I never had any 
intention of letting you get within five miles of Bhelliom.' 
Scarpa gaped at him. 
'It was a misguided attempt to save your life, idiot. Bhelliom 
would have destroyed you in the instant that you touched it.' 
'Not if I had the rings. They would have protected me.'
Scarpa's eyes were wild again. 
The rings are a fraud,' Zalasta sneered. 'They have no power
over Bhelliom whatsoever.' 
"you're lying!'
"you desperately want to believe that, don't you, Scarpa? You 
thought that all you had to do to gain control of the most powerful 


 force in the universe was to put on a pair of rings. Ghwerig 
the Troll-Dwarf made the rings at Bhelliom's instruction. They 
Weredesigned to deceive a Troll into thinking he had some 
power over the jewel. Bhelliom induced Ghwerig to make the 
rings, and then it tricked Aphrael into stealing them. Everyone's 
attention was so fixed on the rings that we didn't even bother 
trying to steal Bhelliom from the royal crown of Thalesia.' 
Scarpa suddenly sneered. 'You just out-smarted yourself, old 
boy. If Bhelliom's so deadly, how is it that the kings of Thalesia 
could touch it and not die?'
"because Bhelliom's alive, you dolt. It has an awareness. It kills 
only those it wants to kill - and that would certainly include you. 
You're my son, and even I want to kill you most of the time. 
You had some deranged, half-formed notion that you could just 
pick up Bhelliom and start giving it commands, didn't you?' 
Scarpa flushed guiltily. 
'Can't you get it through your sick head that only a God - or 
Anakha - can safely take up Bhelliom and start giving it orders? 
I realized that over a century ago. Why do you think I made an 
alliance with Azash - or with Cyrgon? Did you think I was 
having religious yearnings?' He smiled a cruel smile. 'Did you 
really think Bhelliom would have made you a match for me, 
Scarpa? You were going to put on the rings, snatch up the Bhelliom, 


 and order it to kill me, weren't you? I almost wish the
situation were different. I'd have loved to see the expression
on your face as Bhelliom slowly turned you to stone.' Zalasta 
straightened. 'Enough of this,' he said. He went to the door. 
'Come in here,' he barked, 'all of you.' 
The men who entered were fearful and hesitant as they sidled 
through the door. Krager appeared to have been frightened to 
the point that he was sober, and Elron was actually cringing. 
The third man was a stringy-looking Styric with a long beard, 
shaggy eyebrows, and sunken, burning eyes. 
'All right, gentlemen,' Zalasta said, 'this new development 



calls for a change of plans. My son and I have discussed the 
matter, and he's evidently decided that he wants to go on living, 
because he's agreed to follow my instructions. I'm going to take 
the Queen and her maid to a safe place. Natayos is no longer 
secure. Sparhawk could literally be anywhere. For all I know, 
he's already here. I want you three to stay here with Scarpa. 
Keep sending those letters of instruction to this counterfeit Sparhawk. 

 Don't let our enemies know that we're on to them. Give 
me a couple of days and then send instructions to Panem-Doa. 
Tell them to prepare suitable quarters for two very important 
ladies. Then wait two more days and send a closed carriage 
down there. Security's an alien concept to those cretins at 
Panem-Doa, so word of your message will be all over southern 
Arjuna almost before your messenger arrives. Cyzada, I want 
you to keep a close watch over my deranged son here. If he 
doesn't follow my instructions to the letter, I want you to summon 

 one of the servants of Azash from the nether world to kill 
him. Be creative, old boy. Pick the cruelest and most hideous 
demon you can find. If Scarpa disobeys me again, I want him 
to take a long, long time to die, and I want them to be able to 
hear him screaming all the way from here to Matherion.' 

Cyzada's dead eyes came alight with a sudden cruel anticipation. 

 He fixed a ghastly smile on the now totally rational Scarpa. 
'I'll see to it, Zalasta,' he promised in a hollow voice. 'I know 
just the one to call on.' 
Scarpa shrank back fearfully. 
'Where are you going to take the prisoners, Lord Zalasta?' 
Elron quavered. 'Where can you be safe from that vengeful monster 

 they call Anakha?' 
"you don't need to know that, Elron,' Zalasta replied. 'The 
Pandions have a reputation for severity when they interrogate 
prisoners. You won't be able to tell them what you don't know 

- even when they start to torture you.' 
Torture?' Elron's eyes widened, and his voice came out in a 
terrified squeak.
This is the real world, Elron, not some romanticized daydream. 
The posturing and play-acting are over now, but I'm 
sure we'll all be impressed by how heroically you endure the 
agonies they'll surely inflict on you when they catch you.' 
Elron fell back in a near faint. 


CHAPTER 17 

Her Royal Highness, Crown Princess Danae of Elenia, sat pensively 

 on an out-of-the-way window-seat on one of the upper 
floors of her mother's castle. The weather outside was unsettled, 
and a blustery wind skipped the dead leaves across the lawns below 
like scurrying brown mice. Danae absently stroked her purring cat 
as she considered options, alternatives, and possibilities. 
Mirtai, grim, implacable, and wearing an Atan breastplate of 
polished steel and black leather, stood several yards down the 
corridor, her face set in an expression of sullen obedience and 
her hand on her sword-hilt. 
'You're still angry with me, aren't you?' Danae asked the 
golden giantess, not even bothering to turn around. 


'It's not my place to either approve or disapprove of my 
owner.' Mirtai was being stubborn about it. 
'Oh, stop that. Come here.'
Mirtai marched up the hall to where her capricious little owner 
was sitting. 'Yes?' 
'i'm going to try again. Please listen to me this time.' 
'As your Majesty commands.' 
'That's getting very tiresome, you know. We love you, Mirtai." 
'is your Majesty speaking in the royal plural?' 
'You're starting to make me cross. I've got a name, and you 
know what it is. We all love you, and it would have broken our 
hearts if you'd decided to kill yourself. I spoke to you the way 
I did to bring you to your senses, you ninny.' 
'I know why you did it, Danae, but did you have to humiliate 
me in front of the others?' 
'I apologize. 
'You can't do that. You're a queen, and queens can't appologize." 
'I can if I want.' Danae paused. 'So there,' she added. 
Mirtai laughed and suddenly embraced the little girl. 'You're 
never going to learn how to be a queen, Danae.' 
'Oh, I don't know. Being the queen just means that you get 
what you want. I do that all the time anyway. I don't need a 
crown or an army for something as simple as that.' 
'You're a very spoiled little girl, your Majesty.' 
'I know, and I love every minute of it.' 
Then the Princess heard a faint, far-away murmur, a murmur
that Mirtai could not, of course, even sense. 'Why don't you go 
find Melidere?' she suggested. She sighed and rolled her eyes
upward. 'i'm sure she's looking for me anyway. It's probably 
time for another one of those girl lessons.' 
'She's giving you instruction in courtly manners and traditional 


 courtesies, Danae,' Mirtai reproved her. 'if you're going
to be a queen, you'll need to know those things.' 
'I think it's silly, myself. Go on ahead, Mirtai. I'll be along in 
a minute.' 
The giantess went off down the hall, and Princess Danae 
spoke very quietly. 'What is it, Setras?' she asked her cousin. 
"you already know the courtesies, Aphrael,' her curly-haired 
cousin said, appearing suddenly beside her. 'Why are you taking 
lessons?' 
'It gives Melidere something to occupy her mind and keeps 
her out of mischief. I spent a great deal of time and effort getting 
her and Stragen together. I don't want her to spoil it by getting 
bored and starting to look for outside entertainment.' 
That's very important to you, isn't it?' Setras sounded a little 
puzzled. 'Why should the things they do to perpetuate themselves


 interest you at all?' 
"you probably wouldn't understand, Setras You're too
young.' 
i'm as old as you are. 
"yes, but you don't pay any attention to what your worshippers 


 are doing when they're alone together.' 
I know what they're doing. It's ridiculous.'
'they~seem to like it.' 
"Flowers are much more dignified about it,' he sniffed. 
'is this what you wanted to talk to me about?' 



'Oh, I almost forgot. I have a message for you. There's an 
Alcione Knight - one of the ones who serve me. I think you 
know him. He's a moon-faced fellow named Tynian.' 
'Yes.' 
'He went back to Chyrellos to pick up some help, and it seems 
that he inadvertently chose every Pandion skilled enough to 
pass messages on to you and brought them all to this part of 
the world, so there wasn't anybody with the Church Knights to 
tell you what happened in Zemoch.' 
'Yes, I already know about that. Anakha's going to talk with 
Tynian about that. What happened in Zemoch?' 
'The Church Knights had an encounter with klael. A third of 
them were killed.' 
Aphrael unleashed a blistering string of curses. 
'Aphrael!' he gasped. 'You're not supposed to talk that 
way.' 'Oh, go bury it, Setras! Why didn't you tell me about this as 

soon as you got here?' 
'I was curious about the other thing,' he confessed. 'It's not 
as if they all got killed, Aphrael. There are still plenty of them 
left. In a little while there'll be as many as before. They're ferociously 

prolific.' 
'I love them all, you dolt. I don't want to lose any of them.' 
'You're greedy. That's one of your shortcomings, cousin. You 
can't keep all of them, you know.' 
'Don't make any wagers on that, Setras. I'm only just getting 
started.' She threw her hands in the air. 'This is impossible. you 
don't even understand the message you're trying to give me. 
Where are the Church Knights now?' 
'They're coming across the steppes of Central Astel to invade 
Cynesga. They'll probably run into klael again when they get 
there. I hope they don't all get killed.' 
'Who's in command?' 
'One of Romalic's servants - an old man called Abriel - waS 
in charge when they left Chyrellos, but he got killed in Zemoch, 
so one of the high priests of the Church of the Elene God - a 
Thalesian named Bergsten - is giving orders now.' 
'I should have guessed,' she said. 'I have a few things to take 
care of first. Then I'll go find Bergsten and get a true account of 
what happened.' 
"I was only trying to help.' Setras sounded a little injured. 
"you did just fine, cousin,' Aphrael forgave him. 'It's not your 
fault that you haven't been keeping abreast of things here.' 
I have important things on my mind, Aphrael,' he said 
defensively. 'Come by my studio some time,' he added brightly. 
I made a sunset the other day that's probably one of the best 
pieces I've ever done. It's so lovely that I've decided to keep it.' 
'Setras. you can't just stop the sun that way!' 
There's nobody living there, Aphrael. They won't notice.' 
'Oh, dear!' She buried her face in her hands. 
"you're disappointed in me, aren't you?' His lower lip 
trembled slightly, and his large, luminous eyes filled with sudden 

 tears. 'And I try so hard to make you and the others proud 
of me. ' 
'No, Setras,' she said. 'I still love you.' 
He brightened. 'Everything's all right then, isn't it?' 


'you're a dear, Setras.' She kissed him. 'Run along now. I 
have to talk with these others.' 
"you will come and look at my sunset, won't you?' 
'Of course, cousin. Go along now.' She lifted her drowsing 
cat and blew into the furry creature's ear. 'Wake up, Mmrr,' she 
said.
The yellow eyes opened. 
'Go back to the place where we nest,' the little Princess said, 
speaking in cat. 'I have to do something.' She set Mmrr down 
on the floor, and the cat arched her back, hooking her tail into 
a sinuous question-mark, and yawned. Then she padded off 
down the corridor. 
Danae looked around, probing with eyes and mind to make sure 
she was alone. There were human males knocking 
around in the halls of this castle, and the appearance of a naked
Goddess always excited them. It was flattering, of course, but 
it was also a little confusing for a being with a total lack of any 
reproductive urges. No matter how hard she tried, Aphrael had 
never been able to understand how the mating impulse of 
human males could be so indiscriminate.
The Child Goddess briefly resumed her true person and then 
divided, becoming both little girls. 
"you're starting to get older, Danae,' Flute noted. 
does it show? Already?' 
it's noticeable. You still have a way to go before you're fully 
mature, though. Are you really sure you want to go through 
with this?' 
'It might help us all to understand them a little better. I don't 
think Setras even knows that it takes a male and a female to well, 


 you know.' Danae blushed. 
'Setras isn't overly bright. Can I borrow Mirtai?' Flute asked. 
'What for?' 
'You don't really need her here, and after what happened in 
Dirgis, I'd like to have somebody I trust to stand guard over 
Sephrenia.' 
'Good idea. Let's go talk with Sarabian and the others. They'll 
be able to send messengers to people we don't have any contacts 
with.' 
Flute nodded. 'It would be so much more convenient if they 


were alll ours.' 
Danae laughed. 'I think Setras was right. We are greedy, aren't 
We?'
'We love them all, Danae. I don't see any reason why they 
can't love us.'
The two little girls started off down the corridor hand in hand. 
'Danae,' Flute said, 'do you think Mirtai might be afraid of 
heights?' 


'He does look a lot like that picture Talen drew, doesn't he?' 
Tynian murmured to Ulath. 
'Very close,' Ulath agreed. 'That boy has a tremendous talent.' 
'Yes. He draws well, too.'
Ulath laughed shortly. Then he looked at the men clustered 
around Parok and drew Tynian a little further away from them. 
'Parok's giving all the orders,' he whispered, 'but the Arjuni in the 



flamboyant doublet speaks for King Rakya.' 'Sarabian's going to be very 
put out with the King of Arjuna.' 
Ulath nodded. 'I wouldn't be at all surprised to see a new 
king on the throne before long.' 
'What exactly did Parok say about Natayos? You couldn't have 
mistaken his meaning, could you?' 
'Not a chance, Tynian. Just before he got into the argument 
with Duke Milanis, Parok said that Scarpa wanted to move his 
army out of Natayos before they gave Sparhawk the last note. 
I almost started cheering when he said that they were going to 
tell Sparhawk to go to Natayos for the exchange.' 
'We'll have to be careful, though. They could be holding Ehlana 
someplace else. They may not take her to Natayos until the last 
minute.' 
'We'll find out for sure once Xanetia goes there,' Ulath 
shrugged. 
The door to the book-lined room opened, and a liveried servant 

 hurried in. 'An important message has arrived from 
Natayos, Baron,' he told Parok. 'The messenger rode his horse 
half to death.' 
'Horses are cheap. Send the fellow in.' 
'I could learn to dislike that man,' Tynian murmured. 
'I already do,' Ulath replied. He looked up speculatively. 
'We're sort of invisible, aren't we?' he asked. 
'That's what Ghnomb says.' 
'Can you imagine the expression Parok would get on his face 
if he suddenly got ripped up the front with an invisible knife?' 
'Slowly,' Tynian added. 'Very, very slowly.' 
The messenger from Natayos was a shabbily dressed Dacite, 
and he was reeling with exhaustion as he staggered into the 
room. 'Baron,' he gasped. 'Thank God I found you.' 
'Speak up, man!' 
'Could I have a drink of water?' 
'Talk first. Then you can drink anything you want.' 
'Lord Scarpa ordered me to tell you that the man you've been 
watching isn't Sparhawk.' 
'I see that Scarpa's finally gone completely mad.' 
'No, Baron. Zalasta confirmed it. Somebody they call klael 
went and had a look at this man you've been giving the notes 
to. They seemed to think you'd know who this Klael fellow is. 
Anyway, he sent word that the man with the broken nose looks 
like Sparhawk, but it's not really him. This klael must have some 
way to know for sure.' 
Parok began to swear sulphurously. 
That tears it,' Tynian growled. 'i'll pass this on to Aphrael. 
We'd better get Berit and Khalad to safety.' 
'Did Scarpa kill Sparhawk's wife?' Baron Parok asked the 
messenger. 
'No, my Lord Baron. He was going to, but Zalasta stopped 
him. I'm supposed to tell you not to do anything to let the 
imposter know that we're on to him. Zalasta needs some time to 
move the prisoners to someplace that's safe. He wants you 
to continue as if nothing had happened. After he has those two 
women clear, he'll get word to you that it's all right to kill the 
man who's posing as Sparhawk.' 
'Zalasta's in full command then?' 


'Yes, Baron Parok. Lord Scarpa's a bit - ah - distraught, I 

suppose you might say.' 

'You might say crazy, too. That'd be more accurate.' Parok 

started to pace the floor. 'I wondered how much it would take 

to push Scarpa over the edge,' he muttered. 'It's probably better 

this way anyhow. Zalasta's a Styric, but at least his head's on 

straight. Go back and tell him that I've received his message and 

that I won't do anything to upset his plans. Let him know that 

I have no real fondness for Scarpa and that I'll be completely 

loyal to him. ' 

'I will, my Lord Baron.' 

Duke Milanis rose and crossed the room to close the window. 

'What in God's name is that awful smell?' he exclaimed. 

Tynian turned and saw the hulking Troll standing just behind 

them. 'Bhlokw,' he said, 'it is not good that you come into the 

dens of the man-things this way.' 

'I was sent by Khwaj, Tin-in,' Bhlokw explained. 'Khwaj 

grows tired of waiting. He wants to burn the wicked ones 

always.' 

Then their dim half-moment suddenly filled with smoke, and 

the enormous presence of the Fire-God was there. 'Your hunt 

takes too long, Ulath-from-Thalesia. Have you found any of the 

wicked ones yet? If you have, point out which one it is. I will 

make it burn forever.' 

Tynian and Ulath exchanged a long look. Then Tynian grinned 

wolfishly. 'Let's,' he said. 

'Why don't we?' Ulath agreed. He looked at the flickering God 

of Fire. 'Our hunt has been successful, Khwaj,' he declared. 'We 

have found one of the ones who stole Anakha's mate. You can 

make it burn forever now.' He paused. 'There are others we 

also hunt, though,' he added. 'We do not want to frighten them 

away so that they will be harder to hunt. Can Ghnomb put the 

one we have found into No-Time? You can burn it always there. 

When it burns in No-Time, the others of its herd will not smell 

the smoke or hear the crying out with hurt, and so they will not 

run away.' 'Your thought is good, Ulath-from-Thalesia,' Khwaj agreed. 

"I will talk with Ghnomb about this. He will make it so that the 

one who burns always burns in the time which does not move. which one of 

these should I burn?' 

"that one,' Ulath replied, pointing at BAron Parok. 

Duke Milanis was turning from the window when he suddenly 
stopped, becoming a statue in mid-stride. 

Baron Parok continued his restless pacing. 'We're going to 

have to start taking extra precautions,' he said, not yet realizing 

that the' men around him were no longer moving. Then he 

turned and almost bumped into the exhausted messenger from 

Natayos. 'Get out of my way, idiot!' he snapped. 

The man did not move. 

'I told you to take a message to Zalasta, ' Parok raged. 'Why 

are you still here?' He struck the messenger across the face and 

cried out in pain as his hand hit something harder than stone. 

He looked around wildly. 'What's the matter with all of you?' 

he demanded in a shrill voice. 

"What did it say?' Khwaj's voice was dreadful. 

Parok gaped at the vast Troll-God, shrieked, and ran for the 

door. 


'It does not understand that it is now in No-Time,' Ulath 
replied in Trollish. 
It should know why it is being punished,' Khwaj decided. 
will it understand if you talk to it in the bird-noises of the 
man-things?'
'I'll make it understand, 'Ulat hpromised. 
'It is good that you will. Speak to it.' 
Parok was hammering futilely on the immovable door. 
That won't do you any good, old boy,' Ulath urbanely advised
the terrified Dacite nobleman. 'Things have definitely taken a 
turn for the worse for you, Baron. This large fellow with the 
smoke coming out of his ears is the Troll-God Khwaj. He disapproves 


 of your abduction of Queen Ehlana.' 
Who are you?' Parok half-screamed. 'What's going on here?' 
"you've been brought to the palace of punishment, Baron," 
Tynian advised him. 'As my friend here just explained, Khwaj 
is quite put out with you. Trolls are a very moralistic sort. Things
that we've come to take in stride - abductions, poisonings, and 
holding people for ransom - upset them enormously. There is 
a small advantage, though. You're going to live forever, Baron. You'll 
never, ever die.' 
'What are you talking about?' 
'You'll see.' 
'Does it understand now?' Khwaj demanded impatiently. 
'It is our thought that it does,' Ulath replied in Trollish.
'Good.' Khwaj implacably advanced on the cringing Dacite, 
extending one vast paw. Then he clapped it down on top of 
Parok's head. 'Burn!' he growled. 
Baron Parok shrieked. 
Then his face seemed to split, and incandescent fire came 
spurting out through his skin. His doublet smoked for an instant 
and then flashed into ashes. 
He shrieked again. His form was still the form of a man, but it was a form etched


in flame. The Baron burned, unconsumed, and he danced and 
howled in agony. Khwaj struck the immovable door with one huge paw, and 


the door burst outward in flaming chunks. 'Go!' he roared. 'Run 
Run forever, and burn always!' 
The flaming Dacite fled shrieking. 
The town of Arjun stood frozen in that eternal instant of perpetual 


 now. The citizens, like statues, stood frozen stock-still, 
unaware of the burning wraith that ran through their silent 
streets. They did not hear its agonized screams. They did not 
see it flee toward the lake-shore. 
Baron Parok, all ablaze, ran, trailing greasy smoke. He reached 
the docks and fled in flames out a long pier stretching into the 
dark waters of the Sea of Arjun. He did not pause when he 
reached the end of the pier, but plunged off, yearning toward 
the quenching water. But, like the moment itself, the surface of 
the lake was unyielding and as hard as diamond. The wraith of 
flame howled in frustration, kneeling on the glittering surface 
and hammering on it, pleading to be let in, begging to drown 
in the blessed coolness just beyond reach. Then Parok leaped 
to his feet, driven by the Troll-God's awful command. Shrieking 
still in agony and unutterable loneliness, the man-shape of 



eternal flame ran out across the dark crystal surface, receding 

 incandescent until it was no more than a single bright 
spark far out on the night-darkened lake. And its lost wail of 
pain and endless solitude came echoing back to the incurious 
shore. 

'I wish Sparhawk would find his way home again,' Talen nuttered 

 as he and Stragen once again climbed the rickety stairs to 
the loft. 'We've got some fairly important information, and 
there's no way to pass it on to the others.' 
'There's nothing we can do about it right now,' Stragen 
told him. 'Let's see how Valash reacts to this story you 
cooked up. Keep it sort of vague until we see which way he 
jumps.' 
'And then will you teach me how to pick a pocket?' Talen 
asked with overly-feigned enthusiasm. 
'All right,' Stragen sighed. 'I apologize. I'll concede that you 
know what you're doing.' 
'Oh, thank you, Vymer!' Talen gushed. 'Thank you, thank 
you!' 
'You've been spending too much time with Princess Danae,' 
Stragen muttered sourly. 'I hope she does marry you. You 
deserve it.' 
'Bite your tongue, Stragen. I can still run faster than she 
can.' 
'Running doesn't always help, Reldin. I thought I could run, 
too, but Melidere cut my legs out from under me with a single 
word.' 
'Oh? Which word was that?' 
'Profit, my young friend. She waved unlimited amounts of 
gold in front of my face.' 
'You sold out, Stragen,' Talen accused. 'You betrayed every 
bachelor in the world for money.' 
'Wouldn't you have? We're not talking about a few farthings 
here. ' 
'It's the principle of the thing,' Talen replied loftily. 'I wouldn't 
sell out for money.' 
'I don't think it'll be money that Danae's going to offer you, 
my innocent young friend. If you start running right now, you 
might escape, but I sort of doubt it. I knew your father, and 
there's a certain weakness in your family. Danae's going to get 
you, Talen. You don't have a chance.' 
'Could we talk about something else? This is a very distressing 
sort of subject.' 
Stragen laughed, and they went through the patched door at 
the top of the stairs. 
Valash sat in the faint light of his single candle listening with 
a look of pained resignation on his face as Ogerajin babbled and 
drooled a long, strung-out series of disconnected phrases. 
'He doesn't seem to be getting any better,' Stragen observed 
quietly when he and Talon joined the two at the table. 
'He won't get better, Vymer,' Valash sighed. 'i've seen this 
particular disease run its course before. Don't get too close to 
him. He's virulently infectious at this stage.' 
'I certainly wouldn't want to catch what he's got,' Talen 
shuddered. 'Do you have something for me?' Valash asked. 


'i'm not going to swear to this, Master Valash,' Talen said 

cautiously. 'The fellows I picked it up from weren't any too 

reliable. You might want to pass it on to Panem-Doa, though. 

It concerns them rather directly, so they might want to take a 

few extra precautions.' 

'Go on,' Valash said. 

'Well, I overheard a couple of Arjuni soldiers talking in a 

tavern down by the waterfront - real Arjuni soldiers, I mean 

not the ones Lord Scarpa's recruited. They were talking about 

some orders that just came in from the capital at Arjuna. From 

what I was able to gather, they've been ordered to prepare for 

an extended campaign out in the jungle. They think they're going 

to be mounting an attack on Lord Scarpa's camp at Panem-Doa.' 

'impossible!' Valash snorted. 


'They were saying that the orders came from King Rakya himself. 
The message had been sent to their officers, of course, so 


they probably garbled it, but they're absolutely convinced that 


the Arjuni army's going to attack Scarpa's forces. I just thought 


you ought to know.' 


'Those soldiers were drunk, Reldin. King Rakya is our ally.' 


'Really? What an amazing thing. He ought to let his troops 


know about it, then. The two I was listening to were positively 


drooling about all the loot they thought they were going to carry 


out of Panem-Doa.' 


'The queen is coming to Panem-Doa,' Ogerajin suddenly sang 


in a wheezy voice to the tune of an old nursery song, 


'the queen is coming to Panem-Doa.' Then he began to cackle in a highpitched 
laugh. A look of sudden chagrin crossed Valash's face. 'Calm yourself, 
Master Ogerajin,' He said, giving Stragen and Talen a


worried look. 
'The queen is coming to Panem-Doe riding in a carriage, 
Ogerajin sang in his cracked voice. 
'Don't pay any attention to him,' Valash said rather too 
quickly. 'He's only babbling.' 
'His mind really is slipping, isn't it?' Stragen noted. 
'Six white horses and silver wheels -' Ogerajin sang on. 
'Have you ever heard such gibberish?' Valash asked with a 
weak laugh. 'Our presence must be disturbing him,' Stragen said. 'Does 


he generally drift off to sleep later in the evening?' 
'Usually.' 
'Good. From now on, Reldin and I'll come by after midnight 
when he's asleep.' 
'i'd appreciate it, Vymer.' Valash looked at them, his face still 
worried. 'He wasn't always like this, you know. It's the disease.' 
'i'm sure of it. He's probably not even aware of what he's 
saying.' 'Exactly, exactly. He's completely out of his head. Why don't 


you two just forget his crazy singing?' Valash snatched his purse 
fRom his belt and dug out several coins. 'Here. Come by again 
after he's gone to sleep.' 
The two thieves bowed and quietly left. 
'Nervous, wasn't he?' Talen said as they went back down the 
sbairs. 



"you noticed. He even forgot himself and opened his purse.' 


They reached the bottom of the stairs. 'Where to!' Talen 
asked. 
'No place for the moment. Keep this to yourself, Talen.' 
'Keep what?'
But Stragen was already speaking in sonorous Styric, weaving 
his fingers intricately in the air in front of him. 
Talen stared as Stragen opened his hands palm up and made
a sort of tossing gesture rather like a man releasing a pigeon. 
his eyes became distant, and his lips moved silently for a time 
Then he smiled. 'Surprised her,' he said. 'Let's go.' 
What's going on here?' Talen demanded.
I passed the things we just discovered along to Aphrael,' 
Stragen shrugged. 
"When did you learn Styric magic?' 
"It's not really all that difficult, Talen,' Stragen grinned. 'i've 
seen Sparhawk do it often enough, and I do speak Styric, after 
all. The gestures were a little tricky, but Aphrael gave me some 
instructions. I'll do it better next time.' 
'How did you know it would work?' 
'I didn't. I thought it was time I gave it a try, though. Aphrael's 
very pleased with me. ' 
'You do know that you just volunteered to serve her, don't 
you? I know that much about her. You're her slave now, Stragen. 
She's got you.' 'Oh, well.' Stragen shrugged. 'I suppose a man could do 


worse. Aphrael's a thief herself, so I'm sure we'll get along.' He 
squared his shoulders. 'Shall we go?' he suggested. 


CHAPTER 18 


"you're absolutely certain?' Sparhawk eagerly asked the Child 
Goddess. 
'Kalten is,' she replied. 'He was walking past the building, 
and Alcan started to sing. He'd recognize her voice, wouldn't 
he?' 
Sparhawk nodded. 'She could raise him from the dead by 
singing to him. How fast can you get me to Natayos?' 
'Let's take the others to Dirgis first. I want to fill Xanetia and 
Sephrenia in on what's been happening.'
'I already know about all that. I need to get to Natayos, 
Aphrael.' 
"all in good time, Sparhawk. It's not going to take us all that 


long to get to Dirgis, and the others might have some useful 
,ideas.' 
'Aphrael -' he began to protest. 
"We'll do it my way, Sparhawk,' she told him firmly. 'It won't 
hke all that long, and it might give you enough time to get your 
temper under control. The others are waiting in the room with 
The map on the wall. Let's get them and go to Dirgis.' 
There was one brief argument before they started. 'I have no 
'need of a horse,' Betuana insisted, tightening the lace on one of 
her half-boots. 
Aphrael sighed. 'Please do it my way, Betuana,' she said. 



'I can run faster than a horse. Why burden myself with 
"Because you know how far it is from here to Dirgis, and the 
horse doesn't. It's easier for me that way. Please, Betuana, just 
for me.' The Child Goddesb looked appealingly at the armored 
Atan Queen. 
Betuana laughed and gave in. 
And so they went out into the snowy courtyard, mounted, 
and rode on out into the streets of Sama. The sky was heavy 
with clouds that obscured the surrounding mountains, and it 
was spitting snow. They left town by way of the east gate and 
slogged their way up the steep slope to the top of the gorge. 
Sparhawk, Itagne, and Vanion rode in the lead, breaking trail 
for the Queen of Atan, who rode wrapped in her heavy cloak 
and with the Child Goddess nestled in her arms. There was a 
strange dichotomy in the personality of the little divinity that 
troubled Sparhawk. He knew that she was wise beyond his 
ability to comprehend it, and yet she was still in most ways a 
little girl. Then he remembered the 'naked reality of the true 
Goddess, and all hope of ever understanding her vanished. 
'Can't we go any faster?' Vanion demanded. 
Sparhawk's friend had been in an agony of impatience ever 
since he had learned of the attack on Sephrenia, and Sparhawk 
had at times feared that he might have to physically restrain 
him. 'Fast or slow doesn't matter, Vanion,' he said. 'We can run 
or crawl, and we'll still get there at just about the same time.' 
'How can you be so calm?' 
'You get numb after awhile,' Sparhawk laughed wryly. 
It was perhaps a quarter of an hour later when they crested 
the top of that long hill and looked down at the town of Dirgis 
where the sun was shining brightly. 
'That's incredible.' Itagne exclaimed. 'Then he turned to look 
back down the trail they had just climbed, and his eyes suddenly 
went very wide. 
'I asked you not to do that, Itagne,' Aphrael reminded him. 
'It's still snowing there,' he choked, 'but -' He stared at the 
sun-drenched snow-field just ahead again. 
'Why do people always want to stop right there?' the little girl 
said irritably. 'Just move along, Itagne. Once you've passed the 
crossover between the two places, it won't bother you any 
more.' Itagne resolutely set his face forward and rode on into the 

bright sunlight. 'Did you understand that, Sparhawk?' he asked 
in a strained voiCe. 
'Sort of. Do you really want to hear about what happens to 
you when you step through the place where two hundred miles 
have just been abolished?' 
Itagne shuddered. 
They rode on down the hill and entered the city. 
'How much further?' Vanion demanded. 
just a little ways,' Sparhawk replied. 'It's not all that big a 
town.' 
They rode through the narrow streets where the snow lay 
,thidly piled against the sides of the buildings. They reached 
the inn, rode into the courtyard just behind it, and dismounted. 
"everything's been fixed now, Betuana,' Aphrael was assuring 
the Atan Queen. 'i'm keeping him in a deep sleep so that everything 


 has a chance to knit back together again.' 
Who's watching over him? perhaps I should go there.' 
'No, Betuana,' Aphrael said firmly. 'I don't have permission 
to take you there - yet.' 
'But he's alone.' 
'Of course he's not alone. I'm right there beside him.' 
'But -' Betuana stared at the little girl. 
"Try not to think about it.' The Child Goddess pursed her 
lips thoughtfully. 'Engessa-Atan's a deceptive man, you know 
-probably because he's so quiet. I didn't realize how remarkable 
he really is until I got into his mind." 
'I have always known,' Betuana said. 'How long will it be 
necessary to keep him away from me - us?' 
Aphrael let the Queen's slip pass without comment. 'A few 
weeks. I want to be sure that everything's healed. Let's go on 
inside before Vanion has apoplexy.' 
Sparhawk led them into the inn, where the innkeeper seemed 
to be so engrossed in wiping off a table that he was totally 
obblivious to anything else. They went up the stairs, and Sparhawk 

 was startled to see Mirtai standing guard at Sephrenia's 
door. 'What are you doing here?' he asked her. 'I thought you 
were back in Matherion.' 
"i've been lent out,' she replied, 'like an old cloak.' 
"you know that's not true, Mirtai,' Aphrael said. 'Danae's perfectly 

 safe where she is, but I needed someone I could count on 
to guard SePhrenia. Let's go inside.' 
Sephrenia was sitting up in bed when they entered, and 
Xanetia was hovering protectively over her. The room was 
filled with sunlight. 
Vanion went directly to the woman he loved, knelt at her 
bedside, and gently put his arms around her. 'i'm never 
going to let you out of my sight again,' he told her in a thick 
VOiCe. Sephrenia took his face between her hands and kissed him. 

'You'll hurt yourself.' 
'Hush Vanion,' she told him, embracing his head and holding 
his face fiercely against her body. 
Aphrael's huge eyes were luminous with tears. Then she 
seemed to shake off the sudden emotion. 'Let's get started,' she 
said crisply. 'A great deal has happened since the last time we 
were all together like this.' 
'And all of it bad,' Itagne added in a gloomy voiCe. 
'Not entirely,' she said. 'The worst of it is that Klael ambushed 
the Church Knights in the mountains of Zemoch. He had those 
strange soldiers with him, and our friends lost almost half their 
number in killed and wounded.' 
'Good God.' Itagne groaned. 
Since Sparhawk already knew the details of recent events, he 
decided to clear up the mystery of klael's soldiers once and for 
all. He touched his fingertips to the bulge under his tunic. 'Blue 
Rose,' he said in the silence of his mind. 
'I hear thee, Anakha.' 
'Our friends have encountered klael again. He hath brought 
warriors here from some other place.' 
'It was not unexpected. Klael is unsuited to direct engagement 
with humans by reason of his size.' 


'We are like mice in his eyes?' Sparhawk surmised. 
'Thou dost wrong thyself, Anakha.' 
'Perhaps. These soldiers are not of this world, methinks. TheiR 
blood is yellow and their faces are much like klael's face.' 
'Ah,' the voice said. 'Thou wilt recall that I once told thee that 
it is customary for Klael and me to contest with each other for 
possession of the various worlds I have caused to be?' 
'Yes.' 
'It pains me to admit this, Anakha, but I have not always 
prevailed in these contests. klael hath wrested some of my 
worlds from me. It is from one of those worlds - Arcera would 
be my surmise - that he hath brought these creatures which 
thou and thy companions have met.' 
'They are fearsome, Blue Rose, but not invincible. We have 
noted some evidence of distress in them during prolonged 
sojourns here.' 
'I would be surprised hadst thou not. The air of Arcera would 
sear thy lungs shouldst thou take but one breath of it. The air 
of this world is so sweet and wholesome that it may be most 
simply assimilated by thy kind and other creatures here. The 
creatures of Arcera are not so fortunate. Their means of assimilating

 the noxious miasmas of their home are far more complex 
than thy simple means of suspiration. Moreover, that which 
would be lethal to thee hath become necessary for them. I am 
certain that they find thine air thin and unsatisfying by comparison.' 
'And deadly?' Sparhawk pressed. 
'In time, most certainly.' 
'Wouldst thou venture a surmise as to how much time it might 
take our air to kill them?' 
'Thou art savage, Anakha.' 
'I am outnumbered, Blue Rose. The warriors of klael put our 
cause in direst peril. We Must know how long they can survive 
here. ' 
'That will vary from warrior to warrior. No more than a day, 

certainly, and exertion will hasten the process. 
'I thank thee, Blue Rose. My companions and I will devise 
tactics to use this information to best advantage.' 
'Pay attention, Sparhawk,' Aphrael told him. 
'Sorry,' he apologized. 'I was conferring with our friend.' He 
patted the bulge at his front. He looked at Vanion. 'I picked up 
some more information about the weakness of Klael's soldiers,' 
he said. 'You and I need to work out some tactics.' 
Vanion nodded. 
'Are you sure Berit and Khalad are all right?' Sephrenia asked 
the little girl. 
Aphrael nodded. 'Zalasta doesn't want us to know that he's 
found out that we were deceiving him. He's given orders to 
everyone to behave as if nothing's happened.' She thought a 
moment. 'I guess that's about all,' she said. 'Bergsten's coming 
across the steppes, Kalten, Bevier, and Caalador are already in 
Natayos, and Ulath, Tynian and their pet Troll will be there 
before long. ' 
'Can you get word to the Emperor?' Itagne asked her. 'He 
should know that the King of Arjuna's in league with Scarpa.' 
'i'll take care of it,' she promised. Then she frowned slightly 


'Sephrenia,' she said, 'have you been giving Stragen instruction 
in the secrets?' 
'No, why?' 
'He cast the spell of the secret summoning. He didn't do it 
very well, but he got my attention.' 
'How in God's name did he learn that?' Vanion exclaimed, 
still holding Sephrenia in his arms. 
'Probably from watching the rest of you. Stragen's very quick, 
and he does speak Styric. Stealing secrets is almost the same as 
picking pockets, I guess. Anyway, it was Stragen who told me 
about Scarpa's other forts. He and Talen are planting false stories 
with that Dacite in order to confuse the other side.' 
'Methinks it is time for me to go to Natayos,' Xanetia said. 
'We must verify the presence there of Anakha's Queen and make 
preparations for her rescue.' 
'Before Zalasta tries to move her,' Sparhawk added. 'i'd better 
go along as well. The others are there already, and Kalten might 
need a firm hand to keep him from doing anything rash. Besides, 
if Ehlana and Alcan are there, we might just as well pull them 
out of danger. Then I'll disperse Scarpa's army and we'll go have 
a talk with Cyrgon.' 
'And Zalasta,' Vanion added bleaklly. 
'Oh, by the way,' Aphrael said, 'is anybody keeping a list of 
the people we want to do things about? If you are, you can 
scratch off Baron Parok's name.' 
'Did Ulath kill him?' Sparhawk guessed. 
'He isn't dead, Sparhawk. As a matter of fact, he's going to 
live forever. You'll never find him, though. Khwaj was getting 
impatient, and he started pushing Ulath and Tynian for infornation 

 about the people who'd abducted Ehlana. They gave him 
Parok.' 
'What happened?' Itagne asked. 
'Ghnomb froze time.' She shrugged. 'Then Khwaj set fire to 
Parok. He's completely engulfed in flame. He's still running, 
and he'll run - and burn - in that empty, unmoving instant for 
all eternity.' 
'Dear God!' Itagne choked in horror. 
'i'll pass that on to Khwaj, Itagne,' the Child Goddess 
promised. 'i'm sure he'll be pleased that you approve.' 

it was cool and dry and the sky was peculiarly grey. Tynian 
and ulath rode out of Arjun in frozen time with Bhlokw shambling 

 between their horses. 'How long would you say it's 
going to take us to reach Natayos?' Tynian asked. 
'I don't know - couple of seconds, 
Ulath replied, 
"very funny.' 
'I rather liked it.' Ulath looked up at the flock of birds hanging 
in mid-air overhead. 'I wonder if a man ages at all when he's 
walking around in this No-Time.' 
I don't know. You could go ask Baron Parok, I suppose.' 
'I doubt that he'd be very coherent.' Ulath scratched at one 
bearded cheek. 'i'm definitely going to shave this thing off, and 
ifGerda doesn't like it, that's just too bad.' Then he thought of 
something he had been meaning to ask their shaggy friend. 
'Bhlokw,' he said. 


"yes, U-lat?' 
'It makes us sad that our hunt takes us to the lands of the sun 
where the heat causes hurt to you. ' 
'It causes no hurt to me, U-lat. There is no heat or cold in 
NoTime. ' 
Ulath stared at him. 'You are sure?' he asked incredulously. 
'Do you feel heat?' Bhlokw asked simply. 
'No,' Ulath admitted, 'I do not. It had been my thought -' He 
broke off, frowning and trying to frame his next question in 
coherent Trollish. 'We were far to the north when you and your 
pack-mates ate the children of Cyrgon who were both dead and 
not dead.' 
"yes..It was north from where we are now.' 
Then Ghnomb took you and your pack-mates into No-Time.' 
"yes.' 
Then Ghworg led you to the landq of the sun.' 
"yes.' 
There was no hurt caused to you when he did this?' 
'No. The hurt was caused by the things that were not how 
should be.' 
Which things were not how they should be?' 


'All of the Trolls were one pack. This is not how it should be. 
'troll-packs do not have so many. It is not a good way to hunt.' 
Bloque rubbed at his shaggy fare with one massive paw. 'We 
did not hunt this way when we were in the Troll-range where 
we are supposed to be. My thought was that Ghworg's mind 
was sick when he came to us and told us to cross the ice-whichnever 
-melts to come to this place. It was not Ghworg who did 
this. It was Cyrgon. Cyrgon had made himself to look like 
Ghworg and spoke in Ghworg's voice. It was my mind which 
was sick. My thought should have told me that it was not 
Ghworg.' 
'Does it cause hurt to you that the Trolls are all one pack?' 
'Much hurt, U-lat. I do not like it when things are not how 
they should be. I have known Grek for many snows. His pack 
hunts near my pack in the Troll-range. I do not like Grek. It has 
been in my thought for the past two snows to kill him. Ghworg 
will not let me kill him. This causes hurt to me.' 
'It will not be this way always, Bhlokw,' Ulath said consolingly. 
'after we have killed all of Cyrgon's children, the Gods
Will take the Trolls back to the Troll-range. Then things will be
how they should be again.'


'It will make me glad when they are. I would really like to kill 
Grek.' Bhlokw shambled away mournfully. 
'What was that all about?' Tynian asked.
'i'm not sure,' Ulath admitted. 'i'm groping around the edges 
of something here. I know it's right in front of me, but I can't 
put my finger on it.' 
'For the moment, let's just hope that the Troll-Gods can control 


 the homicidal impulses of their children,' Tynian said fervently. 
'Trollicidal,' Ulath corrected.
'What?' 
'You said "homicidal". Bhlokw wants to kill Grek. Grek's a 
Troll. The right word would be "Trollicidal".' 



'That's petty quibbling, Ulath.' 
'Right is right, Tynian,' Ulath replied in a faintly injured
tone. 


It was still quite early the next morning when Aphrael returned 
from Sama. The sky to the east was lit With the pale approach 
of day, even though the moon still held sway above the western 
horizon. 
Sparhawk and Xanetia had been waiting for no more than half 
an hour when they heard the familiar trill of Flute's pipes coming 
from back in the dark forest. 
'That was quick,' Sparhawk said as the Child Goddess joined
them. 
'It's not as if Sama were on the other side of the continent, 
Sparhawk,' she replied. 'I got them all settled in.' She smiled. 
'Vanion's being a pest. He was trying to make Sephrenia go to 
bed when I left.' 
'She has been very ill, Aphrael,' he reminded her. 
'But she isn't now. She needs to be up and moving about 
Turn your backs.' 
Xanetia looked puzzled. 
'It's one of her quirks,' Sparhawk explained. 'She doesn't want 
people watching while she changes.' He looked at the Child 
Goddess. 'Don't forget the clothes this time, Aphrael,' he told 
her. 'Let's not offend the Anarae.' 
'You're so tiresome about that, Sparhawk. Now please turn 
around. ' 
It only took a few moments. 'All right,' Aphrael said. They 
turned. Sparhawk noted the Goddess was once again garbed in 
that satiny white robe. 
'Thou art fair beyond description, Divine One,' Xanetia said 
Aphrael shrugged. 'I cheat a lot. Do you trust me, Anarae?' 
'With my life, Divine Aphrael.' 
'I hope you're taking notes, Sparhawk.' 
'Have you arranged for some noise to hide what you're doing 
from Zalasta?' 
'I don't have to. Xanetia's coming along, and her presence 
will conceal everything.' 
'I suppose I hadn't thought of that,' he admitted. 
'Now then, Anarae,' Aphrael explained, 'we're all going to 
hold 'hands. Then we'll rise up into the air. It's really better if 
you don't look down. As soon as we get above the tops of these 
mountains, we'll start moving. You won't feel any wind or sense 
of movement. just hold onto my hand and try to think of something


 else. It won't take very long.' She squinted toward the
eastern horizon. 'We'd better get started. I'd like to get us to 
Natayos and into a good hiding place before Scarpa's soldiers 
start stirring around.' She held out her hands, and Sparhawk 
and Xanetia took them. 
Sparhawk steeled himself and watched the ground rapidly 
receding as they rose swiftly toward the dawn sky. 
You're squeezing, Sparhawk,' Aphrael told him. 
He looked at Xanetia. 
'Sorry. I'm still not entirely used to this." 
The Anarae, all aglow, was a picture of absolute serenity as they 
rose higher and higher. 



'The world is fair,' she said softly with a note of wonder in 
her voice. 'if you get high so that you can't see the ugliness.' Aphrael 


smiled. 'I come up here to think now and then. It's one place 
where I can be fairly sure I won't be interrupted.' She took a 
bearing on the newly risen sun, which had seemed almost to 
rush up into the sky as they rose, set her face resolutely toward 
the southeast and gave a peculiar little nod. 
The earth beneath began to flow smoothly, rushing toward 
them from the front and receding just as rapidly behind. 
'It seemeth me a merry way to travel,' Xanetia observed. 
'i've always rather liked it,' Aphrael agreed. 'It's certainly faster 


 than plodding along on horseback.' 
They fled southeasterly with an eerie kind of silence around 
them. 'The Sea of Arjun,' Sparhawk said, pointing toward a large 


body of water off to the right. 
'So small?' Xanetia said. 'I had thought it larger.' 
'We're up' quite a ways,' Aphrael explained. 'Everything looks 
small from a distance.' 


 They sped on and were soon over the dense green jungle that 
covered the southeastern coast of the continent. 
'We'll go down a bit now,' Aphrael warned. 'i'll take a bearing 
on Delo, and then we'll swerve toward the southwest to reach 
Natayos.' 
'Will we not be seen from the ground?' Xanetia asked. 
'No - although it's an interesting idea. Your light would definitely 


 startle people. Whole new religions could be born if people 
on the ground started seeing angels flying over their heads. 
There's Delo. ' 
The port city looked like a child's toy carelessly left on the 
shore of the deep blue Tamul Sea. They veered to the southwest, 
following the coastline and gradually descending. 
Aphrael was peering intently down at the jungle rushing back 
beneath them. 'There,' she said triumphantly. 
The ruin might have been more difficult to find had not the 
northern quarter been cleared of the brush and trees which 
covered the rest of the ancient city. The tumbled grey stones of 
the half-fallen buildings stood out sharply in the light of the 
sunrise, and the newly cleared road stretching toward the north 
was a yellow scar cut deeply into the face of the dark green of 
the jungle. 
They settled gently to earth on the road about a quarter of a 
mile north of the ruins, and Sparhawk immediately led them 
back a hundred paces into the thick undergrowth. He was tense 
with excitement. If Kalten was right, he was less than a mile 
from the place where Ehlana was being held captive. 
'Go ahead, Xanetia,' Aphrael suggested. 'I want to look you 
over before you go into the city. This is important, but I don't 
want to put you in any danger. Let's be sure nobody can see 
you. ' 
'Thou art overly concerned, Divine One. Over the centurieS, 
we of the Delphae have perfected this particular subterfuge.' 
She straightened, and her face assumed an expression of almost 
unnatural calm. Her form seemed to shimmer, and little rainbow 
flickers of light seethed beneath her plain homespun robe. She 



blurred and wavered, her form becoming indistinct. 
Then she was only an outline, and Sparhawk could clearly 
see the trunk of the tree behind her. 
'How do you make the things on the other side of you visible?' 
Aphrael asked curiously. 
'We bend the light, Divine One. That is at the core of this 
deception. The light flows around us like a swift-moving stream, 
carrying with it the images of such objects as our bodies would 
normally obscure.' 
'Very interesting,' Aphrael mused. 'I hadn't even thought of 
that possibility.' 
'We must be wary, however,' Xanetia told the Goddess. 'Our 
shadows, like telltale ghosts, can betray us.' 
'That's simple. Stay out of the sunlight.' 
Sparhawk concealed a faint smile. Even a Goddess could give 
blatantly obvious instructions sometimes. 
'I shall most carefully adhere to thine advice, Divine One,' 
Xanetia replied with an absolutely straight face. 
'You're making fun of me, aren't you, Xanetia?' 
'Of course not, Divine Aphrael.' Even the outline was gone 
now, and Xanetia's voice seemed to come out of nowhere. 'To 
work, withal,' she said, her sourceless voice receding in the 
direction of the road. 'I shall return anon.'
'i'll have to compliment Edaemus,' Aphrael said. 'That's a 
very clever means of concealment. Turn around, Sparhawk. I'm 
going to change back.' 
After the Child Goddess had resumed the familiar form of 
Flute, she and Sparhawk made themselves comfortable and 
waited as the sun gradually rose. The jungle steamed, and the 
air was alive with the chattering of birds and the buzzing of 
insects. The moments seemed to drag. They were so close to 
Ehlana that Sparhawk almost imagined that he could smell her 
familiar fragrance. 'Are Ulath and Tynian here yet?' he asked, 
more to get his mind away from his anxious concern than out 
of any real curiosity. 
'Probably,' Flute replied. 'They set out from Arjun yesterday 
morning. It might have seemed like three weeks to them, but it 
was no more than a heartbeat for everybody else. 
'I wonder if they stayed in No-Time or just merged into
Scarpa's army.' 
'It's hard to say. Maybe I should have checked before Xanetia 


left.' Then they heard several men talking on the road. Sparhawk 


crept closer, with Aphrael just behind him. 
'Because I don't trust these soldiers, Col,' a rough-looking 
fellow was saying to a blond Elene. 
'It's daytime, Senga. Nobody's going to ambush your beer 
wagons in broad daylight.'
'You can't be too careful. Money's running short here in 
Natayos, and that beer's the life-blood of my business. A thirsty 
man who's running short of money might do anything.'
'Have you considered lowering your prices?' an evil-looking 
fellow with a black eye-patch asked. 
'Bite your tongue, Shallag,' Senga replied. 
'just a suggestion,' the patch-eyed man shrugged. 



The dozen or so heavily armed men moved on out of earshot. 
'You recognized them, of course,' Aphrael murmured to 
Sparhawk. 'Kalten and Bevier, yes. I didn't see Caalador, though.' He 


thought for a moment. 'Will you be all right here? Alone, I 
mean?' 
'Well, it's awfully dangerous, Sparhawk - lions and tigers and 
bears, you know.' 
'It was a silly question, wasn't it? 
'i'd say so, yes. What have you got in mind?' 
'Kalten and Bevier are obviously working for that fellow they 
called Senga. I think I can get them to vouch for me. They seem
to have the run of Natayos, so hiring on as a beer-guard would 
give me a way to get into the city without attracting attention.' 
'Will you be able to restrain yourself when you're that close 
to Mother?' 
'i'm not going to do anything foolish, Aphrael.' 
'Well, I suppose it's all right. You have my permission.' 
'Oh, thank you, Divine Aphrael,' he said. 'Thank you, thank 
you, thank you.' 
'You have a very clever mouth, Sparhawk,' she said tartly. 
'It's probably the clever company I've been keeping lately,' he 
shrugged. 
'I have to run back to Sama for a little while,' Aphrael told 
him. try to stay out of trouble when you get into the city.' 
'i'll miss you desperately.' He grinned. 
'You're in an odd humor today.' 
'I feel good. If all goes well, I'll have your mother out of there 


before the sun goes down.'
'We'll see.' 
They waited as the sun crept further up in the eastern sky. 
Then from off to the north they heard the approach of several 
heavily laden wagons. 'i'll keep you posted,' Sparhawk 
promised, and he stepped out of the bushes to stand at the side 
of the muddy road. 
The first wagon, drawn by four patient oxen, came creaking 
around a bend. The wagon-bed was piled high with barrels, and 
the one known as Senga sat on the seat beside the villainouslooking


 driver. Kalten, his expression oddly familiar on his 
altered face, was perched on top of the barrels. 
'Nor Col,' Sparhawk called from the roadside. 'I thought I recognized


 your voice when you passed here a little while ago.' 
'Well, strike me blind if it isn't From!' Kalten exclaimed with 
a broad grin. Sparhawk suddenly wondered what might have 
happened if Kalten hadn't recognized him. Kalten was laughing 
now with genuine delight. 'We all thought you'd run away to 
sea when things came apart on us back in Matherion.' 
'It didn't work out,' Sparhawk shrugged. 'There was a bo'sun 
on board who was a little too free with his whip. He decided to 
swim for shore one dark night. I can't imagine what came over 
him. We were twenty leagues out to sea when I helped him 
over the side.' 
'People do strange things sometimes. What are you doing 
here?' 
'I heard about this army, and I thought it might be a good 



place to hide. Word's going about that this Scarpa fellow plans 
to attack Matherion. I've got a few old scores to settle there, so 
I decided to tag along for fun and profit.' 
'I think we can find a better spot for you than back in the rear 
ranks of Scarpa's army.' Kalten nudged Senga's shoulder with 
his foot. 'The fellow standing ankle-deep in the mud there is an 
old friend of ours from Matherion,' he told the tavern-keeper. 
'His name's From, and he's a very good man in a fight. When 
the police jumped on us back in Matherion, he stood shoulder 
to shoulder with Shallag, holding them off while the rest of us 
got away. Do you think there might be a spot for him in your 
operation here in Natayos?' 
'Do you vouch for him, Col?' Senga asked. 
'I couldn't ask for better help if trouble crops up. 
'You're in charge of security,' Senga shrugged. 'Hire anybody 
you want.' 
'I was hoping you'd see it that way.' Kalten beckoned to Sparhawk. 
'Climb on up, From,' he said. 'i'll show you the wonders 
of Natayos.' 
'From the top of a beer wagon?' 
'Can you think of a better place?' 

CHAPTER 19 

Kring arrived in Sama late in the afternoon of the same day in 

which Aphrael had transported Sephrenia and the others there 

from Dirgis. Mirtai calmly went down into the courtyard of the 

Atan garrison to meet her bandy-legged betrothed. The two of 

them embraced rather formally and then came into the building. 

'She seems very restrained,' Vanion observed quietly to 

Betuana as the two watched from the window of the conference 

room. 

'It is not seemly to openly display affection in public, Vanion-Preceptor,' 
the Queen replied. 'Decorum must be maintained, 

even though the heart might prefer it otherwise.' 

:AhHo; friend Vanion!' Kring said as he and his tall beloved 

entered. 'You're just the man I was looking for.' 
'It's good to see you, too, friend Kring. How are things going 
in Samar?' 
'It's quiet. The Cynesgans have pulled back from the border. 
Is there something going on to the south that I haven't been 
told about?' 
'Not that I know of. Why do you ask?' 
The Cynesgans were massing just across the border, and we 
were expecting them to come across to lay siege to Samar almost 
any time. Then several days ago they pulled back and left only 
a few units in place. The rest of their army marched south.' 
Why would they do that?' Vanion asked, frowning. 
'Probably to meet the Church Knights,' Aphrael replied. 
Vanion turned to see the Child Goddess calmly sitting in her 
usual place on Sephrenia's lap. She had not been there a moment 
before. There was no point to making an issue of it. Aphrael 
would never change. 'The Church Knights aren't coming from 
that direction, Divine One,' he said. 
'We know that, Vanion,' she replied, 'but Stragen and Talen 


have been busy in Beresa. They've managed to convince the 
Dacite spy that there's a huge fleet of ships flying Church flags 
knocking about in the Gulf of Daconia. Evidently the Dacite 
passed the word on, and the Cynesgan High Command took it 
seriously enough to send their main force south to defend 
southern Cynesga.' 
'But they know that the Church Knights are coming overland 
through Astel.' 
'They know about that force, Lord Vanion,' Itagne said, 'but 
they must have been convinced that there's another coming by 
sea.' 
'There aren't that many of us, Itagne.' 
'You and I know that, Lord Vanion, but it's generally believed 
here in Tamuli that there are at least a million of you fellows. The 
term "Church Knights" conjures up visions of armies stretching 
from horizon to horizon.' 
Vanion frowned. 'Oh,' he said finally. 'I think I understand. 
During the Zemoch wars, we joined forces with the armieS Of 
the kings of Eosia. The Tamul observers must have thought that 
everyone in armor was a Church Knight.' 
'I think I'll have a talk with the Emperor,' Itagne mused. 'Titles 
of nobility might be in order for your pair of thieves. ThiS imaginary 


 fleet of theirs seems to have pulled half the Cynesgan army 
off the border and most likely pinned down the Arjunis as 
well.' 
'It's a great little fleet,' Vanion grinned, 'and you don't even 
have to feed the sailors. Let's keep the stories alive.' He looked 
at Aphrael. 'Could you arrange some illusions, Divine One?' 
'Dragons? Flights of angels?' 
'How about a thousand ships hull-down on the horizon
instead?' 
'What do I get in return?' 
'Stop teasing,' Sephrenia told her with a gentle smile. 
'Where would you like your make-believe boats, Vanion?' 
He thought about it. 'Why don't you just bounce them uP 
and down the coastline of Daconia and western Arjuna?' he 
suggested. 'Let's run the Cynesgans and Arjunis ragged trying 
to position themselves to defend against landings.' 
I'll go take care of it right now,' she said, slipping down from 
her sister's lap, 'before I forget.' 


