The Shining Ones

11

It was the fog perhaps. The fog blurred everything. There were no precise outlines, no clear, sharp dangers, and the glowing figures in the mist approached slowly, seeming almost to float up the graveled slope toward the ancient ruin, bringing their obscuring fog with them. Their faces, their very shapes were indistinct, softened until they seemed hardly more than glowing blurs. It was the fog, perhaps—but then again, perhaps not. For whatever reason, Sparhawk felt no alarm. The Delphae stopped about twenty yards from the broken walls of the ruin and stood with their glowing fog eddying and swirling around them, erasing the night with its cold, pale fire. Sparhawk’s mind was strangely detached, his thoughts clear and precise.

‘Well met, neighbors,’ he called out to the shapes in the mist.

‘Are you mad?’ Itagne gasped.

‘Destroy them, Sparhawk!’ Sephrenia hissed. ‘Use the Bhelliom! Obliterate them!’

‘Why don’t we see what they want first?’

‘How can you be so calm, man?’ Itagne demanded.

‘Training, I suppose,’ Sparhawk shrugged. ‘You develop instincts after a while. Those people out there don’t have any hostile intentions.’

‘He’s right, Itagne,’ Vanion said. ‘You can definitely feel it when someone wants to kill you. Those people out there don’t want to fight. They’re not afraid of us, but they’re not here to fight. Let’s see where this goes, gentlemen. Keep your guard up, but let’s not precipitate anything—not yet, anyway.’

‘Anakha,’ one of the glowing figures in the fog called.

‘That’s a good start,’ Vanion murmured. ‘See what they want, Sparhawk.’

Sparhawk nodded and stepped closer to the time-eroded boulders of the fallen wall. ‘You know me?’ he called, speaking in Tamul.

‘The very rocks know the name of Anakha. Thou art as no man who hath ever lived.’ The language was archaic and profoundly formal. ‘We bear thee no malice, and we come in friendship.’

‘I’ll listen to what you have to say.’ Sparhawk heard Sephrenia’s sharp intake of breath behind him.

‘We offer thee and thy companions sanctuary,’ the Delphae out in the fog told him. ‘Thine enemies are all about thee, and thy peril is great here in the land of the Cyrgai. Come thou even unto Delphaeus, and we will give thee rest and safety.’

‘Your offer’s generous, neighbor,’ Sparhawk replied, ‘and my companions and I are grateful.’ His tone, however, was doubtful.

‘We sense thy reluctance.’ The voice in the fog seemed strangely hollow with a sort of reverberating echo to it, an echo such as one might hear in a long, empty corridor, a sound receding off into some immeasurable distance. ‘Be assured that we mean thee and thy companions no harm, and shouldst thou choose to come to Delphaeus, we will pledge thee our protection. Few there are in all this world who will willingly face us.’

‘So I’ve heard. But that brings up a question. Why, neighbor? We’re strangers here. What possible interest can the Delphae have in our affairs? What do you hope to gain from this offer of friendship?’

The glowing shape in the fog hesitated. ‘Thou hast taken up Bhelliom, Anakha—for good or for ill, and thou knowest not which. Thy will is no longer thine own, for Bhelliom bends thee to its own purpose. Thou art no longer of this world, nor is thy destiny. Thy design and thy destiny are of Bhelliom’s devising. In truth, we are indifferent to thee and thy companions, for our offer of friendship is not to thee, but to Bhelliom, and it is from Bhelliom that we will extract the price of that friendship.’

‘That’s direct enough,’ Kalten muttered.

‘Thy peril is greater than thou knowest,’ the glowing speaker continued. ‘Bhelliom is the greatest prize in all the universe, and beings beyond thine imagining seek to possess it. It will not be possessed, however. It chooseth its own, and it hath chosen thee. Into thy hand hath it placed itself, and through thine ears must we speak with it and offer our exchange.’ The speaker paused. ‘Consider what we have told thee here, and put aside thy suspicion. Thy success or failure in completing Bhelliom’s design may hinge on our assistance—or its lack—and we will have our price. We will speak more of this anon.’

The fog swirled and thickened, and the glowing shapes dimmed and faded. A sudden night breeze, as chill as winter and as arid as dust, swept across the desert, and the fog tattered and shawled, whirling, all seethe and confusion. And then it was gone, and the Shining Ones with it.

‘Don’t listen to them, Sparhawk.’ Sephrenia said in a shrill voice. ‘Don’t even consider what he said. It’s a trick.’

‘We’re not children, Sephrenia,’ Vanion told the woman he loved. ‘We’re not really gullible enough to accept the word of strangers at face value—particularly not the word of strangers like the Delphae.’

‘You don’t know them, Vanion. Their words are like the honey that lures and traps the unwary fly. You should have destroyed them, Sparhawk.’

‘Sephrenia,’ Vanion said in a troubled tone, ‘you’ve spent the last forty years with your hand on my sword arm trying to keep me from hurting people. Why have you changed? What’s making you so blood-thirsty all of a sudden?’

She gave him a flat, hostile look. ‘You wouldn’t understand.’

‘That’s an evasion, dear, and you know me well enough to know that it’s probably not true. The Delphae may not