"When did you ever forget anything?' Sephrenia smiled. 
'I don't know. I must have at some time, though. I've probably 
forgotten exactly when.' She gave them all an impish little smile, 
and then she vanished. 


,Kring was sitting at Mirtai's side, and he had been squinting 
speculatively at the ceiling, absently running one hand over his 
stubbled scalp. He was not free to use the other, since Mirtai had 
taken possession of it. Her contented, almost placid, expression 
clearly said that she did not intend to release his hand in the 
foreseeable future. 
'if Divine Aphrael can keep those Cynesgan troops more or 
less permanently distracted, Tikume and I'll be able to hold 
Samar without any help,' the Domi said, 'particularly now that 
we know how to deal with Klael's soldiers.' He rubbed even 



more briskly at his scalp. 
'Quit worrying at it,' Mirtai told him. 'i'll shave you just as 
soon as we finish here.' 
"yes, love,' he agreed immediately. 
'Oh, that reminds me,' Vanion said. 'Sparhawk had a talk 
%with Bhelliom. klael's soldiers can only breathe our air for about 
Kring nodded.
A tall Atan came in and murmured something to Itagne. 
i'm really awfully busy right now, old boy,' Itagne objected. 
He's most insistent, Itagne-Ambassador.'
'Oh, very well.' Itagne rose to his feet. 'i'll be right back, Lord 
Vanion,' he said and followed the Atan from the room.
did Sparhawk find out what country Klael's soldiers come 
from, friend Vanion?' Kring asked. 'i'd sort of like to avoid that 
country." 
I don't think you need to worry, Domi Kring.' Sephrenia 
said. "klael's soldiers were brought here from someplace 
beyondd the stars.' 


Kring frowned. 'You might want to have a talk with Sparhawk, 


 friend Vanion,' he said. 'I enjoy a good fight as much as 
the next man, but if he's going to declare war on the whole 
universe, he ought to let the rest of us in on his plans.'
'i'll definitely speak with him about it, Domi Kring,' Vanion 
said. Then he sighed. 'I wish we'd known more about Klael's 
soldiers earlier. The Church Knights encountered them in the 
mountains of Zemoch and lost half their number in killed and 
wounded.' 
'i'm sorry, friend Vanion. Did you lose many old comrades?' 
'Many, Domi Kring,' Vanion replied sadly, 'many.' 
'How's friend Engessa coming along?' Kring asked Betuana. 
'Aphrael says that he's recovering, Domi,' she replied. 'i'd 
like to see that for myself, though.' 
Itagne returned, accompanied by a Tamul wearing slightly 
out-of-date clothing. 'Would you please see to it that we're not 
disturbed?' he said to the Atan guard in the hall. Then he closed
and bolted the door. 'I have some good news for a change,' 
he said then. He put his hand on the stranger's shoulder. 
'This is my very dear - though new-found friend, Ekrasios,' 
he said. 
Betuana frowned. 'That is not a Tamul name,' she said. 
'No, your Majesty,' Itagne agreed, 'it's not. Actually, it's Delphaeic. 


 The Delphae are such a musical people. It probably 
derives from the fact that they still speak classical Tamul. My 
friend here just stopped by to advise us that the Delphae have 
decided to come out of their splendid seclusion. Ekrasios, this 
is Preceptor Vanion, the close friend of Anakha. The regal lady 
is Betuana, Queen of the Atans. The short fellow is Domi Kring 
of the western Peloi. The tall, pretty girl with the death-grip on 
his hand is Mirtai, his betrothed, and the exquisite Styric lady 
is Sephrenia, High Priestess of the Goddess Aphrael.'
'Nobles all,' Ekrasios greeted them with a formal bow. 'I bring 
%SFCCnSS from Beloved Edaemus. Divine Aphrael hath persuaded 


 him that we have common cause in the current situation, 
and he hath thus relaxed his centuries-old prohibition upon us. 
I am sent to thee, Lord Vanion, to advise thee that I and diverse 



companions are at thine immediate disposal. Where might we 
best be deployed to further our cause?' 
'if I may, Lord Vanion?' Itagne interposed. 'It just occurred 
to me that the Delphae might be best suited to empty those 
ruins in the Arjuni jungles. If Ekrasios and his friends were to 
%appear in all their glowing splendor at the gates of Scarpa's 
down there, the rebels would probably go back home and 
peaceful pursuits, just as fast as they possibly could.' 
well said,' Mirtai murmured her agreement. 

"He certainly moves around, doesn't he?' Ulath said to Tynian 

 as the beer wagon with Sparhawk and Kalten perched atop the 
bamls rumbled past on the ancient street. 'Last I heard, he was 
in Dirgis."ps.' 
The natcherl rules don't seem t' apply t' ol' Sporhawk,' Tynian 

 replied in a bad imitation of Caalador's dialect. 'What do 
you think? Should we slip back into real time? Or should we 
stay where we are?' 
I think we'll be more useful if we stay out of sight,' Ulath 
replied. 
That's fine with me, but how are we going to get word to 
sparhawk and the others that we're here?' 
'I'll slip a note in his pocket - or blow in his ear.' 
That ought to get his attention.' 
Bllokw came shambling back up the street with a mournful 
expression on his ape-like face. 'There are no dogs here,' he 
reported in Trollish. 
'Soldiers don't usually keep dogs, Bhlokw,' Tynian explained. 
I have hunger, Tin-in. Would the man-things here miss one 
of their herd - a small one?' 
"We might have a problem here,' Tynian muttered to Ulath. 
it's definitely in our best interests to keep our friend here 
well-fed. ' 
Ulath scratched at his now clean-shaven cheek. 'We can't just 
turn him loose,' he noted. 'He'll attract attention if he starts 
Stabbing people and jerking them into these broken moments.' 
He's invisible, Ulath.' 
"yes, but if some Arjuni suddenly vanishes and his bones 
start getting tossed back out of nowhere, it's bound to attract 
aHention.' He turned back to the Troll. 'It is our thought that it 
would not be good for you to kill and eat the man-things here, 
blokw. We hunt thought here, and if you kill and eat the manthings 

 you will frighten the thought away.' 
I do not like this hunting of thought, U-lat,' Bhlokw complained. 
'It makes things not-simple.' 
"The forest is near, Bhlokw, ' Tynian said. 
'There must be many oLat things there. ' 
'I am not an Ogre, Tin-in,' Bhlokw protested in a slightly 
offended tone. 'I do not eat trees.' 
'There should be creatures that are good-to-eat among the 
trees, Bhlokw,' Ulath said. 'That is what Tin-in was trying to 
say. It was not his thought to insult you.' 
Bhlokw glowered at Tynian for a moment. 'I will go hunt 
now,' he said abruptly. Then he turned and shambled off. 
'You have to be careful, Tynian,' Ulath warned his friend. 'if 
you want to get into a fight almost immediately, all you have to 


do is suggest to a Troll that he might be an Ogre.' 

'They're actually prejudiced?' Tynian asked in amazement. 

'You wouldn't believe how prejudiced,' Ulath replied. 'Trolls 

and Ogres have hated each other since the beginning of time.' 

'I thought that prejudice was a human failing.' 

'Some things are just too good to stay private, I guess. Let's 

follow Sparhawk and let him know that we're here. He might 

have something for us to do.' 

They trailed along behind the beer caravan winding through 

the cleared streets toward that part of Natayos that was still 

choked in brush and vines. The wagons trundled along a 

recently cleared street and then went around behind a canvas-roofed 
building identified by a crudely lettered sign that read 
'Senga's.' 
'Trust Kalten to get close to the beer,' Tynian said. 
'Truly,' Ulath agreed. 'Wait here. I'll go let Sparhawk know 
that we're in Natayos.' He walked over to where Sparhawk, 
Kalten, and Bevier, looking strange with their altered features, 
stood off to one side while Senga supervised the unloading 
of the barrels. 'Ramshorn,' he said quietly. 'Don't get excited 
and start looking around,' he added. 'You won't be able to 
see me.' 
'Ulath?' Kalten asked incredulously. 
'Right. Tynian, Bhlokw and I got here yesterday. We've been 
nosing around.' 
'How have you managed to become invisible?' the patch-eyed 
Bevier asked. 'We aren't, actually. Ghnomb's breaking the seconds into two 

pieces. We're only present during the smaller piece. That's why 

you can't see us.' 

'But you can see us?' 

'Yes.' 

'Ulath, that's logically inconsistent.' 

'I know, but Ghnomb believes that it works, and I guess 

his belief is strong enough to override logic. Tynian and I are 

here, and nobody can see us. Is there anything you want us 

to do?' 

'Can you get into that building near the gate?' SParhawk asked 

quickly. 'The one with the barred windows?" 

'Not a chance. We already looked into the possibility. Too 

many guards on the doors. Bhlokw even tried going in through 

the roof, but it's all sealed up.' 

'That's my wife in there, Ulath!' Sparhawk exclaimed. 'Are you 

saying that you tried to send a Troll into the same building with 

her?' 

'Bhlokw wouldn't have hurt her, Sparhawk - frightened her 

a little, maybe, but he wouldn't have hurt her. We sort of 

thought he might be able to go in through the roof, pick Ehlana 

and Alcan up, and carry them out.' Ulath paused. 'It wasn't 

really our idea, Sparhawk. Bhlokw volunteered - well, actually 

he didn't even volunteer. He just started climbing up the wall 

before we could stop him. He said, "I will go get them. I will 

bring Anakha's mate and her friend out so that we can kill all 

these children of Cyrgon and eat them." Bhlokw's a little elemental, 
but his heart's in the right place. I hate to admit it, but 
I'm actually starting to like him.' 


Kalten looked around nervously. 'Where is he now?' he asked. 
'He's out hunting. When we were knocking around those 
cities by the lake, we persuaded him not to eat people. We got 
him started on dogs instead. He really likes them, but there 
aren't any dogs here in Natayos, so he's out in the woods probably

 chasing elephants or something.' Then something 
flickered at the corner of Ulath's eye. 'What in God's name is 
that?' he exclaimed. 
'What?' Kalten asked, looking around in bafflement. 
'There's somebody made out of rainbows coming around the 
side of the building!' Ulath gaped at the clearly defined shape 
approaching. The many-colored light was dazzling. 
That's Xanetia,' Sparhawk explained. 'Can you actually see 
her?' 
'Are you saying that you can't?' 
'She's invisible, Ulath.' 
'Not to me, she isn't.' 
'It must have something to do with the peculiar time you're 
in, my friend,' Bevier suggested. 'You'd better let her know that 
you can see her. It might be important some day.' 
The shimmering rainbow stopped a few paces away. 
'Anakha,' Xanetia said softly. 
'I hear thee, Anarae,' Sparhawk replied. 
'It pains me to tell thee that I have failed,' she confessed. 'The 
mind of Scarpa is so twisted that I cannot wring coherence from 
his 'thought. I did gently probe the minds of some of his followers,

 however, and I must sadly advise thee that thy Queen 
is no longer here in Natayos. When our enemies did discover 
the subterfuge involving young Sir Berit, Zalasta did spirit thy 
wife and her handmaiden away under cover of darkness. I shall 
endeavor to glean their destination from the thoughts of others 
here, an it please thee.' 
Ulath's heart twisted with sympathy at the look of sudden 
despair that came over Sparhawk's face. 

They ran easily in their endless regiments, tall and lightly armored, 

 with their bronze limbs glowing in the cool grey light. The 
towering King Androl ran smoothly at the front of his army. It 
was good to be on the move again, and the prospect of battle 
was exhilarating. Battle was meaningful, and one could actually 
see results. The absence of his wife had thrust a thousand petty 
administrative chores on Androl's unprepared shoulders. It was 
so frustrating to make decisions about things he didn't really 
understand and not to see any immediate results that would 
have told him whether or not his decisions had been correct. 
Once again the King of Atan thanked his God for giving him 
Betuana for his wife. They made a good team, actually. The 
Queen was very skilled with details. Her mind was quick, and 
she could pick out subtleties and nuances that frequently 
escaped her husband. Androl, on the other hand, was made for 
action. He gladly let his wife make all the tiresome decisions, 
and then, when it was all settled and they knew what they were 
going to do, he took charge of carrying her decisions out. It was 
better that way, actually. The King of Atan was fully aware of 
his limitations, and he knew that his wife forgave him when he 
occasionally overlooked something. Ffe hoped that he didn't 


disappoint her too much. 

Her suggestion - she never gave him orders - that he take 

the bulk of their people to the south end of Lake Sama in preparation 
for a grand battle at Toea was exactly the sort of thing 

Androl truly loved. Here was action, simple and uncomplicated. 

The troublesome decisions had all been made, the enemy had 

been identified, and all the boring details had been swept out 

of the way. He smiled as he led his army into the last outcropping 
of mountains some fifty leagues to the southeast of Tualas. 

Betuana's message had hinted that the battle at Toea would 

be a titanic one, a grand clash at arms with struggling armies 

stretching for miles and the ring of sword against sword reaching 

to the skies. He would make her proud of him. 

The route through the outcropping mountains led up a long 

ridge-line, through a narrow notch and then down into the deep 

gorge of a turbulent stream that had gnawed at the rock for 

eons. 

King Androl was breathing a bit heavily when he crested the 

ridge-line and led his forces through the notch. The wasted 

hours spent conferring with Ambassador Norkan had taken off 

Androl's edge. A warrior should never permit himself to be 

lured away from the practice-field or the exercise yard. He 

picked up the pace as he led his army down into the narrow 

gorge, running smoothly along the south bank of the rushing 

mountain river. If he was out of shape, his soldiers probably 

were as well. He hoped that he could find a suitable place for an 

encampment at Lake Sama, a proper encampment with enough 

space for training and practice and those necessary calisthenics 

that honed warriors to the peak of fitness. Androl was sublimely 

confident that any opposing force could be overcome if only his army were 

fully trained and fit. 

'Androl-King!' General Pemaas shouted over the sound of the 

turbulent stream. 'Look!' 

'Where?' Androl demanded, half-turning and reaching for his 

sword. 

'At the top of the gorge - on the right!' 

The Atan King craned his neck to peer up the sheer cliff-face 

to the rocky brink high above. 

The King of Atan had seen many things in his life, but nothing 

to compare with the vast, monstrous form rearing suddenly 

above them on the rim of the gorge. 

The thing was glossy black, like polished leather, and it 

had enormously out-spreading wings, jointed and batlike. Its 

wedge-shaped head was accentuated by blazing eye-slits and a 

gaping mouth that dripped flame. 

King Androl considered it. The problem, of course, was the 

fact that the towering creature was at the top of the gorge while 

he stood at the bottom. He could turn and retrace his steps, 

running back up the gorge to the notch and scrambling around 

the rocks to reach the rim; but that would give the thing plenty 

of opportunity to run away, and then he would have to chase 

it down in order to kill it. In his present less-than-perfect condition, 
that would be very tedious. He could always climb up 

the cliff, but that would still take time, and the creature might 

very well see him coming and try to flee. 

Then, amazingly, the large being at the top of the gorge provided 


 the solution. It raised its enormous arms and began to 
slash at the top of the cliff with what appeared to be fire of some 
kind. 
Androl smiled as the cliff-face began to topple outward, tumbling 

 and roaring down into the gorge. The silly beast was 
accommodatingly providing the means for its own destruction 
How could it be so stupid? 
King Androl adroitly dodged a tumbling, house-sized boulder, 

 carefully assessing the rapidly growing slope of rubble 
piling up at the base of the cliff. 
The beast actually intended to attack. Androl laughed with 
delight. The creature was stupid beyond imagining, but he did 
have to give it credit for courage - foolish courage, of course, 
but courage nonetheless. All the universe knew that Androl of 
Atan was invincible, and yet this poor dumb brute meant to pit 
its puny strength against the greatest warrior since the beginning 
of time. Androl looked speculatively at the steep, growing slope of 

rubble, ignoring the cries of those of his soldiers not nimble 
enough to avoid being crushed in the avalanche rumbling down 
upon them. Almost high enough now. Just a few more feet. 
And then he judged that the steep slope had grown high 
enough to give him access to the stupid creature roaring and 
flapping its wings high above. He dodged another boulder and 
began his rush, scrambling, dodging, leaping, as he swiftly 
mounted toward the doomed beast above him. 
When he was almost to the top, he paused, drew his sword, 
and set himself. 
And then with a savage war-cry he rushed up the remaining 

 slope, ignoring the momentary flicker of sympathy he felt for 
the brave, misguided creature he was about to kill. 

'Where do you think you're going?' a burly Dacite wearing a 
shabby uniform tunic and holding a long pike demanded as 
Sparhawk and Kalten pulled the wobbly cart with two large 
barrels in it around the corner of the building. 
'We've got a delivery from Senga for Master Krager,' Kalten 
said. 
'Anybody could say that.' 
'Go ask him,' Kalten suggested. 
'I wouldn't want to disturb him.' 
'Then you'd better let us past. He's been waiting for this wine 
for quite some time now. If you keep us from delivering it, he'll 
really be disturbed. He might even be disturbed enough to take 
the matter to Lord Scarpa.' 
The guard's face grew apprehensive. 'Wait here,' he said, then 
turned and went along the back of the building to the heavy 
door. 
'i'll stay in the background when we get inside,' Sparhawk 
quietly told his friend. 'if he asks, just tell him that I'm a strong 
back you commandeered to help pull the cart.' 
Kalten nodded. 
'Are you here, Anarae?' Sparhawk asked, looking around 

in spite of the fact that he knew he wouldn't be able to see 
her. 


'Right at thy side, Anakha,' her voice replied softly. 
'We'll keep him talking for as long as we can. He'll probably 
be a little drunk. Will that make it difficult for you?' 
'I have shared the thoughts of this Krager before,' she told 
him. 'He is coherent unless he is far gone with drink. If it be 
convenient, direct his attention toward the house where thy 
. Queen was late held captive. That may prod his mind toward 
thoughts of interest to us.' 
'i'll see what I can do, Anarae,' Kalten promised. 
The Dacite guard came back. 'He'll receive you,' he 
announced. 
'Somehow I was almost sure he would,' Kalten smirked. 
'Master Krager's very fond of this particular wine.' He and 
Sparhawk lifted the shafts of the cart and pulled it along over 
the rough, littered ground at the back of the semi-restored ruin 
that appeared to be Scarpa's main headquarters. 
Krager was eagerly waiting in the doorway. His head was 
shaved, but he still looked much the same. He was dishevelled 
and unshaven, his near-sighted, watery eyes were bloodshot, 
and his hands were visibly shaking. 'Bring it inside,' he ordered 
in his familiar, rusty-sounding voice. 
Kalten and Sparhawk set the shafts of the cart down, untied 
the ropes that had held the two barrels in place, and carefully 
eased one of them out onto the ground. Kalten measured the 
height of the barrel with a length of the rope and then checked 
the width of the doorway. 'Just barely,' he said. 'Tip it over, 
From. We'll be able to roll it in.' 
Sparhawk heaved the barrel over onto its side, and he and 
his friend rolled it through the doorway into the cluttered room 
beyond. There was an unmade bed against one wall, and clothes 
littered the floor. The place was permeated with the acrid smell 
of Krager's unwashed, wine-sodden body, and there was a heap 
of empty casks and broken earthenware bottles in one corner. 
'Where did you want these, Master Krager?' Kalten asked. 
'Anyplace,' Krager said impatiently. 
'That's not thinking ahead,' Kalten said critically. 'They're too 
heavy for you to move by yourself. Pick a spot that'll be convenient.' 
'You might be right.' Krager squinted around the room. Then 
he went to a place near the head of the bed and kicked some 
clothes out of the way. 'Put them right here,' he instructed. 
'Ah - before we go any further, why don't we settle up? These 
are very expensive, Master Krager.' 
'How much?' 

'Senga told me that he had to have fifty crowns a barrel. Arcian 
red's very hard to come by this far away from Arcium.' 
"fifty crowns?' Krager exclaimed. 
'Each,' Kalten insisted. 'He told me to open the barrels for 
yOu, tOO.' 
'I know how to open a wine barrel, Col.' 
'i'm sure of it, but Senga's an honest businessman, and he 
wants me to make sure you're satisfied before I take your 
money.' He rolled the barrel over against the wall. 'Help me set 
it up, From,' he told Sparhawk. They righted the barrel, and 
Kalten took a pry-bar out from under his belt. 'Beer's a lot easier," 
he noted. 'Somebody ought to tell those Arcian's about 


the advantages of putting a bung-hole in the side." 
%carefully pried up the lid as Krager, cup in hand, at his elbow. 
Master Krager,' Kalten said then, lifting off the 


g aside. 
Craiger dipped his cup into the deep red liquid, lifted it with 
a trembling hand, and drank deeply. 'Marvelous!' he sighed 
happily. , 
fir laughed. 'You wouldn't expect it of a highway robber, but I'll tell Senga that it meets with your approval,' 
Kalten said. 
Senga's very concerned about satisfying his customers. Would 
you believe that he even had us pour out a barrel of beer that 
had gone sour? Come on, From, let's get the other barrel. We'll 
have Master Krager test that one and then we'll settle accounts.' 
,The two of them went back outside and manhandled the 
second barrel out of the cart. 
'Ask him why they've taken the guards off the doors of the 
house where they were holding Ehlana and Alcan,' Sparhawk 
MUrmured. 
"Right.,' Kalten grunted as they lowered the wine barrel to the 
ground. 
They put the second barrel beside the first, Kalten pried open 
the lid, and Krager sampled it. 
"Satisfactory?" Kalten asked. 
"Just fine,' Krager said. He dipped out another cup and sank
back happily on his bed. 'Absolutely splendid.' 
'That'll be a hundred crowns then.' 
Crager pulled a heavy purse out from under his belt and negligently


 tossed it to Kalten. 'Here,' he said. 'Count it out yourself. 
and don't steal too much.'
'This is business, Master Krager,' Kalten told him. 'if I was 
robbing you, I'd have my knife against your throat.' He swept 
clothing and a few dried crusts of bread off the top of a 
%with his forearm, opened the purse, and started counting Money. 
'We noticed that all the guards have been Pulled away 
from the house with the bars on the windows,' he said. 'A 
couple of days ago a man couldn't get within twenty Paces of 
the place, but this morning From and I wheeled that cart right 
past the front doorr and nobody paid any attention to us. Has 
Scarpa moved whatever was so valuable out of there?' 
Krager's puffy face became suddenly alert. 'That's none of 
your busineSs, Col.' 
'I didn't say it was. You might just make a suggestion to Lord 
Scarpa, though. If he doesn't want people to notice things like 
that, he shouldn't change anything. He should have kept all the 
guards right where they were. Senga and the rest of us are all 
robbers, you know, and we all more or less believed that Lord 
Scarpa was keeping his treasure in that house. The word "treasure"


 makes men like us prick up our ears.' 
Krager stared at him and then he began to laugh. 
'What's so funny?' Kalten looked up from his counting. 
'It was a treasure all right, Col,' Krager smirked, 'but not the 
kind you can count.' 
'Like you say, it's none of my business, but every man who 
works in Senga's tavern knows that it's been moved. I'm sure 
they'll all be poking around in these ruins looking for the new 



storehouse. ' 
'Let them look,' Krager shrugged. 'The treasure's a long, long 
way from here by now.' 
'I hope you've still got guards on it. Those woods out there 
are crawling with fellows like From and me. Would you come 
here and check my count?' 
'I trust you, Col.' 
'You're a fool, then. 
'Take another ten crowns for yourself and your man,' Krager 
said expansively, 'and then if you don't mind, I'd like to be 
alone with my two new friends here.' 
'You're very generous, Master Krager.' Kalten took some more 
coins from the purse, scooped up all the ones he had previously 
counted out, and dumped them into the side pocket of his 
smock. 'Let's go, From,' he said to Sparhawk. 'Master Krager 
wants to be alone.' 
'Tell Senga that I'm grateful to him,' Krager said, dipping out 
more wine, 'and tell him to keep his eye out for more of this 
excellent vintage. I'll buy all he can find.' 
'i'll tell him, Master Krager. Enjoy yourself.' And Kalten led 
the way out of the reeking room. 
Sparhawk closed the door and held out his hand. 
'What?' Kalten asked. 
'My five crowns, if you don't mind,' Sparhawk said firmly. 
'Let's keep accounts current, shall we?' 
"Thou art shrewd, Sir Kalten,' Xanetia's whispered voice came 
%'Thou didst most skillfully guide his thought in precisely 

 the direction most useful to us.' 
Kalten made some show of counting coins into Sparhawk's 
hand. "What did you find out, Anarae?' he asked in a tense 
whisper. 
"a day or two ago a closed carriage did depart from this 
place after making some show of stopping - under heavy guard 
_ at the door to the house upon which all our attention hath 
"been fixed. The carriage, which was but a ploy, is bound for 
Panem-Doa. Those we seek are not inside, however. They had 
bug since departed from Natayos with Zalasta.' 
'did Krager know where Zalasta was taking them?' Sparhawk 
asked. 
'It was evidently in Zalasta's mind that none here should 
know,' Xanetia replied, 'but Krager, ever alert to the main 
chance, was well aware that news of Zalasta's destination might 
well save his life should things go awry, and he did strive most 
assiduously to learn the Styric's plans. By feigning drunken stuEr, 

 he was able to be present when Zalasta did speak with 
his comrade, Cyzada. The twain spake in Styric, but Krager, 
unbeknownst to us all, hath a smattering of that tongue, and 
he was thus able to glean from their hurried conversation the 
very information which he - and we - are most curious about.' 
That's a surprise,' Kalten muttered. 'Drunk or sober, Krager's 
a shrewd one, all right. Where's Zalasta taking the ladies, 
Anarae?' 
Xanetia sighed. 'The information is melancholy, Sir Kalten,' 
She told him. 'I do fear me that it is Zalasta's intent to take the 
queen and her handmaiden to the hidden city of Cyrga, where 
Cyrgon himself doth hold sway, and by his power there can 


deny us all access to those we love.' 

CHAPTER 20 

If they would just let her sleep. The world around her seemed 
distorted, unreal, and she could only watch in numb, uncaring 
bemusement as her exhausted body screamed for sleep - or even 
for death. She stood exhausted at the window. The slaves toiling 
in the fields around the lake below looked almost like ants crawling

 across the winter-fallow fields as they grubbed at the soil with 
crude implements. Other slaves gathered firewood among the 
trees on the sloping sides of the basin, and the puny sounds of 
their axes drifted up to the dark tower from which she watched. 
Alcan lay on an unpadded bench, sleeping or dead, Ehlana 
could no longer tell which, but she envied her gentle maid in 
either case. 
They were not alone, of course. They were never alone. 
Zalasta, his own face gaunt with weariness, talked on and on 
with King Santheocles. Ehlana was too tired to make any sense 
of the haggard Styric's droning words. She absently looked at 
the King of the Cyrgai, a man in a close-fitting steel breastplate, 
a short leather kirtle and ornate steel wrist-guards. Santheocles 
was of a race apart, and generations of selective breeding had 
heightened those features most admired by his people. he was 
tall and superbly muscled. His skin was very fair, although his 
carefully curled and oiled hair and beard were glossy black. Ffis 
nose was straight, continuing the unbroken line of his forehead. 
His eyes were very large and very dark - and totally empty. His 
expression was haughty, cruel. His was the face of a stupid, 
arrogant man devoid of compassion or even simple decency. 
His ornate breastplate left his upper arms and shoulders bare, 
and as he listened, he absently clenched and relaxed his fists, 
setting his muscles to writhing and dancing under his pale skin. 
He was obviously not paying much attention to Zalasta's words, 
but sat instead totally engrossed in the rhythmic flexing and 
relaxing of the muscles in his arms. He was in all respects a 
perfect soldier, possessed of a superbly-conditioned body and 
mind unviolated by thought. 
Ehlana wearily let her eyes drift again around the room. The 
furniture was strange. There were no chairs as such, only 
benches and padded stools with ornate arms but no backs. Evidently 

 the notion of a chair-back had not occurred to the Cyrgai. 
The table in the center of the room was awkwardly low, and 
the lamps were of an ancient design, no more than hammered 
copper bowls of oil with burning wicks floating in them. The 
roughly sawed boards of the floor were covered with rushes, 
the walls of square-cut black basalt were unadorned, and the 
windows were undraped. 
The door opened and Ekatas entered. Ehlana struggled to 
bring her exhausted mind into focus. Santheocles was king here 
in Cyrga, but it was Ekatas who ruled. The High Priest of Cyrgon 
was robed and cowled in black, and his aged face was a network 
of deep wrinkles. Although his expression was every bit as cruel 
and arrogant as that of his king, his eyes were shrewd, ruthless. 
The front of his black robe was adorned with the symbol that 
seemed to be everywhere here in the Hidden City, a white 


square surmounted by a stylized golden flame. There was some 
significance there certainly, but Ehlana was too tired to even 
wonder what it might be. 'Come with me,' he commanded 
abruptly. 'Bring the women.' 
'The servant girl is of no moment,' Zalasta replied in a slightly 
challenging tone. 'Let her sleep.' 
'I am not accustomed to having my commands questioned, 
Styric. ' 
'Get accustomed, Cyrgai. The women are my prisoners. My 
arrangement is with Cyrgon, and you're no more than an 
appendage to that arrangement. Your arrogance is beginning to 
annoy me. Leave the girl alone.' 
Their eyes locked, and a sudden tension filled the room. 'Well, 
Ekatas?' Zalasta said very quietly. 'Has the time come? Have 
you finally worked up enough courage to challenge me? Any 
time, Ekatas. Any time at all.' 
Ehlana, now fully alert, saw the flicker of fear in the eyes of 

Cyrgon's priest. 'Bring the Queen then,' he said sullenly. 'It is 
she whom Cyrgon would behold.' 
'Wise decision, Ekatas,' Zalasta said sardonically. 'if you keep 
making the right choices, you might even live for a little while 
longer.' 
Ehlana took her cloak and gently covered Alcan with it. Then 
she turned to face the three men. 'Let's get on with this,' she 
told them, mustering some remnant of her royal manner. 
Santheocles rose woodenly to his feet and put on his highcrested 

 helmet, taking great pains to avoid mussing his carefully 
'arranged hair. He spent several moments buckling on his large 
round shield, and then he drew his sword. 
'What an ass,' Ehlana noted scornfully. 'Are you really sure 
you should trust His Majesty with anything sharp, though? He 
might hurt himself with it, you know.' 
'It is customary, woman,' Ekatas replied stiffly. 'Prisoners are 
always kept under close guard.' 
'Ah,' she murmured, 'and we must obey the dictates of custom, 

 mustn't we, Ekatas? When custom rules, thought is 
unnecessary. ' 
Zalasta smiled faintly. 'I believe you wanted to take us to the 
temple, Ekatas. Let's not keep Cyrgon waiting.' 
Ekatas choked back a retort, jerked the door open and led 
them out into the chilly hallway. 
The stairs that descended from the top-most tower of the royal 
palace were narrow and steep, endless stairs winding down 
and down. Ehlana was trembling by the time they reached the 
courtyard below. 
The winter sun was very bright in that broad courtyard, but 
there was not much heat to it. 
They crossed the flagstoned courtyard to the pale temple, a 
building constructed not of marble but of chalky limestone. 
Unlike marble, the limestone had a dull, unreflective surface, 
and the temple looked somehow diseased, leprous. 
They mounted the stairs to the portico and entered through 
a rude doorway. Ehlana had expected it to be dark inside this 
holy of Holies, but it was not. She stared with a certain apprehensive 

 astonishment at the source of the light even as Ekatas 


and Santheocles prostrated themselves, crying in unison, 'VBnet, 
Akor. Yala Cyrgon!' 
And then it was that the Queen understood the significance of 
that ubiquitous emblem that marked virtually everything here in 
the Hidden City. The white square represented the blocky altar 
set in the precise center of the temple, but the flame that burned 
atop that altar was no stylized representation. It was instead an 
actual fire that twisted and flared, reaching hungrily upward. 
Ehlana was suddenly afraid. The fire burning on the altar was 
not some votive offering, but a living flame, conscious, aware, 
and possessed of an unquenchable will. Bright as the sun, 
Cyrgon himself burned eternal on his pale altar. 


'No,' Sparhawk decided. 'We'd better not. Let's just sit tight at 


 least until Xanetia has the chance to winnow through a few 
minds. We can always come back and deal with Scarpa and his 
friends later. Right now we need to know where Zalasta's taking
Ehlana and Alcan.' 
'We already know,' Kalten said. 'They're going to Cyrga.' 
'That's the whole point,' the now-visible Ulath told him. 'We 
don't know where Cyrga is.' 
They had gone back into the vine-choked ruins and had gathered 


 on the second floor of a semi-intact palace to consider
options. 
'Aphrael has a general idea,' Kalten said. 'Can't we just start 
out for central Cynesga and do some poking around when we 
get there?' 
'I don't think that'd do much good,' Bevier pointed out. 
'Cyrgon's been concealing the place with illusions for the past 
ten eons. We could probably walk right through the streets of 
the city and not even see it.' 
'He's not hiding it from enerybody,' Caalador mused. 'There 
are messages going back and forth, so somebody here in Natayos 
has to know the way. Sparhawk's right. Why don't we let Xanetia 


 do the poking around here, instead of the lot of us going off 
into the desert to dodge scorpions and snakes while we turn 
over pebbles and grains of sand?' 
'We stay here then?' Tynian asked. 
'For the time being,'' Sparhawk replied. 'Let's not do anything 
to attract attention until we find out what Xanetia can discover. 
That's our best option at the moment.' 
'We were so close.' Kalten fumed. 'if we'd just gotten here a 
day or two earlier." 
'Well we didn't,' Sparhawk said flatly, forcing back his own 
disappointment and frustration. 'So let's make the best of it and 
salvage what we can.' 
'With Zalasta getting further and further away with every 
minute,' Kalten added bitterly. 
'Don't worry, Kalten,' Sparhawk told him in a tone as cold as
death. 'Zalasta can't run far enough or fast enough to get away 
from me when I decide to go after him.'


'Are you busy, Sarabian?' Empress Elysoun asked tentatively 
from the doorway of the blue-draped room. 
'Not really, Elysoun,' he sighed. 'Just brooding. I've had a 
great deal of bad news in the last day or so.' 



'i'll come back some other time. You're not much fun when 
you've got things on your mind.' 
'is that all there is in the world, Elysoun?' he asked her sadly. 
'Only fun?' 
Her sunny expression tightened slightly, and she stepped into 
the room. 'That's what you married us for in the first place, wasn't 
it, Sarabian?' She spoke in crisp Tamul that was not at all like her 
usual relaxed Valesian dialect. 'Our marriages to you were to 
cement political alliances, so we're here as symbols, playthings, 
and ornaments. We're certainly not a part of the government.' 
He was rather startled by her perception and by the sudden 
change in her. It was easy to underestimate Elysoun. Her single-minded 

 pursuit of pleasure and the aggressively revealing 
nature of her native dress proclaimed her to be an empty-headed 
sensualist, but this was a completely different Elysoun. He 
looked at her with new interest. 'What have you been up to 
lately, my love?' he asked her fondly. 
The usual,' she shrugged. 
He averted his eyes. 'Please don't do that.' 
do what?' 
'Bounce that way. It's very distracting.' 
It's supposed to be. You don't think I dress this way because 
I'm too lazy to put on clothes, do you?' 
is that why you came by? For fun? Or was there something 
more tedious?' They had never talked this way before, and her 
sudden frankness intrigued him. 
let's talk about the tedious things first,' she said. She looked 
at him critically. 'You need to get more sleep,' she chided. 
'I wish I could. I've got too much on my mind." 
'i'll have to see what I can do about that.' She paused. 'There's 
something going on in the Women's Palace, Sarabian.' 
'Oh?' 
'A lot of strangers have been mingling with the assorted lapdogs 

 and toadies that litter the halls.' 
He laughed. 'That's a blunt way to describe courtiers.' 
'Aren't they? There's not a real man among them. They're 
in the palace to help us with our schemes. You did know 
that we spend our days plotting against each other, didn't 
you?' 
He shrugged. 'It gives you all something to do in your spare 
time.' 
'That's the only kind of time we have, my husband. All of 
our time is spare time, Sarabian, that's what's wrong with us. 
Anyway, these strangers aren't attached to any of the established 

 courts.' 
'Are you sure?' 
Her answering smile was wicked. 'Trust me. I've had dealings 
with all the regular ones. They're all little more than butterflies. 
These strangers are wasps.' 
He gave her an amused look. 'Have you actually winnowed 
your way through all the courtiers in the Women's Palace?' 
'More or less.' She shrugged again - quite deliberately, he 
thought. 'Actually it was rather boring. Courtiers are a tepid lot, 
but it was a way to keep track of what was going on.' 
'Then it wasn't entirely - ?' 
'A little, perhaps, but I have to take steps to protect myself. 


Our politics are subtle, but they're very savage.' 
'Are these strangers Tamuls?' 
'Some are. Some aren't.' 
'How long has this been going on?' 
'Since we all moved back to the Women's Palace. I didn't 
see any of these wasps when we were all living here with the 
Elenes.' 
"Just the past few weeks then?' 


She nodded. 'I thought you should know. It could be just 
more of the same kind of thing that's been going on for years, 
but I don't really think so. Itfeels different somehow. Our politics 
are more indirect than yours, and what's happening in the 
Women's Palace is men's politics.' 
'Do you suppose you could keep an eye on it for me? I'd be 
grateful.' 


'Of course, my husband. I am loyal, after all.' 
'Oh, really?' 
'Don't make that mistake, Sarabian. Loyalty shouldn't be confused


 with that other business. That doesn't mean anything Loyalty does.' 


'There's a lot more to you than meets the eye, Elysoun.' 
'Oh? I've never tried to conceal anything.' She inhaled deeply. 
He laughed again. 'Do you have plans for this evening?' 
'Nothing that can't be put off until some other time. What did 
you have in mind?' 
'I thought we might talk a while.' 
'Talk?' 
'Among other things.' 
'Let me send a message first. Then we can talk for as long as
you like - among those other things you mentioned.' 


They were two days out of Tiara on their way around the west 
end of the lake on the road to Arjuna. They had camped on the 
lake-shore some distance from the road, and Khalad had shot a 
deer with his crossbow. 'Camp-meat,' he explained to Berit as 
he skinned the animal. 'It saves time and money.' 
"you're really very good with that crossbow,' Berit said. 
Khalad shrugged. 'Practice,' he replied. Then his head came 
up sharply. 'Company coming.' He pointed toward the road with his knife. 


%'Alunir' Bertt noted, squinting at the approaching riders. 
'Not all of them,' Khalad disagreed. 'The one in front's an 
Bene - an Edomishmanr judging from his clothes.' Khalad 
wiped his bloody hands on the long grass, picked up his crossbow


 and re-cocked it. 'just to be on the safe side,' he explained. 
They do know who we really are, after all.' 
Berit nodded bleakly and loosened his sword in its scabbard. 
The riders reined in about fifty Yards away. 'Sir Sparhawk?' 
the Edomishman called out in Elenic. 
"Maybe,' Berit called back. 'What can I do for you, neighbor?' 
I have a message for you.'
i'm touched. Bring it on in.' 
, 'Come alone,' Khalad added. 'You won't need your body-gards.' 
'i've heard about what you did to the last messenger."



'Good,' Khalad replied. 'We sort of intended for word of that 
to get around. The fellow had a little trouble being civil, but I'm 
sure you have better manners. Come ahead. You're safe - as 
long as you're polite.' 
The Edomishman still hesitated. 
'Friend,' Khalad said pointedly, 'you're well within range of 
my crossbow, so you'd better do as I tell you. Just come on in 
alone. We'll conduct our business, and then you and your Arjuni 
friends can be on your way. Otherwise, this might turn 
unpleasant. ' 
The Edomishman conferred briefly with his bodyguards and 
then rode cautiously forward, holding a folded parchment above 
his head. 'i'm not armed,' he announced. 
'That's not very prudent, neighbor,' Berit told him. 'These are 
troubled times. Let's have the note.' 
The messenger lowered his arm slowly and extended the 
parchment. 'The plans have changed, Sir Sparhawk,' he said 
politely. 'Astonishing.' Berit opened the parchment and gently took 

out the lock of identifying hair. 'This is only about the third 
time. You fellows seem to be having some difficulty making up 
your minds.' He looked at the parchment. "That's accommodating.

 somebody even drew a map this time.' 
'The village isn't really very well-known,' the Edomishman 
explained. 'It's a tiny place that wouldn't even be there if it 
weren't for the slave-trade.' 
'You're a very good messenger, friend,' Khalad told him. 
'Would you like to carry a word back to Krager for me?' 
'i'll try, young Master.' 
'Good. Tell him that I'm coming after him. He should probably 
start looking back over his shoulder, because no matter how this 
turns out, one day I'll be there.' 
The Edomishman swallowed hard. 'i'll tell him, young 
Master.' 
'i'd appreciate it.' 
The messenger carefully backed his horse off a few yards and 
then rode off to rejoin his Arjuni escort. 
'Well?' Khalad asked. 
'Vigayo - over in Cynesga. 
'It's not much of a town.' 
'You've been there?' 
'Briefly. Bhelliom took us there by mistake when Sparhawk 
was practicing with it.' 
'How far is it from here?' 
'About a hundred leagues. It's in the right direction, though. 
Aphrael said that Zalasta's taking the Queen to Cyrga, so 
Vigayo's got to be closer than Arjun. Pass the word, Berit. Tell 
Aphrael that we'll start out first thing in the morning. Then you 
can come and help me cut up this deer. It's ten days to Vigayo, 
so we're probably going to need the meat.' 

'He hath been there,' Xanetia told them. 'His memories of the 
Hidden City are vivid, but his recollection of the route is imprecise. 

 I could glean no more than disconnected impressions of 
the journey. His madness hath bereft his thought of coherence, 
and his mind doth flit from reality to illusion and back without 


purpose or direction.' 
'i'd say we got us a problem,' Caalador drawled. 'Ol' Krager, 
he don't know th' way on accounta he wuz too drunk t' Pay 
attention when Zalasta wuz a-talkin"bout how t' git t' Cyrga, 
an' Scorpa's too crazy t' remember how he got that.' His eyes 
narrowed, and he discarded the dialect. 'What about Cyzada?' 
he asked Xanetia. 
She shuddered. 'It is not madness nor drunkenness which 
doth bar my way into the thought of Cyzada of Esos,' she replied 
in a voice filled with revulsion. 'Deeply hath he reached into 
the darkness that was Azash, and the creatures of the netherworld 

 have possessed him so utterly that his thought is no longer 
human. His spells at first did in some measure control those 
horrid demons, but then he did summon Klael, and in that act 
was all unloosed. Prithee, do not send me again into that soothing

 chaos. He doth indeed know a route to Cyrga, but we could 
in no wise follow that path, for it doth lie through the realm of 
sine and darkness and unspeakable horror.' 
That more or less exhausts the possibilities of this place then, 
doesn't it?' They all turned quickly at the sound of the familiar 
voice. The Child Goddess sat demurely on a window-ledge holding

 her pipes in her hands. 
is this wise, Divine One?' Bevier asked her. 
'Won't our enemies sense your presence?" 
'There's no one left here who can do that, Bevier,' she replied. 
'Zalasta's gone. I just stopped by to tell you that Berit's received 
new instructions. He and Khalad are going to Vigayo, a village 
just on the other side of the Cynesgan border. As soon as you're 
ready, I'll take you there.' 
'What good will that do?' Kalten asked. 
'I need to get Xanetia close to the next messenger,' she replied. 
'Cyrga's completely concealed - even from me. There's a key to 
that illusion, and that's what we have to find. Without that key, 
we could all grow old wandering around out in that wasteland 
and still not find the city.' 
'I suppose you're right,' Sparhawk conceded. He looked 
directly at her. 'Can you arrange another meeting? We're getting 
close to the end of this, and I need to talk with the others Vanion 

 and Bergsten in particular, and probably with Betuana 
and Kring as well. We've got armies at our disposal, but they 
won't be much use if they're running off in three different directions

 or attacking Cyrga piecemeal. We've got a general idea of 
where the place is, and I'd like to put a ring of steel around it, 
but I don't want anybody to go blundering in there until we get 
Ehlana and Alcan safely out.' 
'You're going to get me in trouble, Sparhawk,' she said tartly. 
'Do you have any idea of the kinds of promises I'll have to make 
to get permission for that kind of gathering? - and I'll have to 
keep all those promises too.' 
'It's really very important, Aphrael.' 
She stuck her tongue out at him, and then she wavered and 
vanished. 

'Domi Tikume sent orders, your Reverence,' the shaved-headed 
Peloi advised Patriarch Bergsten when they met in the churchman's 
tent just outside the town of Pela in central Astel. 'We're 


to provide whatever assistance we can.'
'Your Domi's a good man, friend Daiya,' the armored Patriarch 


replied. 
'His orders stirred up a hornet's nest,' Daiya said wryly. 'The 
idea of an alliance with the Church Knights set off a theological 
debate that went on for days. Most people here in Astel believe 
that the Church Knights were born and raised in Hell. A fair 
number of the debaters are currently taking the matter up with 
God in person. ' 
'I gather that religious disputes among the Peloi are quite 
spirited.' 
'Oh, yes,' Daiya agreed. 'The message from Archimandrite 
Morsel helped to quiet things, though. Peloi religious thought 
isn't really all that profound, your Reverence. We trust God 
and leave the theology to the churchmen. If the Archimandrite 
approves, that's good enough for us. If he's wrong, he's the one 
who'll burn in Hell for it.' 
'How far is it from here to Cynestra?' Bergsten asked him. 
'About a hundred and seventy-five leagues, your Reverence.' 
'Three weeks,' Bergsten muttered sourly. 'Well, there's not 
much we can do about that, I suppose. We'll start out first thing 
in the morning. Tell your men to get some sleep, friend Daiya. 
It's probably going to be in short supply for the next month or SO. ' 


'Bergsten.' The voice crooning his name was light and musical. 
The Thalesian Patriarch sat up quickly, reaching for his axe. 
'Oh, don't do that, Bergsten. I'm not going to hurt you.' 
'Who's there?' he demanded, fumbling for his candle and his 
flint and steel. ' 
'Here.' A small hand emerged from the darkness with a 
tongue of flame dancing on its palm. 
Bergsten blinked. His midnight visitor was a little girl - Styric, 
he guessed. She was a beautiful child with long hair and large 
eyes as dark as night. Bergsten's hands started to tremble. 
"you're Aphrael, aren't you?' he choked.
"good observation, your Grace. Sparhawk wants to see you.' 
He drew back from this personage that standard Church doctrine


 told him did not - could not - exist. 
"you're being silly, your Grace,' she told him. 'You know that 
I wouldn't even be talking to you if I didn't have permission 
from your God, don't you? I can't even come near you without 
permission.' 
"well, theoretically,' he reluctantly conceded. 'You could be a 
demon, though, and the rules don't apply to them.' 
"Do I look like a demon?" 
'Appearance and reality are two different things,' he insisted. 
Afrael looked into his eyes and pronounced the true name of the 
Ehlene god, one of the most closely-kept secrets of the Church. 'A 
demon couldn't say that name, could it, your Grace?'
'Well, I suppose not.' 
'We'll get along well, Bergsten,' she smiled, kissing him lightly 
on the cheek. 'Ortzel would have argued that point for weeks. 
Leave your axe here, please. Steel makes my flesh crawl.' 
'Where are we going?' 
'To meet with Sparhawk. I already told you that.' 
'is it far?' 



'Not really.' She smiled, opening the tent flap. 
It was still night in Pela, but it was broad daylight beyond the 
tent flap - a strange sort of daylight. A pristine white beach 
stretched down to a sapphire sea all under a rainbow-colored 
sky, and a small green eyot surmounted by a gleaming alabaster 
temple rose from that incredibly blue sea about a half-mile from 
the beach. 'What place is this!' Bergsten asked, poking his head out of 


the tent and looking around in amazement. 
'I suppose you could call it Heaven, your Grace,' the Child 
Goddess replied, blowing out the flame dancing on her palm. 
'It's mine, anyway. There are others, but this one's mine.' 
'Where is it?'
'Everywhere and anywhere. All the Heavens are everyplace 
all at once. So are all the Hells, of course - but that's another 
story. Shall we go?' 


CHAPTER ?21 


Cordz of Nelan was the perfect man. That realization had not 
come easily to the devout Edomishman. It had only been after 
octended soul-searching and a meticulous examination of the 
sacred texts of his faith that he had arrived at the inescapable conclusion. 


 He was perfect. He obeyed all of God's commandments, 
he did what he was supposed to do, and he did not do the things 
that were forbidden. Isn't that what perfection is all about? 
It was a comfort to be perfect, but Cordz was not one to rest 
on his laurels. Now that he had achieved perfection in the eyes 
of God, it was time to turn his attention to the faults of his 
neighbors. Sinners, however, seldom sin openly, so Cordz was 
forced to resort to subterfuge. He peeked through windows 


 at night, he eavesdropped on private conversations, and, 
when his sinful neighbors cleverly concealed their wrongdoing 
from him, he imagined the sins they might be committing. The 
sabbath was a very special day for Cordz, but not for the service. 


 After all, what need had a perfect man for sermons? 
It was on the Sabbath that he was able to rise to his feet and 


announce the sins of his neighbors, both the sins they hand committed 


 and the sins they might be committing. 
He robably irritated the Devil. God knows he irritated his 
%ms.
then a crisis had arisen in Edam. The debauched and 
Church of Chyrellos, after two eons of plotting and 
yr was finally preparing to make her move against the 


s. The Church Knights were on the march, and horrors 
unagining marched with them. 
Cordz was among the first to enlist in Rebal's army, the perfect 
man abandoned his neighbors to their sinful ways to join a holier 
cause. He became Rebal's most trusted messenger, killing horses 
by the dozen as he rushed about the Elene kingdoms of western 
Tamuli carrying the dispatches so vital to the cause. 
On this particular day Cordz was flogging his exhausted horse 
southward toward the corrupt cities of southern Daconia, cesspools 
of sin and licentiousness, if the truth were to be known, 
where the citizens not only did not know that they were sinners, 


they did not even care. Worse yet, an obscure and probably 
heretical tradition of the Dacite Church prevented laymen from 
speaking aloud during Sabbath services. Thus, God's very own 
spokesman, the perfect man, was not permitted to expose and 
denounce the sins he saw all around him. The frustration of it 
sometimes made him want to just scream. 
He had been riding hard for the past week, and he was very 
tired. Thus it was with some relief that he finally crested the hill 
that overlooked the port city of Melek. 
Then all thoughts of the sins of others vanished. Cordz 
reined in his staggering horse and gaped in horror at what 
he saw. 
There on a sea sparkling in the winter sun was a vast armada, 
ships beyond counting, sailing majestically down the coast 
under the red and gold banners of the Church of Chyrellos! The perfect man was so overcome with horror 
that he did not 

even hear the plaintive sound of a shepherd's rude pipe playing 
a Styric air in a minor key somewhere off to his left. He gaped 
for a time at his worst nightmare, and then he desperately drove 
his spurs into his horse's flanks, rushing to spread the alarm. 

General Sirada was the younger brother of Duke Milanis, and 
he commanded the rebel forces in Panem-Doa. King Rakya had 
so arranged it that most of Scarpa's generals were Arjuni. Sirada 
knew that there were risks involved, but the younger sons of 
noble families were obliged to take risks if they wanted to get 
ahead in the world. For them, rank and position had to be won. 
Sirada had endured the years of association with the crazy bastard 

 son of a tavern wench and the discomfort of camping out 
in the jungle waiting for his chance. 
And now it had come. The madman in Natayos had finally 
sent the order to march. The campaign had begun. There was 
no sleep in Panem-Doa that night. The preparations for the 
march went on through the hours of darkness, and the undisciplined

 rabble Sirada commanded was incapable of doing anything 

 quietly. The general spent the night poring over his maps. 
The strategy was sound, he was forced to admit that. He was 
to join forces with Scarpa and the other rebels near Verel. Then 
they would march north to the Tamul Mountains to be 
reinforced by Cynesgans. From there, they would march on 
Toea in preparation for the final assault on Matherion. 
General Sirada's own strategy was much simpler. Scarpa 
would crush any resistance at Toea, but he would not live to 
see the gleaming domes of the imperial capital. Sirada smiled 
thinly and patted the little vial of poison he carried in his inside 
pocket. The army would capture Matherion, but it would be 
General Sirada who would lead the final assault and personally 
run his sword through Emperor Sarabian. The younger brother 
of Duke Milanis expected an earldom at the very least to come 
out of this campaign. 
The door banged open, and his adjutant burst into the room, 
his eyes starting from his head and his face a pasty white. 'Good 
God, my General!' he shrieked. 
"What do you think you're doing?' Sirada demanded. 'How 
dare you? I'll have you flogged for this!' 


we're being attacked, my General!' 
Sirada could hear the squeals of terror now. He rose quickly 
and went out the door. 
It was not yet daylight, and a clinging mist had crept in out 
of the tangled forest to blur the ruined walls and houses of 
Panem-Doa. There were fires and flaring torches pushing back 
the darkness with their ruddy light, but there were other lights 
in the weed-choked streets as well, pale, cold lights that did not 
burn or flicker. Creatures of light, pale as wandering moons, 
stalked the streets of Panem-Doa. The general's heart filled with 
terror. It was impossible. the Shining Ones were a myth! There 
were no such creatures! 
Sirada shook off his fright and drew his sword. 'Stand fast!' 
he roared at his demoralized men. 'Form up! Pikemen to the 
front!' He bulled his way into the milling mob of terrified troops, 
flailing about him with the flat of his sword. 'Form up! Make a 
But there was no rationality nor fear of authority in the panic-stricken

 faces of his poorly trained men. The screaming mob 
simply diverged and bypassed him on either side. He ran at 
them again, swinging great strokes with his sword, cutting 
down his own men. 
He was so desperate to restore order that he did not even feel 
the knife-stroke that went in just below his ribs on the left side. 
He could not even understand why his knees buckled or why 
he fell under the trampling feet of his soldiers as they fled 
screaming into the trackless forest. 

'Are you sure this map's accurate, Tynian?' Patriarch Bergsten 
demanded, peering at the miniature world under hiS fOOt. 
'It's the most accurate map you'll ever see, your Grace,' Tynian 
assured him. 'Bhlokw cast the spell, and the Troll-Gods put their 
hands into the ground and felt the shape of the continent. This 
is it - down to the last tree and bush. Everything's here.' 
'Except for Cyrga, Tynian-Knight,' Engessa amended. The 
Atan general was completely healed now, and he looked as fit 
as ever. His face, however, was troubled. His Queen had greeted 
him almost abruptly when she had first arrived, and she was 
now quite obviously avoiding him. 
Sephrenia was seated on one of the benches in Aphrael's alabaster 

 temple with the rainbow light from the impossible sky 
playing over her face. 'We'd hoped that Schlee might be able to 
feel Cyrga when he re-created the continent, your Grace,' she 
said, 'but Cyrgon's illusion seems to be absolute. Not even a 
Trollish spell can break it.' 
'What's the best guess we can come up with?' Bergsten 
asked. 
Aphrael walked lightly across the tiny world Bhlokw had conjured 

 up for them. She stepped over the minuscule city of Cymestra 

 and continued south to a mountainous region in the center 
of the desert. 'It used to be somewhere in this general vicinity,' 
she said, gesturing vaguely over the mountains. 
'Used to be?' Bergsten asked her sharply. 
She shrugged. 'Sometimes we move things.' 
'Whole cities?' 
'It's possible - but it's a reflection of bad planning.' 
Bergsten shuddered and began marking off distances on the 


miniature continent with a long piece of string. 'i'm up here at 
Pela,' he told them, pointing at a spot in central Astel. 'That's 
almost three hundred leagues from the general vicinity of Cyrga, 
and I'll have to stop to capture Cynestra along the way. The rest 
of you are much closer, so you're going to have to hold off a bit 
if we all want to get there at approximately the same time.' 
Aphrael shrugged. 'i'll tamper,' she said. 
Bergsten gave her a puzzled look. 
'Divine Aphrael has ways of compressing time and distance 
your Grace,' Sparhawk explained. 'She can -' 
'I don't want to hear about it, Sparhawk!' Bergsten said 
sharply, putting his hands over his ears. 'You've already put 
my soul in danger just by bringing me here. Please don't make 
it any worse by telling me things I don't need to know about.' 
'Whatever you say, your Grace,' Sparhawk agreed. 
Emban was pacing around the cluster of up-thrusting mountains

 in the center of the Cynesgan Desert. 'We're all going to 
be converging on these mountains,' he said. 'i'm no expert, but 
wouldn't our best move be to just stop in the foothills and wait 
until everyone's in place before we make the final assault?' 
'No, your Grace,' Vanion said firmly. 'Let's stay out a bit from 
the foothills - at least a day's ride. If we run into Klael's creatures, 
we'll need room to maneuver. I want a lot of flat ground around 
me when that happens.' 
The fat little Churchman shrugged. 'You're the soldier, 
Vanion.' He pointed toward the south. 'There's our weakness,' 
he said. 'We've got a good concentration of forces coming out 
of the east, the northeast and the north, but we don't have 
anybody covering the south.' 
'Or the west,' Sarabian added. 
'I'll cover the west, your Majesty,' Bergsten told him. 'I can 
poSition my knights and the Peloi to block off that entire quadrant.' 
That still leaves the south,' Emban mused. 
'its already been taken care of, Emban,' Aphrael assured him. 
Stragen's been spinning stories about a vast Church fleet off 
the southern coast, and I've been weaving illusions to back him 
up. 
"How long is it going to take the Trolls to get into position 
%lkrrth of Zhubay, Ulath?' 
just as long as it takes to persuade the Troll-Gods that we 
need their children there instead of in the Tamul mountains,' 
Tynian rePlied. 'A day or so, Probably. Once they're 
convinced, they'll put their children into No-Time. If we didn't 
have to stop now and then to feed the Trolls, we could be in 
Zhubay before you could even blink. If I knew where Cyrga 
was, I could have fifteen hundred Trolls on the doorstep by 
morning.' 
'There's no need to rush.' The Child Goddess looked around 
with steely eyes. 'Nobody - and I mean nobody - is going to 
move on Cyrga until I know that Ehlana and Alcan are safe. If 
I have to, I can keep you running around in circles out there in 
that desert for generations, so don't try to get creative on me.' 
'is the Queen of Elenia so very important to you, Divine One?' 
Betuana asked mildly. 'War is hard, and we must accept our 
losses.' 
'It's a personal matter, Betuana,' Aphrael said shortly. 'These 


are your positions.' She gestured over the miniature continent. 
'Bergsten will come in from the north and west to cover that 
side of the city, Ulath, Tynian and Bhlokw will bring the Trolls 
down from Zhubay and join with Betuana's Atans on their left 
flank, Vanion will come in from the east and be joined on his 
left by Kring and the Peloi, Stragen's persuaded that disgusting 
Dacite in Beresa that there are a million or so Church Knights 
landing on the coast around Verel and Kaftal, and that should 
divert most of the armies of Cynesga. We'll all converge on 
Cyrga. There are some discrepancies in the distances, but I'll 
take care of those. When the time comes, you will all be in place 

- even if I have to pick you up one by one and carry you.' She 
stopped abruptly. 'What is your problem, Bergsten? Don't laugh 
at me, or I'll take you by the nose and shake you.'' 
'I wasn't laughing, Divine One,' he assured her. 'I was only 
smiling in approval. Where did you learn so much about strategy 
and tactics?' 
'i've been watching you Elenes make war since shortly after 
you discovered fire, your Grace. I was bound to learn a few of 
the tricks of the trade.' She turned suddenly on Bhlokw. 'What?' 
she asked irritably in Trollish. 
'U-lat has said to me what you have said, Child Goddess 
Why are we doing this?' 
'To punish the Wicked ones, Priest of the Troll-Gods.' 
"What?" Sparhawk said to Ulath in stunned amazement. 'What 
did she call him?' 
'Oh?' Ulath said mildly. 'Didn't you know? Our shaggy friend 
has a certain eminence.' 
'They actually have priests?' 
'Of course. Doesn't everybody?' 
'It is good to punish the wicked ones who have taken 
Anakha's mate away,' Bhlokw was saying, 'but do we need to 
take so many? Khwaj will punish the wicked ones. This is the 
season of Schlee, and we should be following the way of the 
hunt. The young must be fed or they will die, and that is not a 
good thing.' 
'Oh, dear,' Aphrael murmured. 
'What's happening here, Sir Ulath?' Sarabian asked. 
'The Trolls are hunters, your Majesty,' Ulath explained, 'not 
warriors. They have no real understanding of warfare. They eat 
what they kill.' 
Sarabian shuddered. 
'It is very moral, your Majesty,' Ulath pointed out. 'From a 
Troll's point of view, wasting the meat is criminal.' 
Aphrael was squinting at the priest of the Troll-Gods. 'It is a 
good thing to do that which follows the way of the hunt and 
punishes the wicked ones at the same time,' she said. 'if we 
hunt this way, we will cause hurt to the wicked ones and bring 
much meat to the young during the season of Schlee.' 
Bhlokw considered that. 'The hunts of the man-things are 
not-simple,' he said dubiously, 'but it is my thought that the 
hunts of the God-things are even more not-simple.' He reflected 
on it. 'It is good, though. A hunt that gathers more than meat 
is a good hunt. You hunt very well, Child Goddess. Sometime 
we might take eat together and talk of old hunts. It is good to 


do this. It makes pack-mates closer so that they hunt together 
%kiter.' 
'It would make me glad if we did this, Bhlokw.' 
Then we will do it. I will kill a dog for us to eat. Dog is even 
more good-to-eat than pig.'
Aphrael made a slight gagging sound. 
wILl it cause anger to you if I speak to our pack-mates in 
bird-noises, Bhlokw?' Sparhawk stepped in. 'It will soon be time 
for the hunt to begin, and all must be made ready.' 
'It will not cause anger to me, Anakha. U-lat can say to me 
what you are saying.' 
'All right then,' Sparhawk said to the rest of them. 'We all 
know how we're going to converge on Cyrga, but there are 
several of us who have to go in first. Please hold off on your 
attack until we're in position. Don't crowd us by trampling on 
our heels.' 
'Who are you taking in with you, Sparhawk?' Vanion asked. 
'Kalten, Bevier, Talen, Xanetia and Mirtai.' 
'I don't quite -'
Sparhawk held up one hand. 'Aphrael made the choices, my 
Lord,' he said. 'if there are any objections, take them up with 
her.' 


 'You have to have those people with you, Sparhawk,' Aphrael 
explained patiently. 'if you don't, you'll fail.' 
'Whatever you say, Divine One,' he surrendered. 
'You'll be out in front of Berit and me then?' Khalad asked. 
Sparhawk nodded. 'The people on the other side will expect 
us to trail along behind you. If we're in front, it might confuse 
them - at least that's what we're hoping. Aphrael will take us 
directly to Vigayo and we'll nose around a bit. If the fellow with 
the next message is already there, Xanetia should be able to pick 
up your new destination. Sooner or later, somebody's going to 
have to give you the key to the illusion that's hiding Cyrga, and 
that's the one piece of information we have to have. Once we've 
got that, the rest is easy.' 
'I like his definition of easy,' Caalador murmured to Stragen. 
Emban jotted another note on his inevitable list. Then he 
cleared his throat. 
'Must you, Emban?' Bergsten sighed. 
'It helps me to think, Bergsten, and it makes sure that we 
haven't left anything out. If it bores you so much, don't listen.' 
'The man-things talk much when they decide how they will 
hunt, U-lat,' Bhlokw complained. 
'It is the nature of the man-things to do this. 
'It is because the hunts of the man-things are too much notsimple. 


 It is my thought that their hunts are not-simple because 
they do not eat the ones they kill. They hunt and kill for reasons 
which I do not understand. It is my thought that this thing the 
man-things call "war" is a very great wickedness.' 
'It is not in our thought to cause anger to the priest of the 
Troll-Gods,' Patriarch Bergsten said in flawless Trollish. "The 
thing which the man-things call war is like the thing which 
happens when two Troll-packs come to hunt on the same range.' 
Bhlokw considered that. Then he grunted as comprehension 
came over his shaggy face. 'Now it is clear to me,' he said. 'This 
thing the man-things call "war" is like the hunting of thought. 



That is why it is not-simple. But you still talk much.' The Troll 
squinted at Emban. 'That one is the worst,' he added. 'His mindbelly

 is as big as his belly-belly.' 
'What did he say?' Emban asked curiously. 
'It wouldn't translate very well, your Grace,' Ulath replied 
blandly. 
Patriarch Emban gave him a slightly suspicious look and then 
meticulously laid out their deployment once again, checking 
items off his list as he went. When he had finished, he looked 
around. 'Can anybody think of anything else?' 
'Perhaps,' Sephrenia said, frowning slightly. 'Our enemies 
know that Berit's not really Sparhawk, but they're going to think 
that Sparhawk won't have any choice but to follow along behind. 
It might help to confirm that belief. I think I know a way to 
duplicate the sound and sense of Bhelliom. If it works, our 
enemies will think that Sparhawk's somewhere in the column 
of knights Vanion's going to lead out into the desert. They'll 
concentrate on us rather than looking for him.' 
'You're putting yourself in danger, Sephrenia,' Aphrael 
objected. 
'There's nothing particularly new about that.' Sephrenia 
smiled. 'And when you consider what we're trying to do, no 
place is really safe.' 
'is that it, then?' Engessa asked, standing up. 
'Probably, friend Engessa,' Kring replied, 'except for the hour 
or so we'll all spend telling each other to be careful.' 
Engessa squared his shoulders, turned and faced his Queen 
directly. 'What are your orders, Betuana-Queen,' he asked her 
with military formality. 
She drew herself up with a regal stiffness. 'It is our instruction 
that you return with us to Sama, Engessa-Atan. There you will 
resume command of our armies.' 
'It shall be as you say, Betuana-Queen.' 
'Directly upon our return, you will send runners to my hhusband, 

 the king. Tell him that there is no longer a threat to Toea. 
The Shining Ones will deal with Scarpa. ' 
He nodded stiffly. 
'Further, tell him that I have need of his forces in Sama. That 
is where we will prepare for the main battle, and he should be 
there to take command.' She paused. 'This is not because we 
are dissatisfied with your leadership, Engessa-Atan, but 
he is the king. You have served well. The royal house of Atan is 
grateful.' 
'It is my duty, Betuana-Queen,' he replied, clashing his fist 
against his breastplate in salute. 'No gratitude is necessary.' 
'Oh, dear,' Aphrael murmured. 
'What's wrong?' Sephrenia asked her. 
'Nothing.' 

cHAPTER 22 

%tWa definitely Chacole and Torellia, Sarabian,' Elysoun insisted t 
several days later. 'Chacole's more or less running things. She's 
er and shrewder. The strangers usually go directly to her. 
they talk privately for a while, and then she sends for Torellia. 
They weren't really all that fond of each other before, but now 


theyve got their heads together all the time. ' 
"theyre probably getting orders from home,' Sarabian mused. 
Jaluah of Cynesga is Chacole's brother, and Torellia's the 
daughter of King Rakya of Arjuna. Can you get any sense at all 
of what they might be up to?' 
She shook her head. 'It's too early." 
"Early?" 
"women's politics again. We're more devious than men. 
"chacole will want everything in place before she starts to form 
alliances. She's got Torellia under control, but she's not 
ready to start trying to expand yet.' 
"you'rere sure that Torellia's the subordinate one?' 
she nodded. 'Chacole's servants are lording it over hers. 
that's the first sign of dominance in the Women's Palace. 
"Ceirona's servants are all insufferable because she's the first 
wife and we're all subordinate to her - except for Liatris, of 
course,' Sarabian smiled. 'No one in his right mind is
%ont to Liatris. Has she killed anybody lately?' 
not since she butchered Cieronna's footman last year.' 
"There's a thought. Should we bring Liatris into this?' 
Elisoun shook her head. 'Maybe later, but not at this stage. 
Atana Liatris is too direct. If I approached her with this,
she'd simply kill Chacole and Torellia. Let's wait until 
she approaches me before we involve Liatris.' 
'Are you sure Chacole will approach you?' 
'It's almost certain. My servants have greater freedom of 
movement than hers - because of my social activities.' 
'That's a delicate way to put it.' 
'You knew I was a Valesian when you married me, Sarabian, 
and you know about our customs. That's why my servants have 
the run of the compound. It's always been a tradition.'
He sighed. 'How many are there currently, Elysoun?' 
'None, actually.' She smiled at him. 'You don't really understand, 


 do you, Sarabian? The biggest part of the fun of those
little adventures has always been the intrigue, and I'm getting 
plenty of that playing politics.' 
'Aren't you feeling a little - deprived?' 
'I can endure it,' she shrugged, 'and if I get desperate, I always 
have you to fall back on, don't I?' and she gave him an arch 
little smile. 


'Wal, sir, Master Valash,' Caalador drawled, leaning back in his 
chair in the cluttered loft, 'ol' Vymer here, he done tole me that 
yet a' willin' t' pay good money fer information, an' he sorta 
figgered oz how y' might want t' hear 'bout the stuff I seen in 
southwest Atan fer yet very ownself.' 
'You two have known each other for quite some time then? 
Valash asked.
'Oh, gorsh yes, Master Valash. Me'n Vymer goes way back 
We wuz all t'gether durin' that fracas in Matherion - him an' 
me an' From an' Reldin - along with a couple others - when the 
fellers from Interior come a-bustin' in on us. They wuz hull 
bunches o' excitement that night, let me tell yew. Anyway, ahem 
we shuck off the po-lice, we all split up an' scattered t' th' winds. 
Tain't a real good idee t' stay all bunched up whin yet a-runnin' 
from th' law.' 



Stragen sat back from the table out of the circle of light from 
the single candle, carefully watching Valash's face. Caalador had
just arrived to replace Sparhawk and Talen in the on-going 
deception of Valash, and Stragen was once again impressed by
how smooth his friend really was. Valash seemed lulled by the 
easy, folksy charm of Caalador's dialect. Stragen despised the 
speech, but he was forced to admit its utility. 
It always seemed so innocently artless. 


%anyway?' Valash asked. 
tuk off 'bout a week ago,' Caalador shrugged. 
ff in a tavern up in Delo whilst I wuz
e, an' they wuz a feller what had "policehim 


 who wuz describin' ol' From an' the 
warts. Soon's I got yore, I tole 'em 'bout 
at it might just be time t' move on. Anyas


 how yet innerested in whut's a-goin' 
I seen a few things after we all got run 
e's a-thankin' might be worth somethin.' 
".I'll certainly listen, Ezek.' Valash raised his head sharply as 
the comatose Ogerajin began to mumble in his sleep. 
"Is he all right?' Stragen asked. 
"It's nothing,' Valash said shortly. 'He does that all the time. 
Go ahead, Ezek.' 
'Wal, sir, she wuz a couple weeks ago, I guess, an' I wuz 
hot-footin' it across Atan, figgenn' t' make m' way on across 
;%')e-)'))).-))')~)'))))Aokl f Darsos - on accounta the law bein' hot on m' heels an' 
"I WUZ" a-comin' on down outten th' mountings when I putt 
')'))')-e.bort, cuz I seen more gol-darg Atans than I thought they 
in the hull world - I mean, they wint on fer miles. They multitudes o' them 
bi rascals - all geared up fer war an real mean an' on-friendly-like.' 
"The entire Atan army?' Valash exclaimed. ' 


 "It lookt t' me more like a gineral my-grashun of the hull darg 
master Valash. Y aint' niver seen s' miry of 'em!' 
Where exactly were they?' Valash asked excitedly. 
"waal sir, close oz I could make out, they wuz right close t' 
the synesgan border - up that close by a little town call Zhubay. 
appen t' have a map handy, I could point out th' eggt 


 fer yva.' Caalador squinted at the Dacite. 'Whut would
as infermaytion's worth, Master Valash?'
he didn't even hesitate when he reached for his purse. 


strange, Domi Tikume,' Kring told his friend as
the head of their massed tribesmen out into the 
sort the morning after the conference on Aphrael's 
The Child Goddess said that we were all dreaming, but 
everything seemed so real. I could actually smell the flowers 
and the grass. I've never smelled anything in a dream before." 
Tikume looked dubious. 'Are you sure it wasn't heresy to go 
there, Domi Kring?' 
Kring laughed wryly. 'Well, if it was, I was in good company. 
Patriarch Emban was there, and so was Patriarch Bergsten. Anyway, 


 you and I are supposed to continue making these raids 
into Cynesga. Then we're supposed to go ahead and ride on in 
toward those mountains out in the middle of the desert. We're 
hoping that Prince Sparhawk will have pinpointed the exact 



location of Cyrga by the time we get there.' 
One of the scouts who had been ranging out into the burt 
brown desert ahead came galloping back. 'Domi Tikume,' he 
said as he reined in. 'We've found them.'
'Where?' Tikume demanded. 
'There's a dry watercourse about two miles ahead, Domi. 
They're crouched down in there. I'd say they're planning to 
ambush us.' 
'What sort of soldiers are they?' Kring asked. 
'There was Cynesgan cavalry and more of those big ones 
with the steel masks that we've been running to death lately. 
There was some other infantry as well, but I didn't recognize 
them.' 
'Breastplates? Short kirtles? Helmets with high crests, and big 
round shields?'' 
'Those are the ones, Domi Kring.' 
Kring rubbed one hand across his shaved scalp. 'How wide 
is the water-course?' he asked. 


'Fifty Paces or so, Domi. 
'Crooked? Fairly deep?' 
The scout nodded. 
'It's an ambush, all right,' Kring said. 'The cavalry probably 
intends to let us see them and then retreat into the gully. If we 
follow them, we'll run right into the infantry. We've been running 


 klael's soldiers to death in open country, so they want to 
get us into tight quarters.' 
'What do we do?' Tikume asked. 
'We stay out of that stream-bed, friend Tikume. Send out 
flankers to cut off their cavalry after they ride out. We'll slaughter 


 them, and that should bring Klael's soldiers out into the 
open.' 
"What about the Cyrgai? Are they more of those ones out of 
the past that we keep coming across?' 
"I don't think so. This is inside the borders of Cynesga, so 
they're probably live ones from Cyrga itself. ' Kring stopped suddenly 


 and a slow grin crossed his face. 'I just thought of something. 


 Send out your flankers, friend Tikume. Give me some
time to think my way through this.' 
"that's a particularly nasty grin there, friend Kring. 
"I'm a particularly nasty fellow sometimes, friend Tikume,' 
Cring replied, his grin growing even wider. 
"Slavers,' Mirtai said shortly after she had peered down the rocky 
%")'";"')') w-"'"'"'"''ir'"')')')' bward the village clustered around the oasis. The almost instar- hlU at the column 
creeping slowly across the barren brown gravel 
,'n.)S~"'-)))4""WHaus change from the humidity of the ArJuni jungle to the 
'))-=--))')~))"'md Cynesgan Desert had given Sparhawk a slight headache. 
' How can you tell at this distance?' Bevier asked her. 
Those hooded black robes,' she replied peering again over 
the boulder which concealed them. 'Slavers wear them when 
they come into Cynesga so that the local authorities won't interfere 


 with them. Cynesga's about the only place left where 
slavery's openly legal. The other kingdoms frown on it.' 
There's a thought, Sparhawk,' Bevier said. 'if we could get 
our hands on some of those black robes, we'd be able to move 
about in the desert without attracting attention.' 



we don't look very much like Arjuni, Bevier,' Kalten objected. 
"We don't have to,' Talen told him. 'From what I heard back 
in Beresa, there are bands of raiders out in the desert who 
wOrk with the caravans in order to steal the slaves, so the Arjuni 
always hire lots of fighting men of all races to help protect the 
merchandise.' 
"ok," Kalten said. 'I wonder where we could lay our hands on black robes.' 
"there's a hundred or so of them right out there,' Bevier said, pointing 
at the caravan. 
"Elenes."' Xanetia sighed, rolling her eyes upward. 
"You're even starting to sound like Sephrenia, Anarae,' Sparhawk 

 said with a faint smile. 'What are we overlooking?' 
"Robes doubtless may be obtained in Vigayo close by, 
any shade or hue will serve, Anakha,' she explained. 
'They have to be black, Anarae,' Bevier objected. 
'Color is an aspect of light, Sir Bevier, and I am most 
skilled at controlling light.' 
'Oh,' he said. 'I guess I didn't think of that.' 
'I had noticed that myself - almost immediately.' 
'Be nice,' he murmured. 

Bergsten's knights and their Peloi allies crossed the Cynesgan 
border on a cloudy, chill afternoon after what seemed to be several 
days of hard riding, and rode southeasterly toward the capital 
at Cynestra. Peloi scouts ranged out in front, but they encountered 

 no resistance that day. They made camp, put out guards, 
and bedded down early. 
It was not long after they had broken camp and set out on 
what was ostensibly the next morning that Daiya came riding 
back to join Bergsten and Heldin at the head of the column. 'My 
scouts report that there are soldiers massing about a mile ahead, 
your Reverence,' he reported. 
'Cynesgans?' Bergsten asked quickly. 
'It does not appear so, your Reverence.' 
'Go have a look, Heldin,' Bergsten ordered. 
The Pandion nodded and spurred his horse to the top of a 
rocky hill a quarter mile to the front. His face was bleak when he 
returned. 'We've got trouble, your Grace,' he rumbled. 'They're 
more of those monsters we : came uP against in eastern Zemoch.' 
Bergsten muttered a fairly savage oath. 'I knew things were 
going too well.' 
'Domi Tikume has warned us about these foreign soldiers,' 
Daiya said. 'Would it offend your Reverence if I suggested that 
you let us deal with them? Domi Tikume and Domi Kring have 
devised certain tactics that seem to work.' 
'i'm not offended in the slightest, friend Daiya,' Bergsten 
replied. 'We didn't exactly cover ourselves with glory the last time 
we encountered those brutes, so I'd be very interested in seeing 
something that's a little more effective than our tactics were.' 
Daiya conferred briefly with his clan-chiefs, and then he led 
Bergsten, Heldin and several other knights up to the top of the 
hill to watch. 
Bergsten immediately saw the advantages of light cavalry as 
opposed to armored knights mounted on heavy war-horses. The 
huge soldiers in their tight-fitting armor seemed baffled by the 
|%attacks of the Peloi armed with javelins. They flour, 


 desperately trying to close with their tormentors, 
ted horses of the Peloi were simply too quick. The 

o take their toll, and more and more of the hulkfell 
in that deadly rain. 

to force them to run, your Reverence,' Daiya 

"They're very dangerous in close quarters, but they 

don't have much endurance, so they aren't nearly as good in a running fight.' 

Vanion told me about that,' Bergsten said. 'Did Domi Tikume 

givee you any idea of how long it takes them to run out of breath?' 

nothing very specific, your Reverence.' ~~~.' 

Bergsten shrugged. 'That's all right, friend Daiya. We've got 

plenty of open ground, and it's still morning. We can run them 

all day if we have to.' 

Stung by the repeated attacks, the huge soldiers began to 

lummber forward in a kind of shuffling trot, brandishing their 

horrid weapons and bellowing hoarse war-cries. 

The Peloi, however, refused those challenges and continued 

""" their slash-and-run tactics. 

Then, driven and stung beyond endurance, the creatures 

broke into a shambling run. 

"it's feasible,' Sir Heldin mused in his deep, rumbling basso. 

"We'd need different equipment, though. ' 

"What are you talking about, Heldin?' Bergsten demanded. 

"looking to the future, your Grace,' Heldin replied. 'if those 

Wats become a standard fixture, we'll have to modify a few 

things. It might not be a bad idea to train and equip a few 

squadrons of Church Knights to serve as light cavalry.' 
"Heldin,' Bergsten said acidly, 'if those things become a standard 

 fixture, do you think there'll be any Church Knights at that point?' 
%')~1rd fixture, it'll be because we've lost this war. What makes 
"They're breaking off, your Reverence!' 
Daiya cried excitedly. They're running away!' 
"bUt where are they running to, Daiya?' Bergsten demanded. 
It's the air that's killing them, and the air's everywhere. Where 
can they go, Daiya? Where can they go?' 

can they go?' Kring asked in bafflement as D~l's soldiers 
K from their clumsy pursuit of the Peloi horsemen and 
into the desert. 
'Who cares?' Tikume laughed. 'Let them run. We've still got 
those Cyrgai penned up in that gully. We'd better get them to 
moving before some clever subaltern in the rear ranks has time 
to take his bearings. ' 
The Cyrgai were following a strategy from the dawn of time. 
They advanced steadily, marching in step, with their large round 
shields protecting their bodies and with their long spears leveled 
to the front. As the Peloi slashed in on them, they would stop 
and close ranks. The front rank would kneel with overlapping 
shields and leveled spears. The ranks behind would close up, 
their shields also overlapping and spears also to the front. 
It was absolutely beautiful - but it didn't accomplish anything 
at all against cavalry. 
'We have to get them to run, Domi Tikume!' gring shouted to 
his friend as they galloped clear of the massed Cyrgai regiments 
again. 'Pull your children back a little further after the next 
attack! This won't work if those antiques just keep plodding! 


Make them run!' 
Tikume shouted some orders, and his horsemen altered their 
tactics, pulling back several hundred yards and forcing the 
Cyrgai to come to them. 
A brazen trumpet sounded from the center of one of the 
advancing regimental squares, and the Cyrgai broke into a gingling 

 trot, their ranks still perfectly straight. 
'They look good, don't they?' Tikume laughed. 
'They would if this was a parade-ground,' Kring replied. 'Let's 
sting them again and then pull back even further.' 
'How far is it to the border?' Tikume asked. 
'Who knows? Nobody I've talked with is really sure. We're 
close, though. Make them run, Tikume make them run!' 
Tikume rose in his stirrups. 'Pass the word!' he bellowed. 'Full 
retreat!' 
The Peloi turned tail and galloped to the east across the rattling 
brown gravel. A thin cheer went up from the massed regiments of the 
Cyrgai, and the trumpet sounded again. The ancient soldiers, 
still in perfect step and with their ranks still perfectly straight 
broke into a running charge. Sergeants barked the staccato cadence, 

 and the sound of the half-boots of the Cyrgai beating on 
the barren ground was like the pounding of some huge drum. 
And then the full light of a winter midday dimmed as if some 
Frit, silent wings had somehow blotted out the sun. A chill 
wind swept across the desert, and there was a wailing sound 
like the sum of human woe. 
The suddenly stricken Cyrgai, rank upon rank, died soundlesly 

 in mid-stride, falling limply to earth to be trampled by 
their blindly advancing comrades, who also fell, astonished, on 
top of them. 
Kring and Tikume, both pale and trembling, watched in awestruck 

 wonder as the ancient Styric curse did its dreadful work. 
Then, sickened, they wheeled and rode back eastward, turning 
their backs on the perfect soldiers rushing blindly into chill, 
wailing obliteration. 

These clothes are good enough for Arjuna and Tamul Proper, 
neighbor,' Sparhawk told the shopkeeper later that same day, 
but they don't exactly turn the trick in a duststorm. I think that 
last one put about four pounds of dirt down my back.' 
The shopkeeper nodded sagely. 'Other races laugh at our customary 

 garb, good Master,' he observed. 'They usually keep 
laughing right up until the time when they ride through their 
first duststorm.' 
"Does the wind blow all the time out there?' Talen asked 
him. :Not quite all the time, young Master. The afternoons are usually 

 the worst.' He looked at Sparhawk. 'How many robes will 
you be needing, good Master?' 
There are six of us, neighbor, and none of us are so fond of 
each other that we'd care to share a robe.' 
"have you any preferences in colors?' 
"Does one color keep the dust out better than the others?' 
"Not that I've noticed.' 
"Then any color will do, I guess.' 
The shopkeeper hustled into his storeroom and returned with 
a pile of neatly-folded garments. Then he smiled, rubbed his 


hands together and broached the subject of the price.
"He overcharged you, you know,' Talen said as they emerged 
from the cluttered shop into the dusty street. 
Sparhawk shrugged. 'Perhaps,' he said.
"Someday I'm going to have to teach you about the finer points 
%~S.' 
"Does it really matter?' Sparhawk asked, tying the bundle of 
Cynesgan robes to the back of his saddle. He looked around 
'Anarae?' 
'I am here, Anakha,' her whispered voice responded.
'Were you able to find anything?' 
'Nay, Anakha. Clearly the messenger hath not yet arrived.' 
'Berit and Khalad are still several days away, Sparhawk,' Talon 
said quietly. 'And this isn't such an attractive place that the 
messenger would want to get here early to enjoy the scenery.' 
He looked around at the winter-dispirited palm trees and the 
muddy pond that lay at the center of the cluster of white houses. 
'Attractive or not, we're going to have to come up with some 
reason for staying,' Sparhawk said. 'We can't leave until the 
messenger gets here and Anarae Xanetia can listen to what he's 
thinking.' 
'I can remain here alone, Anakha,' Xanetia told him. 'None 
here can detect my presence, so I do not need protection.' 
'We'll stay all the same, Anarae,' Sparhawk told her. 'Courtesy 
and all that, you understand. An Elene gentleman will not permit 
a lady to go about unescorted.' 
An argument had broken out on the shaded porch of what 
appeared to be a tavern or a wine-shop of some kind. 'You don't 
know what you're talking about, Echon!' a wheezy-voiced old 
man in a patched and filthy robe declared loudly. 'It's a good 
hundred miles from here to the River Sama, and there's no 
water at all between here and there.' 
'You either drink too much or you've been out in the sun too 
long, Zagorri,' Echon, a thin, sun-dried man in a dark blue robe
scoffed. 'My map says that it's sixty miles - no more.' 
'How well do you know the man who drew the map? I've 
been here all my life, and I know how far it is to the Sama. Go 
ahead, though. Take only enough water for sixty miles. Your 
mules will die, and you'll be drinking sand for that last forty 
miles. It's all right with me, though, because I've never liked 
you all that much anyway. But, mark my words, Echon. It's one 
hundred miles from the Well of Vigay there to the banks of the 
Sama.' And the old man spat in the direction of the pale brown 
pond. Talon suddenly began to laugh. 


'What's so funny?' Sparhawk asked him.
'We just had a stroke of luck, revered leader,' the boy replied 
gaily. 'if we're all finished up here, why don't we go back to 
where the others are waiting? We'll all want a good night's 
sleep - since we'll probably be leaving first thin in the morning.' 
'Oh? For where?' 
'Cyrga, of course. Wasn't that where we wanted to go?' 
'Yes, but we don't know where Cyrga is.' 
'That's where you're wrong, Sparhawk. We do know the way 
to Cyrga - at least I do.' 



CHAPTER 23 

'Did he die well?' Betuana asked. Her face was very pale, but 
she gave no other outward sign of distress. 
'It was a suitable death, Betuana-Queen,' the messenger 
replied. 'We were at the bottom of a gorge and the Klael-beast 
was hurling the sides of it down upon us. Androl-King attacked 
the beast, and many escaped that would have died if he had 
not.' 
She considered it. 'Yes,' she agreed finally. 'It was suitable. 
It will be remembered. Is the army fit to travel?' 
'We have many injured, Betuana-Queen, and thousands are 
buried in the gorge. We withdrew to Tualas to await your 
commands.' 
'Leave some few to care for the injured, and bring the army 
here,' she told him. 'Toea is no longer in danger. The danger is 
here.' 
'It shall be as you say, my Queen.' He clashed his fist against 
his breastplate in salute. 
The Queen of Atan rose to her feet, her still-pale face betraying 
no emotion. 'I must go apart and consider this, Itagne-Ambassador,'

 she said formally. 
'It is proper, Betuana-Queen,' he responded. 'I share your 
grief.' 
'But not my guilt.' She turned and slowly left the room. 
Itagne looked at the stony-faced Engessa. 'i'd better pass the 
word to the others,' he said. 
Engessa nodded shortly. 
'Could you speak with the messenger before he leaves, 
'Engessa?' Itagne asked. 'Lord Vanion will need casualty figures 
before he can change his strategy.' 
'I will obtain them for you, Itagne-Ambassador.' Engessa 
inclined his head shortly and went out. 
Itagne swore and banged his fist on the table. 'Of all the times 
for this to happen!' he fumed. 'if that idiot had only waited before 
he got himself killed!' 
Betuana had done nothing wrong. There had been no stain 
of dishonor in her concerrn for Engessa, and if she had only had 
a week or two to put it behind her, it would probably have been 
forgotten - along with the personal feelings which caused it. 
But Androl's death, coming as it did at this particular time Itagne 

 swore again. The Atan Queen had to be able to function, 
and this crisis might well incapacitate her. For all Itagne knew, 
she was in her room right now preparing to fall on her sword. 
He rose and went looking for paper and pen. Vanion had to 
be warned about this before everything here in Sama hell 
apart. 

'It all fell into place when I heard that old man call their little 
pond 'the Well of Vigay",' Talen explained. 'Ogerajin used 
exactly the same term.' 
'I don't know that it means very much,' Mirtai said dubiously. 
'Cynesgans call all these desert springs wells. Micay was probably

 the one who discovered it.' 
'But the important thing is that this is one of the landmarks 
Ogerajin mentioned,' Bevier said. 'How did the subject come 


up?' he asked Talen. 
'Stragen and I were spinning moonbeams for Valash,' the boy 
replied. 'Ogerajin had just arrived from Verel, and he was sitting 
in a chair with his brains quietly rotting. Stragen was telling 
Valash about something he'd supposedly overheard - some fellow 

 telling another that Scarpa was waiting for instructions from 
Cyrga. He was fishing for information, and he casually asked 
Valash what route a man would have to follow to get to Cyrga. 
That's when Ogerajin jumped in. He started rambling, talking 
about the "Well of Vigay" and the "Plains of Salt" and other 
places with names that sounded as if they'd come right out of 
a story-book. I thought he was just raving, but Valash got very 
excited and tried to hush him up. That's what made me pay 
closer attention to what the crazy man was saying. I got the 
feeling that he was giving Stragen very specific directions 
to Cyrga, but the directions were all clouded over with those storybook 

 names. This "Well of Vigay" business makes me start to 
wonder if the directions were as cloudy and garbled as I thought 
they were at first.' 
'What were his exact words, young Talen?' Xanetia asked. 
'He said, "The pathway lies close by the Well of Vigay". That's 
when Valash tried to shut him up, but he kept right on. He said 
something about wanting to give Stragen directions so that he 
could go to Cyrga and bow down to Cyrgon. He told him to 
go northwest from the "Well of Vigay" to the "Forbidden 
Mountains". ' 
Sparhawk checked over his map. 'There are several clusters 
of mountains in central Cynesga, and that's the general region 
Aphrael pointed out back on the island. What else did he say, 
Talen?' 
'He sort of jumped around. He talked about the "Forbidden 
Mountains" and the "Pillars of Cyrgon". Then he doubled back 
on himself and started talking about the "Plains of Salt". From 
what he told Stragen, you're supposed to be able to see these 
"Forbidden Mountains" from those salt-plains. Then there was 
something about "Fiery White Pillars" and "The Plain of Bones". 
He said that the bones are "the nameless slaves who toil until 
death for Cyrgon's Chosen". Evidently when a slave dies in 
Cyrga, he's taken out and dumped in the desert.' 
'That boneyard wouldn't be very far from the city, then, 
Kalten mused. 
'It does all sort of fit together, Sparhawk,' Bevier said seriously. 
'The Cynesgans themselves are largely nomads, so they 
wouldn't have any real need for large numbers of slaves. Ogeragin

 spoke of "Cyrgon's Chosen". That would be the Cyrgai, and 
they're probably the ones who buy slaves.' 
'And that would mean that the caravan of slavers we saw is 
going to Cyrga, wouldn't it?' Talen added excitedly. 
'And they were going northwest,' Mirtai said, 'the exact direction 

 Ogerajin was raving about.' 
Sparhawk went to his saddle-bags and took out his map. He 
sat down again and opened it, holding it firmly as the desert 
wind started to flap its corners. 'We know that Cyrga's somewhere 

 in these mountains in central Cynesga,' he mused, 'so 
we'll be going in that direction anyway. If Ogerajin was just 
raving and his directions don't go anyplace, we'll still be in the 


right vicinity if we follow them.' 
'It's better than just sitting here waiting for Berit and Khalad,' 
Kalten said impatiently. 'I have to be doing something - even if 
it's only riding around in circles out there in the desert.' 
Sparhawk wordlessly put a comforting hand on his old 
friend's shoulder. His own desperate concern was at least as
driving as Kalten's, but he knew that he had to keep it separate, 
remote. Desperate men make mistakes, and a mistake here could 
put Ehlana in even greater peril. His emotions screamed at him, 
but he grimly, implacably, pushed them into a separate compartment 


 of his mind and firmly closed the door. 


'Anakha would be made glad if we would do this,' Ulath said 
in Trollish to the enormous presences. 
Ghworg, God of Kill, rumbled ominously. 'Anakha's thought 
is like the wind,' he complained. 'One time he said to us, "Go 
to the place the man-things call the Tamul Mountains to kill the 
children of Cyrgon." Now he says to us, "Go to the place the 
man-things call Zhubay to kill the Children of Cyrgon." Can he 
not decide which Children of Cyrgon he wants us to kill?' 
'It is the way of the hunt, Ghworg,' Tynian explained. 'The 
Children of Cyrgon are not like the red-deer, which feeds always
in the same range. The Children of Cyrgon are like the reindeer, 
which goes from this place to that place as the seasons change 
to find better food. Before, they were going to this place, Tamul 
Mountains, to feed, but now they go to the place Zhubay to 
feed. If we hunt in this place Tamul Mountains, we will find no 
game to kill and eat.' 
'It speaks well,' Ghnomb, God of Eat, said. 'It is not Anakha's 
thought which changes, it is the path of the creatures we hunt 
which changes. The way of the hunt tells us that we must go 
where they graze if we would find them and kill them and eat 
them. ' 
'This hunt becomes more and more not-simple,' Ghworg 
grumbled. 
That is because the man-things are more not-simple than the 
deer-things,' Khwaj, God of Fire, told him. 'The thought of 
Tynian-from-Deira is good. The one who hunts where there is 
no game does not eat.' 
Ghworg pondered it. 'We must follow the way of the hunt,' 
he decided. 'We will take our children to the place Zhubay to 
hunt the Children of Cyrgon. When they come there to graze, 
our children will kill them and eat them.'
'It would make us glad if you would,' Tynian said politely. 
'I will take our children into the Time-Which-Does-Not-Move,' 
Ghnomb said. 'They will be in the place Zhubay before the Children 


 of Cyrgon come there.' 
Schlee, God of Ice, stuck his huge fingers into the dirt. The 
earth shuddered slightly and contorted itself into his picture of 
the continent. 'Show us where, Ulath-from-Thalesia,' he said. 
'Where is the place Zhubay?' 
Ulath walked some distance along the southwestern edge of 
the tiny mountains of Atan, peering intently at the ground. Then 
he stopped, bent, and touched a spot a short way out into the 
northern end of the Desert of Cynesga. 'It is here, Schlee,' he 
said.



Ghworg, God of Kill, stood up. 'We will take our children 
there,' he declared. 'Let us make Anakha glad.' 

'They're watching us, Vanion,' Sephrenia said quietly. 
He pulled his horse in closer to hers. 'Styrics?' he asked 
quietly. 
'One of them is,' she replied. 'He's not particularly skilled.' 
She smiled faintly. 'I may have to hit him over the head to get 
his attention.' 
'Whatever it takes, love,' he said. He glanced back over his 
shoulder at the column of knights and then on ahead. They 
were coming down out of the mountains, and the Valley of the 
Sama was beginning to broaden. 'We should reach that bridge 
tomorrow,' he told her. 'After we cross the river, we'll be in 
Cynesga.' 
'Yes, dear one,' she said, 'i've seen the map.' 
'Why don't you cast the spell?' he suggested. 'Let's give our 
inept Styric out there a chance to earn his keep.' He looked 
at her gravely. 'i'm having some second thoughts about this, 
Sephrenia. klael's still out there, and if he thinks Sparhawk's 
somewhere in this column with Bhelliom, he'll be all over us.' 
'You can't have it both ways, Vanion,' she said with a fond 
smile. 'You said that you were never going to let me out of your 
sight, so if you insist on going into dangerous places, I'm sort 
of obliged to go along. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll wake up 
that Styric.' She began to speak softly in Styric, her fingers weaving 

 the spell as she did so. 
Vanion was puzzled. He took a certain pride in his familiarity 
with most of the spells, but this was one he had never seen or 
heard before. He watched more closely. 
'Never mind,' she told him crisply, breaking off the spell. 'You 
don't need to know this one.' 
'But -' 
"just look over there, Vanion,' she said. 'I can do this without 

any help.' She paused. 'Humor me, dear one. A girl needs a 
few secrets, after all.' 
He smiled and turned his head. 
There was a kind of vague blurring in the air about ten yards 
away, and then, as surely as if he were really there, Vanion 
saw Sparhawk appear, mounted as always on his evil-tempered 
roan. So real was the image that flies were attracted to the horse. 
'Brilliant!' Vanion exclaimed. He sent out a probing thought and 
even encountered the familiar sense of Sparhawk's presence. 'if 
I didn't know better, I'd swear that he was really here. Can you 
sustain this illusion?' 
'Naturally,' she said in an infuriatingly offhand way. And then 
she laughed, reached out and fondly touched his cheek. 

'What took you so long?' Talen asked the Child Goddess when 
she appeared on the edge of their camp outside Vigayo the 
following morning. 
'i've been busy,' she replied with a little shrug. 'This is a fairly 
complex business, you know. We all do want to get there at 
approximately the same time, don't we? What's the problem 
here, Sparhawk?' 


'We might have just had a bit of good luck for a change, Divine 
One,' he replied. 'Talen and I were in the village yesterday, and we 
heard one of the villagers refer to their oasis as "the Well of Vigay". ' 
'So?' 
'Why don't you tell her about it, Talen?' 
The young thief quickly repeated the conversation between
Ogerajin and Stragen back in Beresa. 
'What do you think?' Kalten asked the Child Goddess.
'Does somebody have a map?' she asked. 
Sparhawk went to his saddle-bags, took out his tightly rolled 
map,and brought it to her. 
She spread it out on the ground, knelt in front of it, and 
studied it for several moments. 'There are some salt-flats out 
there,' she conceded. 
'And they are in the right direction,' Bevier pointed out. 
'Ogerajin's been there,' Talen added, 'at least he says he has, 
so he'd almost have to' know the way, wouldn't he?' 
'There's also a slaver's route that runs off to the northwest,' 
Mirtai said. 'We saw a caravan following it when we first got 
here, and Ogerajin mentioned the fact that the Cyrgai keep 
slaves. It sort of stands to reason that the slave caravan's bound 
for Cyrga, doesn't it?' 
'You're hanging all this speculation on the ravings of a madman, 


 you know,' Flute said critically. 
'We do have a bit of verification, Aphrael,' Sparhawk reminded 
her. 'The villagers use the same term for their oasis as Ogerajin 
did, the salt-flats are where he said they were, and the slavers 
are going in that direction as well. I'm inclined to accept it.' 
'You said yourself that Cyrga's somewhere in central
Cynesga,' Kalten reminded her, 'and that's where all of this 
points. Even if Ogerajin left some things out, we'll still end up 
in the general vicinity of Cyrga. We'll be a lot closer than we 
are right now, anyway.' 
'Since you've all made up your minds, why did you bother 
me with it?' Her tone was just a bit petulant. 
Talen grinned at her. 'We didn't think it'd be polite to run off 
without telling you, Divine One.' 
'i'll get you for that, Talen,' she threatened. 
'How far ahead of us would you say that caravan is by now?' 
Sparhawk asked Mirtai. 
'Ten leagues,' she replied. 'Twelve at the most. Slave caravans
don't move very fast.' 
'I think that's our best bet, then,' he decided. 'Let's put on 
those black robes and get started. We'll trail along a couple of 
leagues behind that caravan, and anybody who happens to see 
us will think we're stragglers.' 
'Anything's better than just sitting still,' Kalten said. 
'Somehow I was almost sure you'd feel that way about it,' 
Sparhawk replied. 


'We're little more than prisoners here,' Empress Chacole 
declared, waving her hand at the luxurious furnishings of the 
women's Palace. Chacole was a ripe-figured Cynesgan lady in 
her thirties. Her tone was one of only idle discontent, but her 
eyes were hard and shrewd as she looked at Elysoun. 
Elysoun shrugged. 'I've never had any trouble coming and 



going as I choose.' 

"That's because you're a Valesian,' Empress Torellia told her 

with just a touch of resentment. 'They make allowances for you 

that they don't make for the rest of us. I don't think it's very fair.' ,' 

Elysoun shrugged again. 'Fair or not, it's the custom.' 

Why should you have more freedom than the rest of us?' 

'Because I have a more active social life.' 

'Aren't there enough men in the Women's Palace for you?' 

'Don't be catty, Torellia. You're not old enough to make it 

convincing.' Elysoun looked appraisingly at the Arjuni Empress. 

Torellia was a slender girl in her mid-twenties, and, like all 

Arjuni women, she was quite subservient. Chacole was obviously 
taking advantage of that. 

'You don't see anybody restricting Cieronna's movements,' 

chacole said. 

'Cieronna's the first wife,' Elysoun replied, 'and she's the oldest. 
We should respect her age if nothing else.' 

'I will not be a servant to an ageing Tamul hag!' Chacole flared. 

'She doesn't want you as a servant, Chacole,' Elysoun told 

her. 'She already has more servants than she can count - unless 

liatris has thinned them out some more. All Cieronna really 

wants is a fancier crown than the rest of us have and the 

right to walk in front of us in formal processions. It doesn't take 

much to make her 'happy. She's not the 

brightest person in Matherion.' 

Torellia giggled. 

Here comes Gahennas,' Chacole hissed. 

The jug-eared Tegan Empress, covered to the chin in scratchy 

wool, approached them with a disapproving expression, an 

expression that came over her face every time she so much as 

looked at the barely dressed Elysoun. 'Ladies,' she greeted them 

with a stiff little nod. 

"Join us, Gahennas,' Chacole invited. 'We're discussing politics.' 

Gahennas' bulging eyes brightened. Tegans lived and breathed politics. 

"Chacole and Torellia want to get uP a petition to our 

husband,' Elysoun said. She raised her arms and yawned 

deeply, stretching back and literally thrusting her bare breasts 

at Gahennas. 

Gahennas quickly averted her eyes. 

'i'm sorry, ladies,' Elysoun apologized. 'I didn't get much 

sleep last night.' 

'How do you find enough hours in the day?' Gahennas asked 

spitefully. 

'It's only a matter of scheduling, Gahennas,' Elysoun 

shrugged. 'You can get all sorts of things accomplished if you 

budget your time. Why don't we just drop it, dear?you don't 

approve of me, and I don't really care. We'll never understand 

each other, so why waste our time trying?' 

'You can go anywhere in the imperial con'pound you want 

to, can't you, Elysoun?' Chacole asked rather tentatively. 

Elysoun feigned another yawn to conceal her smile. Chacole 

had finally gotten to the point. Elysoun had wondered how long 

it was going to take. 'I can come and go more or less as I choose,' 

she replied. 'I guess all the spies got tired of trying to keep up 

with me. ' 

'Do you suppose I could ask a favor of you?' 


'Of course, dear. What do you need?' 
'Cieronna doesn't like me, and her spies follow me everywhere 


 I go. I'm involved in something at the moment I'd rather 
she didn't find out about.' 
'Why Chacole. are you saying that you've finally decided to 
go a little further afield for entertainment?' 
The Cynesgan Empress gave her a blank stare, obviously missing


 her point. 
'Oh, come now, dear,' Elysoun said slyly. 'We all have our 
little private amusements here inside the Women's Palace - even
Gahennas here.' 
'I most certainly do not!' the Tegan Protested. 
'Oh, really, Gahennas? i've seen that new page-boy of yours. 
He's absolutely luscious. Who's your new lover, Chacole? Some husky young 
lieutenant in the Guards? Did you want me to 
smuggle him into the palace for you?' 
'It's nothing like that, Elysoun.' 
'Of course it isn't,' Elysoun agreed with heavy sarcasm. 
"All right, Chacole. I'll carry your love-notes for you - if you're really 
sure you trust me that close to him. But why go so far afield, 
ed 


sister dear? Gahennas has this lovely young page-boy, and I'm 
sure she's trained him very well - haven't you, Gahennas?' She 
raised one mocking eyebrow. 'Tell me,dear,' she added,"was
he a virgin? - Before you got your hands on him, I mean?' 
Gahennas fled with Elysoun's mocking laughter following 
after her. 


ChAPTER 24 


'It's supposed to be two words,' Kalten insisted that afternoon 
some miles outside Vigayo. 'Ram's. Horn. Two words.' 
'It's a password, Sir Kalten,' Talen tried to explain. "'Ramshorn". 


 Like that.' 
'What do you say, Sparhawk?' Kalten asked his friend. 'is it 
one word or two?' The three of them had just finished piling 
rocks in a rough approximation of a Brave at the side of the trail, 
and Talen and Kalten were arguing about the crude marker the 
boy had prepared. 
'What difference does it make?' Sparhawk shrugged. 
'if it's spelled wrong, Berit might not recognize it when he 
rides by,' Talen said. 
'He'll recognize it,' Sparhawk disagreed. 'Berit's quick. just 
don't disturb the arrangement of those yellow rocks on the top 
of the grave.'
'Are you sure Khalad will understand what those rocks mean?' 
Talen asked skeptically. 
'Your father would have,' Sparhawk replied, 'and I'm sure he 
taught Khalad all the usual signals.' 
'I still say it's supposed to be two words,' Kalten insisted. 
'Bevier,' Sparhawk called. 
The Cyrinic Knight walked back to the imitation grave with 
an enquiring expression. 
'These two are arguing about how to spell "ramshorn",' Sparhawk 


 told him. 'You're the scholar. You settle it.' 



'I say he spelled it wrong,' Kalten said truculently. 'It's supposed 

 to be two words, isn't it?' 
'Ah...' Bevier said evasively, 'there are two schools of 
thought on that.' 
'Why don't you tell them about it as we ride along?' Mirtai 
suggested. 
Sparhawk looked at Xanetia. 'Don't,' he warned her quietly. 
'What wouldst thou not have me do, Anakha?' she asked 
innocently. 
'Don't laugh. Don't even smile. You'll only make it worse.' 

It may or may not have been three weeks later. Patriarch 
Bergsten had given up on trying to keep track of actual time. 
Instead he glared in sullen theological discontent at the mudwalled

 city of Cynestra and at the disgustingly young and wellconditioned

 person coming toward him. Bergsten believed 
in an orderly world, and violations of order made him 
nervous. 
She was very tall and she had golden skin and night-dark 
hair, she was also extremely pretty and superbly muscled. She 
emerged from the main gate of Cynestra under a flag of truce, 
running easily out to meet them. She stopped some distance to 
their front, and Bergsten, Sir Heldin, Daiya, and Neran, their 
Tamul translator, rode forward to confer with her. She spoke at 
some length with Neran. 
'Keep your eyes where they belong, Heldin,' Bergsten 
muttered. 
'I was just -' 
'I know what you were doing. Stop it.' Bergsten paused. 'I 
wonder why they sent a woman.' 
Neran, a slender Tamul who had been sent along by Ambassador 

 Fontan, returned. 'She's Atana Mans,' he told them. 'Commander 

 of the Atan garrison here in Cynestra.' 
'A woman?' Bergsten was startled. 
'It's not uncommon among the Atans, your Grace. She's been 
expecting us. Foreign Minister Oscagne sent word that we were 
coming. ' 
'What's the situation in the city?' Heldin asked. 
'King Jaluah's been quietly dribbling troops into Cynestra for 
the past month or so,' Neran replied. 'Atana Marts has a thousand 

 Atans in her garrison, and the Cynesgans have been trying 
to restrict their movements. She's been growing impatient with 
all of that. She probably would have moved against the royal 
palace a week ago, but Oscagne instructed her to wait until we 
arrived.' 
'How did she get out of the city?' Heldin rumbled. 
'I didn't ask her, Sir Heldin. I didn't want to insult her. 
'What I meant was, didn't they try to stop her?. ' 
'They're dead if they did.' 
'But she's a woman!' Bergsten objected. 
'You're not really familiar with the Atans, are you, your Reverence?' 

 Daiya asked. 
'i've heard of them, friend Daiya. The stories all seem wildly 
exaggerated to me.' 
'No, your Reverence, they aren't,' Daiya said firmly. 'I know 
of this girl's reputation. She's the youngest garrison commander 


in the entire Atan army, and she didn't get to where she is by 
being sweet and ladylike. From what I've heard, she's an absolute

 savage.' 
'But she's so pretty,' Heldin protested. 
'Sir Heldin,' Neran said firmly to him, 'while you're admiring 
her, pay particular attention to the development of her arms and 
shoulders. She's as strong as a bull, and if you offend her in 
any way at all, she'll tear you to pieces. She almost killed Itagne 
or so the rumor has it.' 
'The Foreign Minister's brother?' Bergsten asked. 
Neran nodded. 'He was here on a mission, and he decided 
to place the city under martial law. He needed Atana Maris' 
help with that, so he seduced her. Her response was enthusiastic 

- but very muscular. Be very careful around her, gentlemen. 
She's almost as dangerous to have as a friend as an enemy. She 
asked me to give you your instructions.' 
'instructions?' Bergsten erupted. 'I don't take orders from 
women!' 'Your Grace,' Neran said, 'Cynestra's technically still under 
martial law, and that puts Atana Mans in charge. She's been 
ordered to deliver the city to you, but she's instructed you to 
wait outside the walls until she's crushed all the resistance. She 
wants to present the city to you as a gift - all neat and tidy 
Please don't spoil it for her. Smile at her, thank her politely, and 
wait right here until she's finished cleaning the streets. After 
she's got all the bodies stacked in neat piles, she'll invite you in 
and turn the city over to you - along with King Jaluah's head, 
more than likely. I know that the situation seems unnatural to 
you, but for God's sake don't do a thing to offend her. She'll 
go to war with you just as quickly as with anybody else.' 
'But she's so pretty,' Heldin objected again. 

Berit and Khalad dismounted and led their horses down to the 
edge of the oasis to water them. In theory, they might have 
reached vigayo this soon. 'Can you tell if he's here?' Khalad 
muttered. 
Berit shook his head. 'I think that means that he's not a StyriC. 
We'll just have to wait for him to come to us.' He looked around 
at the few white-walled houses shaded by low palm trees. 'is 
there any kind of inn here?' 
'Not very likely. I see a lot of tents on the other side of the 
oasis. I'll ask around, but don't get your hopes up.' 
Berit shrugged. 'Oh, well. We've lived in tents before. Find 
out where we're permitted to set up.' 
The village of Vigayo itself was clustered along the eastern 
side of the oasis, and the informal encampment of nomads and 
merchants stretched along the west shore of what was actually 
a fair-sized pool of artesian water. Berit and Khalad picketed 
their horses, erected their tent near the water, and sat down in 
the shade to wait. 'Can you tell if Sparhawk's around anyplace?' 
Khalad asked. 
Berit shook his head. 'He may have already passed through. 
Or he could be watching from one of the hills outside of town. 
He might not want people to know that he's here.' 
It was an hour or so past sunset, and twilight was descending 
on the oasis when a Cynesgan in a loose-fitting striped robe 


approached their tent. 'i'm supposed to ask if one of you might 
be named Sparhawk,' he said in a slightly accented voice. 
Berit rose to his feet. 'I might be named Sparhawk, neighbor.' 
'Might be?' 
That's the way you phrased your question, friend. You've 
got a note for me. Why don't you just hand it over and be on 
your way? We don't really have anything else to talk about, do 
we?' 
the messenger's face hardened. He reached inside his robe, 
took out a folded and sealed parchment, and negligently tossed 
it at Berit's feet. Then he turned and walked away. 
"you know, Berit,' Khalad said mildly, 'sometimes you're 
even more abrasive than Sparhawk himself.' 
Berit grinned. 'I know. I'm trying to maintain his reputation." 
He bent, picked up the parchment, and broke the seal. He 
removed the identifying lock of hair and quickly read the brief 
message. 
'Well?' Khalad asked. 
'Nothing very specific. It says that there's a caravan route 
running off to the northwest. We're supposed to follow that. 
We'll get further instructions along the way.' 
'Will it be safe to use the spell and talk with Aphrael once we 
get out of town?' 
'I think so. I'm sure she'd have told me if I wasn't supposed 
to use it here in Cynesga. '
'We don't have much ctioice,' Khalad said. 'We can't tell if 
Sparhawk's already been here, if he's here now, or if he's still 
on the way, and we've got to let him know about these new 
instructions. '
'Do you think we ought to start out tonight?' 
'No. Let's not start floundering round in the dark. We might 
miss the trail, and there's nothing out in that desert but empty.' 


'I won't do anything to put Berit in any kind of danger,' Elysoun 
insisted a few days later. 'i'm very fond of him.' 
'They found out that he was posing as Sparhawk quite some 
time ago, Elysoun,' Baroness Melidere told her. 'You won't be 
putting him in any more danger than he's already in. Telling 
Chacole about his disguise will convince her that you've gone 
over to her side - and that you have access to important information.' 


'You might want to make them believe that your husband's 
totally smitten with you, Empress Elysoun,' Patriarch Emban 
added. 'Let them think that he tells you everything.' 
'Are you smitten with me, Sarabian?' Elysoun asked archly. 
'Oh, absolutely, my dear,' he smiled. 'I adore you.' 
'What a nice thing to say.' She smiled warmly. 
'Later, children,' Melidere told them absently, her forehead 
furrowed with concentration. 'At the same time you tell Chacole 
about Berit's disguise, drop a few hints about a fleet of Church 
ships in the Gulf of Daconia. Stragen's been very carefully planting 


 that particular lie, so let's give them some confirmation. 
After you tell them about Berit, they'll be inclined to belieVC 
your story about the fleet.' She looked at the Emperor. 'is there 
anything else we can give them that won't hurt us? Something 
they can verify?' 



'Does it have to be important?' 
'Not really, just something that's true. We need another truth 
to get the mix right.' 
'The mix?' 
'It's like a recipe, your Majesty,' she smiled. 'Two parts truth 
to one part lie, stir well and serve. If you get the mix right, 
they'll swallow the whole thing.' 


They had set out at first light, and the sun had not yet risen 
when they topped a low ridge and saw a vast, flat expanse 
of dead whiteness lying ahead. Time, like climate, had lost all 
meaning. 
'i'd hate to have to cross that in the summertime,' Kalten said. 
'Truly,' Sparhawk agreed. 
'The slavers' trail swings north here,' Bevier noted, 'probably 
to go around those flats. If a Cynesgan patrol stumbles across 
us out there, we might have trouble convincing them that we're 
attached to that caravan we've been following.' 
'We'll just say that we got lost,' Kalten said with a shrug. 'Let 
me do the talking, Bevier. I get lost all the time anyway, so I can 
be fairly convincing. How far is it to the other side, Sparhawk?' 
'About twenty-five leagues, according to my map.' 
'Two days - even if we push,' Kalten calculated. 
'And no cover,' Bevier added. 'You couldn't hide a spider 
out -' He broke off. 'What's that?' he asked, pointing at an 
intensely bright spot of light on the mountainous western horizon. 


Talen squinted at the light. 'I think it might be the landmark 
we've been looking for,' he said. 
'How did you arrive at that?' Kalten asked skeptically. 
'It's in the right direction, isn't it? Ogerajin said that we were 
supposed to go northwest from Vigayo to the Plains of Salt. 
Then he said, "From the verge of the Plains of Salt wilt thou 
behold low on the horizon before thee the dark shapes of the 
Forbidden Mountains, and, if it please Cyrgon, his fiery white 
pillars will guide thee to his hidden City." There are mountains
therer and if that light's coming from right in the middle of them 
wouldn't it almost have to be coming from the pillars?'
The man was crazy, Talen,' Kalten objected. 
'Maybe,' Sparhawk disagreed, 'but everything he described is
right where he said it would be. Let's take a chance on it. It's 
still the right direction.' 
'About the only thing that might cause us any trouble would 
be if we stumbled across a helpful Cynesgan patrol and they 
decided to escort us back to that caravan we've been following
for the last few days,' Mirtai observed. 
'Logically, our chances of coming across a patrol out there on
the flats are very slim,' Bevier suggested. 'Cynesgans would 
normally avoid that waste in the first place, and the war's probably


 pulled almost everybody off patrol duty in the second.' 
'And any patrols unlucky enough to cross us won't be making
any reports in the third,' Mirtai added, suggestively putting her 
hand on her sword-hilt. 
'We've tentatively located the pillars,' Sparhawk said. 'And if 
Ogerajin knew what he was talking about, we'll have to take a 
line of sight on them to penetrate the illusion. Now that we've 



found them, let's not lose them. We'll just have to take our 
chances out there on the flats. If we're lucky, nobody will even 
notice us. If not, we'll try lying to them, and if that doesn't 
work, we still have our swords.' He looked around at them. 
'Does anybody have anything else to add?' 
'I think that covers it,' Kalten said, still somewhat dubious. 
'Let's get started, then.' 


'They just broke off and ran away, friend Vanion,' Kring said a 
day or so later. Kring's face was baffled. 'We were using those 
tactics Tikume and I came up with, and everything was going 
more or less the way we expected, and then somebody blew a 
horn or something, and they turned tail and ran - but 
where? If what we've been told is true, there's no place in the whole 
world they can go to catch their breath.' 
'Did you have anybody follow them?' Vanion asked. 
'I probably should have, I suppose, but I was concentrating 
on luring the Cyrgai across the border.' Kring smiled at 
Sephrenia. 'That Styric curse doesn't seem to have worn thin in 
the last ten thousand years, Lady. Three full regiments of Cyrgai 
went down like newly-mown wheat when they crossed the 
border.' He paused. 'They're not really very bright, are they?' 
'The Cyrgai? no. It's against their religion.' 
'You'd think that at least a few of them would have realized 
that something was wrong, but they just kept running across 
the border and falling over dead.' 
'independent thinking isn't encouraged among them. They're 
trained to follow orders - even bad ones.' 
Kring looked at the bridge crossing the Sama. 'You'll be 
operating from here, friend Vanion?' he asked. 
'i'll put a force on the other side of the bridge,' Vanion replied. 
'But our main camp will be on this side. The river marks the 
boundary between Tamul Proper and Cynesga, doesn't it?' 
'Technically, I suppose.' The Domi shrugged. 'The curse-line's 
a couple of miles further west, though.' 
'The boundary's changed several times over the years,' 
Sephrenia explained. 
'ticume thought I should come up here and talk things over 
with you, friend Vanion,' Kring said then. 'We don't want to 
interfere with Sparhawk, so we haven't been going too far into 
Cynesga, but we're running out of people to chase.' 
'How far in have you been going?' Vanion asked. 
"SIX or seven leagues,' Kring replied. 'We come back to Samar 
every night - although there's no real reason for it now. I don't 
think there's any danger of a siege any more.' 
'No,' Vanion agreed. 'We've pushed them enough so that 
they can't really concentrate on Samar now.' He opened his map 
and frowned at it for a few moments, then he dropped to one 
knee and spread it out on the winter-brown grass. 'Step on that 
corner, please,' he said to Sephrenia. 'I don't want to have to 
chase it again.' 
Kring looked puzzled. 
'Household joke,' Sephrenia explained, putting one small foot 
on the corner of Vanion's map. 'Vanion's fond of maps, and an 
errant breeze turned his current favorite into a kite two days 
ago. ' 



Vanion let that pass. 'i'll agree that we don't want to crowd 
Sparhawk, Domi, but I think we'll want to build some fortified 
positions out there in the desert. They'll give us jumping-off 
places when we start our advance on Cyrga.' 
'I had the same thought, friend Vanion.'
'Let's establish a presence across that border,' Vanion decided. 
'I'll send word to Betuana, and she'll do the same.' 
'How deep in should we go?' Kring asked. 
Vanion looked at Sephrenia. 'Ten leagues?' he suggested. 
'That's not so deep that we'll be stepping on Sparhawk's heels 
but we'll have room to maneuver, and it'll give you some elbowroom 


 for that spell of yours.' 
'Using the spell's a good plan, friend Vanion,' Kring said a 
bit dubiously. 'But you're deliberately drawing the best our 
enemies can throw at us to yourself - and to Lady Sephrenia. 
Is that what you want? I don't mean to be offensive, but your 
fight with Klael's soldiers seriously reduced your ranks.' 
'That's one of the reasons I want forts out there in the desert, 
Domi,' Vanion said wryly. 'if worst comes to worst, I'll pull back
into those positions. I'm almost sure I can count on some dear 
friends on my flanks to come to my rescue.' 
'Well said,' Sephrenia murmured. 


'Stop,' Khalad said sharply, reining in his horse when they were 
perhaps five miles outside Vigayo. 
'What is it?' Berit asked tensely. 
'Somebody named Ramshorn died,' Khalad said, pointing. 'I 
think we should stop and pay our respects.' 
Berit looked at the crude grave beside the trail. 'I looked right 
through it,' he confessed. 'Sorry, Khalad.' 
'Pay attention, my Lord.' 
'It seems you've said that before.' 
They dismounted and approached the rude 'grave'. 
'Clever,' Berit murmured quietly. It was probably not necessary 


 to lower his voice, but it had gotten to be a habit. 
'Talen's idea, probably,' Khalad said as they both knelt beside 
the mound. 'It's a little subtle for Sparhawk.' 
'isn't that supposed to be two words?' Berit asked, pointing 
at the weathered plank with 'Ramshorn' roughly carved into its 
face. 
'You're the educated one, my Lord. Don't touch those rocks.' 
'Which rocks?' 
'The yellow ones. We'll mix them up as soon as I read them. 
'You read rocks? Is that like reading seagulls?' 
'Not exactly. It's a message from Sparhawk. He and my father 
worked this out a long time ago.' The short-bearded young man 
leaned first this way and then that, squinting at the mound. 
'Naturally,' he said finally with a certain resignation. He rose 
and moved to the head of the grave. 
'What? 
'Sparhawk wrote it upside down. Now it makes sense.' 
Khalad studied the apparently random placement of the yellowish 


 rocks on top of the predominantly brown mound. 'Pray, 
Berit,' he said. 'Offer up a prayer for the soul of our departed 
brother, Ramshorn.' 
'You're not making any sense, Khalad.'



'Somebody might be watching. Act religious.' The husky 
young squire took the reins of their horses and led them several 
yards away from the ill-defined trail. Then he bent, took Faran's 
left foreleg in both hands, and carefully inspected the hoof. 
Faran gave him an unfriendly stare. 
'Sorry,' Khalad apologized to the bad-tempered brute, 'it's 
nothing important.' He lowered the hoof to the gravel again. 
'All right, Berit,' he said then, 'say "Amen", and we'll get going 
again.' 
'What was that all about?' Berit's tone was surly as he remounted.
'Sparhawk left a message for us,' Khalad replied, swinging 
up into his saddle. 'The arrangement of the yellow rocks told 
me where to find it.' 
'Where is it?' Berit asked eagerly. 
'Right now? It's in my left boot. I picked it up when I was 
checking Faran's hoof.' 
'I didn't see you pick up a thing.' 
'You weren't supposed to, my Lord.' 


Krager awoke with the horrors to the sound of distant screaming. 
Days and nights had long since blurred in Krager's awareness, 
but the sun shattering against his eyes told him that it was 


a full and awful morning. He had certainly not intended to drink 
so much the previous night, but the knowledge that he was 
reaching the bottom of his last cask of Arcian red had worried 
at him as he had grown progressively drunker, and the knowledge 


 that it would soon be all gone had somehow translated 
itself in his fuddled mind into a compulsion to drink it all before 
it got away from him. 
Now he was paying for that foolishness. His head was throbbing, 


 his stomach was on fire, and his mouth tasted as if something 


 had crawled in there and died. He was shaking violently, 
and there were sharp stabbing pains in his liver. He sat on the 
edge of his tangled bed with his head in his hands. There was 
a sense of dread hanging over him, a shadowy feeling of horror. 
He kept his burning eyes closed and groped under the bed with 
one shaking hand for the emergency bottle he always kept there. 
The liquid it contained was neither wine nor beer but a dreadful 
concoction of Lamork origin that was obtained by setting certain 
inferior wines out in the winter and allowing them to freeze. 
The liquid that rose to the top and remained unfrozen was 
almost pure spirits. It tasted foul, and it burned like fire going 
down, but it put the horrors to sleep. Shuddering, Krager drank 
off about a pint of the awful stuff and lurched to his feet. 
The sun was painfully bright when he stumbled out into the 
streets of Natayos and went looking for the source of the screams 
that had awakened him. He reached a central square and 
recoiled in horror. Several men were being systematically tortured 


 to death while Scarpa, dressed in his shabby imitation 
royal robe and his makeshift crown, sat in an ornate chair watching 
with approval. 
'What's going on?' Krager asked CabaL, a shabby Dacite brigand

 of his acquaintance with whom he had frequently gotten 
drunk. CabaL turned quickly. 'Oh, it's you, Krager,' he said. 'As 
closely as I can gather, the Shining Ones descended on 
Panem-Doa. ' 


'That's impossible,' Krager said shortly. 'Ptaga's dead. There 
aren't any more of those illusions to keep the Tamuls running 
around in circles.' 
'if we can believe what some of those dying fellows said, 
the ones who went into Panem-Doa weren't illusions,' CabaL 
replied. 'A fair number of the officers there got themselves disolved 


 when they tried to stand and fight.' 
'What's happening here?' Krager asked, pointing at the 
screaming men bound to poles set up in the middle of the 
square. 'Scarpa's making examples of the ones who ran away. He's


having them cut to pieces. Here comes Cyzada.' CabaL pointed
at the Styric hurrying out of Scarpa's headquarters. 
'What are you doing?' the hollow-eyed Cyzada bellowed at the 
madman sitting on his cheap throne. 
'They deserted their posts,' Scarpa replied. 'They're being 
punished.' 
'You need every man, you idiot!' 
'I ordered them to march to the north to join my loyal armies,' 
Scarpa shrugged. 'They concocted lies to excuse their failure to 
obey. They must be punished. I will have obedience!' 
'You will not kill your own soldiers. Order your butchers to 
stop!' 
'That's quite impossible, Cyzada. An imperial order, once 
given, cannot be rescinded. I have commanded that every 
deserter from Panem-Doa be tortured to death. It's out of my 
hands now.' 
'You maniac. you won't have a soldier left by tomorrow morning. 


they'll all desert!' 
'Then I will recruit more and hunt them all down. I will be 
obeyed!' 
Cyzada of Esos controlled his fury with an obviously great 
effort. Krager saw his lips moving and his fingers weaving intricate


 pattens in the air. 'Let's get out of here, CabaL!' he said 
urgently. 
'What? the crazy man ordered us all to watch.' 
"you don't want to watch what's going to happen next,' 
Krager told him. 'Cyzada's casting a spell - Zemoch, most likely. 
He's summoning a demon to teach our "emperor" the meaning
of the word "obedience". ' 
'He can't do that. Zalasta left his son in charge here.' 
'No, actually Cyzada's in charge. I personally heard Zalasta 
tell that Styric who's wriggling his fingers right now to kill 
Scarpa the minute he stepped out of line. I don't know about 
you, my friend, but I'm going to find someplace to hide. I've 
seen the kind of creatures that were subject to Azash before, 
and I'm feeling a little delicate this morning, so I don't want to 
Bse one again.' 
We'll get into trouble, Krager.' 
'Not if the demon Cyzada's summoning right now eats Scarpa 
alive, we won't.' Krager drew in a deep breath. 'It's up to you, 
Cabal. Stay if you want, but I think I've seen as much as I want 
to of Natayos.' 
"you're going to desert?' CabaL was aghast. 
'The situation's changed. If Sparhawk's allied himself with the 
Delphae, I want to be a long way from here when they come 



glowing out of that jungle. I find that I'm suddenly homesick 
for Eosia. Come or stay, CabaL, but I'm leaving - now.' 


CHAPTER 25 


Zalasta's face was strangely altered when Ekatas unlocked and 
opened the door to the small, dank cell adjoining the larger
room at the top of the tower a week or so after he had brought 
Ehlana and Alcan to Cyrga. The doubt and remorse which had 
filled it before were gone, and the Styric's expression was now 
one of calm detachment. He took in the horrid little room at a 
glance. Ehlana and Alcan were chained to the wall, and they 
were sitting on heaps of moldy straw that were supposed to 
serve as beds. Crude earthenware bowls filled with cold gruel 
sat untouched on the floor. 'This won't do, Ekatas,' Zalasta said 
in a remote kind of voice. 
'It's really none of your concern,' the High Priest replied. 'Prisoners 


 are kept closely confined here in Cyrga.' As always, Ekatas 
sneered when he spoke to Zalasta. 
'Not these prisoners.' Zalasta stepped into the cell and took 
up the chains that bound the two women to the wall. Then, 
showing no emotion, he crushed them into powdery rust. 'The 
situation here has changed, Ekatas,' he snapped, helping Ehlana
to her feet. 'Get this mess cleaned up.' 
Ekatas drew himself up. 'I don't take orders from Styrics. I 
am the High Priest of Cyrgon.' 
'i'm truly sorry about this, your Majesty,' Zalasta apologized


to Ehlana. 'My attention's been diverted for the past week or
so. Evidently I didn't make my wishes clear to the Cyrgai. Please 
excuse me for a moment, and I'll correct that oversight.' He 
turned back to Ekatas. 'I told you to do something,' he said in 
a dreadful voice. 'Why haven't you started?' 
'Come out of there, Zalasta, or I'll lock you in with them.' 
'Oh, really?' Zalasta said with a thin smile. 'I thought you 
had better sense. I don't have time for this, Ekatas. Get this 
room cleaned up. I have to take our guests to the Temple 
again.' 
'i've received no such instructions. 
'Why should you have?' 
'Cyrgon speaks through me.' 
'Precisely. The instructions didn't come from Cyrgon. 
'Cyrgon is God here. 
'Not any more, he isn't.' Zalasta gave him an almost pitying 
look. 'You didn't even feel it, did you, Ekatas? The world heaved 
and convulsed all around you, and you didn't even notice. How 
can you possibly be so dense? Cyrgon has been supplanted. 
klael rules in Cyrga now - and I speak for klael.' 
'That's not possible. you're lying!' 
Zalasta walked out of the cell and took hold of the front of 
the High Priest's robe. 'Look at me, Ekatas,' he commanded. 
'Take a long, hard look, and then tell me that I'm lying.' 
Ekatas struggled momentarily, and then, unable to help himself, 


 he' looked into Zalasta's eyes. The blood slowly drained 
from his face, and then he screamed. He screamed again, trying 
to tear himself free from the Styric's iron grasp. 'I beg of you!.' 



he cried out in a voice filled with horror, 'no more. No more!' 
Then he sagged, covering his eyes with his hands. ' 
Zalasta contemptuously let go of the front of his black robe, 
and he fell to the floor, weeping uncontrollably. 
'Now do you understand?' Zalasta asked him, almost gently. 
'Cyzada and I tried to warn you and your petty Codling about 
the dangers involved in summoning Klael, but you wouldn't 
listen. Cyrgon wanted to enslave Bhelliom, and now he's the 
slave of Bhelliom's opposite. And, since I speak for klael, I guess 
that makes you my slave.' He prodded the weeping priest with 
one foot. 'Get up, Ekatas! Get on your feet when your master
speaks!'
The grovelling priest scrambled to his feet, his tear-streaked 
face still filled with unspeakable horror. 
'Say it, Ekatas,' Zalasta said in a cruel voice. 'I want to hear 
you say it - or would you like to witness the death of another star?' 


'M-M-Master,' the High Priest choked. 
'Again - a little louder, if you don't mind.'
'Master!' It came out almost as a shriek. 
'Much better, Ekatas. Now wake up those lazy cretins in the 
guardroom and put them to work cleaning this cell. We have 
preparations to make when I come back from the temple. 
Anakha's bringing Bhelliom to Cyrga, and we'll want to be ready 
when he arrives.' He turned. 'Bring your maid, Ehlana. Klael 
wants to look at you.' Zalasta paused, looking at her critically. 
'I know that we've treated you badly,' he half-apologized, 'but 
don't let our bad manners break your spirit. Remember who 
you are and draw that about you. klael respects power and those 
who wield it.' 
'What do I say to him?' 
'Nothing. He'll find out what he wants to know just by looking 
at you. He doesn't understand your husband, and looking at 
you will give him some hints about Anakha's nature. Anakha's 
the unknown element in this business. He always has been, I 
suppose. klael understands Bhelliom. It's Bhelliom's creature 
who baffles him.' 
'You've changed, Zalasta.'
'I suppose I have,' he admitted. 'I have a feeling that I won't 
live much longer. klael's touch does peculiar things to people. 
We'd better not keep him waiting.' He looked at Ekatas, who 
stood trembling violently. 'I want this room clean when we come ' 
back.' 
'i'll see to it, Master,' Ekatas promised in a grotesquely servile 
tone. 


'How do you find them again?' Itagne asked curiously. 'What 
I'm trying to get at is that the Trolls are in this "No-Time", but 
you and Tynian had to come out into real time in order to enter 
Sama, so time started moving for you. How do you get back to 
the moment where you left the Trolls?'
'Please don't ask metaphysical questions, Itagne,' Ulath 
replied with a pained expression. 'We just go back to the spot 
where we left the Trolls, and there they are. We deal with 
"where" and let the Troll-Gods deal with "when". They seem 
to be able to jump around iN time without paying much attention 



to the rules.' 
'Where are the Trolls right now?' 
"Just outside of town,' Tynian replied. 'We didn't think it was 
a good idea to bring them into Sama with us. They're starting to get a 
little out of hand.' 
'is it something we should know about, Tynian-Knight?'
Engessa asked. 
Ulath leaned back in his chair. 'Cyrgon disrupted Trollish 
behavior rather profoundly when he went to Thalesia and posed 
as Ghworg,' he explained somberly. 'Zalasta told him about the 
Trolls, but Cyrgon's been a little out of touch, so he mistook the 
Trolls for the Dawn-Men. The Dawn-Men were herd-animals, 
but the Trolls run in packs. Herd-animals will accept any 
member of their species, but pack-animals are a little more selective. 


 It's to our advantage right now to have the Trolls behave 
like a herd. At least we can keep them all going in the same 
direction, but some problems are starting to crop up. The packs 
are beginning to separate, and there's a great deal of snapping
and snarling going on. ' 
Tynian glanced at Queen Betuana, who, gowned all in 
black, was sitting somewhat apart from them. He motioned 
Engessa slightly to one side. 'is she all right?' he asked very 
quietly. 
'Betuana-Queen is in ritual mourning,' Engessa replied, also 
in half-whisper. 'The loss of her husband has touched her very 
deeply.' 
'Were they really that close?' 
'It did not seem so,' Engessa admitted. His eyes were troubled
as he looked at his melancholy queen. 'The mourning-ritual is 
seldom observed now. I am keeping careful watch over her. She 
must not be allowed to do herself injury.' Engessa's shouldermuscles 


bunched. 
Tynian was startled. 'is there any real danger of that?'
'It was not uncommon a few centuries ago,' Engessa replied. 
'We'd been expecting you earlier,' Itagne was saying to Ulath. 
'As I understand it, "No-Time" means that the Trolls can go 
from one place to another almost instantaneously.' 
'Not quite instantaneously, Itagne. We've been a week or so 
getting here from the Tamul Mountains. We have to stop and 
go back into real time every so often so that they can hunt. 
Hungry Trolls aren't the best of travelling companions. What's
been happening? We can't make contact with Aphrael when
we're in No-Time.' 
'Sparhawk's found some clues about the location of Cyrga,' 
Itagne replied. 'They aren't too precise, but he's going to take 
a chance and try to follow them.' 
'How's Patriarch Bergsten coming?' 
'He's captured Cynestra -. Had it handed to him on a plate, 
actually.' 
'Oh?' 


'Do you remember Atana Mans?' 
'the pretty girl who commanded the garrison in Cynestra? 
The one who was so fond of you?' 
Itagne smiled. 'That's the one. She's an abrupt sort of girl, 
and I'm quite fond of her, and when she saw Bergsten and the 



Church Knights approaching, she decided to present him with 
the city. She swept the streets clean of Cynesgan troops and 
opened the gates for Bergsten. She was going to give him King 
Jaluah's head as well, but he persuaded her not to.' 
'Pity,' Ulath murmured, 'but that's the sort of thing you have 
to expect when a good man gets religion.' 
'Vanion's in place,' Itagne continued, 'and he and Kring are 
establishing strongholds about a day's ride out into Cynesga. 
We're going to do the same here, but we thought we'd wait 
until you arrived first.' 
'is anybody encountering any significant opposition?' Tynian 
asked. 
'It's hard to say exactly,' Itagne mused. 'We're moving on to 
central Cynesga, but Klaels soldiers pop out of every crack 
between two rocks. The further back we push them, the tighter 
they'll be concentrated. If we don't come up with a way to neutralize 


 them, we'll have to carve our way through them, and
from what Vanion tells me they don't carve very well. Kring's 
tactics are working well enough now, but when we get closer 
to Cyrga -' He spread his hands helplessly. 
'We'll work something out,' Ulath said. 'Anything else?'
'It's still sort of up in the air, Sir Ulath,' Itagne replied. 'The 
fairy-stories Stragen and Caalador are hatching in Beresa are 
diverting most of the Cynesgan cavalry away from the eastern 
border. Half of them are running south toward the coast around 
Kaftal, and the other half are running north toward a little village 
called Zhubay. Caalador added an imaginary massing of the 
Atans up there to Stragen's illusory fleet off the southern coast. 
Between them, they've split the entire Cynesgan army in tWO 
and sent them off to chase moonbeams.' 
'You say that half of them are going north?' Tynian asked 


innocently. 
'Toward Zhubay, yes. They seem to think the Atans are massing 


 there for some reason.' 
'What an amazing thing,' Ulath said with a straight face. 'It 
just so happens that Tynian and I have been sort of drifting in 
that general direction anyway. Do you think the Cynesgans 
would be too disappointed if they came up against Trolls instead 
of Atans?' 
'You could go up there and ask them, I suppose,' Itagne 
replied, also with no hint of a smile. They all knew what was 
going to happen at Zhubay.
'Convey our apologies to them, Ulath-Knight,' Betuana said 
with a sad little smile. 
'Oh, we will, your Majesty,' Ulath assured her. 'If we can find 
any of them still in one piece after they've frolicked around with 
the Trolls for a couple of hours. 


'Get out of there!' Kalten shouted, galloPing his horse toward 
the dog-like creatures clustered around something lying on the 
gravel floor of the desert. The beasts scampered away, hooting 
with soulless laughter. 
'Are they dogs?' Talen asked in a sick voice. 
'No,' Mirtai replied shortly. 'Hyenas.' 
Kalten rode back. 'It's a man,' he reported bleakly, 'or what's



left of one.' 
'We must bury him,' Bevier said. 
They'd only dig him up again,' Sparhawk told him. 'Besides, 
he added, 'if you start trying to bury them all, we'll be here for 
Several lifetimes.' He gestured at the bone-littered plain stretching


 off to the low range of black mountains lying to the west. 
He looked at Xanetia. 'It was a mistake to bring you along, 
Anarae,' he apologized. 'This is going to get worse before it gets 
any better.' 
'It was not unexpected, Anakha,' she replied. 
Kalten looked up at the flock of vultures circling overhead. 
filthy brutes,' he muttered. 
Sparhawk raised up in his stirrups to peer on ahead. 'We've 
got a couple more hours until the sun goes down, but maybe 
we'd better pull back a mile or two and set up camp a little early. 
We'll have to spend one night out there. Let's not spend two.' 
'We need those pillars for landmarks anyway," Talen added, 
'and they're a lot brighter when the sun first comes up.' 
'That's if that bright spot we've been following really comes 
from those pillars,' Kalten said dubiously.
'They got us here, didn't they? This has to be what Ogerajin
called "the Plain of Bones", doesn't it? I had my own doubts at 
first. Ogerajin was raving so much of the time that I was sure 
that he'd garbled at least some of the directions, but he hasn't 
led us astray yet.' 
'We still haven't seen the city, Talen,' Kalten reminded him, 
'so I'd sort of hold off on composing the letter of thanks.' 


'i've got all the money I'll ever need, Or(len,' Krager said expansively, 


 leaning back in his chair and looking out through the
window at the buildings and the harbor of the port city of Delo. 
He took another drink of wine. 
%'I wouldn't go around annoumcing that, Krager,' the buEly 
Order advised. 'Particularly not here on the waterfront.' 
'i've hired some bodyguards, Order. Can you ask around and 
find out if there's a fast ship leaving for Zenga in Cammoria in 
the next week or so?' 
'Why would anybody want to go to Zenga?' 
'I grew up there, and I'm homesick,' Krager replied with a 
shrug. 'Besides, I'd sort of like to grind a few faces - all the 
people who said that I'd come to no good end while I was 
growing up.' 
'Did you happen to come across a fellow named Ezek 
while you were in Natayos?' Order asked. 'I think he's a 
Deiran.' 
'The name rings a bell. I think he was working for the fellow 
who ran the tavern.' 
'I sent him down there,' Order explained, 'him and the other 
two - Col and Shallag. They were going to see if they could join 
Narstil's band of outlaws.' 
'They may have, but they were working in the tavern when
I left.' 
'It's none of my business, but if you were doing so well in 
Natayos, why did you leave?' 
'instincts, Order,' Krager replied owlishly. 'I get this cold little 
feeling at the base of my skull, and I know that it's time to run. 



Have you ever heard of a man named Sparhawk?' 
'You mean Prince Sparhawk? Everybody's heard of him. He's 
got quite a reputation.' 
'Oh, yes. That he does. Anyway, Sparhawk's been looking 
for an opportunity to kill me for twenty years or so, and that's 
the sort of thing that puts a very fine edge on a man's instincts.' 
Krager took another long drink. 
'You might want to give some thought to drying out for a 
while,' Order advised, looking meaningfully at Krager's tankard 
of Arcian red. 'I run a tavern, and I've learned to recognize the 
signs. Your liver's starting to go on you, my friend. Your eyeballs 
are turning yellow.' 
'i'll cut down once I get out to sea.' 
'I think you'll have to do more than just cut down, Krager. 
You're going to have to give it up entirely if you want to go on 
living. Believe me, you don't want to die the way most drunkards 
do. I knew one once who screamed for three straight weeks 
before he finally died. It was awful.' 
'There's nothing wrong with my liver,' Krager said truculently. 
'It's just the funny light in here. When I get out to sea, 
I'll space out my drinks. I'll be all right.' His face had a haunted 
expression, however, and the mere mention of giving up strong 
drink had set his hands to trembling violently. 
Order shrugged. He had tried to warn the man. 'It's up to 
you, Krager,' he said. 'i'll ask around and see if I can find a ship 
that'll get you out of Prince Sparhawk's reach.' 
'Soon, Order. Soon.' Krager held out his tankard. 'in the 
meantime, why don't we have another?' 

Ekrasios and his party of Delphae reached Norenja late in the 
afternoon on a murky day when heavy clouds hung low over the 
treetops and there was not a breath of air moving. Ekrasios took 
his boyhood friend, Adras, and crept forward through the tangle 
of brush and vines to the edge of the clearing to survey the ruin. 
Thinkest thou that they will offer resistance?' Adras asked 
quietly. 
'That is difficult to predict,' Ekrasios replied. 'Anakha and his 
companions have advised that these rebels are poorly trained. 
Methinks their response to our sudden appearance will depend 
on the character of their officers. Better that we leave them a 
clear path to the surrounding forest. Should we encircle them, 
deSperation will impel them to fight.' 
Adras nodded. 'They have made some effort to repair the 
gates,' he said, pointing at the entrance to the city. 
'The gates will pose no problem. I will instruct thee and our 
companions in the spell which doth modify the curse of edaemus. 

 Those newly-made gates are constructed of wood, and 
wood is as susceptible to decay as is flesh,' He looked up at the 
dirty grey clouds. 'Canst thou make any estimate as to the time 
of day?' 
'No more than two hours until dusk,' Adras replied. 
'Let us proceed then. We must find yet another gate to provide 
means of escape for those whom we would confront this night.' 
'And if there be none other?' 
'Then those who would escape must find their own way. I 
am reluctant to unleash the full force of the curse of Edaemas. 


Should necessity compel me to it, however, I will not shrink 
from that stern duty. Should they flee, well and good. Should 
they choose to stay and fight, we will do what we must. I do 
assure thee, Adras, that when tomorrow's sun rises, none living 
shall remain within the walls of Norenja.' 

'Good God!' Berit exclaimed, peering over the edge of the dry 
gully at the huge soldiers in close-fitting armor running westward 

 across the sun-baked gravel. 'They're monsters.' 
'Keep your voice down,' Khalad cautioned. 'There's no way 
of knowing how good their ears are.' 
The strange, bestial soldiers were larger than Atans, and their 
burnished steel breastplates fit their torsos snugly, outlining 
each muscle. They wore helmets adorned with fanciful horns 
or wings, and the visors of those helmets were individualized, 
evidently forged to fit each warrior's face. They ran westward 
in a sort of ragged formation, and their hoarse gasping was 
clearly audible even at this distance. 
'Where are they going?' Berit demanded. 'The border's off in 
the other direction.' 

'That one who's trailing along behind the others has a broken-off 

 javelin sticking out of him,' Khalad replied. 'i'd say that 
means that they've come up against Tikume's Peloi. They've 
already been to the border, and now they're coming back.' 
'Back to where?' Berit was baffled. 'Where can they go? They 
can't breathe here.' 
Khalad cautiously poked his head above the rim of the gully 
and squinted out across the rocky desert. 'They seem to be going 
toward that cluster of hills about a mile to the west.' he paused. 

"just how curious are we feeling today, Berit?' 
'What have you got in mind?' 
'This gully comes down out of those hills, and if we follow it 
and keep our heads down, they won't see us. Why don't we 
drift off toward the west? I've got a strong feeling that we might 
find out something important if we tag along behind those 
fellows. ' 
Berit shrugged. 'why not?' 
'That's really not a very logical answer, Berit. I can think of a 
half-dozen reasons why not.' Khalad squinted at the panting 
soldiers lurching across the desert. 'Let's do it anyway, though. 
For some reason, I think we should.' 
They slid back down into the gully and led their horses along 
the dry watercourse toward the west. 
They moved quietly along the bottom of the wash for about 
a quarter of an hour. 'Are they still out there?' Berit whispered. 
'i'll look.' Khalad carefully climbed back up the steep bank to 
the rim of the gully and eased his head up far enough to look. 
Then he slid back down again. 'They're still staggering toward 
the hills,' he reported. 'This gully starts getting shallower on up 
ahead. Let's leave the horses here.' 
They crept along, crouched over to stay out of sight, and as 
the gully started to run uphill, they found that they were forced 
to crawl on their hands and knees. 
Khalad raised up slightly to look again. 'They seem to be 


swinging around behind that other hill,' he said quietly. 'Let's 
slip up to the top of this ridge and see what's back there.' 
The two of them crawled out of the now-shallow wash and 
slanted their way up to the ridge-line to a point from which they 
could see what lay behind the hill Khalad had pointed out. 
It was a kind of shallow basin nestled down among the three 
hills that heaved up out of the surrounding desert. The basin 
was empty. 'Where did they go?' Berit whispered. 
'That basin was the place they were making for,' Khalad 
insisted with a puzzled frown. 'Wait. Here comes that one with 
the javelin in his belly.' 
They watched the wounded soldier stumble into the basin, 
half-falling and rising again to drag himself along. He raised his 
masked face and bellowed something. 
Khalad and Berit waited tensely 
Then two other soldiers emerged from a narrow opening in 
the side of one of the hills, descended to the floor of the basin, 
and half-dragged their injured comrade back up the hill and on 
into the mouth of the cave. 
'That answers that,' Khalad said. 'They ran across miles of 
open desert to get to that cave.' 
'Why? What good will it do them?' 
'I haven't got a clue, Berit, but I still think it's important.' 
Khalad stood up. 'Let's go back to where we left the horses. We 
can still cover a few more miles before the sun goes down.' 


Ekrasios crouched at the edge of the forest waiting for the 
torches inside the walls of Norenja to burn down and for the 
sounds of human activity to subside. The events at Panem-Doa 
had confirmed the assessment of these rebels Lord Vanion had 
given him at Sama. Given the slightest opportunity, these poorly-trained 


 soldiers would flee, and that suited Ekrasios very 
well. He was still somewhat reluctant to unleash the curse of 
Edaemus, and people who ran away did not have to be 
destroyed. Adras returned, ghosting back to the edge of the jungle 


through the night mist. 'All is in readiness, Ekrasios,' he 
reported quietly. 'The gates will crumble at the merest touch.' 
'Let us then proceed,' Ekrasios replied, standing up and 
relaxing the rigid control that dimmed his inner light. 'Let us 
pray that all within yon walls may flee." 
'And if they do not?' 
'Then they must surely die. Our promise to Anakha binds us. 
We will empty yon ruin - in one fashion or the other.' 


'It's not so bad here,' Kalten said as they dismounted. 'The bones 
are older, for one thing.' Necessity had compelled them to camp 
in the hideous boneyard the previous night, and they were all 
eager to reach the end of the horror. 
Sparhawk grunted, looking across the intervening stretch of 
desert at the fractured basalt cliff that seemed to mark the eastern 
edge of the Forbidden Mountains. The sun had just come up 
above the eastern horizon, and its brilliant light reflected back 
from the pair of quartz-laced peaks rearing up out of the rusty 
black mountains just to the west. 
'Why are we stopping here?' Mirtai asked. 'That cliff's still a 



quarter of a mile away.' 
'I think we're supposed to line up on those two peaks,' Sparhawk 
replied. 'Talen, can you remember Ogerajin's exact 
words?' 

'Let's see.' The boy frowned in concentration. Then he nodded 
shortly. 'i've got it now,' he said. 
'How do you do that?' Bevier asked him curiously. 
Talen shrugged. 'There's a trick to it. You don't think about 
the words. You just concentrate on where you were when you 
heard them.' He lifted his face slightly, closed his eyes, and 
began to recite. 'Beyond the Plain of Bones wilt thou come to 
the Gates of illusion behind which lies concealed the Hidden 
City of Cyrga. The eye of mortal man cannot perceive those 
gates. Stark they stand as a fractured wall at the verge of the 
Forbidden Mountains to bar thy way. Bend thine eye, however, 
upon Cyrgon's two white pillars and direct thy steps toward the 
emptiness which doth lie between them. Trust not the evidence 
which thine eye doth present unto thee, for the solid-seeming 
wall is as mist and will not bar thy way.' 
'That didn't even sound like your own voice,' Bevier said. 
'That's part of the trick,' Talen explained. 'That was Ogerajin's 
voice - sort of.' 
'All right then,' Sparhawk said. 'Let's see if he really knew 
what he was talking about.' He squinted at the two brilliant 
points of reflected light. 'There are the pillars.' He took a few 
steps to the right and shook his head. 'From here they merge 
into one light.' Then he walked to the left. 'It does the same 
thing here.' Then he went back to his original location. 'This is 
the spot,' he said with a certain amount of excitement. 'Those 
two peaks are very close together. If you move a few feet either 
way, you can't even see that gap between them. Unless you're 
really looking for it, you could miss it altogether.' 
'Ohm that's just fine, Talen,' Kalten said sarcastically. 'if 
we go any closer, the cliff will block off our view of the pillars." 


Talen rolled his eyes upward. 
What?' Kalten asked. 
"Just start walking toward the cliff, Kalten. Sparhawk can 
stand here and keep his eyes on the gap. He'll tell you whether 
to go to the right or the left.' 
'Oh.' Kalten looked around at the others. 'Don't make an issue 
of it,' he told them, Then he started off toward the cliff. 
'Veer to the right,' Sparhawk told him. 
Kalten nodded and changed direction. 
'Too far. Back to the left a little.' 
The blond Pandion continued toward the cliff, altering his
direction in response to Sparhawk's shouted commands. When 
he reached the cliff, he went along slapping his hands on the 
face of the rock. Then he drew his heavy dagger, stuck it into 
the ground, and started back. 
'Well?' Sparhawk called when he had covered half the 
distance. 
'Ogerajin didn't know what he was talking about,' Kalten 
shouted. 
Sparhawk swore. 



'Do you mean there's no opening?' Talen called. 
'Oh, the opening's there all right,'' Kalten replied, 'but it's at 
least five feet to the left of where your crazy man said it would 
be.' 


ChAPTER 26 


'Please don't do that, Talen,' Bevier said. 'Either go all the way 
in or stay outside. It's very disturbing to see the bottom half of 
you sticking out of solid rock that way.' 
'It's not solid, Bevier.' The boy stuck his hand into the rock 
and pulled it out again to demonstrate. 
'Well, it looks solid. Please Talen, in or out. Don't hover in 
between.' 
'Can you feel anything at all when you poke your head 
through?' Mirtai asked. 
'It's a little cooler in there,' Talen replied. 'It's a sort of cave 
or tunnel. There's light at the far end.' 
vCan we get the horses through?' Sparhawk asked. 


Talen nodded. 'It's big enough for that - if we go through in 
single file. I guess Cyrgon wanted to keep down the chances of 
anybody accidentally discovering the opening.' 
'You'd better let me go first, Sparhawk said. 'There might be 
guards at the other end.' 
'i'll be right behind you,' Kalten said, retrieving his dagger 
and drawing his sword. 
"Tis a most clever illusion,' Xanetia observed, touching the 
rock face on the left of the gate. 'Seamless and indistinguishable 
from reality.' 
'It's been good enough to hide Cyrga for ten thousand years, 
I guess,' Talen said. 
'Let's go in,' Sparhawk said. 'I want to have a look at this 
place.' 
There was difficulty with the horses, of course. No matter how 
reasonably one explains something to a horse, he will not willingly 


 walk into a stone wall. Bevier solved the problem by wrapping


 cloth around their heads, and, with Sparhawk in the lead, 
the party led their mounts into the' tunnel. 
It was perhaps a hundred feet long, and since the opening at 
the far end was still in shade, the light from it was not blinding. 
'Hold my horse,' Sparhawk muttered to Kalten. Then, his sword 
held low, he moved quietly toward the opening. When he 
reached it, he tensed himself and then stepped through quickly, 
whirling to fend off an attack from either side. 
'Anything?' Kalten demanded in a hoarse whisper. 
'No. There's nobody here.'
The rest of them cautiously led their horses out of the tunnel. 
They had emerged into a tree-shaded swale carpeted with 
winter-dry grass and dotted with white stone markers. 'The Glen
of Heroes,' Talen murmured. 
'What?' Kalten asked. 
'That's what Ogerajin called it. I guess it sounds nicer than 
"graveyard". The Cyrgai seem to treat their own dead a little 
better than they do the slaves.' 



Sparhawk looked across the extensive cemetery. He pointed 
to the western side where a slight rise marked the edge of the 
burial ground. 'Let's go,' he told his friends. 'I want to see just 
exactly what we're up against.' 
They crossed the cemetery to the bottom of the rise, tied their 
horses to the trees growing there and carefully crept to the top. 
The basin was significantly lower than the floor of the surrounding 

 desert, and there was a fair-sized lake nestled in the 
center, dark and unreflective in the morning shadows. The lake 
was surrounded by winter-fallow fields, and a forest of dark 
trees stretched up the slopes of the basin. There was a sort of 
rigid tidiness about it all, as if nature itself had been coerced 
thto straight lines and precise angles. Centuries of brutal labor 
had been devoted to hammering what might have been a place 
of beauty into a stern reflection of the mind of Cyrgon himself. 
The hidden valley was perhaps five miles across, and on the 
east side stood the city that had remained concealed for ten eons. 
The surrounding mountains had provided the building 
materials, and the city wall and the buildings within were constructed 

 of that same brownish-black volcanic basalt. The 
exterior walls were high and massive, and a steep, cone-like hill, 
its sides thickly covered with buildings, rose inside those walls. 
Sirmounting that hill was yet another walled enclosure with 
black spires rising on one side and, in startling contrast to the 
rest of the city, white spires on the other. 
'It's not particularly creative,' Bevier observed critically. 'The 
architect doesn't seem to have had much imagination.' 
'imagination is not a trait encouraged amongst the Cyrgai, Sir 
Knight." Xanetia told him. 
'We could swing around the sides of the basin and get closer, 
Kalten suggested. 'The trees would hide us. The ground around 
the lake doesn't offer much concealment.' 
'We've got some time,' Sparhawk said. 'Let's get away from 
the mouth of this tunnel. If it's the only way in or out of the 
valley, there's bound to be traffic going through here. I can see 
people working in those fields down there - slaves, most likely. 
There'll be Cyrgai watching them, and there may be patrols as 
well. Let's see if we can pick up some kind of routine before we 
blunder into anything.' 

Berit and Khalad made a dry camp in another cluster of jumbled 
boulders two days west of the place where they had seen the 
strange soldiers. They watered their horses sparingly, built no 
fire, and ate cold rations. Khalad spoke very little, but sat instead 
staring moodily out at the desert. 
"Quit worrying at it, Khalad,' Berit told him. 

'It's right in front of my face, Berit. I know it is, but I just 
can't put my finger on it.' 
'Do you want to talk it out? Neither one of us is going to get 
any sleep if you spend the whole night wrestling with it.' 
'I can brood quietly.' 
'No, actually you can't. We've been together too long, my 
friend. I can hear you thinking.' 
Khalad smiled faintly. 'It has to do with those creatures,' he 
said. 'Really? I never would have guessed. That's all you've been 


thinking about for the past two days. What did you want to 
know about them - aside from the fact that they're big, ugly, 
savage, and they've got yellow blood?' 
'That's the part that's nagging at me - that yellow blood. 
Aphrael says that it's because they breathe with their livers. 
They do that because what they're used to breathing isn't air. 
They can get along here for a little while, but when they start 
exerting themselves, they start to fall apart. The ones we saw 
the other day weren't just running around aimlessly out there 
in the desert. They had a specific destination in mind.' 
'That cave? You think it might be a haven for them?' 
'Now we're starting to get somewhere,' Khalad said, his face 
growing intent. 'The Peloi are probably the best light cavalry in 
the world, but klael's soldiers are almost as big as Trolls, and 
they seem to be able to ignore wounds that would kill one of 
us. I don't think they're running from the Peloi.' 
'No. They're trying to run away from the air.' 
Khalad snapped his fingers. 'That's it!' he exclaimed. 'That's 
why they break off and run back to those caves. They aren't 
hiding from the Peloi. They're hiding from the air.' 
'Air is air, Khalad - whether it's out in the open or inside a 
cave. ' 
'I don't think so, Berit. I think Klael has filled that cave with 
the kind of air his soldiers are used to breathing. He can't change 
all the air on the whole world, because it would kill the Cyrgai 
as well as all the rest of us, and Cyrgon won't let him do that. 
He can'fill the cave with that other kind of air, though. It'd be 
the perfect place. It's closed-in and more or less air-tight. It gives 
those monsters a place to go when they start to get winded. 
They can rest up in there and then come back out and fight 
some more. You'd better pass this on, Berit. Aphrael can let the 
others know that klael's soldiers are hiding out in caves because 
they can breathe there.' 
'I'll tell her,' Berit said dubiously. 'i'm not sure what good it's 
going to do us, but I'll tell her.' 
Khalad leaned back on his elbows with a broad grin. 'You're 
not thinking, Berit. If something's giving you problems, and it's 
hiding out in a cave, you don't have to go in after it. All you 
have to do is collapse the entrance. Once it's trapped inside, 
you can forget about it. Why don't you pass this on to Aphrael? 
Suggest that she tell the others to collapse every cave they come 
across. She won't even have to do it herself.' Then he frowned 
again. 
"What's wrong now?' 
That was too easy,' Khalad told him, 'and it doesn't really 
help all that much. As big as those beasts are, you could collapse 
a whole mountain on them, and they could still dig their way 
out. There's something else that hasn't quite come together yet 
He held up one hand. 'i'll get it,' he promised. 'i'll get it if 
it takes me all night.' 
Berit groaned. 

'I have decided to go with you, Bergsten-Priest,' Atana Mans 
replied haltingly in heavily accented Elenic. She had come up 
from behind their column when they were five days south of 


Cynestra. 
Bergsten suppressed an oath. 'We're an army on the move, 
Atana Mans,' he tried to explain diplomatically. 'We wouldn't 
be able to make suitable arrangements for your comfort or safety 
when we stop for the night.' 
'Arrangements?' She looked at Neran, the translator, with a 
puzzled expression. 
Neran spoke at some length in Tamul, and the tall girl burst 
out laughing. 'What's so funny, Atana?' Bergsten asked suspiciously. 


'That you would worry about that, Bergsten-Priest. I am a 
soldier. I can defend myself against any of your men who admire 
me too much.' 
'Why have you decided to come along with us, Atana Mans?' 
Heldin stepped in. 
'I had a thought after you left Cynestra, Heldin-Knight,' she 
replied. 'It has been in my mind to go find Itagne-Ambassador 
for much weeks now. You are going to the place where he will 
be, so I will go with you.' 
'We could carry a message to him for you, Atana. You don't 
really have to go along.' She shook her head. 
'No, Heldin-Knight. It is a personal matter 


 between Itagne-Ambassador and me. He was friendly to me when he was in 
Cynestra. Then he had to go away, but he said
to me that he would write letters to me. He did not do that. 
Now I must go find him to make sure that he is well.' Her 
eyes went hard. 'if he is well, I must know if he does not want 
to be friendly to me any more.' She sighed. 'I hope much 
that his feelings have not changed. I would not want to have 
to kill him.' 


'I want no part of this,' Gahennas said abruptly, standing up 
and giving the rest of them a reproving look. 'I was willing to 
work with you if it meant tweaking Cieronna's nose, but I'm not 
going to involve myself in treason.' 
"Who said anything about treason, Gahennas?' Chacole asked 
her. 'There won't be any real danger to our husband. We're just 
going to make it appear that there's a plot against him - and 
we're going to plant enough evidence to lay the plot at 
Ceronna's door. If something were to happen to Sarabian, the 
crown Prince would be elevated to the imperial throne, and 
Cieronna would be regent. We'll expose her plot before anything 
really happens, and she'll be totally discredited - probably 
imprisoned - and we won't have to cow-tow to her any more.' 
'I don't care what you say, Chacole,' the jug-eared Tegan 
Empress declared flatly. 'You're putting something in motion 
that's treasonous, and I won't be a party to it. I'm going to keep 
an eye on you, Chacole. Dismiss your spies and drop this wild 
schieme at once, because if you don't -' Gahennas left it hanging 
ominously in the air as she turned on her heel and stalked away. 
"that was very clumsy, Chacole,' Elysoun drawled, carefully 
selecting a piece of fruit from the silver platter on the table. 'She 
might have gone along if you hadn't gone into such detail. She 
didn't 'have to know that you were actually going to send out 
your assassins. You weren't really sure of her yet, and you went 
too fast. ' 



'i'm running out of time, Elysoun.' Chacole's tone was desperate. 
"I don't see the need for all this urgency,' Elysoun replied, 
'and how much time did you save today? That Tegan hag's going 
to be watching your every move now. You blundered, Chacole. 
Now you're going to have to kill her.' 
"what?" Chacole's face went white. 
Unless you don't mind losing your head. One word from
Gahennas can send you to the block. You aren't really cut out 
for men's politics, dear. You talk too much.' Elysoun rose lazily 
to her feet. 'We can discuss this later,' she said. 'I have an 
eNthusiastic young guardsman waiting for me, and I wouldn't 
want him to cool off.' She sauntered away. 
Ellisoune's casual attitude concealed a great deal of urgency. 
chacole's Cynesgan upbringing had made her painfully 
obvious. She had drawn on the hatred of Sarabian's other 
wives for Empress Cieronna. That part was clever enough, 
but the elaborate, involved story of staging an imitation 
assassination-attempt was ridiculously excessive. Very clearly 
the attempt was not designed to fail, as Chacole and Torellia so 
piously proclaimed. Elysoun began to walk faster. She had to 
get to her husband in order to warn him that his life was in 
immediate danger. 


'Xanetia!' Kalten said, starting back in surprise as the Anarae
suddenly appeared in their midst that evening, 'can't you cough 
or something before you do that?' 
'It was not mine intent to startle thee, my protector,' she 
apologized. 
'My nerves are strung a little tight right now,' he said. 
'Did you have any luck?' Mirtai asked. 
'I gleaned much, Atana Mirtai.' Xanetia paused, collecting her 
thoughts. 'The slaves are not closely watched,' she began, 'and 
their supervision is given over to Cynesgan overseers, for such 
menial tasks are beneath the dignity of the Cyrgai. The desert 
itself doth confine the slaves. Those foolish enough to attempt 
escape inevitably perish in that barren waste.' 
'What's the customary routine, Anarae?' Bevier asked her. 
'The slaves emerge from their pens at dawn,' she replied, 
'and, unbidden and unguarded, leave the city to take up their 
tasks. Then, at sunset, still uncommanded and scarce noticed, 
they return to the city and to the slave-pens for feeding. They 
are then chained and locked in their pens for the night to be 
released again at first light of day.' 
'Some of them are up here in these woods,' Mirtai noted, 
peering out through the trees that concealed them. 'What are 
they supposed to be doing?' 
'They cut firewood for their masters in this extensive forest. 
The Cyrgai warm themselves with fires in the chill of winter. The 
kenneled slaves must endure the weather.' 
'Were you able to get any sense of how the city's laid out, 
Anarae?' Bevier asked her. 
'Some, Sir Knight.' She beckoned them to the edge of the trees 
so that they could look across the valley at the black-walled city. 
'The Cyrgai themselves live on the slopes of the hill which doth 
rise within the walls,' she explained, 'and they do hold themselves


 aloof from the more mundane portion of the city below. 



There is yet another wall within the outer one, and that inner 
wall doth protect Cyrgon's Chosen from contact with inferior 
races. The lower city doth contain the slave-pens, the warehouses 

 for foodstuffs, and the barracks of the Cynesgans who 
oversee the slaves and man the outer wall. As thou canst see, 
there is yet that final wall which doth enclose the summit of the 
hill. Within that ultimate wall lieth the palace of King Santheocles 
and the temple of Cyrgon.' 
Bevier nodded. 'It's fairly standard for a fortified town then.' 
'if thou wert aware of all this, why didst thou ask, Sir Knight?' 
she asked tartly. 
'Confirmation, dear lady,' he replied, smiling. 'The city's ten 
thousand years old. They might have had different ideas about 
how to build a fort before the invention of modern weapons.' He 
squinted across the valley at walled Cyrga. 'They're obviously 
willing to sacrifice the lower city,' he said. 'Otherwise that outer 
wall would be defended by Cyrgai. The fact that they've turned 
that chore over to the Cynesgans means that they don't place 
much value on those warehouses and slave-pens. The wall at 
the foot of "Mount Cyrgon" will be more fiercely defended, and 
if necessary, they'll pull back up the hill to that last wall that 
encloses the palace and the temple.' 
'All of this is well and good, Bevier,' Kalten interrupted him, 
but where are Ehlana and Alcan?' 
Bevier gave him a surprised look. 'Up on top, of course,' he 
replied, 'either in the palace or in the temple.' 
'How did you arrive at that?' 
'They're hostages, Kalten. When you're holding hostages, you 
have to keep them close enough to threaten them when your 
enemies get too close. Our problem is how to get into the city.' 
'We'll come up with something,' Sparhawk said confidently. 
'Let's go back into the woods a ways and set up for the night.' 
They moved back among the trees and ate cold rations, since 
a fire was out of the question. 
'The problem's still therer Sparhawk,' Kalten said as evening 
settled over the hidden valley. 'How are we going to get inside 
all those walls?' 
The first wall's easy,' Talen said. 'We just walk in through 
the gate.' 
'How do you propose to do that without being challenged?' 
Kalten demanded. 
'People walk out of the city every morning and back again 
every evening, don't they?' 
'Those are slaves.' 
'Exactly.' 
Kalten stared at him. 
'We want to get into the city, don't we? That's the easiest 
way.' 
'What about the other walls?' Bevier objected. 
'One wall at a time, Sir Knight,' Talen said gaily, 'one wall at 
a time. Let's get through the outer one first. Then we'll worry 
about the other two.' 

Daiya the Peloi came riding hard back across the gravelly desert 
about mid-morning the next day. 'We've found them, your Reverence,' 
he reported to Bergsten as he reined in. 'The Cynesgan 


cavalry tried to lead us away from where they're hiding, but we 
found them anyway. They're in those hills just ahead of us.' 
'More of those big ones with masks on their faces?' Heldin 
asked. 
'Some of those, friend Heldin,' Daiya replied. 'But there are 
others as well - wearing old-fashioned helmets and carrying 
spears.'
'Cyrgai,' Bergsten grunted. 'Vanion mentioned them. Their 
tactics are so archaic that they won't be much of a problem.' 
'Where exactly are they, friend Daiya?' Heldin asked.
'They're in a large canyon on the east side of those hills, friend 
Heldin. My scouts saw them from the canyon-rim.' 
'We definitely don't want to go into that canyon after them, 
your Grace,' Heldin cautioned. 'They're infantry, and close quartors 


 are made to order for their tactics. We'll have to devise some 
way to get them to come out into the open.' 
Atana Mans asked Neran a question in Tamul, and he replied 
at some length. She nodded, spoke briefly to him, and then she 
ran off toward the south. 
'Where's she going?' Bergsten demanded. 
'She said that your enemies have laid a trap for you, your 
Grace,' Neran replied with a shrug. 'She's going to go spring
it.' 
'Stop her, Heldin!' Bergsten said sharPly.
It must be said in Sir Heldin's defense that he did try to catch 
up to the lithe, fleet-footed Atan girl, but she merely glanced 
back over her shoulder, laughed, and ran even faster, leaving 
him far behind, flogging at his horse and muttering curses. 
Bergsten's curses were not muttered. He blistered the air 
around him. 'What is she doing?' he demanded of Neran. 
'They're planning an ambush, your Grace,' Neran replied 
calmly. 'It won't work if somebody sees them hiding in that 
canyon. Atana Mans is going to run into the canyon, let them see 
her, and then run out again. They'll have to try to catch her. That'll 
bring them out into the open. You might want to give some thought 
to picking up your pace just a bit. She'll be terribly disappointed 
in you if you're not in position when she leads them out.' 
Patriarch Bergsten looked out across the desert at the golden 
Atana running smoothly to the south with her long black hair 
flying behind her. Then he swore again, rose up in his stirrups, 
and bellowed, 'Charge!' 


Ekrasios and his comrades reached Synaqua late in the afternoon
just as the sun broke through the heavy cloud-cover which had 
obscured the sky for the past several days. 
The ruins of Synaqua were in much greater disrepair than had 
been the case with Panem-Doa and Norenja. The entire east 
wall had been undercut by one of the numerous streams which 
flowed' sluggishly through the soggy delta of the ArJun River, 
and it had collapsed at some unknown time in the past. When 
Scarpa's rebels had moved in to occupy the ruin, they had 
replaced it with a log palisade. The construction was shoddy, 
and the palisade was not particularly imposing. 
ekrasios considered that as he sat alone moodily watching the 
sun sinking into a cloud-bank off to the west. A serious problem
had arisen following their disastrous assault on Norenja. It had 



appeared that there were many gates through which the panic-stricken 

 rebels could flee, but their commander had blocked off 
those gates with heaps of rubble' as a part of his defenses. The 
terrified soldiers had been trapped inside the walls, and had 
therefore had no choice but to turn and fight. Hundreds had 
died in unspeakable agony before Ekrasios had been able to 
divert his men into the uninhabited parts of the ruin so that 
the escape-route through the main gate was open. Many of the 
Delphae had wept openly at the horror they had been forced to 
inflict on men who were essentially no more than misguided 
peasants. It had taken Ekrasios two days and all of his eloquence 
to keep half his men from abandoning the cause and returning 
immediately to Delphaeus. 
Adras, Ekrasios' boyhood friend and his second-in-command, 
was among the most profoundly disturbed. Adras now avoided 
his leader whenever possible, and the few communications that 
passed between them were abrupt and official. And so it was 
that Ekrasios was somewhat surprised when Adras came to him 
unsummoned in the ruddy glow of that fiery sunset. 
'A word with thee, Ekrasios,' he asked tentatively. 
'Of course, Adras. Thou knowst that it is not needful for thee 
to ask.' 
'I must advise thee that I will not participate in this night's 
work.' 
'We are bound by our pledge to Anakha, Adras,' Ekrasios 
reminded him. 'Our Anari hath sworn to this, and we are 
obliged to honor his oath.' 
'I cannot, Ekrasios!' Adras cried, sudden tears streaming 
down his face. 'I cannot bear what I have done and must do 
again should I enter yon city. Surely Edaemus did not intend 
for us to so use his dreadful gift.' 
There were a dozen arguments Ekrasios might have raised, 
but he knew in his heart that they were all spurious. 'I will not 
insist, Adras. That would not be the act of a friend.' He sighed. 
'I am no less unquiet than thou, I do confess. We are not suited 
for war, Adras, and the curse of Edaemus makes our way of 
making war more horrible than the casual bloodletting of other 
races, and, since we are not fiends, the horror doth tear at our 
souls.' He paused. 'Thou art not alone in this resolve, art thou, 
Adras? There are others as well, are there not?' 
Adras nodded mutely. 
'How many?' 
'Close to a hundred and fifty, my friend.' 
Ekrasios was shaken. Nearly a third of his force had quite 
literally defected. 'You trouble me, Adras,' he said. 'I wi'll not 
command thee to forswear the dictates of thy conscience, but 
thine absence and that of they who feel similarly constrained do 
raise doubts about our possible success this night. Let me think 
on't.' He began to pace up and down in the muddy forest clearing, 

 considering various possibilities. 'We may yet salvage some 
measure of victory this night,' he said finally. 'Let me probe the 
extent of thy reluctance, my friend. I do concede that thou canst 
not in conscience enter the ruin which doth lie before us, but 
wilt thou abandon me utterly?' 
'Never, Ekrasios.' 
'I thank thee, Adras. Yet mayest thou and thy fellows further 


our design without injury to thy sensibilities. As we discovered 
at Norenja, the curse of Edaemus extends its effects to things 
other than flesh.' 
'Truly,' Adras agreed. 'The gates of that mournful ruin did 
collapse in decay at our merest touch.' 
'The east wall of Synaqua is constructed of logs. Might I prevail 

 upon thee and thy fellows to pull it down whilst I and the 
remainder of our force do enter the city?' 
The mind of Adras was quick. His sudden grin erased the 
estrangement which had marred their friendship for the past 
several days. 'Thou wert born to command, Ekrasios,' he said 
warmly. 'My friends and I will most happily perform this task. 
Do thou and thy cohorts enter Synaqua by the front gate whilst 
I and mine do open a huge back gate to the east that they who 
reside within yon city may freely depart. Both ends are thus 
served. ' 
'Well said, Adras,' Ekrasios approved. 'Well said. 

CHAPTER 27 

'They're out of sight now,' Talen hissed. 'Go grab their cart.' 
Kalten and Sparhawk rose from the bushes, appropriated the 
' half-full wood-cart, and pulled it back out of sight. It was about 
noon. 
'I still think this is a really stupid idea,' Kalten grumbled. 
'Assuming that we don't get stopped when we try to go through 
the gate, how are we going to unload our weapons and mailshirts 

 without being seen? And how are we going to get out of 
the slave-pen to pick them up?' 
'Trust me.' 
'This boy's making me old, Sparhawk,' Kalten complained. 
'We might be able to pull it off, Kalten,' Bevier said. 'Xanetia 
told us that the Cynesgan overseers don't pay much attention 
to the slaves. Right now, though, we'd better get this cart away 
from here before the fellows it belongs to come back and find 
that it's gone.' 
They pulled the wobbly, two-wheeled cart along the narrow 
track toward the spot where Xanetia and Mirtai were concealed 
in the bushes. 'Lo,' Mirtai said dryly from her hiding place, 'our 
heroes return with the spoils of war.' 
'I love you, little sister,' Sparhawk retorted, 'but you've got an 
overly clever mouth. Kalten's got a point, Talen. The Cynesgan 
overseers themselves might be too stupid to notice what 
we're doing, but the other slaves probably will, and the first 
one to open his mouth about it will probably get a lot of 
attention. ' 
'i'm a-workin' on that port, Sporhawk,' the boy replied. He 
.dropped to his knees and scrutinized the underside of the cart. 
'No problem,' he said confidently, rising and brushing off his 
bare knees. They had modified the Cynesgan robes they had 
bought in Vigayo by removing the sleeves and hoods and cutting 
the tails off just above the knees. The resulting garments now 
resembled the smocks worn by the slaves who labored in the 
fields and woods surrounding Cyrga. 
While the rest of them fanned out through the woods to pilfer 
firewood from the stacks cut by the slaves, Talen remained 


behind, working at something on the underside of the cart. They 
had amassed a sizeable pile by the time he had finished. Sparhawk 

 returned once more with an armload of wood to find 
the boy just finishing up. 'Do you want to take a look at this, 
Sparhawk?' he asked from under the cart. 
Sparhawk knelt to examine the young thief's handiwork. 
Talen had wedged the ends of slender tree-limbs between the 
floorboards of the cart and then had woven them into a shallow 
basket that fit snugly under the bottom of the stolen conveyance. 
'Are you sure it won't come apart if we hit a bump?' he asked 
dubiously. 'It might be a little embarrassing to have all our 
weapons and our mail-shirts come spilling out just as we're 
passing through the gate.' 
'I'll ride in it myself, if you want,' Talen replied. 
Sparhawk grunted. 'Tie the swords together so that they won't 
rattle, and stuff grass in around the mail-shirts to muffle the 
clinking.' 
'Yes, oh glorious leader. And how many other things that I 
already know did you want to tell me?' 

"Just do it, Talen. Don't make clever speeches.' 

'i'm not trying to be offensive, Mirtai,' Kalten was saying. 'It's 
just that your legs are prettier than mine.' 
Mirtai lifted the bottom of her smock a little and looked critically 

 at her long, golden legs. Then she squinted at Kalten's. 
They are rather, aren't they?' 
'What I'm gettinE at is that they won't be quite as noticeable 
if you smear some mud on them. I don't think the gate guards 
are blind, and if one of them sees the dimples on your knees, 
he'll probably realize that you aren't a man, and he might decide 
to investigate further.' 
'He'd better not,' she replied in a chill tone. 

'There are not so many of the dens of the man-things in this 
place as there were in the place Sepal or the place Arjun,' Bhlokw 
noted as he and Ulath looked down at the village of Zhubay. It 
had seemed that they had been travelling for several days, but 
they all knew better. 
'No,' Ulath agreed. 'It is a smaller place with fewer of the 
man-things. ' 
'But there are many of the dens-of-cloth on the other side of 
the water hole,' the Troll added, pointing at the large tent city 
on the far side of the oasis. 
'Those are the ones we hunt,' Ulath told him. 
'Are you certain that we are permitted to kill and eat those?' 
Bhlokw asked. 'You and Tin-in would not let me do that in the 
place Sepal or the place Arjun or even in the place Hat-os.' 
'It is permitted here. We have put bait out to bring them to 
this place so that we can hunt them for food.' 
'What bait do you use to lure the man-things?' Bhlokw asked 
curiously. 'if the minds of the Gods ever get well again and they 
let us go back to hunting the man-things, it would be good to 
know this.' 
'The bait is thought, Bhlokw. The man-things in the dens-of-cloth 

 have come to this place because certain of our pack-mates 


put it in their thought that the tall man-things with the yellow 
skin will be here. The ones in the dens-of-cloth have come here 
to fight the tall ones with yellow skin.' 
Bhlokw's face contorted into a hideous approximation of a 
grin. 'That is good bait, U-lat,' he said. 'I will summon Ghworg 
and Ghnomb and tell them that we will go to the hunt now. 
How many of them may we kill and eat?' 
'All, Bhlokw. All.' 
'That is not a good thought, U-lat. If we kill and eat them all, 
they will not breed, and there will not be new ones to hunt in 
the next season. The good thought is to always let enough run 
away so that they can breed to keep the numbers of their herd 
the same. If we eat them all now, there will be none to eat 
by-and-by. ' 
Ulath considered that as Bhlokw cast the brief Troll-spell that 

summoned Ghworg and the others. He decided not to make 
an issue of it. The Trolls were hunters, not warriors, and it 
would take far too long to explain the concept of total war to 
them. 
Bhlokw conferred at some length with the enormous presences 

 of his Gods in the grey light of No-Time, and then he 
raised his brutish face and bellowed his summons to the rest of 
the herd. 
The great shaggy mass flowed down the hill toward the village 
and the forest of tents beyond the oasis in the steely light of 
frozen time as Ulath and Tynian watched from the hilltop. The 
Trolls divided, went around the village, and moved in among 
the Cynesgan tents, fanning out as each of the great beasts selected 

 its prey. Then, evidently at a signal from Bhlokw, the chill 
light flickered and the sunlight returned. 
There were screams, of course, but that was to be expected. 
Very few men in the entire world will not scream when a fullgrown 

 Troll suddenly steps out of nowhere immediately in front 
of them. 
The carnage in that vast slaughtering-ground beyond the oasis 
was ghastly, since the Trolls were bent not on fighting the 
Cynesgans but on tearing them to pieces in preparation for the 
feast to follow. 
'Some of them are getting away,' Tynian observed, pointing 
at a sizeable number of panic-stricken Cynesgans desperately 
flogging their horses southward. 
ulath shrugged. 'Breeding stock,' he said. 
'What?' 
'It's a Trollish concept, Tynian. It's a way to guarantee a continuing 

 food-supply. If the Trolls eat them all today, there won't 
be any left when supper-time rolls around tomorrow.' 
Tynian shuddered with revulsion. 'That's a horrible thought, 
Ulath!' he exclaimed. 
'Yes,' Ulath agreed, 'moderately horrible, but one should 
always respect the customs and traditions of one's allies, 
wouldn't you say?' 
At the end of a half-hour, the tents were all flattened, the 
breeding stock had been permitted to escape, and the Trolls 
settled down to eat. The Cynesgan threat in the north had been 
effectively eliminated, and now the Trolls were free to join the 


march on Cyrga. 


Khalad sat up suddenly, throwing off his blankets. 'Berit,' he 
said sharply.
Berit came awake instantly, reaching for his sword. 
'No,' Khalad told him. 'It's nothing like that. Do you know 
what firedamp iS?' 
'i've never heard of it.' Berit yawned and rubbed at his eyes. 
'i'm going to have to talk with Aphrael then - personally. 
How long will it take you to teach me the spell?' 
'That depends, I guess. Can't you pass what you have to tell 
her through me?' 
'No. I need to ask her some questions, and you wouldn't 
understand what I'm talking about. I've got to talk with her 
myself. It's very important, Berit. I don't have to understand 
the language to just repeat the words, do I?' 
Berit frowned. 'i'm not sure. Sephrenia and the Styric who 
replaced her at Demos wouldn't let us do it that way, because 
they said we had to think in StyriC.' 
'That could just be their peculiarity, not Aphrael's. Let's try it 
and find out if I can reach her.' 
It took them almost two hours, and Berit, sandy-eyed and 
definitely in need of more sleep, began to grow grouchy toward 
the end. 
'i'm going to be mispronouncing words,' Khalad said finally. 
'There's no way I'll ever be able to twist my mouth around to 
make some of those sounds. Let's try it and see what happens.' 
'You'll make her angry,' Berit warned. 
'She'll get over it. Here goes.' Khalad began to haltingly pronounce 


 the spell, and his fingers faltered as he moved them in
the accompanying gestures. 
'What on earth are you doing, Khalad?' Her voice almost 
crackled in his ears. 
'i'm sorry, Flute,' he apologized, 'but this is urgent.' 
'Berit's not hurt, is he?' she demanded with a note of concern. 
'No. He's fine. It's just that I need to talk with you personally 
Do you know what firedamp is?' 
'Yes. It sometimes kills coal-miners.' 
'You said that klael's soldiers breathe something like 
marsh-gas. ' 
'Yes. Where are we going with this? I'm sort of busy just now.' 
'Please be patient, Divine One. i'm still groping my way 
toward this. Berit told you that we saw some of those aliens run 
into a cave, didn't he?' 
'Yes, but I still don't 'I 


 thought that klael might have filled the cave with marsh-gas 
so that his soldiers could go there to breathe, but now I'm not 
so sure. Maybe the gas was already there.' 
'Would you please get to the point?' 
'is it possible that firedamp and marsh-gas are anything at all 
alike?' 
She sighed one of those infuriating long-suffering sighs. 'Very 
much alike, Khalad - which sort of stands to reason, since 
they're the same thing.' 
'I do love you, Aphrael,' he said with a delighted laugh.
'What brought that on?' 



'I knew there had to be a connection of some kind. This is a 
desert, and there aren't any swamps here. I couldn't for the life 
of me figure out where klael might be getting marsh-gas to fill 
that cave. But he didn't have to, did he? If marsh-gas is the same 
thing as firedamp, all he had to do was find a cave with a seam 
of coal in it.' 
'All right, now that I've answered your question and satisfied 
your scientific curiosity, can I go?' 
'In a minute, Divine Aphrael,' he said, rubbing his hands 
together gleefully. 'is there some way that you can blow some 
of our air into that cave so that it'll mix with the firedamp those 
soldiers are breathing?' 
There was another of those long pauses. 'That's dreadful, 
Khalad!' she exclaimed. 
'And what happened to Lord Abriel and Lord Vanion's 
knights wasn't?' he demanded. 'This is war, Aphrael, and it's a 
war we absolutely have to win. If klael's soldiers can run into 
those caves to catch their breath, they'll be coming out and 
attacking our friends every time we turn around. We have to 
come up with a way to neutralize them, and I think this is it. 
Can you take us back to that cave where we saw those soldiers?' 
'All right.' Her tone was a little sulky. 
'What were you talking with her about?' Berit asked. 
'A way to win the war, Berit. Let's gather up our things.


y 
Aphrael's going to take us back to that cave.' 


'Are they still coming?' Vanion called back to Sir Endrik, who 
was trailing behind the other knights. 
'Yes, my Lord,' Endrik shouted. 'Some of them are starting 
to fall behind, though.' 
'Good. They're beginning to weaken.' Vanion looked out 
across the rocky barrens lying ahead. 'We've got plenty of room, 
he told Sephrenia. 'We'll lead them out onto those flats and run 
them around for a while.' 
'This is cruel, Vanion,' she reproved him.
'They don't have to follow us, love.' He rose up in his stirrups. 
'Let's pick up the pace, gentlemen,' he called to his knights. 'I 
want those monsters to really run.' 
The knights pushed their horses into a gallop and moved out 
onto the barren flats with a vast, steely jingling sound.
'They're breaking off." Endrik called from behind after about 
half an hour. 


Vanion raised his steel-clad arm to call a halt. Then he reined
in and looked back. 
The masked giants had given up their pursuit and were running


 due west now, staggering toward an outcropping of rocky 
hills several miles away. 
'That's the part that has everybody baffled,' he told Sephrenia. 
'From what Aphrael told me, the others have encountered the 
same thing. Klael's soldiers chase after us for a while, and then 
they break off and run toward the nearest cluster of hills. What 
can they possibly hope to find that's going to do them any good?' 
'I have no idea, dear one,' she replied. 



'This is all very fine, I suppose,' Vanion said with a worried 
frown, 'but when we begin our final advance on Cyrga, we 
won't have time to run those brutes into exhaustion. Not only 
that, klael will' probably start massing them in units larger than 
these regiments we've been coming across out here in the open. 
If we don't come up with some way to neutralize them permanently, 


 our chances of getting to Cyrga alive aren't very good.' 
'Lord Vanion!' one of the knights cried out in alarm. 'There 
are more of them coming.'
'Where!' Vanion looked around. 
'From the west!' 
Vanion peered after the fleeing monsters. And then he saw 
them. There were two regiments of Klael's soldiers out there on 
the flats. The one they had encountered earlier was reeling and 
staggering toward the hills jutting up from the horizon. The 
other was coming toward them from the hills, and the second 
regiment showed no signs of the exhaustion which had incapacitated 


 their fellows. 


'This is ridiculous,' Talen muttered, examining the lock on his 
chain with sensitive fingertips. 
'You said you could unlock them,' Kalten accused in a hoarse 
whisper. 
'Kalten, you could unlock these. They're the worst locks I've 
ever seen. ' 
"just open them, Talen,' Sparhawk told him quietly. 'Don't 


give lectures. We still have to get out of this pen.' 
They had merged with the other woodcutters and had passed 
unchallenged through the gates of Cyrga just as the sun was 
setting. Then they had followed the slaves to an open square 
near the gate, unloaded their cart onto one of the stacks of wood 
piled there, and leaned the cart against a rough stone wall with 
the others. Then, like docile cattle, they had gone into the large 
slave-pen and allowed the Cynesgan overseers to chain them to 
rusty iron rings protruding from the rear wall of the pen. 
They had been fed a thin, watery soup and had then bedded 
down in piles of filthy straw heaped against the wall to wait for 
nightfall. Xanetia was not with them. Silent and unseen, she 
roamed the streets outside the pen instead. 
'Hold your leg still, Kalten,' Talen hissed. 'I can't get the chain 
off when you're flopping around like that.' 
'Sorry.' 
The boy concentrated for a moment, and the lock snapped 


open. Then he moved on, crawling through the rustling 
straw.
'Don't get so familiar,' Mirtai's voice muttered in the darkness. 
'Sorry. I was looking for your ankle.' 
'It's on the other end of the leg.' 
'Yes. I noticed that myself. It's dark, Atana. I can't see what 
i'm doing.' 
'What are you men doing there?' It was a whining, servile 
kind of voice coming from somewhere in the straw beyond 
where Kalten lay. 
'It's none of your business,' Kalten rasped. 'Go back to sleep.' 



'I want to know what you're doing. If you don't tell me, I'll 
call the overseers.' 
"you'd better shut him up, Kalten,' Mirtai muttered. 'He's an 
informer.' 
'i'll deal with it,' Kalten replied darkly. He slipped away 
through the rustling straw. 
'What are you doing?' the slave with the whining voice 
demanded. 'How did you --' The voice broke off, and there was 
a sudden thrashing in the straw and a kind of wheezy gurgling. 
'What's going on out there?' A harsh voice called from the 
overseer's barracks. The barracks doorway poured light out into 
the yard. 
There was no answer, only a few spasmodic rustles in the 
straw. Kalten was breathing a little hard when he returned to 
his place, quickly wrapped his chain around his ankles again and 
covered it with straw. 
They waited tensely, butt the Cynesgan overseer evidently 
decided not to investigate. He went back inside, closing the door 
behind him and plunging the yard into darkness again. 
'Does that happen often - among slaves, I mean?' Bevier whispered 

 to Mirtai as Talen was unchaining him. 
'All the time,' she murmured. 'There's no loyalty among 
slaves. One slave will betray another for an extra crust of bread.' 
'How sad.' 
'Slavery? I could find harsher words than sad.' 
'Let's go,' Sparhawk told them. 
'How are we going to find Xanetia?' Kalten whispered as they 
crossed the pen. 
'We can't. She's going to have to find us.' 
It took Talen only a moment to unlock the gate, and they all 
slipped out into the dark street beyond. They crept along that 
street to the large square where the firewood was stacked and 
stopped before stepping out into the open. 
'Take a look, Talen,' Sparhawk suggested. 
'Right.' The young thief melted away into the darkness. The 
rest of them waited tensely. 
'It's all clear,' Talen's whisper came to them after a few 
minutes. 'The carts are over here.' 
They followed the sound of his hushed voice and soon 
reached the line of wood-carts leaning against the wall. 
'Did you see any guards?' Kalten asked. 
'Who's going to stay up all night to guard a wood pile?' Talen 
dropped down onto his stomach and wormed his way under 
the cart. There was a faint creaking of the tightly-woven limbs 
of the makeshift basket. 'Here,' Talen said. A sword-tip banged 
against Sparhawk's shin. 
Sparhawk took the sword, handed it to Kalten and then leaned down. 
'Pass them out hilt-first,' he instructed. 'Don't poke me 
with the sharp end of a sword that way.' 
"I'll try.' Talen continued to pass out weapons and then followed 

 them with their mail-shirts and tunics. They all felt better 
once they were armed again. 
"Anakha?' The voice was soft and very light. 
"Is that you, Xanetia?' Sparhawk realized how foolish the question 

 was almost before it left his lips. 
yes,' she replied. 'Come away, I prithee. The whisper is 


the natural voice of stealth, and it doth carry far by night. Let 
%y 'ere they who watch this sleeping city come hither in 
of the source of our incautious conversation.' 

"We're going to have to wait a bit,' Khalad said. 'Aphrael has to 
blow air into that cave.' 
'Are you sure this is going to work?' berit asked dubiously. 
'No, not really, but it's worth a try, isn't it?' 
'You don't even know for sure that they're still inside the 
cave. ' 
'That doesn't really matter. Either way they won't be able to 
hide in the cave any more.' Khalad began to carefully wrap a 
length of oil-soaked rag around one of his crossbow bolts. Then, 
being careful to conceal the sparks with his body, he began 
striking his flint and steel together. After a moment, his tinder 
caught, he lit his stub of a candle, and brushed the fire out of 
his tinder. Then he carefully put the candle behind a fair-sized 
rock. 
'Aphrael seems to be unhappy about this, Khalad,' Berit said 
as a chill breeze came up. 
'I wasn't too happy about what happened to Lord Abriel 
either,' Khalad replied bleakly. 'I had a great deal of respect for 
that old man, and these monsters with yellow blood tore him 
to pieces.' 
"you're doing this for revenge then?' 
'No. Not really. This is just the most practical way to get rid 
of them. Ask Aphrael to let me know when there's enough air 
in the cave.' 
'How long is that likely to take?' 
'I have no idea. All the coal-miners who've ever seen it up 
close are dead.' Khalad scratched at his beard. 'i'm not entirely 
sure what's going to happen here, Berit. When marsh-gas 
catches on fire, it just burns off and goes out. Firedamp's a little 
more spectacular.' 
'What's all this business about blowing air into the cave?' Berit 
demanded. 
'Khalad shrugged. 'Fire's a living thing. It has to be able to 
breathe.' 
'You're just guessing about this, aren't you? You don't have 
any idea at all whether or not it's going to work - or if it does, what's 
going to happen.' 
Khalad gave him a tight grin. 'i've got a good working theory.' 
'I think you're insane. You could set the whole desert on fire 
with this silly experiment of yours.' 
'Oh, that probably won't happen.' 
'Probably?' 
'It's very unlikely. I can just make out that cave mouth. Why 
don't I try it?' 
'What happens if you miss?' 
Khalad shrugged. 'i'll shoot again." 
'That's not what I meant. I was -' Berit broke off, listening 
intently. 'Aphrael says that the mixture's right now. You can 
shoot whenever you're ready.' 
Khalad held the point of his crossbow bolt in the candle-flame, 
turning it slowly to make certain that the oily rag was evenly 
ablaze. Then he set the burning bolt in place, laid the forestock 


of his crossbow on a rock, and took careful aim. 'Here goes,' he 
said, slowly pressing the lever. 
The crossbow gave a ringing thud, and the burning arrow 
streaked through the darkness and disappeared into the narrow 
cave mouth. 


'So much for your good working theory,' Berit said sardonically. 


 Nothing happened. 
Khalad swore, banging his fist on the gravel. 'It has to work, 
Berit. I did everything exactly -' 
The sound was beyond noise when the hill exploded, and a 
ball of fire hundreds of feet across seethed skyward out of the 
crater that had suddenly replaced the hill. Without thinking, 
Khalad threw himself across Berit's head, covering the back of 
his own neck with his hands. 
Fortunately, what fell on them was small gravel for the most 
part. The larger rocks fell much further out into the desert. 
It continued to rain gravel for several minutes, and the two 
'young men, battered and shaken, lay tensely clenched, endurIng


 the cataclysmic results of Khalad's experiment. 
Gradually, the stinging rain subsided. 
'You idiot!' Berit screamed. 'You could have killed us both.' 
'I must have miscalculated just a little,' Khalad conceded, 
shaking the dirt out of his hair. 'i'll have to work on it a bit 
before we try it again.' 
'Try it again? What are you talking about?' 
'It does work, Berit,' Khalad said in his most reasonable tone 
of voice. 
'All I have to do is fine-tune it a little bit. Every experiment's 


 got a few rough places around the edges.' He stood up, 
thumping the side of his head with the heel of his hand to shake 
the ringing out of his ears. 'i'll get it perfected, my lord,' he 
promised, helping Berit to his feet. 'The next time won't be 
nearly so bad. Now, why don't you ask Aphrael to take us back 
to camp? We're probably being watched, so let's not arouse any 
suspicions. ' 


ChApTER 28


'We're inside the city, Aphrael,' Sparhawk announced silently 
after he had cast the spell. 
'How did you manage that?' She sounded surprised. 
'It's a long story. Tell Khalad that I've marked the passageway 
that leads into the valley. He'll know what to look for.'
'Have you found out where they're keeping Mother yet?' 
'Speculatively. ' 
There was a long pause. 'i'd better come there,' she decided. 
'How will you find us?' 
'i'll use you as a beacon. Just keep talking to me.' 
'I don't think it's a good idea. We're right in Cyrgon's lap 
here. Won't he be able to sense you?' 
'Xanetia's there, isn't she?'
'Yes.' 
'Then Cyrgon won't feel a thing. That's why I sent her along. 
She paused again. 'Who came up with a way to get you inside
the city?' 



'It was Talen's idea.' 
'You see? And you wanted to argue with me about taking him 
with you. When will you learn to trust me, Father? Keep talking. 
I've almost got you located. Tell me how Talen managed to get 
you inside the walls of Cyrga.' 
He described the subterfuge at some length. 
'All right,' she said from just behind him. 'That's enough. I 
get the general drift.' He turned and saw her in Xanetia's arms. 
She looked around. 'I see that the Cyrgai haven't discovered fire 
yet. It's darker than the inside of an old boot here. Exactly where 
are we?' 
'in the outer city, Divine One,' Bevier said softly. 'I suppose 
you could call it the commercial district. The slave-pens are here 
and various warehouses. It's guarded by Cynesgans and they're 
not particularly alert.' 
'Good. Let's get out of the street.' 
Talen groped his way along one of the barn-like storehouses 
until he found a door. 'Over here,' he whispered. 
'isn't it locked?' Kalten asked. 
'Not any more.' 
They joined him and went inside. 
'Would you mind, dear?' Aphrael asked Xanetia. 'I can't see 
a thing in this place.' 
Xanetia's face began to glow, a soft light that faintly illumimated 


 the area around them. 
'What do they keep in here?' Kalten asked, peering into the 
dimness. 'Food maybe?' His tone was hopeful. 'That slop they 
fed us in the slave-pens wasn't very filling.' 
'I don't think it's a food warehouse,' Talen told him. 'It doesn't 
smell quite right.' 
'You can go exploring some other time,' Aphrael told him 
crisply. 'We have other things to do now.'
'How are the others making out?' SParhawk asked her. 
'Bergsten's captured Cynestra,'' she reported, 'and he's 
coming south with the Church Knights. Ulath and Tynian took
the Trolls to Zhubay, and the Trolls ate about half of the Cymesgan


 cavalry. Betuana and Engessa are marching southwest with 
the Atans. Vanion and Sephrenia are out in the desert laying 
down false hints that you're with them. Kring and Tikume are 
allowing themselves to be chased all over the desert west of 
Sama by Cyrgai, Cynesgan cavalry, and klael's overgrown soldiers although 


 I don't think those brutes are going to be a 
problem for much longer. Khalad's devised a way to neutralize them.' 


'All by himself?' Talen sounded surPrised. 
'klael outsmarted himself. He found caves where his soldiers 
could breathe, and they were hiding in the caves and then 
coming out to attack us. Khalad's come up with a way to set 
the caves on fire. The results are fairly noisy.' 
'That's my brother for you,' Talen said proudly. 
'Yes,' the Child Goddess said critically. 'He's inventing 
horrors at every turn. Stragen and Caalador have managed to 
convince that Dacite in Beresa that we've got an invasion force 
off the south coast and -' she stopped. 'You know about all 
this already, Sparhawk. Why am I wasting time describing it 
to you?' 



'It's all going according to plan, then?' he asked her. 'No setbacks?

 No new surPrises?' 
'Not for us. Cyrgon's not having such a good time, though. 
The Delphae have almost completely dispersed Scarpa's army, 
so the danger to Matherion's pretty much evaporated. I've 
enlisted some of my family to lend a hand. They're compressing 
time and distance. As soon as Ehlana's safe, I'll pass the word, 
and we'll have whole armies knocking at the gates of Cyrga.' 
'Did you get word of Khalad's invention to the others?' Talen 
asked her. 
'My cousin Setras is taking care of it for me. Setras is a little 
vague sometimes, but I went over it with him several times. I 
don't think he'll garble it too badly. Everything's in place. The 
others are simply waiting for word from us to start moving, so 
let's get down to business. Has anyone had a chance to look 
around here at all?' 
'I have explored the outer city to some degree, Divine 
Aphrael,' Xanetia replied. 'Anakha deemed it unwise for me to 
share their captivity in the slave-pens.' 
The Child Goddess handed Talen a large sheet of stiff, crackling 

 parchment and a pencil. 'Here,' she said to him, 
"earn your keep.' 
'Where did you get these?' he asked curiously. 
'I had them in one of my pockets.' 
'You don't have any pockets, Flute.' 
She gave him one of those long-suffering looks. 
'Oh,' he said. 'I keep forgetting that for some reason. All right, 
Anarae, you describe the city, and I'll draw it.' 
The sketch that emerged was fairly detailed - as far as it went. 
'I was not able to penetrate the wall which doth encircle the inner 
city,' Xanetia apologized. 'The gates are perpetually locked, for 
the Cyrgai do hold themselves aloof from their Cynesgan hirelings 

 and from the slaves whose toil supports them.' 
'This should be enough to work with for now,' Flute said, 
pursing her lips as she examined Talen's drawing. 'All right, 
bevier, you're the expert on fortifications. Where's the weak

 spot?" 
the Cyrinic studied the sketch for several minutes. 'Did you 
see any wells, Anarae?' he asked. 
'Nay, Sir Knight.' 
They've got a lake right outside the front gate, Bevi er,' Kalten 
reminded him. 
That wouldn't do much good if the city were under siege,' 
Bevier replied. 'There has to be some source of water inside the 
walls - either a well or some kind of a cistern. A siege ends 
rather quickly when the defenders run out of water.' 

"siege?' Mirtai asked. 'Nobody's supposed to be able to find it.' 
"What makes you think that the place was built to hold off a 
siege?" 
the walls are a little too high and thick to be purely ornamental, 


Atana. Cyrga's a fortified city, and that means that it was 
built to withstand a siege. The Cyrgai aren't very bright, but 
nobody's stupid enough to build a fort without water inside. 
That's my best guess, Divine Aphrael. Find out how they're 
getting water - both here in the outer city and in the inner city 



as well. There might be a weakness there. If not, we may have 
to tunnel under the inner wall or try to scale it.' 
'Let's hope it doesn't come to that, Aphrael said. 'We're inside 
the enemy city, and the longer we putter around, the more 
chance there is of being discovered. If it's in any way possible, 

%'' j-'""') 
lonrudlgwXkatnrrttiuhteftrEtahteEcrhasnlma)ntoabeiannXelPAeoledbodAytlolsnrgii''ggXntt'gthltelolngs)eeXnt 
admnuoeuctihat rwslleeoetr)PdsE 
t "go co for water. The rest of you stay here. We don't want to 
have to go looking for you when we come back.' 

Are you mad, Gardas?' Bergsten demanded of the massively 
armored Alcione knight. The Thalesian Patriarch refused to look 
at the pleasant-faced young man standing beside the knight. 
"I'm not even supposed to admit that he exists, much less sit 
down and talk with him.' 
'Aphrael said you might be tedious about this, Bergsten,' the 
man Sir Gardas had escorted into the Patriarch's tent noted. 
"would it help at all if I did something miraculous?' 
Bergsten said. 'Please don't do that! I'm probably in 
enough trouble already!' 
"Dolmant had some problems when I visited him, too,' 
Aphrael's cousin observed. 'You servants of the Elene God have 
some strange ideas. He doesn't get excited about us, so why 
should you? Anyway, the normal rules are all more or less suspended 

 until this crisis is over. We've even enlisted Edaemus 
and the Atan God - and they haven't spoken to any of the rest 
of us for eons. Aphrael wants me to tell you about something 
having to do with the soldiers Klael brought with him. Somebody 
named Khalad has devised a means of destroying them.' 
'Tell Gardas about it,' Bergsten suggested. 'He can pass it on 
to me, and I won't get into trouble.' 
'i'm sorry, Bergsten, but Aphrael insisted that I say it directly 
to you. Just pretend that I'm a dream or something.' Setras' face 
grew slightly puzzled, and his large, luminous eyes revealed a 
frightening lack of comprehension. 'I don't entirely understand 
this,' he confessed. 'Aphrael's much cleverer than I am - but 
we love each other, so she doesn't throw my stupidity into my 
face very often. She's terribly polite. She's even nice to your 
God, and he can be extremely tedious sometimes - where was 
I?" 
'Ah -' Sir Gardas said gently, 'you were going to tell his Grace 
about Klael's soldiers, Divine Setras.' 
'I was?' The large eyes were blank. 'Oh, yes. I was, wasn't I? 
You mustn't let me ramble on like that, Gardas. You know how 
easily I get distracted.' 
'Yes, Divine Setras. That had occurred to me.' 
'Anyway,' Setras pushed on, 'this Khalad person - a frightfully 

 clever young man, I gather - realized that there might be 
some similarity between the awful stuff Klael's soldiers breathe 
and something he calls "firedamp". Have you any idea at all of 
what he was talking about, Bergsten?' Setras hesitated. 'Am I 
supposed to call you "your Grace" the way Gardas did? Are 
you really that graceful? You look awfully large and clumsy to 
me.' 


'It's a formal mode of address, Divine One,' Sir Gardas
explained. 
'Oh. We don't have to be formal with each other, do we 
Bergsten? We're almost old friends now, aren't we?' 
The Patriarch of Emsat swallowed very hard. Then he sighed. 
'Yes, Divine Setras,' he said. 'I suppose we are. Why don't you 
go ahead and tell me about this strategy Sparhawk's squire has 
devised?' 
'Of course. Oh, there's one other thing, too. We have to be 
at the gates of Cyrga by morning.' 


'Please, Atana Liatris,' Baroness Melidere said patiently to Sarabian's 


 Atan wife, 'we want them to make the attempt.' 
'It is too dangerous,' Liatris said stubbornly. 'if I go ahead 
and kill Chacole and Torellia, the others will run away and that 
will be the end of it.' 
'Except that we'll never find out who else is involved,' Patriarch 


 Emban explained. 'And we can't know for certain that they 
won't try again.' 
Princess Danae sat a little apart from them with Mmrr curled
up in her lap. Her vision was strangely doubled with one 
image superimposed on the other. It seemed that the dark 
streets of Cyrga lay just behind the others here in the sitting-room. 
'i'm touched by your concern, Liatris,' Sarabian was saying, 
'but I'm not nearly as helpless as I seem.' He flourished his 
rapier. 
'And we will have guards nearby,' Foreign Minister Oscagne 
added. 'Chacole and Torellia almost have to be getting help from 
somebody inside the government.- ,some leftover from that 
coup-attempt, most likely.' 
'I will wring his identity from them before I kill them,' Liatris 
declared. 
Sarabian winced at the word 'wring' 
'We are near, Divine Aphrael.' Xanetia's voice seemed at once 
a long way away and very close. 'Methinks I do smell water.' 
The dark, narrow street they followed opened out into some 
kind of square a hundred feet further on.
'Let's catch them all, Liatris,' Elysoun urged her sisterempress. 
'you might be able to beat one or two names out of 
Chacole and Torellia, but if we can catch the assassins in the 
actual attempt, we'll be able to sweep the palace compound 
clean. If we don't, our husband's going to have to go through 
the rest of his life with a drawn rapier.' 
'Hark!' Xanetia whispered in that other (city. 'I do hear the 
sound of running water.' 
Danae concentrated very hard. It was exhausting to keep 
things separate. 
'I really hate to have to put it this way, Liatris,' Sarabian said 
regretfully, 'but I forbid you to kill either Chacole or Torellia 
We'll deal with them after their assassins try to kill me.' 
'As my husband commands,' Liatris responded automatically. 
'What I want you to do is to protect Elysoun and Gahennas,' 
he continued. 'Gahennas is probably in the greater danger right 
now. Elysoun's still useful to the people involved in this, 
but Gahennas knows more than they want her to. I'm sure 
they'll try to kill her, so let's get her out of the Women's Palace 



tonight.' 
'It is beneath the street, Divine One,' Xanetia said. 'Methinks 
there is some volume of water passing under our feet.' 
'Truly,' the Child Goddess replied. 'Let's follow the sound 
back to its source. There has to be some way to get to the water 
here in the outer city.' 
'How did you become involved in this, Elysoun?' Liatris was 
asking. 
Elysoun shrugged. 'I have more freedom of movement than 
the rest of you,' she replied. 'Chacole needed somebody she 
trusted to carry messages out of the Women's Palace. I pretended


 to fall in with her plan. It wasn't too hard to deceiVC 
Chacole. She is a Cynesgan, after all.' 
'It is here, Divine One,' Xanetia whispered, laying her hand 
on a large iron plate set into the cobblestones. 'Thou canst feel 
the urgent rush of water through the very iron.' 
'i'll take your word for it, Anarae,' Aphrael replied, cringing 
back from the notion of touching iron. 'How do they get it open?' 
'These rings do suggest that the plate can be lifted.' 
'Let's go back and get the others. I think this might be the 
weakness Bevier was looking for.' 
Danae yawned. Everything seemed to be under control, so 
she curled up in her chair, nestled Mmrr in her arms, and 
promptly fell asleep. 


'Couldn't you have just - well -?' Talen wiggled his fingers. 
'It's iron, Talen,' Flute said with exaggerated patience
She shuddered. 'I can't bear the touch of iron. 
'So? What's that got to do with it?' 
Bevier looked intently at her. 'Bhelliom suffers from the same 
affliction,' he observed. 
'Yes. So what?' 
'That would suggest a certain kinship.' 
'Your grasp of the obvious is positively dazzling, Bevier.' 
'Behave yourself,' Sparhawk chided. 
'What's so unpleasant about iron?' Talen asked. 'It's cold, 
it's hard, you can pound it into various shapes, and it gets 
% 
'That's a nice scholarly description. Do you know what a lodestone 


is?' 
'It's a piece of iron ore that sticks to other iron, isn't it? I seem 
to remember Platime talking about something called magnetism 
once.' 
'And you actually listened? Amazing.' 
'That's why Bhelliom had to congeal itself into a sapphire!' 
Bevier exclaimed. 'It's the magnetism of iron, isn't it? Bhelliom 
can't bear it - and neither can you, isn't that so?' 
'Please, Bevier,' Aphrael said weakly. 'just thinking about it 
makes my flesh crawl. Right now we don't want to talk about 
iron. We want to talk about water. There's a stream or river of 
some kind running under the streets here in the outer city, and 
it's flowing in the direction of the inner wall. There's a large 
iron plate set in the middle of the street not far from here, and 
you can hear the water running beneath it. I think that's the 
weakness you were looking for. The water's running through a 
tunnel of some kind, and that tunnel goes under the wall of the 



inner fortress - at least I hope so. I'll go find out as soon as you 
gentlemen lift off that iron plate for me.' 
'Did you see any patrols in the streets?' Kalten asked.
'Nay, Sir Knight,' Xanetia replied. 'Centuries of custom have 
clearly dulled the alertness of the Cynesgans responsible for the 
defense of the outer city.' 
'A burglar's dream,' Talen murmured. 'I could get rich in this 
town.' 
'What would you steal?' Aphrael asked him. 'The Cyrgai don't 
believe in gold and silver.' 
'What do they use for money?' 
'They don't. They don't need money. The Cynesgans provide 
them with everything they need, so they don't even think about 
money.' 
'That's monstrous.' 
'We can discuss economics some other time. Right now I want 
to investigate their water supply.' 


'You idiot!' queen Betuana raged at her general. 
'We had to find out, Betuana-Queen,' Engessa explained. 
'And I will not send another where I will not go.' 
'I am most displeased with you, Engessa-atan!' Betuana's 
retreat into ritualized mourning had vanished. 'Did your last 
encounter with the Klael-beasts teach you nothing? They could 
have been lurking just inside the cave, and you would have 
faced them alone again.' 
'It is not reasonable to suppose that they would have,' he 
replied stiffly. 'Aphrael's messenger told us that the Klael-beasts 
take shelter in caves that they might breathe a different air. The 
air at the entrance to this cave will be the same as the air outside.
It is of no moment, however. It is done, and no harm came 
from it.' 
She controlled her anger with an obvious effort. 'And what 
did you prove by your foolish venture, Engessa-atan?'
'The Klael-beasts have sealed the cave, Betuana-Queen,' he 
replied. 'Some hundred paces within stands a steel wall. It is 
reasonable to suppose that it may in some fashion be opened. 
The Klael beasts retreat beyond the barrier, close it behind them 
and are then able to breathe freely for a time. Then they emerge 
again and attack us once more.' 
'Was this information worth the risk of your life?' 
'We have yet to discover that, my Queen. The tactics devised
by Kring-Domi keep us out of the reach of the Klael-beasts, but 
I do not like this running away.' 


Betuana's eyes hardened. 'Nor do I,' she conceded. 
"I dishonor my husband's memory each time I turn and flee.' 
'Aphrael's cousin told us that Khalad-squire had found that 
the air which the Klael-beasts breathe will burn when it mixes 
with our air.' 
'I have not seen air burn before.' 
'Nor have I. If the trap that I have set for the Klael-beasts 
works, we may both see it happen.' 
'What sort of trap, Engessa-atan!' 
'A lantern, my Queen - well hidden." 
'A lantern? That's all?' 



'if Khalad-squire was right, it should be enough. I closed the 
lantern so that the Klael-beasts will see no light when they open 
their steel door to come out again. All unseen, their air will join 
with ours, and the mix will find its way to the candle burning 
inside my lantern. Then we will discover if Khalad-squire was 
right.' 
'Then we must wait until they open that door. I will not leave 
them behind us until I know without any doubt that this burning 
of air will kill them. As Ulath-Knight says, only a fool leaves 
live enemies behind him.' 
They concealed themselves behind an outcropping of rock and 
waited, intently watching the cave-mouth faintly visible in the 
light of the stars. 'It may be some time before they open their 
door, my Queen,' Engessa noted. 
'Engessa-atan,' Betuana said firmly, 'I have long thought that 
this formality of yours is out of place. We are soldiers, and 
comrades. Please address me as such.' 
'As you wish, Betuana-Atana.' 
They waited patiently, watching the sizeable peak and the 
dark mouth of the cave. Then, like a deep, subterranean thunder, 


 a stunning sound shattered the silence, shaking the ground, 
and a great billow of boiling fire blasted out of the cave-mouth, 
searing the few scrubby thorn-bushes growing nearby. The fire 
spewed out of the cave for what seemed hours, and then it 
gradually subsided. 
Engessa and his Queen, shocked by that violent eruption, 
could only stare in wonder. Finally, Betuana rose to her feet. 
'Now I have seen air burn,' she noted in a cool sort of way. 'It 
was worth the wait, I suppose." Then she smiled at her stillshaken 


 comrade. 'You lay good traps, Engessa-atan, but now 
we must hurry to rejoin the trolls. Ulath-Knight says that we 
must reach Cyrga by morning.' 
'Whatever you say, Betuana-atan,' he replied. 


'When I say, "lift",' Sparhawk instructed, settling his hands into 
place around the ring, 'and don't let it clank when we set it 
down. All right, lift.' 
Kalten, Bevier, Mirtai, and Sparhawk all rose slowly, straining 
to lift the rusty iron plate up out of its place among the worn 
cobblestones.
'Be careful,' Talen said to Mirtai. 'Don't fall in." 
'Do you want to do this?' she asked. 
The four of them shuffled around slightly and moved the 
ponderous weight to one side so that the large square hole was 
partially uncovered. 'Set it down,' Sparhawk said from between
his clenched teeth. 'Easy,' he added. 
They slowly lowered the cover to the stones. 
'it'd be easier to pick up a house,' Kalten wheezed. 
'Turn your backs,' Flute instructed. 
'Do you have to do that?' Talen asked. 'is it like flying?' 
'Just turn around, Talen." 
'Don't forget the clothes,' Sparhawk told her. 
'They'd just be in my way. If you don't like it, don't look." 
her voice was already richer. 
Bevier had his eyes tightly closed, and his lips were moving. 
He was obviously praying - very hard. 



'i'll be right back,' the Goddess promised. 'Don't go away.' 
They waited for what seemed to be hours. Then they heard 
a faint splashing down below. The splashing was accompanied 
by muffled laughter. 
Talen knelt at the edge of the rectangular shaft. 'Are you all 
right?' he whispered. 
'i'm fine.' 
'What's so funny?' 
'The Cyrgai. You wouldn't believe how stupid they are.' 
'what did they do now. ?' 
'The water comes from a large artesian spring right near the 
outer wall. The Cyrgai built a sort of cistern around it. Then 
they built a tunnel that goes under the inner wall to carry water 
to a very large pool that lies underneath the mountain they've 
built their main city on.' 
'What's wrong with that?' 
'Nothing - as far as it goes. They seem to have realized
the same thing that Bevier did. Their water-source is a weakness. 


 They very carefully, built a stone lattice at the mouth 
of the tunnel. Nobody ' can get into the tunnel from the
cistern.' 
'I still don't see anything to laugh about.'
'i'm just coming to that. This shaft that leads down to the 
tunnel seems to have been added later - probably so that theY 
could get into the tunnel to clean it.' 
'-that doesn't sound like such a bad idea. It is supposed to be 
drinking water, after all.' 
'yes, but when they dug the shaft, they forgot something. 
The other end of the tunnel - the one that's inside their second 
wall - is completely open. There aren't any bars, no lattice, no 
chains, nothing.' 
'You're not serious.' 
'May muh tongue turn green iff'n I ain't. 
'This is going to be easier than I thought,' Kalten said. He 
leaned over and peered down into the darkness. 'is that current 
very swift?' he called down softly. 
'Swift enough,' Aphrael replied. 'But that's all right. It speeds 
you right straight through, so you won't have to hold your 
breath so long.' 
'Do what?' his voice was choked. 
'Hold your breath. You have to swim under water.' 
'Not me,' he said flatly. 
'You do know how to swim, don't you? 
'I can swim in full armor if I have to.' 
'What's the problem, then?'
'I don't swim under water. It sends me into a panic.' 
'He's right, Aphrael,' Sparhawk called down softly. 'As soon 
as Kalten's head goes under water, he starts screaming.' 
'He can't do that. He'll drown.' 
'Exactly. I used to have to stand on his chest to squeeze the 
water out of him. It happened all the time when we were boys.' 
'Oh, dear,' she said. 'I hadn't counted on this.' 


CHAPTER 29 


The moon was almost full, and it stained the eastern horizon 



before it rose in a pallid imitation of dawn. It slid slowly into 
view, rising ponderously above the brittle white salt-flats. 
'Good God!' Berit exclaimed, staring at the horror all around 
them. What had seemed to be round white rocks by the faint 
light of the stars were revealed as bleached skulls, nesting in 
jumbles of bones and staring in mute accusation at the heavens. 
'It looks as if we've come to the right place,' Khalad observed. 
'The note Sparhawk left us talked about a "Plain of Bones".' 
'It goes on forever!' Berit gasped, looking off toward the west. 
'Let's hope not. We have to cross it.' Khalad stopped, peering 
intently toward the west. 'There it is,' he said, pointing at a 
gleaming spot of reflected light in the center of a low range of 
dark hills some distance beyond the ghastly plain. 
'There what is?' 
'Our landmark. Sparhawk called it the "Pillars of Cyrgon". 
Something out there's catching the moonlight. We're supposed 
to ride toward that spot.' 
'Who's that?' Berit hissed, pointing at a figure walking toward 
them out of the bone-littered desert. 
Khalad loosened his sword in its sheath. 'Another note from 
Krager, maybe,' he muttered. 'Let's start being a little careful, 
my Lord. I think we're getting very close to the place where 
we'll have outlived our usefulness.' 
The figure coming out of the desert seemed to be moving at 
no more than a casual stroll, and as he came closer, they were 
able to make out his features. 
'Watch yourself, Khalad!' Berit hissed sharply. 'He's not 
human.' 
Khalad felt it as well. It was nothing really definable, just an 
overpowering sense of presence, an aura that no human had. 
The figure appeared to be that of an extraordinarily handsome 
young man. He had tightly-curled hair, classic features and very 
large, almost luminous eyes. 'Ah, there you are, gentlemen,' he 
said urbanely in flawless Elenic. 'i've been looking all over for 
%you.' He glanced around. 'This is a really it)retclied place, don't 
you think? Exactly the sort of place you'd expect the Cyrgai to 
inhabit. Cyrgon's terribly warped. He adores ugliness. Have you 
ever met him? Frightful fellow. No sense of beauty whatsoever.' 
He smiled, a radiant, slightly vague smile. 'My cousin Aphrael 
sent me. She'd have come herself, but she's a little busy right 
now - but then, Aphrael's always busy isn't she? She can't 
stand to just sit quietly.' He frowned. 'She wanted me to tell 
you something.' His frown intensified. 'What was it now? I have 
the worst memory lately.' He held up one hand. 'No,' he said, 
'don't tell me. It'll come to me in a moment. It's terribly important, 

 though, and we're supposed to hurry. I'll probably 
think of it as we go along.' He looked around. 'Do you gentlemen 
by any chance happen to kn'ow which way we're 
supposed to go?' 

'It won't work, Aphrael,' Kalten said morosely. 'i've tried it when 
I was dead drunk and the same thing happens. I go crazy when 
I feel the water closing over my head.' 
'Just try it, Kalten,' the minimally dressed Goddess urged. 'It 
really will relax you.' She pushed the tankard into his hand. 
He sniffed suspiciously. 'It smells good. What is it?' 



'We drink it at parties." 
'The beer of the Gods?' His eyes brightened. 'Well, now." He 
took a cautious sip. 'Well now,"he said enthusiastically. 'That's 
the way it's supposed to taste.' 
'Drink it all.' she instructed, watching him intently. 
'Gladly. ' He drained the tankard and wiped his lips. 'That's 
really good. If a man had the recipe for that, he could -' he broke 
off, 'his eyes Blazed. 
'Lay him down,' Aphrael ordered. 'Quickly, before he stiffens 
up. I don't want him all twisted into a pretz'el when I drag him 
through the tunnel.' 
Talen was doubled over with both hands tightly over his 
mouth to stifle his laughter. 
'What's your problem?' the Goddess demanded tartly. 
'Nothing,' he gasped."Nothing at all.' 
'i've got a long way to go with that one,' Aphrael muttered 
to Sparhawk. 
'is this going to work?' Sparhawk asked her. 'Kalten, I mean? 
Can you really drag an unconscious man underwater for any 
distance without drowning him?' 
'i'll stop his breathing.' She looked around at the others. 'I 
don't want any of you to try to help me,' she cautioned. 'You 
just concentrate on getting through yourselves. I don't have to 
breathe, but you do, and I don't want to have to spend an hour 
fishing you out of that pool one by one after we get there. Now, 
does anybody else have any problems you haven't told me about? 
This is the time to talk about them - before we're all under water. 
She looked pointedly at Bevier. 'is there something you'd like to 
tell me, Sir Knight? You seem to be having a crisis of some sort. 
'It's nothing, Divine One,' he mumbled. 'i'll be fine. I swim 
like a fish.' He deliberately avoided looking at her. 
'What's bothering you, then?' 
'i'd really rather not say.' 
She sighed. 'Men.' Then she climbed into the shaft leading 
down toward the unseen water rushing toward the inner wall. 
'Bring Kalten,' she ordered, 'and let's get at this. 


'i'd really like to do something about that,' Sephrenia murmured 
to Vanion as they peered over the top of the gravel mound at 
the encampment of the slavers. 
'So would I, love,' Vanion replied, 'but I think we'd better 
wait until later. If everything goes the way it's supposed to, 
we'll be waiting for them when they reach Cyrga.' He raised 
himself a bit higher. 'I think that's the salt-flats just beyond that 
trail they're following.' 
'We'll be able to tell for certain when the moon rises,' she 
replied. 
'Have you heard anything at all from Aphrael?' 
'Nothing I can make any sense of. The echoes are very confusing 


 when she's in two places at the same time. I gather that 
things are coming to a head in Matherion, and she and Sparhawk 


 are swimming.' 
'Swimming? This is a desert, Sephrenia." 
'Yes, I noticed that. They've found something to swim in, 
though.' She paused. 'Does Kalten know how to swim?' she 
asked. 



'He splashes a great deal, but he manages to drag himself 
through the water. I wouldn't call him graceful, by any means. 
Why do you ask?' 
'She's having some sort of problems with him, and it has to 
do with swimming. Let's go back and join the others, dear one. 
just the sight of those slavers is setting my blood to boiling.' 
They slid back down the gravel-strewn mound and walked
along a shallow gully toward their armored soldiers. 
The Cyrinic knight, Sir Launesse, stood somewhat diffidently 
beside a burly, intricately curled and massively eyebrowed 
personage with heavy shoulders and a classical demeanor. 
'Sephrenia!' the clearly non-human being said in a voice that 
could probably have been heard in Thalesia. 'Well-met!' 
'Well-met indeed, Divine Romalic,' she replied with just a 
trace of a weary sigh. 
'Please, dear,' Vanion murmured, 'ask him to lower his voice.' 
'Nobody else can hear him,' she assured him. 'The Gods speak 
loudly - but only to certain ears.' 
'Thy sister bids me give thee greetings,' Romalic announced 
in a voice of thunder. 
'Thou art kind to bear those greetings, Divine One. 
'Kindness and courtesy aside, Sephrenia,' the huge God 
declaimed, combing his beard with enormous fingers, 'art thou 
yet prepared to serve us all and to assume thy proper place?' 
'I am unworthy, Divine One,' she replied modestly. 'Surely 
there are others wiser and better suited.' 
'What's this?' Vanion asked.
'It's been going on for a long time, dear one,' she explained. 
'i've been avoiding it for centuries. Romalic always has to bring 
it up, though.'
It all fell into place in Vanion's mind. 'Sephrenia.' he gasped. 
They want you to be Over-Priestess, don't they?' 
'It's Aphrael, Vanion, not me. They think they can get around 
her by offering this to me. I don't really want it, and they don't 
really want to give it to me, but they're afraid of her, and this 
is their way to placate her.'
'Aphrael bids thee to make haste,' Romalic proclaimed. 'Ye 
must all be at the gates of Cyrga ere dawn, for this is the night 
of decision, when Cyrgon and, yea, even klael, must be confronted 


 and, we may hope, confounded. E'en now doth Anakha
move ghost-like through the streets of the Hidden City towards 
his design. Let us hasten.' He lifted his voice and thundered, 
'On to Cyrga!'
'is he always like this?' Vanion murmured. 
'Romalic?' Sephrenia said. 'Oh, yes. He's perfectly suited to 
the Cyrinic Knights. Come along, dear one. Let's go to Cyrga.' 


There were dim, flickering lights far above, but the pool was 
sunk in inky blackness when Sparhawk surfaced and explosively 
blew out the breath he had been holding. 
'Kalten,' he heard Aphrael saying, 'wake up.' 
There was a startled cry and a great deal of splashing. 
'Oh, stop that,' the Goddess told Sparhawk's friend. 'It's all 
over, and you came through it just fine. Xanetia, dear, could we 
have a little light?' 
'Of a certainty, Divine One,' the Anarae replied, and her face



began to glow. 
'Are we all here?' Aphrael asked quietly, looking around. As 
Xanetia's light gradually increased, Sparhawk saw that the Goddess 

 appeared to be no more than waist-deep in the pool, and 
she was holding Kalten up by the back of his tunic. 
'Do you want to give me a hand with this, Sparhawk?' Bevier 
said. 
'Right.' Sparhawk swam over to join the Cyrinic, and together 
they hauled in the slender rope Bevier had trailed behind him 
as they had come through the tunnel. At the other end of the 
rope were their tightly-bundled mail-shirts and swords. 
'Wait a minute,' Bevier said when the rope suddenly went 
taut. 'It's caught on something.' He drew in several deep 
breaths, plunged under the surface, and went hand-over-hand 
back along the rope. Sparhawk waited, unconsciously holding his own breath. 

Then the rope came free, and he hauled it in quiclly. Bevier 
Popped to the surface again, blowing out air. 
'Are you sure you aren't part fish?' SParhawk asked him. 
'i've always had good lungs,' Bevier replied. 'Do you think 
we should get out our swords?' 
'Let's see what Aphrael says first,' Sparhawk decided, peering 
around. 'I don't see any place to climb up out of the water yet.' 
'Now what?' Talen was asking the Goddess. 'We're swimming 
around at the bottom of a well here.' He looked up at the sheer 
sides of the shaft rising from the pool. 'There are some openings 
up there, but there's no way to get to them.' 
'Did you bring it, Mirtai?' Aphrael asked. 
The giantess nodded. ''Excuse me a moment,' she said 
and she sank beneath the surface and began to pull off her 
tunic. 
'What's she doing?' Talen asked, peering down through the 
clear water. 
'She's taking off her clothes,' Aphrael replied, 'and she doesn't 
need any help from you. Keep your eyes where they belong.' 
'You run around naked all the time,' he protested. 'Why 
should you care if we watch Mirtai get undressed?' 
'It's entirely different,' she replied in a lofty tone. 'Now do as 
you're told.' 
Talen thrust himself around in the water until he had his back 
to Mirtai. 'i'm never going to understand her,' he grumbled. 
'Oh, yes you will, Talen,' she told him in a mysterious little 
voice. cBut not quite yet. I'll explain it all to you in a few more 
years.' 
Then Mirtai rose to the surface coiling the coil of rope that 
had been slung over her shoulder under her tunic. 'i'll need 
something to stand on, Aphrael,' she said, hefting the grappling 
hook attached to one end of the rope. 'I won't be able to throw 
this while I'm treading water.' 
'All right, gentlemen,' Aphrael said primly, 'eyes front.' 
Sparhawk's smile was concealed in the dimness. Talen was 
right. Aphrael seemed almost unaware of her own nakedness, 
but Mirtai's was an entirely different matter. He heard the sound 
of water trickling off the sleek limbs of the golden giantess as 
she rose to stand, he surmised, on its very surface. 
Then he heard the whistling sound of the grappling hook as 


Mirtai swung it in wider and wider circles. Then the whistling 
stopped for an interminable, breathless moment. There was the 
clink of steel on stone high above, followed by a grating sound 
as the points dug in. 
'Good cast,' Aphrael said. 
'Lucky,' Mirtai replied. 'It usually takes two or three throws.' 
Sparhawk felt a touch on his shoulder. 'Here,' Mirtai said, 
handing him the rope. 'Hold this while I get dressed. Then we' 
climb up and go find your wife. 


'What on earth are you doing, Bergsten?' 
The Patriarch of Emsat started violently and jerked his head 
around to stare at the God who had just walked up behind him. 
'You're supposed to be hurrying, you know,' Setras chided 
him. 'Aphrael wants everybody to be in place by morning.' 
'We came across some of Klael's soldiers, Divine One,' Sir 
Heldin rumbled. 'They're inSide that cave.' He pointed at a 
barely visible opening in the hillside across the shallow gully. 
'Why didn't you deal with them? I told you how to do it.' 
'We put a lantern in there, but there's a door inside the cave, 
Setras-God,' Atana Mans advised him. 
'Well, open it, dear lady,' Setras said. 'We really must reach 
Cyrga by morning. Aphrael will be terribly vexed with me if 
we're late.' 
'We'd gladly open it if we knew how, Divine One,' Bergsten 
told him, 'but late or not, I won't ride away from here and leave 
those monsters behind me, and if that vexes Aphrael, that's just 
too bad.' The handsome, stupid God irritated Bergsten for some
reason. 
'Why do I have to do everything myself?' Setras sighed. 'Wait 
here. I'll deal with this, and then we'll be able to move on. We're 
terribly behind schedule, you know. We'll have to get cracking 
if we're going to make it by morning.' He strolled on across the 
rocky gully and entered the cave. 
'That young fellow's really trying my patience,' Bergsten muttered. 
'Trying to explain something to him is like talking to a
brick. How can he be so -' Bergsten pulled up short just this 
side of heresy. 
'He's coming back out,' Atana Mans said. 
'I thought he might,' Bergsten said with some satisfaction. 
'Apparently he didn't have any better luck with that door than 
we did.' 
Setras was strolling toward them humming a Styric melody 
when the entire hill vanished in a great, fiery explosion that 
shook the very earth. The fire billowed out with a dreadful, 
seething roar, hurling Bergsten and the others to the ground 
and engulfing Aphrael's cousin. 
'Dear God!' Bergsten gasped, staring at the boiling fire. 
Then Setras, with not so much as a hair out of place, came 
sauntering out of the fire. 'There now,' he said mildly, 'that 
wasn't so difficult, was it?' 
'How did you get the door open, Divine One?' Heldin asked 
curiously.
'I didn't, old boy,' Setras smiled. 'Actually, they opened it for 
me.' 
'Why would they do that?'



'I knocked, dear boy. I knocked. Even creatures like that have 
some manners. Shall we be going, thenP' 


They are much feared by the other Cyrgai,' Xanetia reported, 
'and all do give way to them.' 
'That would be useful - if it weren't for the racial differences,' 
Bevier noted.
'Such differences do not pose an insurmountable obstacle, 
Sir Knight,' Xanetia assured him. 'Should it prove needful, thy 
features and those of thy companions may once more be altered. 
Divine Aphrael can doubtless serve in her sister's stead in the 
combining of the two spells which disguised ye previously.' 
'We 'can talk about that in a moment,' Flute said. 'First, 
though, I think we should all get some idea of how this part of 
the city's laid out.' The Goddess had asumed her more familiar 
form, and Bevier for one seemed much relieved. 
'Methinks this mount is not of natural origin, Divine One,' 
Xanetia told her. 'The sides are of uniform steepness, and the 
avenues which do ascend to the top are more stairways than 
streets. Cross-streets, however, do encircle the hill at regular
intervals.' 
'Unimaginative, aren't they?' Mirtai observed. 'Are there 
many of them wandering around out there?' 
'Nay, Atana. 'Tis late, and most have long since sought their 
beds.' 
'We could chance it,' Kalten mused. 'if Flute and Xanetia can 
make us louR like Cyrgai, we could just march right up the hill.' 
'Not in these clothes we can't,' Sparhawk disagreed. 
Talen slipped out of the shadows to re-enter the passageway 
leading back to the central shaft of the well. In many ways the 
agile young thief could be nearly as invisible as Xanetia. 'More 
soldiers coming,' he whispered. 
'Those patrols could get to be a nuisance,' Kalten said. 
'These aren't like those others,' Talen told him. 'They aren't 
patrolling the side-streets. They're just climbing the stairs toward 
the top of the city. They aren't wearing the same kind of armor 
either.' 
'Describe them, young master Talen,' Xanetia said intently. 
'They're wearing cloaks, for one thing,' Talen replied, 'and 
they've got a sort of emblem on their breastplates. Their helmets 
are different, too.' 
'Temple Guards then,' Xanetia said, 'the ones of which I spake 
earlier. I did glean from the thought of such few as I encountered 
that other Cyrgai do avoid them insofar as they might, and that 
all are obliged to bow down when they pass.' 
Sparhawk and Bevier exchanged a long look. 'There are the 
clothes you wanted, Sparhawk,' Bevier said. 
'How many are there?' Sparhawk asked Talen. 
'I counted ten.' 
Sparhawk considered it. 'Let's do it,' he decided, 'but try to 
keep the noise down.' And he led them out of the passageway 
into the street. 


'Good God, Ulath.' Itagne exclaimed, 'don't do that! My heart 
almost stopped!' 
'Sorry, Itagne,' the big Thalesian apologized. 'There's no really 



graceful way to come out of No-Time. Let's go talk with Betuana 
and Engessa.' 
They rode back to join the Queen and her general. 
'Sir Ulath just arrived with news, your Majesty,' Itagne said 
politely. 'Ah,' she said. 'Good news or bad news, Ulath-Knight?' 


'A little of each, your Majesty,' he replied. 'The Trolls are a 
couple of miles east of here.' 
'And what's the good news?' 


He smiled slightly. 'That is the good news. The bad news is


that there's another large force of Klael's soldiers waiting in 


ambush just south of here. They'll probably hit you within the 


hour. They're in our way, and we have to hurry. Sparhawk and 


the others are going to rescue Ehlana and her maid tonight, and 


he wants us all to converge on the city by morning.' 


'We must fight the klael-beasts then,' she said. 


'That could be troublesome,' Itagne murmured. 


'Tynian and I have worked out a solution of sorts,' Ulath 


'continued, 'but we don't want to offend you, your Majesty, so 


we thought I should stop by and talk it over first. klael's troops 


are preparing to ambush you. I know you'd prefer to deal with 


that yourself, but in the interests of expediency, would you be 


willing to forgo the pleasure?' 


'i'd be willing to listen, Ulath-Knight,' she said. 


'There are ways we could just slip around that ambush, but 


klael can probably do the same kinds of things to time and distance 
that Aphrael and her cousins can, and I don't think we


want those brutes coming up behind us.' 


'What's your solution then, Ulath-Knight?' 


'i've got a sizeable force at my disposal, your Majesty,' he 


replied, 'and they're hungry. Since we're too busy right now for 


an extended romp through the desert, why don't we just let the 


Trolls have klael's soldiers for breakfast?' 


Sir Anosian looked a little shaken as he rode forward to speak 


with Kring and Tikume. 


'What's the matter, friend Anosian?' Tikume asked the blackarmored 
Pandion. 'You look as if you just saw a ghost.' 


'Worse, friend Tikume,' Anosian replied. 'I'vejust been reprimanded 
by a God. Most men don't survive that experience.' 


'Aphrael again?' Kring guessed. 


'No, friend Kring. This time it was her cousin Hanka. He's


very abrupt. The Genidian Knights rely on him for assistance 


with their spells.' 


'He was unhappy with you?' Tikume asked. 'What did you 


do this time?'


Anosian made a sour face. 'Sometimes my spells are a little 


sloppy,' he admitted. 'Aphrael's generous enough to forgive 


me. Her cousin isn't.' He shuddered. 'Divine Hanka's going to 


hurry us along just a bit.' 


'Oh?' 


"We have to be at the gates of Cyrga by morning.' 


'How far is it?' Kring asked him. 


'I have no idea,' Anosian admitted, 'and under the circumStances, 
I didn't think it would be prudent to ask. Hanka wants 



Us to ride west from here.' 
Tikume frowned. 'if we don't know how far it is, how can we 
be sure we'll get there by morning?' 
'Oh, we'll get there all right, friend Tikume,' Anosian assured 
him. 'I think we'd better start moving, though. Divine Hanka's 
notoriously short-tempered. If we don't start riding west very 
soon, he might just decide to pick us up and throw us from here 
to Cyrga. ' 

The Temple Guardsman assumed a warlike posture - a rather 
stiff, formalized pose such as one occasionally sees on a frieze 
carved by an indifferently talented sculptor. Kalten brushed the 
man's sword aside and slammed his fist against the side of his 
helmet. The guardsman reeled away and fell heavily onto the 
cobblestones. He was struggling to rise again when Kalten 
kicked him solidly in the face. 
"Quietly, Kalten!' Sparhawk said in a hoarse whisper. 

'Sorry. I guess i got carried away.' Kalten bent and peeled 
back the fallen guardsman's eyelid. 'He'll sleep till noon,' he 
said. He straightened and looked around. 'is that all of them?' 
'That was the last,' Bevier whispered. 'Let's get them out of 
the middle of the street. The moon's finally starting to come up 
down in this basin, and it'll soon be as bright as day here.' 
It had been a short, ugly little fight. Sparhawk and his friends 
had rushed out of a dark side-street and had fallen on the detachment 

 from the rear. Surprise had accounted for much of their 
success, and what surprise had not accomplished had been more 
than made up for by the ineptitude of the ceremonial troops. 
Sparhawk concluded that the Cyrgai looked impressive, but that 
their training over the centuries had become so formalized and 
detached from reality that it had almost turned into a form of 
dance instead of a preparation for real combat. Since the Cyrgai 
could not cross the Styric curse-line, they had not been involved 
in any real fights for ten thousand years, and so they were 
hopelessly unprepared for all the nasty little tricks that crop up 
from time to time in close, hand-to-hand fighting. 
'I still don't see how we're going to pull this off,' Talen puffed 
as he dragged an inert guardsman back into the shadows. 'One 
look will tell the gate-guards that we're not Cyrgai.' 
'We've already discussed that while you were out scouting, 
Sparhawk told him. 'Xanetia and Aphrael are going to mix 
spells again - the way the Anarae and Sephrenia did back in 
Matherion. We'll look enough like Cyrgai to get us through the 
gate - particularly if the rest of the Cyrgai are as much afraid of 
these Temple Guardsmen as Xanetia says they are.' 
'As long as the subject's come up,' Kalten said, 'after we've 
bluffed our way past those gate-guards, I want my own face 
back. We stand a fair chance of getting killed tonight, and I'd 
like to have my own name on my tombstone. Besides, even if 
by some chance we succeed, I don't want to startle Alcan by 
coming at her with a stranger's face. After what she's been 
through, she's entitled to see the real me.' 
'I don't have any problem with that,' Sparhawk agreed. 

CHAPTER 30 


Captain Jodral returned just after dark, his loose robe flapping 
and his eyes wide as he desperately flogged at his horse. 'We're 
doomed, my General!' he shrieked. 
'Get control of yourself Jodral!' general Piras snaPPed. 'What 
did you see?' 
'There are millions of them, General!' jodral was still on the 
verge of hysteria. 
'jodral, you've never seen a million of anything. Now, what's 
out there?' 
'They're coming across the Sama, General,' Jodral replied, 
trying his best to control his quavering voice. 'The reports about 
that fleet are true. I saw the ships.' 
'Where? We're ten leagues from the coast.' 
'They've sailed up the River Sama, General Piras, and they've 
lashed their ships together side by side to form bridges.' 
'Absurd. The Sarna's five miles wide down here! Talk sense, 
man!' 
'I know what I saw, General. The other scouts will be along 
shortly to confirm it. Kaftal's in flames. You can see the light of 
the fire from here.' Jodral turned and pointed south toward a 
huge, flickering orange glow in the sky above the low coastal 
hills standing between the Cynesgan forces and the sea. 
General Piras swore. This was the third time this week that 
his scouts had reported a crossing of the lower Sama or the 
Verel River, and he had not thus far seen any sign of hostile 
forces. Under normal circumstances, he'd have simply had his 
scouts flogged or worse, but these were not normal circumstances. 
% The enemy force that had been harrying the southern 
was made up of the Knights of the Church of Chyrellos mers 

 to a man - who were quite capable of vanishing and 
tb reappearing miles to his rear. Still muttering curses, he 
mmmoned his adjutant. 'Sallat!' he snapped. 'Wake up the 
troops. Tell them to prepare themselves! If those accursed 
knights are crossing the Sama here, we'll have to engage 
them before they can establish a foothold on this side of the 
river." 
'its just another ruse, my General,' his adjutant said, looking 
at Captain lodral with contempt. 'Every time some idiot sees 
%i.~' ) Jiulaknh oxrwiil Shallyaet'mPyiTesadPiiiJedlet bthet KI nhiBgrtsogertesaPcoronsds tKihonsgee three 
fishermen in a boat, we get a report of a crossing.' 
rivers.' The General spread his hands helplessly. 'What else can 
I do?' He swore again. 'Sound the charge, Sallat. Maybe this 
time we'll find somebody real when we reach the river.' 

Alcan was trembling violently when Zalasta returned the two 
captives to the small but now scrupulously clean cell following 
yet another of those hideous, silent interviews with the batwinged 

 klael, but Ehlana felt drained of all emotion. There was 
a perverse seductiveness to the strangely gentle probing of that 
intricate mind, and Ehlana always felt violated and befouled 
when it was over. 
That will be the last time, Ehlana,' Zalasta told her apologetically. 
'If it's any comfort to you, he's still baffled by your husband. 
He cannot understand how any creature with such power would 
willingly subordinate himself to -' He hesitated. 


To a mere woman, Zalasta?' she suggested wearily. 
'No, Ehlana, that's not it. Some of the worlds Klael dominates 
are wholly ruled by females. Males are kept for breeding purposes

 only. He simply cannot understand the relationship 
between you and Sparhawk.' 
"you might explain the meaning of love to him, Zalasta.' She 
paused. 'But you don't understand it yourself, do you?' 
His face went cold. 'Good night, your Majesty,' he said in an 
unemotional tone. Then he turned and left the cell, closing and 
locking the door behind him. 
Ehlana had her ear pressed to the door before the clanging 
of its closing had subsided. 
'I do not fear them,' she heard King Santheocles declare. 
'Then you're a bigger fool than I thought,' Zalasta told him 
bluntly. 'All of your allies have been systematically neutralized, 
and your enemies have you surrounded.' 
'We are Cyrgai,' Santheocles insisted. 'No one can stand 
against us.' 
'That may have been true ten thousand years ago when your 
enemies dressed in furs and charged your lines with flint-tipped 
spears. Now you face Church Knights armed with steel, you 
face Atan warriors who can kill your soldiers with their fingertips, 

 you face Peloi who ride through your ranks like the wind, 
you face Trolls, who not only kill your soldiers, but also eat 
them. If that weren't bad enough, you face Aphrael, who can 
stop the sun or turn you to stone. Worst of all, you face Anakha 
and Bhelliom, and that means that you face obliteration.' 
'Mighty Cyrgon will protect us.' Santheocles' voice was set in 
a willful note of stubborn imbecility. 
'Why don't you go talk with Otha of Zemoch, Santheocles?' 
There was a sneer in Zalasta's voice. 'He'll tell you how the 
Elder God Azash squealed when Anakha destroyed him.' Zalasta 

 suddenly broke off. 'He comes!' he choked. 'Closer than we'd 
ever thought possible!' 
'What are you talking about?' Ekatas demanded. 
'Anakha is here!' Zalasta exclaimed. 'Go to your generals, Santheocles. 
Tell them to call out their troops and order them to 
scour the streets of Cyrga, for Anakha is within your walls! 
Hurry, man! Anakha is here, and our deaths stalk the streets 
with him! Come with me, Ekatas! Cyrgon must be warned, and 
eternal Klael the night of decision is uPon us!' 
%A~ndd ihf u, oh Blue, Blt CBres Bud 8riefs shBll bnnl n i t our hearts to heights unknown to moria man 

Elron ticked off the count on his fingers and swore. No matter 
how he slurred or compressed the words of that last line, it 
still had one beat too many. He hurled his quill-pen across the 
room and sank his face into his hands in an artful pose of 
poetic despair. Elron did that frequently when composing 
verse. 
Then he hopefully raised his face as a thought came to him 
He was nearing the final stanzas of his masterpiece, after all, 
and an Alexandrine would add emphasis. What would the critics 
say? 
Elron agonized over the decision. He cursed the day when he 
had chosen to cast the most important work of his career in 
heroic couplets. He hated iambics. They were so mercilessly regular 


 and unforgiving, and pentameter was like a chain around 
his neck, jerking him up short at the end of every line. 'Ode to 
Blue' hung in the balance while her creator struggled with the 
sullen intransigencies of form and meter. 
Elron could not be sure how long the screaming had been 
going on or exactly when it had started. His mind, caught up 
in a creative frenzy, had blotted out everything external to that 
one maddeningly recalcitrant line. The poet rose irritably to his 
feet and went to the window to look out at the torch-lit streets 
of Natayos. What were they screaming about? 
Scarpa's soldiers, ignorant, unwashed serfs for the most part, 
were running, bawling in terror like so many bleating sheep. 
What had set them off this time? 
Elron leaned slightly out to look back up the street. There 

seemed to be a different kind of light coming from the part of 
the ruined city that was still buried in tangled brush and creeping

 vines. Elron frowned. It was most definitely not torchlight. 
It seemed to be a pale white glow instead, steady, unwavering, 
and coming from dozens of places at the same time. 
Then Elron heard Scarpa's voice rising over the screams. The 
crazy charlatan was shouting orders of some kind in his most 
imperial voice. The rabble in the streets, however, were ignoring 
him. The army was streaming along the cobbled streets of ruined 
Natayos toward the main gate, pushing, howling, jamming 
together and struggling to get through that hopelessly clogged 
gateway. Beyond the gate, Elron saw winking torches streaming 
off into the surrounding jungle. What in God's name was going on here? 

Then his blood suddenly froze. He gaped in horror at the 
glowing figures emerging from the side-streets of the ruin to 
stalk implacably along the broad avenue that led to the gate. 
The Shining Ones who had depopulated Panem-Doa, Norenja 
and Synaqua had finally descended on Natayos! 
The poet stood frozen for only a moment, and then his mind 
moved more quickly than he'd have thought possible. Flight 
was clearly out of the question. The gate was so completely 
jammed that even those who had already reached it had little 
chance of forcing their way through. Elron dashed to his writing-table 

 and swatted his candle with the flat of his hand, plunging 
the room into darkness. If there were no lights in the windows 
of this upper floor, the horrors that stalked the streets would 
have no reason to search. Frantically, stumbling in the darkness, 
he ran from room to room, desperately searching for any other 
burning candles that might betray his location. 
Then, certain that he was safe for the moment at least, the 
one known throughout Astel as Sabre crept back to his room to 
fearfully peer around the edge of the window-frame at the street 
below. 
Scarpa stood atop a partially-collapsed wall issuing contradictory 

 commands to regiments that evidently only he could see. 
His threadbare velvet cloak was draped over his shoulders and 
his makeshift crown was slightly askew. 
Not far from where he stood, Cyzada was saying something 
in his hollow voice - an incantation of some kind, Elron guessed 
and his fingers were weaving intricate designs in the air. 


Louder and louder he spoke in guttural Styric, summoning God 
only knew what horrors to face the silent, glowing figures 
advancing on him. His voice rose to a screech, and he pawed 
at the air, frantically exaggerating the gestures. 
And then one of the incandescent intruders reached him. 
Cyzada screamed and flinched back violently, but it was too 
late. The glowing hand had already touched him. He reeled back 
as if that almost gentle touch had been some massive blow. 
Staggering, he turned as if to flee, and Elron saw his face. 
The poet retched, clamping his hands over his mouth to hold 
in any sound that might give away his presence. Cyzada of 
Esos was desolving. His already unrecognizable face was sliding 
down the front of his head like melted wax, and a rapidly-spreading 

 stain was discoloring the front of his white Styric robe. 
He staggered a few steps toward the still-raving Scarpa, his arms 
reaching hungrily out toward the madman even as the flesh slid 
away from those skeletal, outstretched hands. Then the Styric 
slowly collapsed to the stones, bubbling, seething, his decaying 
body oozing out through the fabric of his robe. 
'Archers to the front!' ScarPa commanded in his rich, theatrical 
voice. 'Sweep them with arrows!' 
Elron fell to the floor and scrambled away from the window 
'Cavalry to the flanks!' he heard Scarpa command. 'Sabers at 
the ready!' 
Elron crawled toward his writing-table, groping in the dark. 
'imperial guardsmen!' Scarpa bellowed. 'Quicktime, march!' 
Elron found the leg of the table, reached up and frantically 
began grabbing at the sheets of paper lying on the table-top. 
'First Regiment - charge!' Scarpa commanded in a great voice. 
Elron knocked over the table, whimpering in his desperate 
haste. 
'Second Regiment -' Scarpa's voice broke off suddenly, and 
Elron heard him scream. 
The poet spread his arms, trying to gather the priceless pages 
of 'Ode to Blue' out of the darkness. 
Scarpa's voice was shrill now. 'Mother!' he shrieked. 'Pleasepleaseplease!' 

 the resonant voice had become a kind of liquid 
screech. 'Pleasepleaseplease!' It sounded almost like a man trying

 to cry out from under water. 'Pleasepleaseplease!' And then 
the voice wheezed off into a dreadful gurgling silence. 
Clutching the pages he had found, Sabre abandoned his 
search for any others, scurried across the room on his hands 
and knees, and hid under the bed. 

Bhlokw's expression was reproachful as he shambled back 
across the night-shrouded gravel. 'Wickedness, U-lat,' he 
accused. 'We are pack-mates, and you said a thing to me that 
was not so.' 
'I would not do that, Bhlokw,' Ulath protested. 
'You put the thought into my mind-belly that the big things 
with iron on their faces were good-to-eat. They are not goodto 
-eat.' 
'Were they bad-to-eat, Bhlokw?' Tynian asked sympathetically. 
'Very bad-to-eat, Tin-in. I have not tasted anything so bad-to-eat 

before.' 
'I did not know this, Bhlokw,' Ulath tried to apologize. 'It was 


my thought that they were big enough that one or two might 
fill your belly.' 
'I only ate one,' Bhlokw replied. 'It was so bad-to-eat that I 
did not want to eat another. Not even Ogres would eat those, 
and Ogres will eat anything. It makes me not-glad that you said 
the thing that was not so to me, U-lat.' 
'It makes me not-glad as well,' Ulath confessed. 'I said a thing 
which I did not know. It was wicked of me to do this.' 
Queen Betuana drew Tynian aside. 'How long will it take us
to reach the Hidden City, Tynian-Knight?' she asked.
'is your Majesty talking about how long it's really going to 
take or how long it's going to seem?'
'Both.' 
'It's going to seem like weeks, Betuana-Queen, but in actual 
time, it'll be instantaneous. Ulath and I left Matherion just a few 
weeks ago in real time, but it seems that we've been on the road 
for nearly a year. It's very strange, but you get used to it after 
a while.' 
'We must start soon if we are to reach Cyrga by morning.' 
'Ulath and I'll have to talk with Ghnomb about that. He's the 
one who stops time, but he's also the God of Eat. He may not 
be happy with us. The idea of letting the Trolls kill klael's soldiers 
was a good one, but Ghnomb expects them to eat what they 
kill, and they don't like the taste.' 
She shuddered. 'How can you stand to be around the Troll-beasts, 


 Tynian-Knight? They're horrible creatures.' 
'They aren't really so bad, your Majesty,' Tynian defended 
them. 'They're very moral creatures, you know. They're fiercely 
loyal to their own packs; they don't even know how to lie; and 
they won't kill anything unless they intend to eat it - or unless 
it attacks them. As soon as Ulath finishes apologizing to Bhlokw, 
we'll summon Ghnomb and talk with him about stopping time 
so that we can get to Cyrga." Tynian made a face. 'That's what's 
going to take a while. You have to be patient when you're trying 
to explain something to the Troll-Gods.'
'is that what Ulath-Knight is doing?' she asked curiously. 
'Apologizing?'
Tynian nodded. 'It's not as easy as it sounds, your Majesty. 
There's nothing in Trollish that even comes close to "i'm sorry" 
probably because Trolls never do anything that they're ashamed of." 


'Will you be still?' Liatris hissed at the protesting Gahennas. 
'They're in the next room right now.' 
The three empresses were hiding in a dark antechamber 
adjoining the Tegan's private quarters. Liatris stood at the door 
with her dagger in her hand. 
They waited in tense apprehension. 
'They're gone now,' Liatris said. 'We'd better wait for a little 
while, though.' 
'Will you please tell me what's going on?' Gahennas asked. 
'Chacole sent some people to kill you,' Elysoun told her. 
'Liatris and I found out about it, and came to rescue you.' 
'Why would Chacole do that?' 
'Because you know too much about what she's planning.' 
'That silly plan to implicate Cieronna in a spurious assassination 


plot?' 



'The plot wasn't spurious, and Cieronna wasn't even remotely 
connected with it. Chacole and Torellia are planning to kill our 
husband.' 
'Treason!' Gahennas gasped. 
'Probably not. Chacole and Torellia are members of royal 
houses currently at war with the Tamul Empire, and they're getting

 orders from home. The assassination of Sarabian could technically 

 be called an act of war.' Elysoun stopped as a wave of 
nausea swept over her. 'Oh, dear,' she said in a sick little voice. 
'What's wrong?' Liatris demanded. 
'It's nothing. It'll pass.' 
'Are you sick?' 
'Sort of. It's nothing to worry about. I should have eaten something 

 when you woke me up, that's all.' 
'You're white as a sheet. What's wrong with you?' 
'i'm pregnant, if you really have to know.' 
'It was bound to happen eventually, Elysoun,' Gahennas said 
smugly. 'i'm surprised it didn't happen earlier, the way you 
carry on. Have you any idea at all of who the father is?' 
'Sarabian,' Elysoun replied with a shrug of her shoulders. 'Do 
you think it's safe to leave now, Liatris? I think we'd better get 
to our husband as quickly as we can. Chacole wouldn't have 
sent people to kill Gahennas unless this was the night when she 
was planning her attempt on Sarabian.' 
'She'll have people watching all the doors,' Liatris said. 
'Not all the doors, dear,' Elysoun smiled. 'I know of at least 
three that she's not aware of. You see, Gahennas, there are some 
advantages to having an active social life. Check the hallway, 
Liatris. Let's get Gahennas out of here before Chacole's assassinS 
come back.' 

The Cyrgai at the bronze gate stood back fearfully as Sparhawk 
led the others up the last few steps. 'YBIn Cyrgon!' the officer in 
charge said, smashing his fist against his breastplate in a kind 
of formal salute. 
'Respond, Anakha,' Xanetia's voice murmured in Sparhawk's 
ear. "Tis customary.' 
'YBIn Cyrgon!' SParhawk said, also banging on his chest and 
being careful not to allow the cloak he'd removed from the 
unconscious Temple Guardsman to open and reveal the fact 
that he was wearing his mail-shirt rather than an ornate breastplate. 

The officer seemed not to notice. Sparhawk and the others 
marched through the gate and moved along a broad street 
toward a kind of central square. 'is he still watching?' Sparhawk 
muttered. 
'Nay, Anakha,' Xanetia replied. 'He and his men have 
returned to the guardroom beside the gate.' 
It had appeared from below that the only buildings within the 
walls at the summit of Cyrga were the fortress-palace and the 
temple, but that was not entirely true. There were other structures

 as well, low, utilitarian-looking buildings, storehouses for 
the most part, Sparhawk guessed. 'Talen,' he said back over his 
shoulder, 'ease over to the side of the street. Find a door you 
can get open in a hurry. Let's get out of sight while Xanetia 
scouts around.' 


'Right,' Talen replied. He ducked into the shadows and a 
moment later they heard his whisper and quickly moved to the 
door he was holding open for them. 
'Now what?' Kalten asked.
'Xanetia and I go looking for Ehlana and Alcan,' Aphrael's 
voice replied out of the darkness. 
'Where were you?' Talen asked curiously. 'When we were 
coming up the hill, I mean?' 
'Here and there,' she replied. 'My family's moving all the 
others into position, and I wanted to be sure everything's going 
according to schedule.' 
'is it?' 
'It is now. There were a couple of problems, but I took care 
of them. Let's get at this, Xanetia. We still have a lot to do before 
morning.' 


there they are,' Setras said. 'I wasn't really all that far off 
was I?' 
'Are you sure this time?' Bergsten demanded. 
"you're cross with me, aren't you, Bergsten?' 
Bergsten sighed, and decided to let it pass. 'No, Divine One,' 
he replied. 'We all make mistakes, I guess.' 
That's frightfully decent of you, old boy,' Setras thanked him. 
"We were moving in generally the right direction. I was just off 
a few degrees, that's all.' 
'Are you certain those are the right peaks this time, Divine 


 One?' Heldin rumbled. 
'Oh, absolutely,' Setras said happily. 'They're exactly as 
Aphrael described them. You notice how they glow in the 
moonlight?' 
Heldin squinted across the desert at the two glowing spires
rearing up out of the dark jumble of broken rock. 
'They look about right,' he said dubiously. 
I have to go find the gate,' Setras told them. 'It's supposed 
to be exactly on a line from the gap between the two peaks.' 
'Are you sure, Divine One?' Bergsten asked. 'It's that way on 
the south side, but do we know for certain that it's the same 
here on the north?' 
"you've never met Cyrgon, have you, old boy? He's the most 
%d creature you've ever seen. If there's a gate on the south, 
there'll be one on the north as well, believe me. Don't go away. 
I'll be right back.' He turned and strolled off across the desert 
toward the two peaks glowing in the moonlight. 
Atana Marts was standing to one side of Bergsten and Heldin
with a slightly troubled look on her face. 
"what's the matter, Atana?' Heldin asked her. 
"I think there is something I do not understand, Heldin-knight." 


 she replied, struggling to put her thought into Elenic. 
'The Setras person is a God?' 
"A Styric God, yes.' 
"if he is a God, how did he get lost?' 
"we're not certain, Atana Mans.' 
"That is what I do not understand. If Setras-God were a 
man, I would say that he is stupid. But he is a God, so he 
canot be stupid, can he?' 



"I think you'd better take that up with his Grace here,' Heldin said. 
'i'm only a soldier. He's the expert on theology.' 
'Thanks, Heldin,' Bergsten said in a flat tone of voice.
'if he is stupid, Bergsten-Priest, how can we be certain that 
he's brought us to the right place?' 
'We have to trust Aphrael, Atana. Setras may be a little uncertain 


 about things, but Aphrael isn't, and she talked with him 
for quite some time, as I recall.' 
'Speaking slowly,' Heldin added, 'and using short, simple 
words.' 
'is it possible, Bergsten-Priest?' Mans asked insistently. 'Can 
a God be stupid?' 
Bergsten looked at her helplessly. 'Ours isn't,' he evaded, 'and 
I'm sure yours isn't either.'
'You didn't answer my question, Bergsten.' 
'You're right, Atana,' he replied. 'I didn't - and I'm not going 
to, either. If you're really curious, I'll take you to Chyrellos when
this is all over, and you can ask Dolmant.' 
'Bravely spoken, Lord Bergsten,' Heldin murmured. 
'Shut up, Heldin.' 
'Yes, your Grace.' 


Sparhawk, Bevier and Kalten stood at a small, barred window 
in the musty-smelling warehouse looking out at the fortress-like 
palace rearing above the rest of the city. 'That's really archaic, 
Bevier said critically. 
'It looks strong enough to me,' Kalten said. 
'They've built the main structure of the palace right up against 
the outer wall, Kalten. It saves building two walls, but it compromises 


 the structural integrity of the fortress. Give me a couple 
of months and some good catapults, and I could pound the 
whole thing to pieces.' 
'I don't think catapults had been invented when they built it, 
Bevier,' Sparhawk said. 'It was probably the strongest fort in 
the world ten thousand years ago.' He looked out at the gloomy, 
rearing pile. As Bevier had noted, the main structure was backed
up against the wall that separated this part of Cyrga from the rest 
of the city. Shorter towers stair-stepped up to the large central 
tower that shouldered high above the rest of the palace and grew,
or so it seemed, out of the wall itself. It appeared that the palace 
had not been built to look out over the city, but rather to face the 
white limestone temple. The Cyrgai clearly looked at their God, 
and turned their backs on the rest of the world. 
The door which Talen had unlocked to provide them entry 
into this storehouse creaked as it opened and then closed. Then 
the soft glow of Xanetia's face once again dimly illuminated the 
area around her. 
'We've found them,' the Child Goddess said as the Anarae 
set her down on the flagstoned floor. 
Sparhawk's heart leaped. 'Are they all right?' 
'They haven't been treated very well. They're tired and
hungry and very much afraid. Zalasta took them to see Klael, 
and that's enough to frighten anybody.' 
'Where are they?' Mirtai demanded intently. 
'At the very top of that highest tower at the back of the palace.' 
'Did you talk with them?' Kalten asked intently. 



Aphrael shook her head. 'I didn't think it was a good idea. 
What they don't know about, they can't talk about.' 
'Anarae,' Bevier said thoughtfully, 'would the soldiers in the 
palace let Temple Guardsmen move around freely in there?' 
'Nay, Sir Knight. The Cyrgai are much driven by custom, and 
Temple Guardsmen have little cause to enter the palace.' 
'I guess we can discard these, then,' Kalten said, pulling off 
the ornate bronze helmet and dark cloak he had purloined in 
the lower city. He touched his cheek. 'We still look like Cyrgai. 
We could steal some different uniforms and then just march in, 
couldn't we?'
Xanetia shook her head. 'The soldiers within the palace are 
all kinsmen, members of the royal clan, and are all known to 
one another. Subterfuge would be far too perilous.' 
'We've got to come up with a way to get into that tower!' 
Kalten said desperately. 
'I already have,' Mirtai told him calmly. 'It's dangerous, but 
I think it's the only way.' 
'Go ahead,' Sparhawk told her. 
'We might be able to sneak up through the palace, but if we're 
discovered, we'd have to fight, and that'd put Ehlana and Alcan 
in immediate danger. ' 
Sparhawk nodded bleakly. 'It's just too dangerous to risk,' he
agreed. 
'All right, then. If we can't go through the palace, we'll have 
to go up the outside.' 
'You mean climb the tower?' Kalten asked incredulously. 
'It's not as difficult as it sounds, Kalten. Those walls aren't 
built of marble, so they aren't smooth. They're rough stone 
blocks, and there are plenty of hand-holds and places to put 
your feet. I could climb that back wall like a ladder, if I had to.' 
'i'm not really very graceful, Mirtai,' he said dubiously. 'i'll 
do anything at all to rescue Alcan, but I won't be much good to 
her if I make a misstep and fall five hundred feet into the lower 
city.' 
'We have ropes, Kalten. I'll keep you from falling. Talen can 
scamper up a wall like a squirrel, and I can climb almost as well. 
If we had Stragen and Caalador along, they'd be halfway up the 
side of that tower by now.' 
'Mirtai,' Bevier said in a pained voice, 'we're wearing mailshirts. 


 Climbing a sheer wall with seventy Pounds of steel hanging


 from your shoulders might be a little challenging.' 
'Then take the mail-shirt off, Bevier.' 
'I might need it when I get up on top. 
'No problem,' Talen assured him. 'We'll bundle them all 
together and pull them up behind us. I do sort of like it, Sparhawk. 


 It's quiet, it's fairly fast, and there probably won't be any 
guards going hand-over-hand around the outside of the tower 
looking for intruders. Mirtai's had training from Stragen and 
Caalador, and I was born for burglary. She and I can do the real 
climbing. We'll drop ropes down to the rest of you at various 
stages along the way, and you can haul up the mail-shirts and 
swords behind you. We can get to the top of that tower in no 
time at all. We can do it, Sparhawk. It'll be easy.' 
'I can't really think of any alternatives,' Sparhawk conceded 
dubiously. 



'Let's do it then,' Mirtai said abruptly. 'Let's get Ehlana and 
Alcan out of there, and once they're safe, we can start to take 
this place apart.' 
'After I get my real face back,' Kalten added adamantly. 
'Alcan's entitled to that much consideration.' 
'Let's do that right now, Xanetia,' Aphrael said. 'Kalten will 
nag us about it all night if we don't.' 
'Nag?' Kalten objected. 
'What color was your hair again, Kalten? Purple, wasn't it?' 
she asked him with an impish little smile. ' 


CHAPTER 31 


There were deep shadows along the western side of the 
Women's Palace when Elysoun, Liatris and Gahennas emerged 
through the little-used door and moved quickly through the 
darkness to take cover in a nearby grove of ornamental evergreens. 
'This is going to be the dangerous part,' Liatris cautioned 
in a low voice. 'Chacole knows by now that her assassins weren't 
able to find Gahennas, and she's certain to have her people out 
to try to prevent us from reaching Ehlana's castle.' 
Elysoun looked out at the moon-drenched lawn. 'That's 
impossible,' she said. 'It's just too bright. There's a path that 
goes on through this grove. It comes out near the Ministry of 
the Interior.' 
'That's the wrong direction, Elysoun,' Gahennas protested. 
'The Elene castle's the other way.' 
'Yes, I know, but there's no cover. There's nothing between
here and the castle but open lawn. We'd better stick to the 
shadows. If we go around on the other side of Interior, we'll be 
able to go through the grounds of the Foreign Ministry. It's only 
about fifty yards from there to the drawbridge of the castle.' 
'What if the drawbridge has been raised?'
'We'll worry about that when we get there, Gahennas. But 
we have to get into the gardens around the Foreign Ministry first.' 


'let's go then, ladies,' Liatris said abruptly. 'We're not accomplishing 
anything by standing around talking. Let's go find out 
what we're up againSt.' 

'Back here,' Talen whispered to them, coming out of a narrow 
alleyway. 'The palace wall runs back to the place where it joins 
the outer fortifications at the end of this alley. The right angle 
where the two walls meet is perfect for climbing.' 
'Will you need this?' Mirtai asked, holding her grappling hook 
out to him. 
'No. I can make it to the top without it, and we'd better not 
risk having some sentry up there hear the hook banging on the 
stones.' He led them back along the alley to the cul-de-sac where 
the palace wall butted up against the imposing fortifications 
separating the compound from the rest of the city. 
'How high would you say it is?' Kalten asked, squinting 
upward. It was strange to see Kalten's face again after all the 
weeks it had been disguised. Sparhawk tentatively touched his 
own face and immediately recognized the familiar contours of 
his broken nose. 


'Thirty feet or so,' Bevier replied softly to Kalten's question. 
Mirtai was examining the angle formed by the joining of the 
two walls. 'This won't be very difficult,' she whispered.
'The whole structure's poorly designed,' Bevier agreed 
critically. 
'i'll go up first,' Talen said. 
'Don't do anything foolish up there,' Mirtai cautioned. 
'Trust me.' He set his foot up on one of the protruding stones 
of the outer wall and reached for a hand-hold on the palace wall. 
He went up quickly. 
'We'll check for sentries when we get up there,' Mirtai quietly 
told the others. 'Then we'll drop a rope down to you.' She 
reached up and began to follow the young thief up the angle 
between the two walls. 
Bevier leaned back and looked upward. 'The moon's all the 
way up now,' he said. 
'Thinkest thou that it might reveal us?' Xanetia asked him. 
'No, Anarae. we'll be climbing the north side of the tower, 
so we'll be in shadow the whole way to the top.' 
They waited tensely, craning their necks to watch the climbers 
creeping upward. 
'Somebody's coming!' Kalten hissed. 'Up there - along the 
battlements!'
The climbers stopped, pulling back into the shadows of the 
sharp angle between the two walls. 
'He's got a torch,' Kalten whispered. 'if he holds it out over 
those battlements -' he left it hanging. 
Sparhawk held his breath. 
'It's all right now,' Bevier said. 'He's going back.' 
'We might want to deal with him when we get up there,' 
Kalten noted.
'Not if we can avoid it,' Sparhawk disagreed. 'We don't want 
somebody else to come looking for him.' 
Talen had reached the battlements. He clung to the rough 
stones for a moment, listening. Then he slipped over the top 
and out of sight. After several interminable moments, Mirtai 
followed him. 
Sparhawk and the others waited in the darkness. 
Then Mirtai's rope came slithering down the wall. 
'Let's go,' Sparhawk said tensely. 'One at a time.' 
The building-blocks were of rough, square-fractured basalt, 
and they protruded unevenly from the walls, making climbing 
much simpler than it appeared. Sparhawk didn't even bother 
to use the rope. He reached the top and clambered over the 
battlements. 'Do the sentries have any kind of set routine uP 
here?' he asked Mirtai. 
'It seems that each one has his own section of wall,' she 
replied. 'The one at this end doesn't walk very fast. I'm guessing, 


 but I'd say that it'll be a quarter of an hour before he comes 
back.' 
'is there any place where we can take cover before then?' 
'There's a door in that first tower,' Talen said, pointing at the 
squat structure rising at the end of the parapet. 'It opens onto 
a stairwell.' 
'Have you taken a look at the back wall yet?' 
Talen nodded. 'There's no parapet along that side, but there's 



a ledge a couple of feet wide where the outer wall joins the back 
of the palace. We'll be able to make our way along that until we 
get on that central tower. Then we get to start climbinE.' 
'Does the sentry look back there when he reaches this end of 
the parapet?' 
'He didn't last time,' Mirtai said. 
'Let's look at that stairwell, then,' Sparhawk decided. 'As soon 
as the others are up, we'll hide in there until the sentry reaches 
this end and starts back. That should give us a half-hour to crawl 
along that ledge to the central tower. Even if he looks around 
the corner next time, we should be out of the range of his torch 
by then.' 
'He's right on top of these things, isn't he?' Talen said gaily 
to Mirtai. 
'What is this boy's problem?' Sparhawk demanded of the 
golden giantess. 
'There's a certain kind of excitement involved in this, Dorlin',' 
Mirtai replied. 'It sets the blood to pounding.' 
'Dorlin'?' 
'Professional joke, Sparhawk. You probably wouldn't 
understand. ' 

Vanion's scouts had returned about sunset to report contact with 
Kring to the south and Queen Betuana's Atans to the north. 
The ring of steel around the Forbidden Mountains was drawing 
inexorably tighter. The moon was rising over the desert when 
Betuana and Engessa came running in from Vanion's right flank 
and Kring and Tikume rode in from the left. 
'Tynian-Knight will be along soon, Vanion-Preceptor,' 
Engessa reported. 'He and Ulath-Knight have spoken with 
Bergsten-Priest on their right. Ulath-Knight has remained with 
the Trolls to try to prevent incidents.' 
'incidents?' Sephrenia asked. 
'The Trolls are hungry. Ulath-Knight gave them a regiment of 
the klael-beasts to eat, but the flavor did not please the Trolls. 
Ulath-Knight tried to apologize, but I am not sure if the Trolls 
understood. ' 
'Have you seen Berit and Khalad yet, friend Vanion?' Kring 
asked. 
'No, but Aphrael said that they're just ahead of us. Her cousin 
guided them to the spot where that hidden gate's supposed to 
be.' 
'if they know where the gate is, we could go on in,' Betuana 
suggested. 
'We'd better wait, dear,' Sephrenia replied. 'Aphrael will let 
me know as soon as Sparhawk rescues Ehlana and Alcan.' 
Tynian came riding across the vast open graveyard. 'Bergsten's 

 in place,' he reported, swinging down out of his saddle. 
He looked at Itagne. 'I have a message for you, your Excellency.' 
'Oh? From whom?' 
'Atana Mans is with Bergsten. She wants to talk with you.' 
Itagne's eyes widened. 'What's she doing here?' he exclaimed. 
'She said that your letters must have gone astray. Not a single 
one of them reached her. You did write to her, didn't you, your 
Excellency?' 
'Well - I was intending to.' Itagne looked slightly embarrassed. 


'Something always seemed to come up, though.' 

'i'm sure she'll understand.' Tynian's face was blandly 

expressionless. 'Anyway, after she handed the city of Cynestra 

over to Bergsten, she decided to come looking for you. ' 

Itagne's expression was slightly worried. 'I hadn't counted on 

that,' he confessed. 

'What's this?' Betuana asked curiously. 

'Ambassador Itagne and Atana Mans became good friends 

while he was in Cynestra, your Majesty,' Sephrenia explained. 

'Very good friends, actually.' 

'Ah,' Betuana said. 'It's a little unusual, but it's not unheard 

of, and Mans has always been an impulsive girl.' Although the 

Atan Queen still wore deep mourning, she seemed to have abandoned 
her ritual silence. 'A word of advice, Itagne-Ambassador 

if you'd care to hear it.' 

'Of course, your Majesty.' 

'It's not at all wise to toy with the affections of an Atan woman. 

It might not seem so, but we're very emotional. Sometimes we 

form attachments that aren't really appropriate.' She did not 

look at Engessa as she said it. 'Appropriate or not, however, 

those emotions are extremely powerful, and once the attachment 

is formed, there's very little we can do about it.' 

'I see,' he said. 'i'll definitely keep that in mind, your Majesty.' 

'Do you want me to go find Berit and Khalad and bring them 

back here, friend Vanion?' Kring asked. 

Vanion considered it. 'We'd better stay away from that gate,' 

he decided. 'The Cyrgai might be watching. Berit and Khalad 

are supposed to be there, but we aren't. Let's not stir anything 

up until Sparhawk sends word that his wife's safe. Then we'll 

all go in. There are a number of accounts that are long past due, 

and I think the time's coming when we'll want to settle up.' 

The ledge that ran along the back of the palace made reaching 

the central tower a matter of hardly more than a casual stroll. It 

still took time, however, and Sparhawk was acutely aware of 

the fact that the night was already more than half over. Mirtai 

and Talen moved up the side of the tower quickly, but the rest 

of them, roped together for safety, made much slower progress. 

Sparhawk was peering upward when Kalten joined him. 

'Where's Aphrael?' the blond Pandion asked quietly. 

'Everywhere. Didn't she tell you?' 

'Very funny, Sparhawk.' Kalten looked off toward the east. 

'Are we going to make it before it starts getting light?' 

'It could be close. There seems to be some kind of balcony 

just above us - and lit windows.' 

'Are we going around them?' 

'i'll have Talen take a look. If there aren't too many Cyrgai in 

the room, we might be able to finish this climb inside.' 

'Let's not take chances, Sparhawk. I'll climb all the way to the 

moon if I have to. Go on up. I've got the rope tied off.' 

'Right.' Sparhawk started up again. A slight breeze had come 

up, brushing the basalt wall with tenuous fingers. It was not 

strong enough to pose any dangers as yet, but Sparhawk definitely 
didn't want it getting any stronger. 

'You're out of condition, Sparhawk,' Mirtai told him critically 

when he reached the spot just below where she and Talen clung 


to the'wall. 
'Nobody's perfect. Can you make out any details of that balcony 


yet?' 
'I was just going to swing over and have a look,' Talen replied. 
He untied the rope from about his waist and began working his 
way across the wall toward the balcony. 


You're making me cross, Sparhawk.' Aphrael's voice seemed 
very loud in the silence of his mind. 'I have plans for that young 
man, and they don't include scraping him up off a street five 
hundred feet below.' 
'He knows what he's doing. You worry too much. As long as 
you're here, could you give me a few details about the top of this tower?' 


'There's a separate building up there - probably an afterthought 


 of some kind. It's got three rooms: a guardroom for the 
platoon or so of ceremonial troops, the cell where Mother and 
Alcan are being held, and a large room across the front. 
Santheocles spends most of his time there.' 
'Santheocles?' 
'The King of the Cyrgai. He's an idiot. They all are, but he's 
worse than most.' 
'is there a window in Ehlana's cell?' 
'A small one. It's barred, but you couldn't get through it anyway. 


 The building up there is smaller than the rest of this tower, 
so there's a kind of parapet that runs all the way round it.' 
'Do those guards patrol it?'
'No. There's no real need for that. It's the highest place in the 
city, and the notion that somebody might scale the tower has 
never occurred to the Cyrgai.' 
'is Santheocles up there right now?' 
'He was, but I think he might have left since I looked 
in through the window. Zalasta was with him - and Ekatas. 
There was some sort of gathering they were planning to 
attend. ' 


There was a low whistle, and Sparhawk looked toward the 
balcony. Talen was motioning to him. 'i'm going to go and have 
a look,' Sparhawk told Mirtai. 
'Don't be too long,' she cautioned. 'The night's starting to run 
out on us.' 
He grunted and started across toward the balcony. 


The drawbridge was down, and no one was standing watch. 
'How very convenient,' Elysoun said as she, Liatris and 
Gahennas crossed the bridge into the courtyard of the castle. 
'Chacole thinks of everything, doesn't she?' 
'I thought there were supposed to be Church Knights on 
guard here,' Gahennas said. 'Chacole couldn't bribe them, could 
she?' 
'Lord Vanion took his knights with him,' Liatris replied. 'The 
responsibility for guarding the castle's been turned over to ceremonial 


 troops from the main garrison. Some officer is probably 
quite a bit richer than he was yesterday. You've been here 
before, Elysoun. Where can we find our husband?' 
'He's usually up on the second floor. There are royal apartments 



 there.' 
'We'd better get up there in a hurry. That unguarded gate 
makes me very nervous. I doubt that we'd be able to find a 
guard anywhere in the castle, and that means that Chacole's 
assassins have free access to Sarabian.' 

The balcony appeared not to have been used for at least a generation. 
Dust lay deep in the corners, and the thick crust of birddroppings 
on the floor was undisturbed. Talen was crouched 

beside the window, peering round the edge, when Sparhawk 
came up over the stone balustrade. 'is there anybody in there?' 
the big Pandion whispered. 
'A whole crowd,' Talen whispered back. 'Zalasta just came in ' 
with a couple of Cyrgai.' 
Sparhawk joined his young friend and looked in. 
The room appeared to be some kind of torch-lit audience hall 
or throne-room. The balcony where Sparhawk and Talen 
crouched was above the level of the floor and was reached from 
the inside by a flight of stone stairs. There was a slightly raised 
dais at the far end of the room with a throne carved from a 
single rock at the back of it. A well-muscled, handsome man in 
an ornate breastplate and a short leather kirtle sat on the throne 
surveying the merf around him with an imperious expression. 
Zalasta stood to one side of the man on the throne, and a 
wrinkled man in an ornamented black robe was at the front of 
the dais speaking in his own language. Sparhawk swore and 
quickly cast the spell. 
'Now what?' Aphrael's voice sounded in his mind. 
'Can' you translate for me?' 
'I can do better than that.' 
He seemed to hear a faint buzzing sound and felt a momentary 
giddiness. 

and even now those forces do surround the sacred city,' 
the wrinkled man was saying in a language Sparhawk now. 
understood. 
A man with iron-grey hair and powerfully muscled arms 
stepped forward from the gathering before the dais. 'What is 
there to fear, Ekatas?' he asked in a booming voice. 'Mighty 
Cyrgon clouds the eyes of our enemies as he has for a hundred 
centuries. Let them crouch among the bones beyond our valley 
and seek vainly the Gates of illusion. They are as blind men and 
pose no danger to the Hidden City.' 
There was a murmur of agreement from the others standing 
before the dais. 
'General Ospados speaks truth,' another armored man 
declared, also stepping forward. 'Let us, as we have always, 
iBnore these puny foreigners at our gates.' 
'Shameful!' another bellowed, stepping to the front some distance 

 from the two who had already spoken. 'Will we hide from 
inferior races? Their presence at our gates is an affront that must 
be punished!'' 
'Can you make out what they're saying?' Talen whispered. 
'They're arguing,' Sparhawk replied. 
'Really?' Talen's tone was sardonic. 'Could you be a little more 
specific, Sparhawk?' 


'Evidently Aphrael's cousins have managed to get everybody 
here. From what the fellow in the black robe was saying, the 
city's surrounded.' 
'It's a comfort to have friends nearby. What do these people 
plan to do about it?' 
'That's what they're arguing about. Some of them want to just 
sit tight. Others want to attack.' 
Then Zalasta came to the front of the dais. 'Thus says Eternal 
Klael,' he declared. 'The forces beyond the Gates of illusion 
are as nothing. The danger is here within the walls of the 
Hidden City. Anakha is even now within the sound of my 
voice.' 
Sparhawk swore. 
'What's wrong?' Talen demanded. 
'Zalasta knows we're here.' 
'How did he find that OUt?' 
'I have no idea. He says that he's speaking for Klael, and Klael 

can probably feel Bhelliom.' 
'Even through the gold?' 
'The gold might hide Bhelliom from Cyrgon, but Bhelliom and 
Klael are brothers. They can probably feel each other halfway 
across the universe - even when there are whole suns burning 
between them.' Sparhawk held up his hand. 'He's saying something 

 else.' He leaned closer to the window. 
'I know you can hear me, Sparhawk!' Zalasta said in a loud 
voice, speaking in Elenic. 'You're Bhelliom's creature, and that 
gives you a certain amount of power. But I am Klael's now, and 
that gives me just as much as you have.' Zalasta sneered. 'The 
disguises were very clever, but klael saw through them immediately. 

 You should have done as you were told, Sparhawk. 
You've doomed your two young friends, and there's not a single 
thing you can do about it.' 

There were a half-dozen men in nondescript clothing in the 
hallway outside the door to the room where the Emperor had 
been the last time Elysoun had visited him. Elysoun did not 
even think. 'Sarabian!' she shouted. 'Lock your door!' 
The Emperor, of course, did not. After a momentary shocked 
pause while the assassins froze in their tracks and Liatris blistered 

 the air around her with curses even as she drew her daggers, 

 the door burst open and Sarabian, dressed in Elene hose, 
a full-sleeved linen shirt, and with his long, black hair tied back, 
lunged out into the hallway, rapier in hand. 
Sarabian was tall for a Tamul, and his first lunge pinned an 
assassin to the wall opposite the door. The Emperor whipped 
his sword free of the suddenly collapsing body with a dramatic 
flourish. 
"Quit showing off." Liatris snapped at her husband as she 
neatly ripped one of the assassins up the middle. 'Pay attention!' 
'Yes, my love.;' Sarabian said gaily, crouching again into en 
garde. 
Elysoun had only a small, neat dagger with a five-inch blade. 
It was long enough, though. An Arjuni assassin with a foot-long 
poniard parried Sarabian's next thrust and, snarling spitefully, 
rushed forward with his needle-like dagger directed at the 


Emperor's very eyes. Then he arched back with a choked cry. 
Elysoun's little knife, sharp as any razor, had plunged smoothly 
into the small of his back, riPPing into his kidneys. 
It was Gahennas, however, who startled and shocked them 
all. Her weapon was a slim, curved knife. With a shrill scream, 
the jug-eared Tegan Empress flew into the middle of the fray, 
slashing at the faces of Chacole's hired killers. Screeching, Gahennas 


 hacked at the startled assailants, and Sarabian took advantage 


 of every lapse. His thin blade whistled as he danced the 
deadly dance of thrust and recover. This is not to say that the 
Emperor of Tamuli was a master swordsman. He was fairly 
skilled, but Stragen might have found room for criticism. In truth, 
it was the wives who carried the day - or night, in this case. 
'inside, my dear ones,' Sarabian said, thrusting his savage 
women toward the door while he slashed at the empty air over 
the fallen assassins. 'i'll cover your backs.' 
'Oh, dear,' Liatris murmured to Elysoun and Gahennas. 'He's 
such a baby.' 
'Yes, Liatris,' Elysoun replied, wrapping one arm affectionately 


 about her ugly Tegan sister, 'but he's ours.' 


'Kring's coming,' Khalad said quietly, pointing at the shadowy 
horseman galloping across the bone-littered gravel in the 
moonlight. 
'That's not a good idea,' Berit said, frowning. 'Somebody 
might be watching.' 
The Domi reached them and reined in sharply. 'Come away!' 
he hissed. 
'What's wrong?' Berit demanded. 
'The Child Goddess says for you to come back to where the 
others are. the Cyrgai are coming out to kill you.' 
'I was wondering how long it was going to take them to decide 
to try that,' Khalad said, swinging up into his saddle. 'Let's go, 
Berit.' 
Berit nodded, reaching for Faran's reins. 'is Lord Vanion going
to do anything when the Cyrgai come out?' he asked Kring. 
Kring's answering grin was wolfish. 'Friend Ulath has a little 
surprise for them when they come through the gate,' he replied. 
Berit looked around. 'Where is he?' he asked. 'I don't see 
him.' 
'Neither will the Cyrgai - until it's too late. Let's get back 
away from this cliff. We'll let them see us. They've been ordered 
to kill you, so they'll come running after us. Friend Ulath has 
six or eight very hungry Trolls with him, and they'll be right on 
top of the Cyrgai when they come out.' 


'Did he know where you were?' Kalten asked tensely as they 
clung to the wall. 
'I don't think so,' Sparhawk replied. 'He knows that I'm somewhere 


 in the city, but there are several ways I could be listening 
to him. I don't think he realized just how close I was when he 
started making threats.' 
'Are Berit and Khalad going to be all right?' 
Sparhawk nodded. 'Aphrael was with me when Zalasta made 
his little speech. She's taking care of it.' 
'All right, Sparhawk,' Mirtai called from above them, 'here 



comes the rope.' The free end of the rope came slithering down out of the 

dimness above them, and Sparhawk quickly climbed up. 'How 

much firther?' he asked quietly when he reached Mirtai's side. 

'About one more climb,' she replied. 'Talen's already up 

there.' 

'He should have waited,' Sparhawk fumed. 'i'm going to have 

to have a talk with that boy.' 

'It won't do any good. Talen likes to take chances. Is Kalten 

still dragging our equipment behind him? I'd hate to get uP 

there and have to deal with things with my' fingernails.' 

'He's hauling it up - stage by stage.' Sparhawk peered up the 

wall. 

'Why don't you let me go on ahead this time? Get the others 

up there as quickly as you can. We've still got a lot left to do, 

and this night won't last forever.' 

She gestured up the rough stone wall. 'Feel free,' she said. 

'I don't know if I've ever said this,' he told her, 'but I'm glad 

you came along. You're probably the best soldier I've ever 

known." 

'Don't get emotional, Sparhawk. It's embarrassing. Are you 

going to go up the wall? Or did you want to wait for the sun to 

come up?' 

He started up, moving carefully. It was to their advantage 

that the north side of the tower was in shade, but the deep 

shadows made it necessary to feel for each hand-hold and to 


carefully probe with his toes for places to put his feet. He concentrated 
on the climbing and resisted the impulse to lean back to 


look at the wall above and the sharp line of the edge of the 


parapet some fifty feet further up. 


'What kept you?' Talen whispered as the big Pandion clambered 
over the top of the balustrade marking the edge of the 


parapet. 


'I stopped to smell the flowers,' Sparhawk replied acidly. He 
looked quickly toward the east and saw the faint light of false 
dawn outlining the mountains. They had at most one more hour 
of darkness left. 'No sentries, I gather?' he whispered. 
'No,' Talen replied quietly. The Cyrgai evidently feel that 
they need their sleep.' 
'Sparhawk?' Kalten's whisper came from below. 
'Up here." 
Take the baggage.' A coil of rope came unwinding up out of 
the darkness. 


'Get clear of it,' he called down softly to Kalten. 
'Give me a hand with this, Talen.' He leaned over the stone 
railing. 
'We're going to pull it up.' 
Kalten grunted, and they could hear him moving across the 
wall to one side. Then Sparhawk and Talen slowly pulled the 
awkward, bulky bundle up to the top of the tower, being careful 
not to let it bang against the stones of the wall. Sparhawk quickly 
retrieved his sword and then fumbled through the mail-shirts, 
searching for his own. 
Kalten was puffing as he climbed up over the railing. 'Why 



did you let me get so badly out of shape, Sparhawk?' he asked 
accusingly. 
Sparhawk shrugged. 'Careless, I guess. Ah, here it is.' He 
lifted his own mail-shirt free of the others.
'How can you tell?' Talen asked curiously. 'In the dark, I 
mean?' 
'i've worn it for over twenty years. Believe me, I recognize it. 
See how the others are coming.' 
Talen went to the rail and helped Xanetia onto the parapet 


while Bevier and Mirtai clambered over on their own.
It took only a couple of minutes for the knights to re-arm 
themselves. 'Where did Talen go?' Kalten whispered, looking 
around. 
'He's snooping,' Mirtai replied, settling her sword-belt into 
place. 
'I think it's called scouting,' Bevier corrected her. 
She shrugged. 'Whatever.'
Then Talen came back. 'I think I found what we're looking 
for,' he said softly. 'There's a small window with a sort of iron 
grate over it. It's up high, so I didn't look in.' 
'is Aphrael coming back?' Bevier asked. 'Should we wait for 
her?'
Sparhawk shook his head. 'It's going to start getting light 
before long. Aphrael knows what we're doing. She's making
sure the others are all in place.' 
Talen led them around to the east side of the tower. 'Up there,' 
he whispered, pointing at a small, barred window about ten feet 
up the side of the rough wall. 
'Do any of the windows on the front side have bars?' Sparhawk 


asked him. 
'No, and they're bigger and closer to the floor.' 
'That's it then.' Sparhawk fought back an urge to shout with 
exultation. 'Aphrael described that window to me.' 
Kalten squinted up at the iron-grated window high in the 
wall. 'Let's make sure of this before we start to celebrate.' He 
laid his hands on the wall and set his feet wide apart. 'Climb 
up and take a look, Sparhawk. 
'right.' Sparhawk put his hands on his friend's arms and 
climbed up his broad back. He set his feet carefully on Kalten's 
shoulders and slowly straightened, reaching up to grasp the 
grating that covered the window. He pulled his face up
and peered into the darkness. 'Ehlana?' he called softly. 
"sparhawk?' Her voice was startled. 
"Pllease keep your voice down. Are you all right?' 
'I am now. How did you get here?' 
it's a long story. Is Alcan there too?' 
'Right here, Prince Sparhawk,' the girl's silvery voice replied. 
"Is Kalten with you?' 
i'm standing on his shoulders right now. Can you make a 
light of any kind?' 
'Absolutely not!' Ehlana's voice was stricken. 
"What's wrong?' 
Theyve cut off all my hair, Sparhawk!' she moaned. 'I don't 
want you to look at me!' 



CHAPTER 32 


Talen dropped back to the parapet from the small window. 'I 
can get through it,' he whispered confidently. 
'What about that iron grate?' Kalten demanded. 
'It's ornamental. It wasn't very good to begin with, and it's 
been there for at least a couple of centuries. It won't take long
to work it loose. ' 
'Let's hold off until Xanetia gets back,' Sparhawk decided. 'I 
want to know what we're up against before we start crashing
around.' 
'i'm not trying to be offensive,' Mirtai said softly to Talen, 
'but I don't see what good it's going to do us to have you inside
the cell when the fighting starts and half a dozen Cyrgai rush 
into the cell to kill Ehlana and Alcan.' 
'It's on accounta the fact that they ain't a-gonna git in the cell, 
Dorlin',' he said with an outrageous grin. 'The door's locked.' 
'They've got a key.' 
'Give me about a half a minute with the lock, and their key 
won't fit. They won't get in, trust me.' 
'Are there alternatives?' Bevier asked. 
'Not in the amount of time we've got left before it starts getting 
light,' Sparhawk replied with a worried glance at the eastern 
horizon. 'Kalten, go up and have a look at that grating.' 
'Right.' The blond Pandion climbed up to the small window, 
took hold of the ancient iron lattice in both hands and started
to heave on it. Crumbs and fragments of mortar began to shower 
down on the rest of them. 
"Quietly.' Mirtai hissed at him. 
'It's already loose,' he reported in a hoarse whisper. 'The mortar's


 rotten.' He stopped wrenching at the bars and leaned closer 
to the window. 'Ehlana wants to talk to you, Sparhawk,' he 
called down softly. 
Sparhawk climbed back up to the window. 'Yes, love?' he 
whispered into the darkness. 
'What are you planning, Sparhawk?' she murmured, her voice 
so near that it seemed he could almost touch her. 
'We're going to pull the bars loose, and then Talen's going to 
crawl through the window. He'll jam the lock so the people 
outside can't get into the cell. Then the rest of us will rush the 
guards. Is Zalasta out there anywhere?" 
'No. He and Ekatas went to the temple. He knows that you're 
here, Sparhawk. He sensed you somehow. Santheocles has men 
searching the city for you right now.' 
'I think we're ahead of them. I don't believe they realize that 


we're already up here.' 
'How did you get up here, Sparhawk? All the stairways are 
guarded.' 
'We climbed up the outside of the tower. When do those 
guards out there start stirring around?' 
'When it begins to get light, usually. They cook what passes
for food around here in the guardroom. Then a couple of them 
bring breakfast to Alcan and me.' 
'Your breakfast might be a little late this morning, love,' he 
whispered with a slight grin. 'I think the cooks might have other 



things on their minds before long.' 
'Be careful, Sparhawk.' 
'Of course, my Queen.' 
'Sparhawk,' Mirtai called up softly. 'Xanetia's back.'
'I have to run now, dear,' he whispered into the darkness. 
We'll have you out of there shortly. I love you.' 
'What a lovely thing to say.' 
Sparhawk quickly climbed back down to the parapet. 'Welcome 


 back Anarae,' he greeted Xanetia. 
'Thou art in a peculiar humor, Anakha,' she replied in a 
slightly puzzled tone. 
'I just had a chat with my wife, Anarae,' he said. 'That always
brightens my day. How many guards will we have to deal with?' 
'I do fear me that they number some score or more, Anakha.' 
'That could be a problem, Sparhawk,' Bevier noted. 'They're 
Cyrgai and none too bright, but twenty of them might give us 
some trouble.' 
'Maybe not,' Sparhawk disagreed. 'Aphrael said that there are 
only three rooms up here - the main room, the cell where Ehlana 
and Alcan are, and the guardroom. Was she right, Anarae?' 
'indeed,' she replied. 'The cell and the guardroom are here 
on this north side. The main room is on the south, overlooking 
the Temple of Cyrgon. I did glean from the sleepy thought of 
such Cyrgai who were awake that this ultimate tower is the 
customary retreat of King Santheocles, for he doth take some 
pleasure in surveying his domain from the parapet - and above 
all in receiving the adulation of his subjects in the city below.' 
'Stupid,' Mirtai muttered. 'Doesn't he have anything better to 
do?' 
Xanetia smiled faintly. 'Much else would be quite beyond him, 
Atana. His guardsmen, limited though they themselves are, do
hold their King's understanding in low regard. But his wits, or 
lack thereof, are of little moment. Santheocles is the descendant 
of the royal house, and his sole function is to wear the crown.' 
'A hat-rack could do that,' Talen noted. 
'Truly.' 
'Do the guardsmen have any kind of set routine?' Bevier 
asked. 
'Nay, Sir Knight. They do but hold themselves in readiness 
to respond to the commands of their King, nothing more. In 
truth, they are trumpeteers rather than warriors. Their primary 
duty is to announce with brazen notes to their fellow citizens
that Santheocles will appear on the parapet to accept the adulation 


 of the Cyrgai.' 
'And they do their waiting in the guardroom?' Sparhawk 
pressed. 'Save only for the pair who stand guard at the door to thy 


Queen's prison and the other pair who bar the stairway which 
doth lead down into the lower levels of this tower.' 
'Can they get into the Queen's cell from the guardroom? 
Bevier asked intently. 
"Nay. There is but one door.' 
'And how wide is the doorway between the guardroom and 
the main room?' 
'Wide enough for one man only, Sir Bevier.' 
'Kalten and I can hold that one, Sparhawk.' 



'Are there any other doors to the guardroom?' Kalten asked. 
Xanetia shook her head. 
'Any large windows?' 
'One window only - the mate to this one above us - though 
it is not barred.' 
'That narrows the opposition down to just those four guards
in the main room then,' Kalten said. 'Bevier and I can keep the 
rest of them penned in for a week, if we have to.' 
'And Sparhawk and I can deal with the ones at the cell door 
and the top of the stairs,' Mirtai added. 
'Let's get Talen inside that cell,' Sparhawk said, looking again 
toward the east, where a faint lessening of the darkness had 
begun. 
Kalten scrambled back up the wall to the window and began 
digging at the mortar with his heavy dagger. 
'Slip around and keep watch, Anarae,' Sparhawk whispered. 
'Let us know if anybody comes up those stairs.' 
She nodded and went on back round the corner of the tower. 
Sparhawk climbed up and attacked the mortar on the left side 
of the iron lattice while his friend continued to dig at the right. 
After a few moments Kalten took hold of the rusty iron and 
pulled. 'The bottom's loose,' he muttered. 'Let's get the top.' 
'Right.' The two of them went to the top of the window and 
began to chip away the mortar there. 'Be careful when it breaks 
away,' Sparhawk cautioned. 'We don't want it clanging down 
on that parapet.' 
'This side's free,' Kalten whispered. 'i'll hold it while you dig 
your side loose.' He reached inside, found a'secure hand-hold 
with his right hand, and grasped the grating with his left. 
Sparhawk dug harder, sending a shower of chunks and dust 
to the parapet below. 'I think that's got it,' he whispered. 
'We'll see.' Kalten's shoulders heaved and there was a grinding 


 sound as the ancient grate tore loose from the wall. Then, 
with the same movement, Sparhawk's burly friend hurled the 
heavy obstruction out beyond the balustrade. 
'What are you doing?' Sparhawk choked.
'Getting rid of it.' 
'Do you know how much noise that thing's going to make 
when it hits the ground?' 
'So what? It's five hundred feet down. Let it make all the noise 
it wants to. If some Cyrgai or Cynesgan slave-driver's standing 
under it, he's in for a nasty surprise, though. But we can live 
with that, can't we?' 
Sparhawk pushed his head through the now unobstructed 
opening. 'Ehlana?' he whispered. 'Are you there?' 
'Where else would I be, Sparhawk?'
'Sorry. Stupid question, I suppose. The bars are out of the 
way now. We're sending Talen in. Shout or something as soon 
as he gets the lock jammed so that the guards can't get through 
the door.' 
'Get out of the way, Sparhawk,' Talen said abruptly from 
just below. 'I can't get in there with you filling up the whole 
window.' 
Sparhawk swung himself clear of the opening, and the agile 
boy began to wriggle his way through. Suddenly he stopped. 
'It's not working,' he muttered. 'Pull me back out.' 



'What's wrong?' Kalten demanded. 
'Just pull me back out, Kalten. I don't have time to explain.' 
Sparhawk's heart sank as he and Kalten hauled the young 
thief back.
'Hold on for a minute.' Talen turned until he was on his side, 
and then he extended his arms until they were stretched out 
above his head. 'All right then, push.' 
'You'll just get stuck again,' Kalten objected. 
'Then you'll have to shove harder. This is what comes of all 
that wholesome food, exercise, and clean living you keep pushing 


 on me, Sparhawk. I've grown so much that I can't get my 
shoulders through.' He began to wriggle through the opening
`again. 'Push, gentlemen!' he instructed. 
The two of them pushed their hands against the soles of his 
feet. 
'Harder!' he grunted. 
'You'll tear all your skin off,' Kalten warned. 
'i'm young.I heal fast. Push!' 
The two shoved at his feet, and, with a great deal of squirming 
and a few muttered oaths, he was through. 
'is he all right?' Sparhawk whispered hoarsely through the 
window. 
'i'm fine, Sparhawk,' Talen whispered back. 'You'd better get 
moving. This won't take me very long.' 
Sparhawk and Kalten dropped back to the parapet. 'Let's go.' 
Sparhawk said shortly, and the three knights and the Atan giant, 


 ess moved quickly around the narrow parapet to the south side 
of the tower. 
"Quietly, Anakha.' Xanetia's voice seemed to come out of 
nowhere. 
'Are they stirring yet, Anarae?' Bevier whispered. 
'Some few sounds do emanate from the guardroom,' her voice 
replied. 
There were two large, unglazed windows at the front of the 
tower, one on each side of the broad door. Sparhawk cautiously 
raised his head above the lower edge of one of them and peered
inside. The room, as Aphrael had reported, was fairly large. It 
was sparsely furnished with benches, a few backless chairs, a 
couple of low tables, and it was lit with primitive oil lamps. 
There was a narrow door on the right side of the rear wall with 
two statue-like Cyrgai, one on each side, guarding it. The stairway 


 on the left-hand side of the room, also guarded, was 
enclosed on three sides by a low wall. The second doorway, the 
one leading into the guardroom, was also on the left side, not 
far from the top of the stairs. 
Sparhawk looked intently at the guards, closely studying their 
weapons and equipment. They were well-muscled men in 
archaic breastplates, crested helmets and short leather kilts. Each
had a large round shield strapped to his left arm, and each 
gRasped an eight-foot spear in his right. They all had swords
and heavy daggers belted at their waists. 
Sparhawk moved his head away from the window. 'You'd all 
better take a look,' he whispered to his friends. 
One by one, Kalten, Bevier, and Mirtai raised up slightly to 
peer into the room. 
'is this locked, Anarae?' Sparhawk whispered, pointing at the 



door leading out onto the parapet. 
'I did not think it wise to try it,.Anakha. Cyrgai construction is 
crude, and me thinks no door-latch in the city may be attempted 
soundlessly. ' 
'You're probably right,' he breathed. 'Let's pull back around 
the corner,' he told the others, leading them round to the east 
side. 
'It's getting lighter, Kalten noted, pointing toward the 
horizon. 
Sparhawk grunted. 'We'll go in through the windows,' he told 
them. 'We'd just jam up if we tried to go through the doorway 
anyhow. Bevier, you and Mirtai go through the one on the far 
side of the door. Kalten and I'll go through the one on this side. 
Be careful. Those spears seem to be their primary weapon, so 
they've probably had lots of training with them. Get in close 
and fast. Take them down in a hurry and then block that door 
to the guardroom. We're going to have to hold those stairs, 
too.' 
'i'll do that, Sparhawk,' Mirtai assured him. 'You concentrate 
on getting our friends out of that cell.' 
'Right,' he agreed. 'As soon as they're free, I'll unleash the 
Bhelliom. That should change the odds up here significantly.' 
And then a clear voice raised in aching song that soared out 
above the sleeping city. 
'That's the signal!' Kalten told them. 'That's Alcan! Talen's 
finished up. Let's go!' 
'You heard him!' SParhawk said, stePPing back so that Bevier 
and Mirtai could get past. 'i'll give the word, and we'll all go in 
at the same time!' 
Bevier and Mirtai crouched low as they ran past the window 
on the near side to take positions under the window beyond 
the door. 'Stay clear of this, Anarae." Sparhawk murmured to 
the invisible Xanetia. 'It's not your kind of fight.' He frowned. 
There was no sense of her presence nearby. 'All right, Kalten,' 
he said then, 'let's get to work.' 
The two of them silently crept forward, swords in hand, to 
crouch beneath the broad window. Sparhawk raised slightly to 
look along the parapet. Bevier and Mirtai waited tensely under 
the far window. He drew in a deep breath and set himself 
'Now!' he shouted, setting his hand on the window-ledge and 
vaulting through into the room. 
There had been four Cyrgai inside before. Now there were 
ten. 'They're changing the guard, Sparhawk!' Bevier shouted, 

swinging his deadly lochaber in both hands.' 
They still had the element of surprise, but the situation had 
drastically changed. Sparhawk swore and cut down a Cyrgai 
carrying a pail of some kind - the captives' breakfast, most likely. 
Then he rushed the four confused guards milling in front of the 
cell door. One of them was fighting with the lock while the other 
three tried to get into position. They were disciplined, there was 
no question about that, and their long spears did raise problems. 
Sparhawk swore a savage oath and swung his heavy broadsword, 

 chopping at the spears. Kalten had moved to one side, 
and he was also swinging massive blows at the spears. There 
were sounds of fighting coming from the other side of the room, 


but Sparhawk was too intent on breaking through to the guard 

who was trying to force the cell door, to turn and look. 
Two of the spears were broken now, and the Cyrgai had discarded 
them and drawn their swords. The third, his spear still 
intact, had stepped back to protect the one feverishly struggling 
with the lock. 
Sparhawk risked a quick glance at the other side of the room, 
just in time to see Mirtai lift a struggling guard over her head 
and hurl him bodily down the stairs with a great clattering 
sound. Two other Cyrgai lay dead or dying nearby. Bevier, even 
as he had in Otha's throne-room in Zemoch, held the door to 
the guardroom while Mirtai, like some great, golden cat, savaged 
the remaining guards at the top of the stairs. Sparhawk quickly 
turned his attention back to the men he faced. 
The Cyrgai were indifferent swordsmen, and their oversized 
shields seriously hindered their movements. Sparhawk made a 
quick feint at the head of one, and the man instinctively raised 
his shield. Instantly recovering, Sparhawk drove his sword into 
the gleaming breastplate. The Cyrgai cried out and fell back with 
blood gushing from the sheared gash in his armor. 
It was not enough. The Cyrgai at the cell door had abandoned 
his efforts to unlock it and had begun slamming his shoulder 
against it. Sparhawk could clearly hear the splintering of wood. 
Desperately, he renewed his attack. Once the Cyrgai broke 
through that door And 

 then, without even being forced, the door swung inward. 
With a triumphant shout, the Cyrgai who had been battering at 
the door drew his sword. 
And then he screamed as a new light flooded the room. 
Xanetia, blazing like the sun, stood in the doorway with one 
deadly hand extended. 
The Cyrgai screamed again, falling back, tangling himself in 
the struggles of his two comrades. Then he broke free, ran to 
the window and plunged through. 
He was still running when he went over the balustrade with 
a long despairing scream. 
The other two Cyrgai at the cell door also fled, scurrying 
around the room like frightened mice. 'Mirtai!' Sparhawk 
roared. 'Stand clear. Let them go!' 
The Atana had just raised another struggling warrior over her 
head. She threw him down the stairs and turned sharply. Then 
she dodged clear to allow the demoralized Cyrgai to escape. 
'Stand aside, Sir Knight!' Xanetia commanded Bevier. 'I will 
bar that door, and I do vouchsafe that none shall pass!' 
Bevier took one look at her glowing face and stepped away 
from the guardroom door. 
The Cyrgai inside the room also looked at her, and then they 
slammed the door shut. 
'It's all right now, Ehlana,' Sparhawk called. 
Talen came out first, and his face was pale and shaken. The 
boy's tunic was ripped in several places, and a long, bleeding 
scrape on one arm spoke of his struggle to get through the 
narrow window. He was staring in awe at Xanetia. 'She came 
through the window in a puff of smoke, Sparhawk!' he choked. 
'Mist, young Talen,' Xanetia corrected in a clinical tone. She 


was still all aglow and facing the guardroom door. 'Smoke would 
be impractical for human flesh.' 
There was a great deal of noise coming from the guardroom. 
'They seem to be moving furniture in there, Sparhawk,' Bevier 
laughed. 'Piling it against the door, I think.' 
Then Alcan came running out of the cell to hurl herself into 
Kalten's arms, and, immediately behind her, Ehlana emerged 
from her prison. She was even more pale than usual, and there 
were dark circles under her eyes. Her clothing was tattered, 
and her head was tightly bound in a bandage-like wimple. 'Oh, 
Sparhawk!' she cried out in a low voice, holding her arms out 
to him. He went to her and enfolded her in a rough embrace. 
From far below there came a savage bellow. 
'Anakha!' Bhelliom's voice roared in Sparhawk's mind.
'Cyrgon hath awakened to his peril! Release me.' 
Sparhawk jerked the pouch out from under his tunic and 
fumbled with the drawstring. 
'What's that shouting?' Talen demanded.
'Cyrgon knows that we've released Ehlana!' Sparhawk replied 
tensely, drawing Kurik's box out of the pouch. 'Open!' he commanded. 


 The lid raised, and the blue radiance of the Bhelliom blazed 
forth. Sparhawk carefully lifted out the jewel. 


'They're coming up the stairs, Sparhawk.' Mirtai warned. 
'Get clear!' he said sharply. 'Blue Rose!' he said then. 'Canst 
thou bar the way to our enemies, who even now rush up yon 
stairway?' 
The Bhelliom did not answer, but the waist-high wall surrounding 


 the head of the stairs collapsed inward, crashing down 
into the stairwell with a great clattering and a billowing cloud 
of dust. 
'Advise Aphrael that her mother is safe.' Bhelliom's voice was 
Crisp. 'Let the attack begin.'
Sparhawk cast the spell. 'Aphrael!' he said sharply. 'We've 
got Ehlana. tell the others to move in!' 
'Can Bhelliom break Cyrgon's illusion?' she asked in a tone 
every bit as crisp as the Sapphire Rose's had been. 
'Blue Rose,' Sparhawk said silently, 'the illusion of Cyrgon 
doth still impede the advance of our friends upon the city. Canst 
thou dispel it that they may bring their forces to bear upon this 
accursed place?' 
'It shall be as thou wouldst have it, my son.' 
There was a momentary pause, and then the earth seemed to 
shudder slightly, and a vast shimmer ran in waves across the 
sky.
From the leprous white temple far below there came a shrill 
screech of pain. 
'My goodness,' Flute said mildly as she suddenly appeared
in the center of the room. 'i've never had a ten-thousand-yearold 


 spell broken. I'll bet it hurts like anything. Poor Cyrgon's 
having an absolutely dreBdful night.' 
'The night is not yet over, Child Goddess,' Bhelliom spoke 
through Kalten's lips. 'Save thine unseemly gloating until all 
danger is past.' 
'Well, really!' 
'Hush, Aphrael. We must look to our defenses, Anakha. What 



Cyrgon knoweth, Klael doth also know. The contest is at hand. 
We must make ready. ' 
'Truly,' Sparhawk agreed. He looked around at his friends. 
'Let's go,' he told them. 'We'll spread out along the parapet, 
and keep your eyes open. klael's coming, and I don't want him 
creeping up behind me. Is that stairway completely blocked?' 
'A mouse couldn't get through all that rubble,' Mirtai told 
him. 
'We can forget about the guards,' Bevier announced, removing 


 his ear from the guardroom door. 
'They're still rearranging the furniture.' 
'Good.' Sparhawk went to the door leading out to the parapet. 
It opened with a shrill protest of rusty hinges. 'Don't start getting 
brave,' he cautioned his friends. 'The fight's between Bhelliom 
and Klael. Spread out and keep watch.' 
The eastern sky was pale with the approach of day as they 
came out onto the parapet, and Cyrgon's agonized shrieking still echoed 
through the Hidden City. 


'There,' Talen said, pointing toward the basalt escarpment 
beyond the lake to the south. 
A mass of figures, tiny in the distance and still dark in the 
dawn-light, were streaming out of 'the Glen of Heroes', moving 
into the basin before the gates of Cyrga.
'Who are they?' Ehlana cried, suddenly gripping Sparhawk's 
arm. 
'Vanion,' Sparhawk told her, 'along with just about everybody 
else - Betuana, Kring, Ulath and the Trolls, Sephrenia -' 
'Sephrenia?' Ehlana exclaimed. 'She's dead!' 
'You didn't really think I'd let Zalasta kill my sister, did you, 
Ehlana?' Flute said. 
'But - he said that he'd stabbed her in the heart!' 
The Child Goddess shrugged. 'He did, but Bhelliom cured it. 
Vanion's going to take steps.' 
Talen came running round the parapet from the back of the 
tower. 'Bergsten's coming in from the other side,' he reported. 
'His knights just trampled about three regiments of Cyrgai under 
foot without even slowing down.' 
'Are we going to be caught in the middle of a siege here? 
Kalten asked with a worried expression.
'Not too likely,' Bevier replied. 'The defenses of this place are 
pitifully inadequate, and Patriarch Bergsten tends to be a very 
abrupt sort of man.' 
There was a sudden eruption far below, and the roof of the 
pale temple exploded, hurling chunks of limestone in all directions


 as the infinite darkness of klael shouldered his way up out 
of the House of Cyrgon. His vast, leathery wings spread wider 
and his blazing, slitted eyes looked about wildly. 
'Prithee, Anakha, hold me aloft that my brother may behold 
me.' The voice coming from Kalten's lips was detached. 


Sparhawk's hand was shaking as he raised the Sapphire Rose 
over his head. 
Kalten, moving somewhat woodenly, gently put Alcan's 
clinging arms aside and stepped to the stone rail at the front of 
the parapet. He spoke in a tongue no human mouth could have 



produced, and his words could quite probably have been heard 
in Chyrellos, half a world away. 
Enormous Klael, waist-deep in the ruins of Cyrgon's Temple, 
raised his triangular face and roared his reply, his fanged mouth 
dripping flame. 
'Attend closely, Anakha.' Bhelliom's voice in Sparhawk's 
mind was very quiet. 'I will continue to taunt mine errant 
brother, and all enraged will he come to do battle with me. Be 
thou steadfast in the face of that approaching horror, for our 
success or failure do hang entire upon thy courage and the 
strength of thine arm.' 
'I do not take thy meaning, Blue Rose. Am I to smite Klael?' 
'Nay, Anakha. Thy task is to free me.' 
The beast of darkness below savagely kicked aside the limestone

 rubble and advanced on the palace with hungry arms 
outstretched. When he reached the massive gates, he brushed 
them from his path with a whip of lightning clutched in one 
enormous fist. 
Kalten continued his deafening taunts, and Klael continued to 
howl his fury as he crushed his way through the lower wings 
of the palace, destroying everything that lay in the path of his 
relLlentless drive toward the tower. 
And then he reached it, and, seizing its rough stones in his 
two huge hands, he began to climb, his wings clawing at the 
morning air as he mounted up and up. 
'How am I to free thee, Blue Rose?' Sparhawk asked urgently. 
'My brother and I must be briefly recombined, my son,' 
Bhelliom replied, 'to become one again, as we once were, else 
must I forever be imprisoned within this azure crystal - even as 
clael must remain in his present monstrous form. In our temporary 

 combination will we both be freed.' 
'Combine? How?' 
'When he doth reach this not inconsiderable height and doth 
exult with resounding bellow of victory, must thou hurl me 
straightway into his gaping maw.' 
'Do what?' 
'He would with all his soul devour me. Make it so. In the 
moment of our recombination shall Klael and I both be freed of 
our present forms, and then shall our contest begin. Fail not, 
my son, for this is thy purpose and the destiny for which I made 
thee.' 
Sparhawk drew in a deep breath. 'I will not fail thee, Father, 
he pledged with all his heart. 
Still raging and with his leathery wings clawing at the air, klael 
mounted higher and higher up the front of the palace tower. 
Sparhawk felt a sense of odd, undismayed detachment come 
over him. He looked full into the face of the King of Hell and 
felt no fear. His task was simplicity in itself. He had only to hurl 
the Sapphire Rose into that gaping maw, and, should a suitable 
opportunity for that not present itself, to hurl himself - with 
Bhelliom in his outstretched fist instead. He felt no regret nor 
even sadness as the unalterable resolve settled over him. Better 
this than to die in a meaningless, unremembered skirmish on 
some disputed frontier as so many of his friends had. This had 
significance, and for a soldier, that was the best one could hope 
for. 


And still klael came, climbing higher and higher, reaching 
hungrily for his hated brother. No more than a few yards below 
now, his slitted eyes blazed in cruel triumph and his jagged 
fangs dripped fire as he roared his challenge. And then Sparhawk leapt atop 
the ancient battlement to stand 
poised with Bhelliom aloft in his fist. 'For God and my Queen!' 
He bellowed his defiance. 
Klael reached up with one awesome hand. 
Then, like the sudden uncoiling of some tightly-wound 
spring, Sparhawk struck. His arm snapped down like a whip. 
'Go!' he shouted, as he released the blazing jewel. 
As true as an arrow the Sapphire Rose flew from his hand 
even as klael's mouth gaped wider. Straight it went to vanish 
in the flaming maw. 
The tower trembled as a shudder ran through the glossy blackness 

 of the enormity clinging to its side, and Sparhawk struggled 
to keep his balance on his precarious perch. klael's wings stiffened to their fullest extent, quivering with 

awful tension. The great beast swelled, growing even more enormous. 
Then he contracted, shriveling. 
And then he exploded. 

The detonation shook the very earth, and Sparhawk was 


hurled back from the battlement to fall heavily on the parapet. 
he rolled quickly, came to his feet, and rushed back to the 
battlements. 
Two beings of light, one a glowing blue, the other sooty red, 
grappled with each other on insubstantial air not ten feet away. 


Their struggle was elemental, a savage contesting of will and 
strength. They were featureless beings, and their shapes 
were only vaguely human. Heaving back and forth, they clung 
to each other like wrestlers in some rude village square, each 
bending all his will ' and force to subdue his perfectly-matched 
opponent. 
Sparhawk and his friends lined the battlements, frozen, awed, 
,able only to watch that primeval struggle. 
And then the two broke free of each other and stood, backs 
bowed and arms half-extended, each facing his immortal brother 
In some inconceivable communion. 
'It falls to thee, Anakha,' Bhelliom's voice in Sparhawk's mind 
was calm. 'Should klael and I continue, this world shall surely 
be destroyed, as hath oft-time come to pass before. Thou art of 
this world and must therefore be my champion. Constraints are 
upon thee which do not limit me. klael's champion is also of 
this world and is similarly constrained.'
'It shall be even as thou has said, my father,' Sparhawk 
replied. 'I will serve as thy champion if it must needs be. With 
whom must I contend?' 
A great roar of rage came from far below, and a living flame 
surged up out of the shattered ruins of the chalk-white temple. 
There is thine opponent, my son,' the azure spirit replied. 
"Klael hath called him forth to do battle with thee.' 
'Cyrgon?' 



"een so.' 
"but he is a God!' 
'And art thou not?' 
Sparhawk's mind reeled. 
Look within thyself, Anakha. Thou art my son, and I made 
thee to be the receptacle of my will. I now release that will to 
'thee that thou mayest be the champion of this world. Feel its 
".power infuse thee.' 
It was like the opening of a door that had always been closed. 
Sparhawk felt his mind and will expanding infinitely as the 
barrier went down, and with that expanding there came an unutterable calm. 
'Now art thou truly Anakha, my son!.' Bhelliom exulted. 'Thy will is now my 
will. All things are now possible for thee. It was thy will which 
vanquished Azash. I was but thine instrument. In this occasion, however, 
shalt thou be mine. Bend thine invin- cible will to the task. Seize it in 
thine hands and mold it. Forge weapons with thy mind and confront Cyrgon. 
If thine heart be true, he cannot prevail against thee. Now go. Cyrgon 
awaits thee.' Sparhawk drew in a deep breath and looked down at the 
rubble-littered square far below. The flame which had emerged from the 
ruins had coalesced into a blazing man-shape standing before the wreck of 
the temple. 'Come, Anakha!' it roared. 'Our meeting hath been foretold 
since before time began.This is thy destiny! Thou art honored above all 
others to fall by my hand.' Sparhawk deliberately pushed aside the windy 
pomposity of archaic expression. 'Don't start celebrating until after 
you've won, Cyrgon!' he shouted his reply. 'Don't go away! I'll be right 
down!' Then he set one hand atop the battlement and lightly vaulted over 
it. He stopped, hanging in mid-air. 'Let go, Aphrael,' he said. 
'What are 
you doing?' she exclaimed. "Just do as you're told. Let me go.' 

'You'll fall.' 
'No, actually I won't. I can handle this. Don't interfere. 
Cyrgon's waiting for me, so please let go.' It was not actually flying, 
although Sparhawk was certain that he could fly if he needed to. He felt a 
peculiar lightness as he drifted down toward the ruins of the House of 
Cyrgon. It was not that he had no weight, it was more that his weight had 
no meaning. His will was somehow stronger than gravity. Sword in hand, he 
settled down and down like a drifting feather. Cyrgon waited below. The 
burning figure of the ancient God drew his fire about him, congealing the 
incandescent flame into the antique armor customarily worn by those who 
worshipped him - a burnished steel cuirass, a crested helmet, a large round 
shield and a sword in his fist. A peculiar insight came to Sparhawk as he 
slid down through the dawn-cool air. Cyrgon was not so much stupid as he 
was conservative. It was change that he hated, change that he feared. 
he had frozen his Cyrgai eternally in time and had erased any potential for 
change or innovation from their minds. The Cyrgai, unmoved by the winds of 
time, would remain forever as they had been when their God had first 
conceived of them.He had wrought an ideal and fenced it all nbout with law 
and custom and an innate hatred of change, and frozen thus, they were 
doomed - and had been since the first of them had placed one sandaled foot 
on the face of the ever-changing world. Sparhawk smiled faintly. Cyrgon, it 
appeared, needed instruction in the benefits of change, and his first 
lesson would be in the advantages of modern equipment, weaponry, and 
tactics. Sparhawk thought, 'Armor', and he was immediately encased in 
black-enameled steel. he almost casually discarded his plain working sword 
and filled his hand with his heavier and longer ceremonial blade. Now he 


was a fully-armed Pandion Knight, a soldier of God - of several Gods, he 
rather ruefully amended that thought - and he was, almost by default, the 
champion not only of his Queen, his Church and his God - but also, if he 
read Bhelliom's thought correctly, of his fair and sometimes vain Sister, 
the world. He drifted down and settled to earth amidst the wreck of the 
destroyed temple. 'Well-met, Cyrgon,' he said with profoundest formality. 

'Well-met, Anakha,' the God replied. 'I had misjudged thee. Thou art 
suitable now. I had despaired of thee, fearing that thou wouldst never have 
realized thy true significance. Thine apprenticeship hath been long and 
methinks, hindered by thine inappropriate affiliation with Aphrael.' 
'We're wasting time, Cyrgon,' Sparhawk cut through the flowery courtesies. 
'Let's get at this. I'm already late for breakfast. ' 
'So be it, Anakha!' 
Cyrgon's classic features were set in an expression of approval. 
'Defend thyself."' 
and he swung a huge sword stroke at Sparhawk's head. But Sparhawk had 
already begun his stroke, and so their swords clashed harmlessly in the air 
between them. It was good to be fighting again. There was no politics here, 
no confusion of dissembling words or false promises, just the clean, sharp 
ring of steel on steel and the smooth flow of muscle and sinew over bone. 
Cyrgon was quick, as quick as Martel had been in his youth, 
intricate moves of wrist and arm and shoulder that marked the master 
swordsman seemed to come unbidden, almost in spite of himself, to the 
ancient God. 'invigorating, isn't it?' Sparhawk panted through a wolf-like 
grin, lashing a stinging cut at the God's shoulder. 'Open your mind, Cyrgon. 
Nothing is set in stone - not even something as simple as this.' And he 
lashed out with his sword again, flicking another cut onto Cyrgon's 
sword-arm. The immortal rushed at him, forcing the oversized round shield 
against him, trying with will and main strength to over-come his 
better-trained opponent. Sparhawk looked into that flawless face and saw 
regret and desperation there. He bunched his shoulder, as Kurik had taught 
him, and locked his shield-arm, forming an impenetrable barrier against the 
ineffectual flailinS of his opponent. He parried only with his lightly held 
sword. 
'Yield, Cyrgon,' he said, 'and live. Yield, and Klael will be 
banished. We are of this world, Cyrgon. Let Klael and Bhelliom contend for 
other worlds. Take thy life and thy people and go. I would not slay even 
thee.' 'I spurn thine insulting offer, Anakha!' Cyrgon half-shrieked. 'I 
guess that satisfies the demands of knightly honor,' Spar- hawk muttered to 
himself with a certain amount of relief. 'God knows what I'd have done if 
he'd accepted.' He raised his sword again. 'So be it then, brother,' he 
said. 'We weren't meant to live in the same world together anyway.' His 
body and will seemed to swell inside his armor. 'Watch, brother,' he grated 
through clenched teeth. 'Watch and learn.' 
And then he unleashed five 
hundred years of training, coupled with his towering anger, at this poor, 
impotent godling, who had ripped asunder the peace of the world, a peace 
toward which Sparhawk had yearned since his return from exile in Render. He 
ripped Cyrgon's thigh with the classic 'Pas-four'. He slashed that perfect 
face with Martel's innovative 'parry-pas- nine'. He cut away the upper half 
of Cyrgon's oversized round shield with Vanion's 'Third feint-and-slash'. 
Of all the Church Knights, the Pandions were the most skilled swordsmen, 
and of all the Pandions, Sparhawk stood supreme. Bhelliom had called him 
the equal of a God, but Sparhawk fought as a man superbly trained, a little 
out of condition and really too old for this kind of thing - but with an 


absolute confidence that if the fate of the world rested in his hands, 
he was good for at least one more fight. His sword blurred in the light of 
the new-risen sun, flickering, weaving, darting. Baffled, the ancient 
Cyrgon tried to respond. The opportunity presented itself, and Sparhawk 
felt the perfect symmetry of it. Cyrgon, untaught, had provided the black- 
armored Pandion precisely the same opening Martel had given him in the 
temple of Azash. Martel had fully understood the significance of the 
series of strokes. Cyrgon, however, did not. And so it was that the 
thrust which pierced him through came as an absolute surprise. The God 
stiffened and his sword fell from his nerveless fingers as he lurched back 
from that fatal thrust. Sparhawk recovered from the thrust and swept his 
bloody sword up in front of his face in salute. 
'An innovation, Cyrgon,' he said in a detached sort of voice. 'You're 
really very good, you know, but you ought to try to stay abreast of 
things.' 

Cyrgon sagged to the flagstoned court, his immortal life spilling 

 out through the gash in his breastplate. 'And wilt thou take the world 
now, Anakha?' he gasped. Sparhawk dropped to his haunches beside the 
stricken God. 
'No, Cyrgon,' he replied wearily. 'I don't want the world just 

a quiet little corner of it.' 
'Then why camest thou against me?' 
'I didn't want you to have it either, because if you had, my little 
part wouldn't have been safe.' He reached out and took the pallid hand. 
'You 
fought well, Cyrgon. I have respect for you. Hail and farewell.' Cyrgon's 
voice was only a whisper as he replied, 'Hail and farewell, Anakha.' There 
was a great despairing howl of frustration and rage. Sparhawk looked up and 
saw a man-shape of sooty red streaking upward into the dawn sky as 
Klael resumed his endless journey toward and beyond the farthest star. 

CHAPTER 33 

There was fighting somewhere - the ring of steel on steel and 
shouts and cries - but Ehlana scarcely heard the sounds as she 
stared down at the square lying between the ruins of the temple 
and the only slightly less ruined palace. 
The sun was above the eastern horizon now, and it filled the 
ancient streets of Cyrga with harsh, unforgiving light. The 
Queen of Elenia was exhausted, but the ordeal of her captivity 
was over, and she yearned only to lose herself in her husband's 
embrace. She did not understand much of what she had just 
witnessed, but that was not really important. She stood at the 
battlements holding the Child Goddess in her arms, gazing 
down at her invincible champion far below. 
'Do you think it might be safe for us to go down?' she asked 
the small divinity in her arms. 
'The stairway's blocked, Ehlana,' Mirtai reminded her. 
'I can take care of that,' Flute said. 
'Maybe we'd better stay up here,' Bevier said with a worried 
frown. 'Cyrgon and klael are gone, but Zalasta's still out there 
somewhere. He might try to seize the Queen again so that he 
can use her to bargain his way out of here.' 
'He'd better not,' the Child Goddess said ominously. 'Ehlana's 
right. Let's go down.' 
They went back inside, reached the head of the stairs and 


peered down through billowing clouds of dust. 'What did you 
do?' Talen asked Flute. 'Where did all the rocks go?' 
She shrugged. 'I turned them into sand,' she replied. 
The stairway wound downward along the inside of the tower 
walls. Kalten and Bevier, swords in hand, led the way, prudently 

 investigating each level as they reached it. The top three 
or four levels were empty, but as they began the descent to a 
level about midway down the inside of the tower, Xanetia hissed 
sharply, 'Someone approaches!' 
'Where?' Kalten demanded. 'How many?' 
'Two, and they do mount the stairs toward us. ' 
'i'll deal with them,' he muttered, gripping his sword-hilt even 
more tightly. 
'Don't do anything foolish,' Alcan cautioned. 
'It's the fellows coming up the stairs who are being foolish, 
love. Stay with the Queen.' He started on ahead. 
'i'll go with him,' Mirtai said. 'Bevier, it's your turn to guard 
Ehlana.' 
'But 
'Hush!' she commanded. 'Do as you're told.' 
'Yes, ma'am,' he surrendered with a faint smile. 
A murmured sound of voices came echoing up the stairs. 
'Santheocles.' Ehlana identified one of the speakers in a short, 
urgent whisper. 
'And the other?' Xanetia asked. 
'Ekatas." 
'Ah,' Xanetia said. Her pale brow furrowed in concentration. 
'This is not exact,' she apologized, 'but it seemeth me that they 
are unaware of thy release, Queen of Elenia, and they do rush 
to thy former prison, hoping that by threatening thy life might 
they gain safe conduct through the ranks of their enemies.' 
There was a landing perhaps twenty steps down the narrow 
stairway, and Kalten and Mirtai stopped there, stepping somewhat

 apart to give themselves room. 
Santheocles, wearing his gleaming breastplate and crested 
helmet, came bounding up the stairs two at a time with his 
sword in his hand. He stopped suddenly when he reached the 
landing, staring at Kalten and Mirtai in stupefied disbelief. He 
waved his sword at them and issued a peremptory command 
in his own language. 
'What did he say?' Talen demanded. 
'He ordered them to get out of his way,' Aphrael replied. 
'Doesn't he realize that they're his enemies?' 
"'Enemy" is a difficult concept for someone like Santheocles, 
Ehlana told him. 'He's never been outside the walls of Cyrga, 
and I doubt that he's seen more than ten people who weren't 
Cyrgai in his entire life. The Cyrgai obey him automatically, so 
he hasn't had much experience with open hostility.' 
Ekatas came puffing up the stairs behind Santheocles. His 
eyes were wide with shock and his wrinkled face ashen. He 
spoke sharply to his king, and Santheocles placidly stepped 
aside. Ekatas drew himself up and began speaking sonorously, 
his hands moving in the air before him. 
'Stop him!' Bevier cried. 'He's casting a spell!' 
'He's trying to cast a spell,' Aphrael corrected. 'I think he's in 
for a nasty surprise.' 


The High Priest's voice rose in a long, slow crescendo and he 
suddenly leveled one arm at Kalten and Mirtai. 
Nothing happened. 
Ekatas held his empty hand up in front of his face, gaping at 
it in utter astonishment. 
'Ekatas,' Aphrael called sweetly to him, 'I hate to be the bearer 
of bad tidings, but now that Cyrgon's dead, your spells won't 
work any more.' 
He stared up at her, comprehension and recognition slowly 
dawning on his face. Then he spun and bolted through the 
door on the left side of the landing and slammed it behind 
him. 
Mirtai moved quickly after him. She briefly tried the door, 
then stepped back and kicked it to pieces. 
Kalten advanced on the sneering King of the Cyrgai. Santheocles


 struck a heroic pose, his oversized shield extended, his 
sword raised, and his head held high. 
'He's no match for Kalten,' Bevier said. 'Why doesn't he run?' 
'He doth believe himself invincible, Sir Bevier,' Xanetia
replied. 'He hath slain many of his own soldiers on the practice-field, 


 and thus considers himself the paramount warrior in all 
the world. In truth, however, his subordinates would not strike 
back or even defend themselves, because he was their king.' 
Kalten, grim-faced and vengeful, fell on the feeble-minded 
monarch like an avalanche. The face of Santheocles was filled 
with shock and outrage as, for the first time in his life, someone 
actually raised a weapon against him. 
It was a short, ugly fight, and the outcome was quite predictable. 


 Kalten battered down the oversized shield, parried a couple 
of stiffly formal swings at his head and then buried his sword 
up to the hilt in the precise center of the burnished breastplate.' 
Santheocles stared at him in sheer astonishment. Then he 
sighed, toppled backward off the blade, and clattered limply 


back down the stairs. 
'Yes!' Ehlana exulted in a savage voice as the most offensive 
of her persecutors died. 
From beyond the splintered door came a long, despairing 
scream fading horribly away, and Mirtai emerged with an 
expression of bleak satisfaction. 
'What did you do to him?' Kalten asked curiously. 
'I defenestrated him,' she replied with a shrug. 
'Mirtai!' he gasped. 'That's aWfUl!' 
She gave him a baffled look. 'What are you talking about?' 
'That's a terrible thing to do to a man!' 
'Throw him out of a window? I can think of much worse 
things to do to somebody.'
'is that what that word means?' 
'Of course. Stragen used to talk about it back in Matherion.' 
'Oh.' Kalten flushed slightly. 
'What did you think it meant?' 
'Ah - never mind, Mirtai. just forget I said anything.' 
'You must have thought it meant something.' 


!. 'Can we just drop it? I misunderstood, that's all.' He looked 
up at the others. 'Let's go on down,' he suggested. 'I don't think 



there'll be anybody else in our way.' 
Ehlana suddenly burst into tears. 'I can't!' she wailed. 'I can't 
face Sparhawk like this!' She Put one hand on the wimPle that 

%f'' corv'tioeeodrohsueorsavtwiUfywaJJt)oerdrysjcnaglpabout thai?' Aphrael asked 
k"' Aphrael rolled her eyes upward. 'Let's go into that room,' she 
t suggested. 'i'll fix it for you - if it's so important.' 
'Could you?' Ehlana asked eagerly. 
'Of course.' The Child Goddess squinted at her. 'Would you 
like to have me change the color?' she asked. 'Or maybe make 
it curly?' 
The Queen pursed her lips. 'Why don't we talk about that a 

little?' she said. 

The Cynesgans who manned the outer wall of the Hidden City 
were not particularly good troops in the first place, and when 
the Trolls came leaping out of No-Time to scramble up the walls 
toward them, they broke and ran. 
'Did you tell the Trolls to open the gates for us?' Vanion asked 
Ulath. 
'Yes, my Lord,' the Genidian replied, 'but it might be a little 
while before they remember. They're hungry right now. They'll 
eat breakfast first.' 
'We have to get inside, Ulath,' Sephrenia said urgently. 'We 
have to protect the slave-pens.' 
'Oh, Lord,' he said. 'I forgot about that. The Trolls won't be 
able to distinguish slaves from Cynesgans.' 
'i'll go have a look,' Khalad volunteered. He swung down 
from his horse and ran forward to the massively timbered gates. 
After a couple of moments he came back. 'It's no particular 
problem, Lady Sephrenia,' he reported. 'Those gates would fall 
apart if you sneezed on them.' 
'What?' 
The timbers are very old, my Lady, and they're riddled with 
dry-rot. With your permission, Lord Vanion, I'll take some men 
and rig up a battering-ram. We'll knock down the gate so that 
we can get inside.' 
'Of course,' Vanion replied. 
'Come along then, Berit,' Khalad told his friend. 
'That young man always manages to make me feel inadequate,'

 Vanion muttered as they watched the pair ride back to 
rejoin the knights massed some yards to the rear. 
'As I remember, his father had the same effect on you,' 
Sephrenia said. 
Kring came galloping back around the wall. 'Friend Bergsten's 
preparing to assault the north gate,' he reported. 
'Send word to him to be careful, friend Kring,' Betuana 
advised. 'The Trolls are already inside the city - and they're 
hungry. It might be better if he delayed his attack just a 
little.' 
Kring nodded his agreement. 'Working with Trolls changes 
the complexion of things, doesn't it, Betuana-Queen? They're 
very good allies in a fight, but you don't want to let them get 
hungry.' About ten minutes later, Khalad and a few dozen knights 


dragged a large log into place before the gate, suspended it on 
ropes attached to several makeshift tripods, and began to pound 
, on the rotting timbers. The gate shuddered out billows of powdery 

 red dust and began to crumble and fall apart. 
'Let's go.' Vanion called tersely to his oddly assorted army 
and led the way into the city. At Sephrenia's insistence, the 
knights went straight to the pens, freed the shackled slaves, and 
escorted them to safety.outside the walls. Then Vanion's force 
moved directly to the inner wall that protected the steep hill 
rising in the middle of Cyrga. 
'How long is that likely to last, Sir Ulath?' Vanion said, gesturing 

 toward a cluster of ravening Trolls. 
'It's a little hard to say, Lord Vanion,' Ulath replied. 'I don't 
think we'll get much co-operation from them as long as there are 
still Cynesgans running up and down the streets here in the 
outer city, though.' 
'Maybe it's just as well,' Vanion decided. 'I think we want to 
get to Sparhawk and the others before the Trolls do.' He looked 
around. 'Khalad,' he called, 'tell your men to drag that battering 
ram up here. Let's pound down the gate to the inner city and 
go find Sparhawk.' 

'Yes, my Lord,' Khalad replied. 
The gates to the inner wall were more substantial, and 
Khalad's ram was pounding out great booming sounds when 
Patriarch Bergsten came riding along the wall, accompanied by 
the veteran Pandion, Sir Heldin, a Peloi whom Vanion did not 
recognize, and a tall, lithe Atan girl. Vanion was a bit startled 
to see that the Styric God Setras was also with them. 'What do 
you think you're doing, Vanion?' Bergsten roared. 
'Knocking down this gate, your Grace,' Vanion replied. 
That's not what I'm talking about. What in God's name possessed

 you to let the Trolls make the initial assault?' 
'It wasn't really a question of "let", your Grace. They didn't 
exactly ask for permission.' 
'We've got absolute chaos here in the outer city. My knights 
can't concentrate on this inner wall because they keep running 
into Trolls. They're in a feeding-frenzy, you know. Right now 
they'll eat anything that moves.' 
'Must you?' Sephrenia murmured with a shudder. 
'Hello, Sephrenia,' Bergsten said. 'You're looking well. How 
much longer are you going to be with this gate, Vanion? Let's 
get our people into the inner city where all we have to worry 
about are the Cyrgai. Your allies are making my men very 
nervous.' He looked up at the top of the inner wall, sharply 
outlined against the dawn sky. 'I thought the Cyrgai were supposed

 to be soldiers. Why aren't they manning this wall?' 
'They're a little demoralized right now,' Sephrenia explained. 
'Sparhawk just killed their God.' 
'He did? I thought Bhelliom was going to do that.' 
She sighed. 'In a certain sense it did,' she said. 'It's a little 
hard to separate the two of them at this point. Aphrael isn't 
entirely sure where Bhelliom leaves off and Sparhawk begins 
right now.' 
Bergsten shuddered. 'I don't think I want to know about that,' 
he confessed. 'i'm in enough theological trouble already. What 


about klael?' 
'He's gone. He was banished as soon as Sparhawk killed 
Cyrgon.' 
'Oh, fine, Vanion,' Bergsten said with heavy sarcasm. 'You 
make me ride a thousand leagues in the dead of winter, and the 
fighting's all over before I even get here.'
'The exercise was probably good for you, your Grace.' Vanion 
raised his voice. 'How much longer, Khalad?' he called. 
"Just a few more minutes, my Lord,' Sparhawk's squire 


replied. 'The timbers are starting to crack.' 
'Good,' Vanion said bleakly. 'I want to locate Zalasta. He and 
I have some things to talk about - at great length.' 


'They've all bolted, Sparhawk,' Talen reported, returning from 
his quick survey of the ruined palace. 'The gates are standing 
wide open, and we're the only people up here.' 
Sparhawk nodded wearily. It had been a long night, and he 
was emotionally as well as physically drained. He could still, 
however, feel that enormous calm that had settled over him 
when he had at last understood the true significance of his 
strange relationship with Bhelliom. There were some fleeting 
temptations - curiosity perhaps more than anything else - a 
desire to experiment and test the limits of newly-recognized 
capabilities. He deliberately repressed them. 
'Go ahead, Sparhawk,' Flute's voice in his mind had a slight 
challenge in it. He turned his head to look quizzically at the 
ageless child, standing beside his wife. Ehlana's face was serene 
as she ran her fingers through her long, pale-blonde hair. 'What 
did you want me to do?' he sent the thought back. 
'Anythi'ng that comes into your mind. 
'Why?' 
'Aren't you just the least bit curious.? Wouldn't you like to find out 
if you can turn a mountain inside out?' 
'I can,' he replied. 'I don't see any reason to do something like that, 
though.' 
'You're hateful, Sparhawk!' she suddenly flared. 
'What's your problem, Aphrael?'
'You're such a lump!' 
He smiled gently at her. 'I know, but you love me anyway, don't 
you?' 
'Sparhawk,' Kalten called from the ornate bronze gate, 
'Vanion's coming up the hill. He's got Bergsten with him.' 


Vanion had known Sparhawk since his novitiate, but the weary-looking 


 man in black armor seemed to be almost a stranger. 
There was something about his face and in his eyes that had 
never been there before. The Preceptor approached his old 
frend with Patriarch Bergsten and Sephrenia with a sense of 
something very close to awe. 
As soon as Ehlana saw Sephrenia, she ran to her with a low 
cry and embraced her fiercely. 
'I see that you've wrecked another city, Sparhawk,' Bergsten 
said with a broad grin. 'That's getting to be a habit, you 
know.'
'Good morning, your Grace,' Sparhawk replied. 'It's good to 



see you again.' 
'Did you do all this?' Bergsten gestured at the ruined temple 
and the half-collapsed palace. 
'klael did most of it, your Grace.' 
The hulking churchman squared his shoulders. 'i've got 
orders for you from Dolmant,' he said. 'You're supposed to turn 
the Bhelliom over to me. Why don't you do that now - before 
we both forget?' 
'i'm afraid that isn't possible, your Grace,' Sparhawk sighed. 
'I don't have it any more.' 
'What did you do with it?' 
'It no longer exists - at least not in the shape it was before. 
Its been freed from its confinement to continue its journey.' 
'You released it without consulting the Church? You're in
trouble, Sparhawk.' 
'Oh, do be serious, Bergsten,' Aphrael told him. 'Sparhawk 
did what had to be done. I'll explain to Dolmant later.'
Vanion, however, had something else on his mind. 'This is 
all very interesting,' he said bleakly, 'but right now I'm far more 
concerned about finding Zalasta. Does anybody have any idea 
of where I might find him?'
'He might be under all that, Vanion,' Ehlana told him, 
pointing at the ruined temple. 'He and Ekatas were going there 
when they discovered that Sparhawk was here inside the walls 
of Cyrga. Ekatas escaped, and Mirtai killed him, but Zalasta 
might have been crushed when Klael exploded the place. 
'No,' Aphrael said shortly. 'He's nowhere in the city.' 
'I really want to find him, Divine One,' Vanion said. 
'Setras, dear,' Aphrael said sweetly to her cousin, 'would you 
see if you can find Zalasta for me? He has a great deal to answer 
for.' 
'i'll see what I can do, Aphrael,' the handsome God promised, 
'but I really ought to get back to my studio. I've been letting my 
own work slide during all this.' 
'Please, Setras,' she wheedled, unleashing that devastating 
little smile. 
He laughed helplessly. 'Do you see what I was talking about, 
Bergsten?' he said to the towering Patriarch. 'She's the most 
dangerous creature in the universe.' 
'So I've heard,' Bergsten replied. 'You'd probably better go 
ahead and do as she asks, Setras. You'll do it in the end anyway.' 
'Ah, there you are, Itagne-Ambassador,' Vanion heard Atana 
Mans say in a deceptively pleasant tone of voice. He turned and 
saw the lithe young commander of the garrison at Cynestra 
descending on the clearly apprehensive Tamul diplomat. 'i've 
been looking all over for you,' she continued. 'We have a great 
deal to talk about. Somehow, not one of your letters reached 
me. I think you should reprimand your messenger.' 
Itagne's face took on a trapped expression. 


Betuana dispatched runners to Matherion just before noon, 
when the last of the demoralized Cyrgai capitulated. Sir Ulath 
made an issue of the fact that what had happened to the Cymesgans 


 in the outer city might have influenced that decision to 
some degree. Patriarch Bergsten had taken to looking at his 
countryman with a critical and speculative eye. Bergsten was a 



rough-and-ready churchman, willing to bend all sorts of rules 
in the name of expediency, but he choked just a bit on Ulath's 
%led ecumenicism. 'He's just a little too enthusiastic, Sparhawk." 

 the huge Patriarch declared. 'All right, I'll grant you that 
the Trolls were useful, but -' He groped for a way to express 
his innate prejudices. 
'There's a rather special kinship between Ulath and Bhlokw, 
your Grace,' Sparhawk sidestepped the issue. 'How much have 
we got left to do here? I'd sort of like to get my wife back to 
civilization. ' 
'You can leave now, Sparhawk,' Bergsten said with a shrug. 
We can take care of cleaning up here. You didn't leave very 
much for the rest of us to worry about. I'll stay here with the 
'knights to finish rounding up the Cyrgai; Tikume will take 
his Peloi back to Cynestra to help Itagne and Atana Mans set 
up the occupation, and Betuana's going to send her Atans 
into Arjuna to re-establish imperial authority.' He made a sour 
face. 
'There's nothing really left but all the niggling little administrative 

 details. You've robbed me of a very good fight, 
Sparhawk.' 
'I can send for more of klael's soldiers if you want, your Grace. 
'No. That's all right, Sparhawk,' Bergsten replied quickly. 'I 
can live without any more of those fights. You'll be going straight 
back to Matherion?' 
'Not straight back, your Grace. Courtesy obliges us to escort 
Anarae Xanetia back to Delphaeus.' 
'She's a very strange lady,' Bergsten mused. 'I keep catching 
myself just on the verge of genuflection every time she enters 
a room. ' 
'She has that effect on people, your Grace. If you really don't 
'need us here, I'll talk with the others, and we'll get ready to leave.' 

'What actually happened, Sparhawk?' Bergsten asked directly. 
'I have to make a report to Dolmant, and I can't make much 
sense out of what the others have been telling me.' 
'i'm not sure I can explain it, your Grace,' Sparhawk replied. 
"helliom and I were sort of combined for a while. It needed my 
arm, I guess.' It was an easy answer, and it evaded a central 
issue that Sparhawk was not yet fully prepared to even think 
about. 
'You were just a tool, then?' Bergsten's look was intent. 
Sparhawk shrugged. 'Aren't we all, your Grace? We're the 
instruments of God. That's what we get paid for.' 
'Sparhawk, you're right on the verge of heresy here. Don't 
throw the word "God" around like that.' 
'No, your Grace,' Sparhawk agreed. 'It's just a reflection of 
the limitations of language. There are things that we don't 
understand and don't have names for. We just lump them all 
together, call it "God", and let it go at that. You and I are soldiers, 

 Patriarch Bergsten. We get paid to hit the ground running 
when somebody blows a trumpet. Let Dolmant sort it out. That's 
what he gets paid for.' 

Sparhawk and his friends, accompanied by Kring, Betuana and 
Engessa, rode out of shattered Cyrga shortly after dawn the 


following morning, bound for Sama. Sparhawk had neither seen 
nor heard from Bhelliom since his encounter with Cyrgon, 
and he felt a peculiar sense of disappointment about that. The 
Troll-Gods had also departed with their children - all 
except for Bhlokw, who shambled along between Ulath and Tynian.

 Bhlokw was evasive about his reasons for accompanying 
them. 
They rode northeasterly across the barren wastes of Cynesga, 
traveling in easy stages. The urgent need for haste was gone 
now. Sephrenia and Xanetia, once again working in concert, 
had returned all the faces to their rightful owners, and things 
were slowly settling back to 'normal. 
It was about mid-morning ten days after they had left Cyrga 
and when they were but a few leagues from Sama that Vanion 
rode forward to join Sparhawk at the head of the column. 'A 
word with you, Sparhawk?' he said. 
'Of course.' 
'It's sort of private.' 
Sparhawk nodded, turned the column over to Bevier and 
nudged Faran into a rolling canter. He and Vanion slowed again 
when they were about a quarter of a mile ahead of the others. 
'Sephrenia wants us to get married,' Vanion said, cutting past 
any preamble. 
'You're asking my permission?' 
Vanion gave him a long, steady look. 
'Sorry,' Sparhawk apologized. 'You took me by surprise. 
There are problems with that', you know. The Church will never 
approve, and neither will the Thousand of Styricum. We're not 
quite as hide-bound as we used to be, but the notion of interracial 

 or interfaith marriage still raises some hackles.' 
'I know,' Vanion said glumly. 'Dolmant probably wouldn't 
have any personal objections, but his hands are tied by Church 
law and doctrine.' 
'Who are you going to get to officiate, then?' 
'Sephrenia's already solved that problem. Xanetia's going to 
perform the ceremony.' 
Sparhawk nearly choked on that. 
'She is a priestess, Sparhawk.' 
'Well - technically, I suppose.' Then Sparhawk suddenly 
broke out laughing. 
'What's so funny?' Vanion demanded truculently. 
'Can you imagine the look on Ortzel's face when he hears 
that a Preceptor of one of the four orders, a Patriarch of the 
Church, has been married to one of the Thousand of Styricum 
by a Delphaeic priestess?' 
'It does violate a few rules, doesn't it?' Vanion conceded with 
a wry smile. 
'A few? Vanion, I doubt that you could find any single act 
that'd violate more.' 
'Do you object, too?' 
'Not me, old friend. If this is what you and Sephrenia want, 
I'll back the two of you all the way up to the Hierocracy.' 
'Would you stand up with me, then? During the ceremony, I 
mean?' 
Sparhawk clapped him on the shoulder. 'i'd be honored, my 
lord." 


'Good. That'll keep it all in the family. Sephrenia's already 
spoken to your wife about it. Ehlana's going to stand with 
her.' 
'Somehow I almost knew that was coming,' Sparhawk 
laughed. 
They passed through Sama and proceeded north along a 
snow-clogged mountain trail toward Dirgis in southern Atan. 

after they left Dirgis, they turned westward again and rode higher into the 

mountains. 

'We're leaving a very wide trail behind us, Sparhawk,' Bevier 

said late one snowy afternoon. 'And the trail's leading directly 

to Delphaeus.' 

Sparhawk turned and looked back. 'You've got a point,' he 

conceded. 'Maybe I'd better have a talk with Aphrael. Things 

have changed a bit, but I don't think the Delphae are quite ready 

to welcome crowds of sightseers.' He turned Faran around and 

rode back to join the ladies. Aphrael, as usual, rode with 

Sephrenia. 'A suggestion, Divine One?' Sparhawk said tentatively. 

'You sound just like Tynian.' 

He ignored that. 'How good are you with weather?' he asked. 

'Did you want it to be summer?' 

'No. Actually I want a moderate-sized blizzard. We're leaving 

tracks in the snow behind us, and the tracks are pointing straight 

at Delphaeus.' 

'What difference does that make?' 

'The Delphae might not want unannounced visitors.' 

'There won't be any - announced or otherwise. You promised 

to seal their valley, didn't you?' 

'Oh, God!" he said. 'i'd forgotten about that. This is going to 

be a problem. I don't have Bhelliom any more.' 

'Then you'd better try to get in touch with it, Sparhawk. A 

promise is a promise, after all. Xanetia's kept her part of the 

bargain, so you're morally obliged to keep yours.' 

Sparhawk was troubled. He rode off some distance into a thick 

grove of spindly sapling pines and dismounted. 'Blue Rose,' he 

said aloud, not really expecting an answer. 'Blue Rose.' 

'I hear thee, Anakha,' the voice in his mind responded 

immediately. 'I had thought thou might be in some way discontent 
with me." 

'Never that, Blue Rose. Thou hast fulfilled - or exceeded - all 

that I did require of thee. Our enemies are overthrown, and I 

am content. I did, however, pledge mine honor to the Delphae 

in exchange for their aid. I am obliged to seal up their valley 

that none of this world may come upon them.' 

'I do recall thy pledge, Anakha. It was well-given. Soon, however, 
it will not be needful.' 

'Thy meaning escapes me.' 

'Watch then, my son, and learn.' There was a lengthy pause 

'It is not mine intent to offend, but why hast thou brought this 

to me?' 

'I gave my word that I would seal their valley, Father.' 

'Then seal it.' 

'I was not certain that I could still speak with thee to entreat 

thine aid.' 

'Thou hast no need of aid, Anakha - not mine nor that of any 


other. Did not thine encounter with Cyrgon convince thee that 
all things are possible for thee? Thou art Anakha and my son, 
and there is none other like thee in all the starry universe. It was 
needful to make thee so, that my design might be accomplished. 
Whatsoever thou couldst do through me, thou couldst as easily 
have done with thine own hand.' The voice paused. 'I am, however,

 somewhat pleased that thou wert unaware of thine ability, 
for it did give me an opportunity to come to know thee. I shall 
think often of thee in my continuing journey. Let us then proceed 

 to Delphaeus, where thy comrade Vanion and our dearly-loved 

 Sephrenia will be joined, and where thou wilt behold a 
wonder. ' 
'Which particular wonder is that, Blue Rose?' 
"Twould hardly be a wonder for thee shouldst thou know of 
it in advance, my son.' There were faint traces of amusement in 
the voice as the sense of Bhelliom's presence faded. 
It 'was early on a snowy evening when they crested a ridge 
and looked down into the valley where the glowing lake, misty 
in the swirling snowflakes, shone with a light almost like that 
of the' moon. Ancient Codon awaited them at the rude gate to 
this other hidden city, and standing beside him was Itagne's 
friend, Ekrasios. 
They talked until quite late, for there was much to share, and 
it was mid-morning of the following day before Sparhawk awoke 
in the oddly sunken bedroom he shared with his wife. It was 
one of the peculiarities of Delphaeic construction that the floors 
of most of their rooms were below ground-level. Sparhawk 
didn't give it much thought, but Khalad seemed quite intrigued 
by the notion. 
Sparhawk gently kissed his still-sleeping wife, slipped quietly 
from their bed, and went looking for Vanion. He remembered 
his own wedding day, and he was Quite sure that his friend was 
going to need some support. 
He found the silvery-haired Preceptor talking with Talen and 
Khalad in the makeshift stable. Khalad's face was bleak. 'What's 
the problem?' Sparhawk asked as he joined them. 
"My brother's a little unhappy,' Talen explained. 'He talked 
with Ekrasios and the other Delphae who dispersed Scarpa's 
army down in Arjuna, and nobody could tell him one way or 
the other about what happened to Krager.' 
'i'm going to operate on the theory that he's still alive,' Khalad 
declared. 'He's just too slippery not to have escaped.' 
'We have plans for you, Khalad,' Vanion told him. 'You're 
too valuable to spend your whole life trying to chase down a 
weasely drunkard who may or may not have gotten out of 
Natayos alive.' 
'It won't take him all that long, Lord Vanion,' Talen said. 'As 
soon as Stragen and I get back to Cimmura, we'll talk with 
Platime, and he'll put out the word. If Krager's still alive - anywhere 

 in the world - we'll find out about it.' 
'What are the ladies doing?' Vanion asked nervously. 
'Ehlana's still asleep,' Sparhawk replied. 'Are you and 
Sephrenia going back to Matherion with us when we leave here?' 
'Briefly,' Vanion responded. 'Sephrenia wants to speak with 
Sarabian about a few things. Then we'll go back to Atan with 
Betuana and Engessa. It's only a short trip from there to Sarsos. 


Have you noticed what's going on between Betuana and 
Engessa, by the way?' 
Sparhawk nodded. 'Evidently Betuana's decided that the 
Atans need a king. Engessa's suitable, and he's probably a great 
deal more intelligent than Androl was.' 
'That's not saying too much for him, Sparhawk,' Talen said 
with a broad grin. 'Androl wasn't a great deal more intelligent 
than a buck.'
The ladies, of course, made extended preparations. The 
knights, on the other hand, did what they could to keep 
Vanion's mind occupied. 
An obscure tenet of the Delphaeic faith dictated that the ceremony 


 take place on the shore of the glowing lake just at dusk. 
Sparhawk dimly perceived why this might be appropriate for 
the Shining Ones, but the wedding of Vanion and Sephrenia 
had little if anything to do with the covenant between the 
Delphae and their God. Courtesy, however, dictated that he 
keep his opinions to himself. He did offer to clothe Vanion in 
traditional black Pandion armor, but the Preceptor chose instead 
to wear a white Styric robe. 'i've fought my last war, Sparhawk,' 
he said, a bit sadly. 'Dolmant won't have any choice but to excommunicate 


 me and strip me of my knighthood after this. That 
makes me a civilian again. I never really enjoyed wearing armor 
all that much anyway.' He looked curiously at Ulath and Tynian 
who were talking earnestly with Bhlokw just outside the stable 
door. 'What's going on there?' 
'They're trying to explain the concept of a wedding to their 
friend. They aren't making very much headway.' 
'I don't imagine that Trolls set much store in ceremonies.' 
'Not really. When a male feels that way about a female, he 
takes her something - or somebody - to eat. If she eats it, they're 
married.' 
'And if she doesn't?'
Sparhawk shrugged. 'They usually try to kill each other.' 
'Do you have any idea of why Bhlokw didn't go off with the 
rest of the Trolls?' 
'Not a clue, Vanion. We haven't been able to get a straight 
answer out of him. Evidently there's something the Troll-Gods 
want him to do.' 
The afternoon dragged on, and Vanion grew more and more 
edgy with each passing moment. Inevitably, however, the grey 
day slid into a greyer evening, and dusk settled over the hidden 
valley of Delphaeus. 
The path from the city gate to the edge of the lake had been 
carefully cleared, and Aphrael, who was not above cheating on 
occasion, had strewn it with flower petals. The Delphae, all 
aglow and singing an ancient hymn, lined the sides of the path. 


Vanion waited at the edge of the lake with Sparhawk, and the 
other members of their party stood in smiling anticipation as 
Sephrenia, with Ehlana at her side, emerged from the city to 
walk down to the shore. 
'Courage, my son,' Sparhawk murmured to his old friend. 
'Are you trying to be funny?' 
'Getting married doesn't really hurt, Vanion." 



It happened when the bride and her attendant were perhaps 
halfway to the lake-shore. A sudden cloud of inky darkness 
appeared at the edge of the snow-covered meadow, and a great 
voice bellowed, 'NO!' Then a spark of incandescent light 
emerged from the center of the cloud and began to swell ominously, 
surging and surrounded by a blazing halo of purplish 
light. Sparhawk recognized the phenomenon. 
'I forbid this abomination!' the great voice roared. 
'Zalasta!' Kalten exclaimed, staring at the raPidly exPanding 
sphere. 
The Styric was haggard and his hair and beard were matted. 
He wore his customary white robe and held his polished staff 
in his trembling hands. He stood inside the glowing sphere, 
surrounded by its protective nimbus. Sparhawk felt an icy calm 
descending over him as he prepared his mind and spirit for the 
inevitable confrontation. 
'I have lost you, Sephrenia!' Zalasta declared. 'But I will not 
permit you to wed this Elene!" 
Aphrael dashed to her sister, her long black hair flying and a 
look of implacable determination on her small face. 
'Fear not, Aphrael,' Zalasta said, speaking in formal Styric. 'I 
have not come to this accursed place to pit myself against thee 
or thine errant sister. I speak for Styricum in this matter, and I 
have come to prevent this obscene sham of a ceremony which 
will befoul our entire race.' He straightened and pointed an 
accusing finger at Sephrenia. 'I adjure thee, woman. Turn away 
from this unnatural act. Go out from here, SePhrenia of Ylara! 
This wedding shall not take place!' 
'It will.' SePhrenia's voice rang out. 'You cannot Prevent it. 
Go away', Zalasta! You lost all claim on me when you tried to 
kill me!' She raised her chin. 'And have you come to try again?' 
'No, Sephrenia of Ylara. That was the result of a madness 
that came over me. There is yet another way to prevent this 
abomination.' And he quickly turned, leveling his deadly staff 
at Vanion. A brilliant spark shot from the tip of the staff, sizzling 
in the pale evening light, straight as an arrow it flew, carrying 
death and all Zalasta's hatred. 
But vigilant Anakha was ready, having already surmised at 
whom Zalasta would direct his attack. The sizzling spark flew 
straight, and agile Anakha stretched forth his hand to subdue 
it. He grasped the spark and saw its fury spurting out between 
his fingers. Then like a small boy throwing a stone at a bird, 
he hurled it back to explode against the surface of the blazing 
sphere. 
'Well done, my son,' Bhelliom's voice applauded. 
Zalasta flinched violently within his protective sphere. Pale 
and shaken, he stared at the dreadful form of Bhelliom's Child. 
Methodical Anakha raised his hand, palm outward, and began 
to chip away at the blazing envelope which protected the desperate

 Styric with bolt after bolt of the kind of force that creates 
suns, noting almost absently as he did that the wedding-guests 
were scattering and that Sephrenia was rushing to Vanion's side 
As he whipped that force out again and again, curious Anakha 
studied it, testing its power, probing for its limits. 
He found none. 
Implacable Anakha advanced on the deceitful Styric who had 


been ultimately the cause of a lifetime of suffering and woe. He 
knew that he could obliterate the now-terrified sorcerer with a 
single thought. 
He chose not to. 
Vengeful Anakha moved forward, savaging the Styric's last 
desperately erected 'defenses, cutting them away bit by bit and 
brushing aside Zalasta's pitiful efforts to respond. 
'Anakha. It is not right!' The voice sPoke in Trollish. 
Puzzled Anakha turned to look. 
It was Bhlokw, and Bhelliom's Child had respect for the 
shaggy priest of the Troll-Gods. 
'This is the last of the wicked ones!' Bhlokw declared. 'It is 
the wish of Khwaj to cause hurt to it! Will the Child of the 
Flower-Gem hear the words of Khwaj?' 
Troubled Anakha considered the words of the priest of the 
Troll-Gods. 'I will hear the words of Khwaj,' he said. 'It is right 
that I should do this, for Khwaj and I are pack-mates.' 
The enormity of the Fire-God appeared, steaming away the 
snow covering the meadow around him. 'Will Bhelliom's Child 
be bound by the word of his pack-mate, Ulath-from-Thalesia?' 
he demanded in a voice that roared like a furnace. 
'The word of Ulath-from-Thalesia is my word, Khwaj,'
honorable Anakha conceded. 
'Then the wicked one is mine!' 
Regretful Anakha curbed his wrath. 'The words of Khwaj are 
right words,' he agreed. 'if Ulath-from-Thalesia has given the 
wicked one to Khwaj, then I will not say that it shall not be so.' 
He looked at the terrified Styric, who was struggling desperately 
to retain some small measure of defense. 'It is yours, Khwaj. It 
has caused me much hurt, and 'I would cause hurt to it in return, 
but if Ulath-from-Thalesia has said that it is the place of Khwaj 
to cause hurt to it, then so be it.' 
'Bhelliom's Child speaks well. You have honor, Anakha.' The 
Fire-God looked accusingly at Zalasta. 'You have done great 
wickedness, one-called-Zalasta.' 
Zalasta stared at Khwaj in terrified incomprehension.
'Say to it what I have said, Anakha,' Khwaj requested. 'It 
must know why it is being punished.' 
Courteous Anakha said, 'I will, Khwaj.' He looked sternly at 
the dishevelled Styric. 'You have caused me much pain, Zalasta,' 
he said in a dreadful voice, speaking in Styric. 'I was going to 
repay you for all those friends of mine you destroyed or corrupted, 


 but Khwaj here has laid claim to you, and for variOUS 
reasons I'm going to honor his claim. You should have stayed 
away, Zalasta. Vanion would have hunted you down eventually, 


 but death is a little thing, and once it's over, it's over. What 
Khwaj is going to do to you will last for eternity.' 
'Does it understand?' Khwaj demanded. 
'In some measure, Khwaj.'
'In time it will understand more, and it has much time. It has 
always.' And the dreadful Fire-God blew away Zalasta's last 
pitiful defenses and laid a strangely gentle hand on the cringing 
Styric's head. 'Burn!' he commanded. 'Run and burn until the 
end of days!'
And, all aflame, Zalasta of Styricum went out from that place 
shrieking and engulfed in endless fire. 



Compassionate Anakha sighed as he watched the burning 
man run out across the snowy meadow, growing smaller and 
smaller in the distance and with his cries of agony and woe and 
unspeakable loneliness receding with him as he began the first 
hour of his eternal punishment. 

EPILOGUE 

The following day dawned clear and cold. The sun on the snowfields

 blanketing the surrounding mountains was dazzling, and 
the lake at the center of the hidden Valley of Delphaeus gleamed. 
The wedding had, of course, been postponed, and was now to 
take place this evening. 
There had been questions, naturally, but Sparhawk had put 
them to rest by explaining that everything that had happened 
had been Bhelliom's doing, and that he had only been its instrument which 

 was not exactly a lie. 
They spent the day quietly and gathered again as the sun 
went down and the shadows of evening settled over the valley. 
A strange sense of anticipation had nagged at Sparhawk all afternoon. 

 Something was going to happen here. Bhelliom had told 
him that he would behold a wonder, and that was not the kind 
of word Bhelliom would use lightly. 
The shadows of evening deepened, and Sparhawk and the 
other men escorted Vanion down to the shore of the glowing 
lake to await the bride's party while the Shining Ones once again 
sang the ancient hymn which had been so abruptly broken off 
the previous evening. 
Then the bride appeared at the gate with the Queen of Elenia 
at her side and the other ladies close behind them. The Child 
Goddess, whirling and dancing in the air and with her clear 
voice raised in flute-song, preceded them, again strewing their 
path with flower petals. 
Sephrenia's face was serene as she came down the path to 
the lake. As the small Styric bride approached the man whom 
two major religions had forbidden her to marry, her personal 
Goddess provided a visible symbol that she, at least, approved. 
The stars had just begun to appear overhead, and one of them 
seemed to have lost its way. Like a tiny comet, a brilliant spark 
of light descended over the radiant Sephrenia and settled gently 
on her head as a glowing garland of spring flowers. 
Sparhawk smiled gently. The similarity to the crowning of 
Mirtai during her rite of passage was a little too obvious to miss. 
'Critic,' Aphrael's voice accused. 
'I didn't say anything.' 
'Well, don't.' 
Sephrenia and Vanion joined hands as the Delphaeic hymn 
swelled to a climax. And then Xanetia, all aglow and accompanied 

 by two other glowing forms, one white and the other 
blue, came walking across the lake. A yearning kind of murmur 
passed through the Delphae, and, as one, they sank reverently to their 
knees. 

The Anarae tenderly embraced her Styric sister and kissed 
Vanion chastely on the cheek. 'I have entreated Beloved edaemus 
to join with us here and to bless this most happy union,' 


she told the assemblage, 'and he hath brought with him this 
other guest, who also hath some interest in our ceremony.' 
'is that blue one who I think it is?' Kalten muttered to 
Sparhawk. 
'Oh, yes,' Sparhawk replied. 'That's the form it took back in 
Cyrga, remember? - After I stuffed it down Klael's throat.' 
'I was a little distracted at that point. Is that what it really looks
like? After you peel off all the layers of sapphire, I mean?' 
'I don't really think so. Bhelliom's a spirit, not a form. I think 
this particular shape is just a courtesy - for our benefit.' 
'I thought it had already left.' 
'No, not quite yet.' 
The glowing form of Edaemus straightened, somehow managing 


 to look uncomfortable. Xanetia's face hardened and her eyes
narrowed. 
'I had thought ill oF thee, Sephrenia of Ylara,' the God of the 
Delphae admitted. 'Mine Anarae hath persuaded me that my 
thought was in error. I do entreat thee to forgive me.' Gentle 
Xanetia, it appeared, was not above a certain amount of bullying. 
Sephrenia smiled benignly. 'Of course I forgive thee, Divine 
Edaemus. I was not entirely blameless myself, I do confess.' 
'Let us all then pray to our separate Gods to bless the union 
of this man and this woman,' Xanetia said in formal tones, 'for 
methinks it doth presage a new birth of understanding and trust 
for all of mankind.' 
Sparhawk was a little dubious about that, but like the others, 
he bowed his head. He did not, however, direct his words to 
his Elene God. 'Blue Rose,' he sent out his thought. 
'Art thou praying, my son?' The answering voice sounded 
slightly amused. 
'Consulting, Blue Rose,' Sparhawk corrected. 'Others will 
direct our entreaty to our Elene God, and I do perceive that the 
time fast approaches when thou and I must part.' 
'Truly. ' 
'I thought to take this opportunity to ask a boon of thee.' 
'if it be within my power. ' 
'I have seen the extent of thy power, Blue Rose - and in some 
measure shared it. It is uncandid of thee to suggest that there 
are any limits to what thou canst do.' 
'Be nice,' Bhelliom murmured. It seemed quite fond of that 
particular phrase. 'What is this boon, my son?' 
'I do entreat thee to take all thy power with thee when thou 
dost depart. It is a burden I am unprepared to accept. I am thy 
son, Blue Rose, but I am also a man. I have neither the patience 
nor the wisdom to accept responsibility for what thou hast 
bestowed upon me. This world which thou hast made hath Gods
in plenty. She doth not need another. ' 
'Think, my son. Think of what thou dost propose to surrender-' 
'I have, my father. I have been Anakha, for it was needful.' 
Sparhawk struggled for a way to put his feelings into archaic 
Elenic. 'When I did as Anakha confront the Styric Zalasta, I 
did feel a great detachment within myself, and that detachment 
abideth within me still. It seemeth me that thy gift hath altered 
me, making me more - or less - than a man. I would, an it 
please thee, no longer be "patient Anakha" or "curious Anakha" 
or "implacable Anakha". Anakha's task is finished. Now, with 



all my heart, I would be Sparhawk again. To be "loving Sparhawk"

 or even "irritated Sparhawk" would please me far more 
than the dreadful emptiness which is Anakha.' 
There was a long pause. 'Know that I am well-pleased with 
thee, my son.' There was pride in the silent voice in Sparhawk's 
mind. 'I find more merit in thee in this moment than in any 
other. Be well, Sparhawk.' And the voice was gone. 
The wedding ceremony was strange in some ways and very 
familiar in others. The celebration of the love that existed 
between Vanion and Sephrenia was there, but the preaching 
which so marred the Elene ritual was not. At the conclusion, 
Xanetia gently laid her hands in loving benediction upon the 
heads of the two she had just joined. The gesture seemed to 
proclaim that the ceremony was at an end. 
But it was not. 
The second of the two figures which had accompanied Xanetia 
across the luminous waters of the lake stepped forward, all glowing 

 blue, to add its own benediction. It raised its hands over the 
man and the woman, and for a brief moment they shared its 
azure incandescence. And when the light faded, Sephrenia had 
subtly changed. The cares and weariness which had marked her 
face in a dozen tiny ways were gone, and she appeared to be 
no older than Alcan. The changes Bhelliom's glowing touch had 
wrought on Vanion were more visible and pronounced. His 
shoulders, which had imperceptibly slumped over the years, 
were straight again. His face was unlined, and his silvery hair 
and beard were now the dark auburn Sparhawk dimly 
remembered from the days of his novitiate. It was Bhelliom's 
final gift, and nothing could have pleased Sparhawk more. 
Aphrael clapped her hands together with a squeal of delight 
and flew into the arms of the nebulous, glowing figure which 
had just rejuvenated her sister and Vanion. 
Sparhawk rather carefully concealed a smile. The Child Goddess 

 had finally maneuvered Bhelliom into a position where she 
could unleash the devastating effects of her kisses upon it. The 
kisses could, of course, have been pure, effusive gratitude - but 
they probably weren't. 
The wedding was at an end, but the glowing Delphae did not 
return to their empty city. Xanetia placed one supporting arm 
around Anari Codon's frail old shoulders and guided him 
instead out onto the radiant surface of the lake, and the Shining 
Ones followed, raising a different hymn as incandescent 
Edaemus hovered in the air above them. The light of the lake 
grew brighter and brighter, and the ethereal glow of the Delphae 
seemed to merge, and individual figures were no longer distinguishable. 

 Then, like the point of a spear, Edaemus streaked 
skyward, and all of his children streamed upward behind him. 
When Sparhawk and his friends had first come to Delphaeus, 
Anari Codon had told them that the Delphae journeyed toward 
the light and that they would become the light, but that there 
were yet impediments. Bhelliom had evidently removed those 
barriers. The Delphae marked the starry sky like a comet as they 
rose together on the first step of their inconceivable journey. 
The pale, clear radiance of the lake was gone, but it was not 
dark. An azure spark hung over it as Bhelliom surveyed what 
it had wrought and found that it was good. Then it too rose 


from the earth to rejoin the eternal stars. 

They stayed that night in deserted Delphaeus, and Sparhawk 
awoke early as usual. He dressed himself quietly and left the 
simple bedroom and his tousled, sleeping wife to go outside to 
check the weather. 
Flute joined him when he reached the city gate. 'Why don't 
you put some shoes on?' he asked her, noting that her bare, 
grass-stained little feet were sunk in the snow. 
'What do I need with shoes, Father?' She held out her arms, 
and he picked her up. 
'It was quite a night, wasn't it?' he said, looking up at the 
cloudy sky. 
'Why did you do that, Sparhawk?' 
'Do what?' 
"you know what I mean. Do you realize what you could have 
done? You could have turned this world into a paradise, but 
you threw it all away.' 
'I don't think that would have been a good idea, Aphrael. My 
idea of paradise would probably have been different from other 
people's.' He sniffed at the chill air. 'I think we've got weather 
coming,' he observed. 
'Don't change the subject. You had ultimate power. Why did 
you give it up?' 
He sighed. 'I didn't really like it all that much. There wasn't 
any effort involved in it, and when you get something without 
working for it, it doesn't really have any value. Besides, there 
are people who have claims on me.' 
What's that got to do with it?' 
"What could I have done if Ehlana had decided that she 
wanted Arcium? Or if Dolmant had decided that he wanted to 
convert Styricum? Or all of Tamuli? I have loyalties and obligations,

 Aphrael, and sooner or later, i'd have made bad decisions 
because of them. Trust me. I made the right choice.' 
'I think you're going to regret it.' 
'i've regretted lots of things. You learn to live with it. Can 
you get us to Matherion?' 
'You could have done it yourself, you know. 
'Don't beat it into the ground, Aphrael. If you don't want to, 
then we'll just plow our way through the snow. We've done it 
before.' 
'You're hateful, Sparhawk. You know I won't let you do that.' 
'Now do you see what I mean about the power of loyalties 
and obligations?' 
'Don't start lecturing me. I'm in no mood for it. Go wake up 
the others, and let's get started.' 
'Whatever you say, Divine One.' 
They located the rather large communal kitchen in which the 
Delphae had prepared all their meals and the storerooms where 
the food was kept. Despite their eons of enmity, the dietary 
prejudices of the Styrics and Delphae were remarkably similar. 
Sephrenia found the breakfast much to her liking, but Kalten 
grumbled a great deal. He did eat three helpings, however. 
'Whatever happened to friend Bhlokw?' Kring asked, pushing 
back his plate. 'I just realized that I haven't seen him since 
Zalasta took fire.' 


'He went off with his Gods, Domi,' Tynian replied. 'He did 
what they sent him to do, and now he and the rest of the Trolls
are on their way back to Thalesia. He wished us all good hunting. 


 That's about as close as a Troll can come to saying goodbye.' 
'It might sound a little strange,' Kring admitted, 'but I liked 
him.' 
'He's a good pack-mate,' Ulath said. 'He hunts well, and 
he's willing to share what he kills with the others in the 
pack.' 
'Oh, yes,' Tynian agreed with a shudder. 'if it wasn't a freshly-killed 


 dog, it was a haunch of raw Cyrgai.' 
'It was what he had, Tynian,' Ulath defended his shaggy 
friend, 'and he was ready to share it. You can't ask more than 


that, can you?' 
'Sir Ulath,' Talen said, 'i've just eaten. Do you suppose we 
could talk about something else?' 
They saddled their horses and rode out of Delphaeus. 
As he left, Khalad reined in, dismounted, and closed the gate. 
'Why did you do that?' Talen asked him. 'The Delphae aren't 
coming back, you know.'
'It's the proper thing to do,' Khalad said as he remounted. 
'Leaving it open would have been disrespectful.' 
Since they all knew who she really was, Flute made no attempt 
to conceal her tampering this time. The horses plodded along, 
as horses will if they aren't being pushed, but every few minutes
the horizon flickered and changed. Once, somewhat east of 
Dirgis, Sparhawk rose in his stirrups to look to the rear. Their 
clearly visible trail stretched back to the middle of an open 
meadow where it stopped abruptly, almost as if the horses and 
riders had been dropped there out of the sky. 
They reached the now-familiar hilltop overlooking fire-domed 
Matherion and its harbor just as evening was approaching, and 
they rode on down to the city gratefully. They had all been long 
on the road, and it was good to be home again. Sparhawk rather 
quickly amended that thought in his mind. Matherion was not 
really home. Home was a dank, unlovely city on the Cimmura 
River, half a world away. 
There were some startled looks at the gate of the imperial 
compound, and yet more startled looks at the drawbridge to 
Ehlana's castle. Vanion had stubbornly rejected his wife's urgings 


 to conceal his head and face with the hood of his cloak and 
,it quite literally flaunted the fact that some thirty-odd years had 
somehow fallen away. Vanion was like that sometimes.


There were some visible changes inside the castle as well. 
They found the Emperor in the blue-draped sitting-room on the 
second floor, and in addition to Baroness Melidere, Emban and 
Oscagne, three of his wives, Elysoun, Gahennas, and Liatris 


were also present. Elysoun was probably the most notable, since 
she was now modestly dressed. 
'Good God, Vanion!' Emban exclaimed when he saw the 
Pandion Preceptor. 'What's happened to you?' 
'I got married, your Grace,' Vanion replied. He smoothed back 
his mahogany-colored hair. 'This was one of the wedding presents.



 Do you like it?' 
'You look ridiculous!' 
'Oh, I wouldn't say that,' Sephrenia disagreed. 'I rather like 
it." 
'I gather that congratulations are in order,' Sarabian said 
urbanely. There was a marked difference in the Tamul Emperor. 
He had a self-confidence and a commanding presence that had 
not been there before. 'Considering the enormous religious barriers, 

 who performed the ceremony?' 
'Xanetia did, your Majesty,' Vanion replied. 'Delphaeic doctrine 

 didn't have any objections.' 
Sarabian looked around. 'Where is Xanetia?" he asked. 
Sephrenia pointed upward with one finger. 'Out there,' she 
replied rather sadly, 'with the rest of the Delphae.' 
'What?' The Emperor's expression was baffled. 
'Edaemus took them, Sarabian,' Flute explained. 'Evidently 
he and Bhelliom made some sort of arrangement.' She looked 
around. 'Where's Danae?' 
'She's in her room, Divine One,' Baroness Melidere said. 'She 
was a little tired, so she went to bed early.' 
'i'd better go tell her that her mother's home,' the Child Goddess 

 said, going toward the door leading back into the rest of 
the apartment. 
'We've received any number of reports,' Foreign Minister 
Oscagne said, 'but they were all couched in generalities - "the 
war's over, and we won" - that sort of thing. No offense 
intended, Queen Betuana. Your Atans are excellent messengers, 
but it's hard to get details out of them.' 
She shrugged. 'Perhaps it's a racial flaw, Oscagne-Excellency.' 
As she always did now, Betuana stood very close to the silent 
Engessa. She seemed reluctant to let him get very far away from 
her side. 
'The thing that puzzles me the most is the rather garbled 
message I got from my brother,' Oscagne confessed. 
'Itagne-Ambassador has a great deal on his mind just now,' 
Betuana said blandly. 
'Oh?' 
'He and Atana Mans became quite friendly when he was 
posted to Cynestra last fall. He didn't take it too seriously, but 
she did. She came looking for him. She found him in Cyrga and 
took him back with her to Cynestra.' 
'Really?' Oscagne said, his face betraying no hint of a smile. 
Then he shrugged. 'Oh, well,' he added, 'it's time that Itagne 
settled down anyway. As I recall, Atana Marts is a very vigorous 
young woman.' 
'Yes, Oscagne-Excellency, and very determined. I think your 
clever brother's days as a bachelor are numbered.' 
'What a shame,' Oscagne sighed. 'Pardon me a moment.' He 
went rather quickly into the next room, and they all heard the 
sounds of muffled laughter coming from there. 
And then Danae, her black hair flying, came running into the 
room to hurl herself into her mother's arms. 
Sarabian's face went bleak. 'Who finally killed Zalasta?' he 
asked. 'He was at the bottom of all this, when you get right 
down to it. ' 
Zalasta isn't dead,' Sephrenia said sorrowfully, lifting Flute 


into her lap. 


He isn't? How did he manage to get away?' 
'We let him go, your Majesty,' Ulath replied. 
'Are you mad? You know the kind of trouble he can stir up.' 
'He won't be causing any more trouble, your Majesty,' Vanion 
said. 'Unless he happens to start a few grass-fires.' 


 'He won't do that, Vanion,' Flute said. 'It's a spiritual fire, not 
a real one.' 
'Will somebody please tell me what happened?' Sarabian said. 
'Zalasta showed up at Sephrenia's wedding,' your Majesty,' 
Ulath told him.
'He tried to kill Vanion, but Sparhawk stopped 
him. Then our friend here was just about to do something fairly 
permanent about Zalasta, but Khwaj asserted a prior claim. Sparhawk 


 considered the politics of the situation and agreed. Then 
Khwaj set Zalasta on fire.' 
'What a gruesome idea,' Sarabian shuddered. Then he looked 
at SePhrenia. 'I thought you said that he isn't dead. Yet Sir Ulath 
just told me that he'd been burned to death.' 
'No, your Majesty,' Ulath corrected, 'I just said that Khwaj 
set fire to him. The same thing happened to Baron Parok.' 
'The Trollish notion of justice sort of appeals to me,' Sarabian 
said with a bleak smile. 'How long will they burn?' 
'Forever, your Majesty,' Tynian replied somberly. 'The fire is 
eternal.' 
'Good God.' 
'It's further than I'd have gone,' Sparhawk conceded, 'but as 
Ulath said, there were political considerations involved.' 
They talked until quite late, providing details of the campaign, 
the rescue of Ehlana and Alcan, the freeing of Bhelliom, and the 


final confrontation between Sparhawk and Cyrgon. Sparhawk 
rather carefully stressed his surrogacy in that particular event 
and made some issue of the fact that he was no longer Anakha. 
He wanted that particular book permanently closed with no 
doubts remaining in anyone's mind that there was absolutely no way to 
reopen it. 
Also during the course of that long conversation, Sarabian 
told them of the attempt on his life by Chacole and Torellia. 
'They might have actually pulled it off if it hadn't been for 
Elysoun,' he concluded, looking fondly at his now-demure 
Valesian wife. 
Mirtai looked at Elysoun with one questioningly-raised eyebrow. 
'Why the change of costume?' she asked bluntly. 
Elysoun shrugged. 'i'm with child,' she replied. 'I guess my 
days of adventuring are over.' She looked at Mirtai's puzzled 
expression. 'It's a Valesian custom,' she explained. 'We're 
allowed a certain amount of freedom until our first pregnancy. 
After that, we're supposed to behave ourselves.' She smiled. 'i'd 
more or less exhausted the potentials of the imperial compound 
anyway,' she added. 'Now it's time to settle down - and catch 
up on my sleep.' 
'Has anybody heard from Stragen and Caalador?' Talen asked. 
'Viscount Stragen and Duke Caalador came back to Matherion 
a week ago,' Sarabian replied. 



'New embellishments?' Ehlana asked with some surprise. 
'Rewards for services rendered, Ehlana,' Sarabian smiled. 'It 
seemed appropriate. Duke Caalador's accepted a position in the 
Ministry of the Interior, so he's gone back to Lebas to settle up 
his affairs there.' 
'And Stragen?' 
'He's on his way to Astel, your Majesty,' Baroness Melidere 
replied with a bleak smile. 'He said that he wants to have a few 
words with Elron.' 
'Did Elron manage to get out of Natayos alive?' Kalten 
sounded surprised. 'Ekrasios said that the Shining Ones had 
obliterated the place." 
'The word Caalador picked up was that Elron hid out somewhere 

 while the Shining Ones were dissolving Scarpa and 
Cyzada. Then, after they were gone, he crept out of the ruins 
and bolted for home. Stragen's going to look him up.' The 
Baroness looked at Khalad. 'Krager got out as well,' she told 
him. 'Caalador found out that he was bound for Zenga in eastern 
Cammoria. There's something you should know about Krager, 
though. ' 
'Oh?' 
'Do you remember how King Wargun died? 
'His liver finally gave out on him, didn't it?' 
She nodded. 'The same thing's happening to Krager. Caalador 
talked with a man named Order in the town of Delo. Krager 
was completely out of his head when they put him on the ship 
bound for Zenga.' 
'He's still alive, though, isn't he?' Khalad asked bleakly. 
'if you can call it that,' she sighed. 'Let it go, Khalad. He 
wouldn't even feel it if you ran your sword through him. He 
wouldn't know who you were or why you were killing him.' 
'Thank you, Baroness,' Khalad said, 'but I think that when 
we get back to Eosia, Berit and I'll run on down to Zenga just 
to make sure. Krager's gotten away from us just a few too many 
times to take any chances. I want to see him in the ground.' 
'Can I come too?' Talen asked eagerly. 
'No,' Khalad replied. 
'What do you mean, no?' 
'It's time for you to start your novitiate. 
'That can wait.' 
'No, it can't. You're already a half a year late. If you don't 
start training now, you'll never become proficient.' 
Vanion looked approvingly at Sparhawk's squire. 'Don't forget 

 what we talked about earlier, Sparhawk,' he said. 'And pass 
my recommendation on to Dolmant.' 
'What's this?' Khalad asked. 
'i'll tell you about it later,' Sparhawk replied. 
'Oh, by the way, Ehlana,' Sarabian said, 'as long as the subject's 

 come up anyway, would you be put out with me if I 
bestowed a title on your little song-bird here?' He smiled fondly 
at Alcan. 'I certainly hope not, dear heart, because I'm going to 
do it anyway - for outstanding service to the Empire, if nothing 
else.' 
'What a splendid idea, Sarabian!' Ehlana exclaimed. 
'I can't really take much credit for the notion of the titles, I'm 
afraid,' he admitted a bit ruefully. 'Actually, they were your 


daughter's idea. Her Royal Highness is a very strong-minded 
little girl.' 
Sparhawk glanced briefly at his daughter and then at Flute 
They wore identical expressions of smug self-satisfaction. Divine 
Aphrael clearly would not let anything stand in the way of her 
match-making. Sparhawk smiled briefly and then cleared his 
throat. 'Ah - your Majesty,' he said to the Emperor, 'it's growing 
rather late, and we're all tired. I'd suggest that we continue thiS 
tomorrow.' 
'Of course, Prince Sparhawk,' Sarabian agreed, rising to his 
feet. 
'A word with you, Sparhawk?' Patriarch Emban said as the 
others started to file out. 
'Of course.' They waited until they were alone in the room. 
'What are we going to do about Vanion and Sephrenia? 
Emban asked. 
'I don't exactly follow you, your Grace. 
'This so-called marriage is going to put Dolmant in a very 
difficult position, you know.' 
'It's not a "so-called marriage", Emban,' Sparhawk said 
firmly, cutting across the formalities. 
'You know what I mean. The conservatives in the Hierocracy 
will probably try to use it to weaken Sarathi's position.' 
'Why tell them, then? It's none of their business. A lot of 
things that our theology can't explain have happened here in 
Tamuli, your Grace. The Empire's outside the jurisdiction of our 
Church, so why tell the Hierocracy anything about them?' 
'I can't just lie to them, Sparhawk.' 
'I didn't suggest that. Just don't talk about it.' 
'I have to report to Dolmant.' 
'That's all right. He's flexible.' Sparhawk considered it. 'That's 
probably your best course anyway. We'll take Dolmant off to 
one side and tell him about everything that's happened here. 
We'll let him decide how much to tell the Hierocracy.' 
'You're putting an awful burden on him, Sparhawk.' 
Sparhawk shrugged. 'That's what he gets paid for, isn't it? 
Now if you'll excuse me, your Grace, there's a family reunion 
going on that I should probably attend.' 
There was a melancholy sense of endings for the next several 
weeks. They were all fully aware of the fact that once the weather 
broke, most of them would be leaving Matherion. The likelihood 
that they would ever gather again was very slight. They savored 
their moments together, and there were frequent private little 
interludes when two or perhaps three of them would gather in 
out-of-the way places, ostensibly to talk at great length about 
inconsequential matters, but in fact to cement faces, the sounds 
of voices, and very personal connections forever in their 
memories. 
Sparhawk entered the sitting-room one blustery morning to 
find Sarabian and Oscagne with their heads together over a 
bound book of some kind. There was a certain outrage in their 
expressions. 'Trouble?' Sparhawk asked. 
'Politics,' Sarabian said sourly. 'That's always trouble.' 
'The Contemporary History Department at the University has 
just published their version of recent events, Prince Sparhawk,' 
Oscagne explained. 'There's very little truth in it - particularly 


in light of the fact that Pondia Subat, our esteemed Prime Minister,

 turns out to be a hero.' 
'I should have deleted Subat as soon as I found out about his 
activities,' Sarabian said moodily. 'Who would be the best one 
to answer this tripe, Oscagne?' 
'My brother, your Majesty,' the Foreign Minister replied 
promptly. 'He is a member of the faculty, and he has a certain 
reputation. Unfortunately, he's in Cynestra just now.' 
'Send for him, Oscagne. Get him back here before Contemporary 

 History contaminates the thinking of a whole generation.' 
'Mans will want to come too, your Majesty.' 
'Fine. Your brother's too clever by half. Let's keep Atana Mans 
nice and close to him. She might be able to teach him humility.' 
'What are we going to do with the Cyrgai, your Majesty?' 
Sparhawk asked. 'Sephrenia says that the curse that confined 
them was lifted when Cyrgon died, and even though it's not 
actually their fault, there really isn't any place for them in the 
modern world.' 
'i've been brooding about that myself,' the Emperor admitted. 
'I think we'll want to keep them away from normal human 
beings. There's an island about five hundred leagues east of 
Tega. It's fairly fertile and it has a more or less acceptable climate. 
Since the Cyrgai are so fond of isolation, it should turn the trick. 
How long do you think it might take them to invent boats?' 
'Several thousand years, your Majesty. The Cyrgai aren't very 
creative. ' 
Sarabian grinned at him. 'i'd say that's the perfect place, then.' 
Sparhawk grinned back. 'Sounds good to me,' he agreed. 
Spring came to eastern Tamuli in a rush that year. A sudden 
warm, wet wind blew in off the Tamul sea, cutting the snow off 
the sides of nearby mountains in a single night. The streams ran 
bank-full, of course, so it was still too early for travel. Sparhawk's 

 impatience grew with each lingering day. It was not so 
much that he had anything pressing to attend to, but more that 
this prolonged farewell was extremely painful. 
There was one fairly extended argument. Ehlana insisted at 
first that they should all journey to Atan to celebrate the wedding 

of Mirtai and Kring. 
'You're being ignorant again, Ehlana,' Mirtai told her with 
characteristic bluntness. 'You've seen weddings before, and 
you've got a kingdom to run. Go back to Cimmura where you 
belong.' 
'Don't you want me to be present?' Ehlana's eyes filled with 
tears. 
Mirtai embraced her. 'You will be, Ehlana,' she said. 'You're 
in my heart forever now. Go back to Cimmura. I'll come by after 
Kring and I get settled in Pela - or wherever we decide to live.' 
Vanion and Sephrenia decided to accompany Queen 
Betuana's party as far as Atana and then to proceed on to 
Sarsos. 'It's probably the best place for us, dear one,' Sephrenia 
told Sparhawk. 'I have a certain status there, and I can shout 
down the fanatics who'll try to object to the fact that Vanion 
and I are married now.' 
'Well put,' Sparhawk said. Then he sighed. 'i'm going to miss 
you, little mother,' he told her. 'You and Vanion won't ever be 
able to come back to Eosia, you know.' 


'Don't be absurd, Sparhawk,' she laughed. 'i've always gone 
anyplace I wanted to go, and I always will. There are ways I 
can disguise Vanion's face -' and mine - so we'll stop by from 
time to time. I want to keep an eye on your daughter, if nothing 
else.' Then she kissed him. 'Run along now, dear one I have 
to go talk with Sarabian about Betuana.' 
'Oh?' 
'She's been muttering some nonsense about abdicating so that 
she can marry Engessa. The Atans are subject to the imperial 
crown, so I have to persuade Sarabian to keep her from doing 
something foolish. Engessa will make a very good co-ruler, and 
Sarabian needs stability in Atan.' 
As the spring run-off began to recede and the soggy fields 
around the capital began to dry out, Sparhawk went down to 
the harbor looking for Captain Sorgi. There were less battered 
and more luxurious ships swinging at anchor in the crowded 
harbor, but Sparhawk trusted Sorgi, and to sail home with him 
would provide a comforting sense of continuity to the conclusion 
of this whole business. He found the curly-haired sea-captain 
in a neat, well-lit wharfside tavern that was quite obviously run 
by an Elene proprietor. 
'There'll be thirteen of us, Captain,' Sparhawk said, 'and 
seven horses.' 
'We'll be a bit crowded, Master Cluff,' Sorgi replied, squinting 
at the ceiling, 'but I think we can manage. Are you going to be 
covering the cost of the passage yourself?' 
Sparhawk grinned. 'The Emperor has graciously offered to 
defray the expense,' he said. 'He's a friend, so please don't 
bankrupt him.' 
Sorgi grinned back. 'I wouldn't think of it, Master Cluff.' He 
leaned back in his chair. 'It's been an interesting time, and the 
Tamul Empire's an interesting place, but it'll be good to get back 
home again.' 
'Yes,' Sparhawk agreed. 'Sometimes it seems that I've spent 
my whole life trying to get back home.' 
'i'll reckon up the cost of the voyage and have my bo'sun 
bring it up to the imperial compound to you. I almost lost him 
down in Beresa, you know.' 
'Your bo'sun?' 
Sorgi nodded. 'A couple of rascals waylaid him in an alleyway. 
He barely got out alive.' 
'imagine that,' Sparhawk said blandly. Evidently Valash had 
tried to cut some corners on the hiring of assassins as well as 
on everything else. 
'When exactly did you want to sail, Master Cluff?' 
'We haven't quite decided yet - sometime in the next week 
or so. I'll let you know. Some of our friends are leaving to go 
overland to Atan. It might be best if we sailed on the same 
day.' 
'Good idea,' Sorgi approved. 'It's always best not to drag out 
the farewells. Sailors have learned how to say goodbye in a 
hurry. When the time comes to leave, we always have to catch 
the tide, and it won't wait.' 
'Well put, Sorgi,' Sparhawk smiled. 
Not unsurprisingly it was Betuana who made the decision. 
'We'll leave tomorrow,' she declared flatly at the dinner table a 


week later. 
'So soon?' Sarabian's voice sounded slightly stricken. 
'The streams are down, and the fields are dry, SarabianEmperor,' 


 she pointed out. 'Why should we linger?' 
'Well -' he let it trail off. 
'You're too sentimental, Sarabian,' she told him bluntly. 'You 
know that we're going to leave. Why prolong it? Come to Atan 
next fall, and we'll go boar-hunting. You spend too much time 
penned up here in Matherion.' 
'It's pretty hard for me to get away,' he said dubiously. 'Somebody 


 has to stay here and mind the store.' 
'Let Oscagne do it. He's honorable, so he won't steal too 
much.' 
'Your Majesty.' Oscagne protested. 
She smiled at him. 'I was only teasing you, Oscagne,' she told 
him. 'Friends can do that without giving offense.' 
There was little sleep for any of them that night. There was 
packing, of course, and a myriad of other preparations, but the 
bulk of the night was spent running up and down the hallways 
with urgent messages that were all basically the same."Promise 
that we'll keep in touch.' 
And they all did promise, of course, and they all really meant 
it. The fading of that resolve would not begin for at least a year or maybe 
even two. 


They gathered in the castle courtyard just as dawn was breaking 


 over the Tamul Sea. There were all the customary kisses and 
embraces and gruff handshakes. 
It was finally Khalad, good, solid, dependable Khalad, who 
looked appraisingly at the eastern sky, cleared his throat, and 
said, 'We'd better get started, Sparhawk. Sorgy'll probably 
charge you for an extra day if you make him miss the morning 
tide.' 
'Right,' Sparhawk agreed. He lifted Ehlana up into the open 
carriage Sarabian had provided and in which Emban, Talen, 
Alcan and Melidere were already seated. Then he looked around 
and saw Danae and Flute speaking quietly together. 'Danae,' he 
called his daughter, 'time to go.' 
The Crown Princess of Elenia kissed the Child Goddess of 
Styricum one last time and obediently came across the courtyard 
to her father.
'Thanks for stopping by, Sparhawk,' Sarabian said simply, 
holding out his hand. 
Sparhawk took the hand in his own. 'My pleasure, Sarabian,' 
he replied. Then he swung himself up into Faran's saddle and 
led the way across the drawbridge and out onto the stillshadowy 


lawns. 
It took perhaps a quarter of an hour to reach the harbor, and 
another half-hour to load the horses in the forward hold. Sparhawk 


 came back up on deck where the others waited and looked 
toward the east, where the sun had not yet risen.
'All ready, Master Cluff?' Sorgi called from the quarterdeck 
at the stern of his ship. 
'That's it, Captain Sorgi,' Sparhawk called back. 'We've done 
what we came to do. Let's go home.'
The self-important bo'sun strutted up and down the deck 



unnecessarily supervising the casting off of all lines and the 
raising of the sails. 
The tide was moving quite rapidly, and there was a good 
followin breeze. Sorgi skillfully maneuvered his battered old 
ship out through the harbor to the open sea. 
Sparhawk lifted Danae in one arm and put the other about 
Ehlana's shoulders, and they stood at the port rail looking back 
at the city the Tamuls called the center of the world. Sorgi swung 
his tiller over to take a southeasterly course to round the peninsula,

 and just as the sails bellied out in the breeze, the sun slid 
above the eastern horizon. 
Matherion had been pale in the shadows of dawn, but as 
the sun rose, the opalescent domes took fire, and shimmering, 
rainbow-colored light played across the gleaming surfaces. Sparhawk 

and his wife and daughter stood at the rail, their eyes 
filled with the wonder of the glowing city that seemed somehow 
to be bidding them its own farewell and wishing them a safe 
voyage home.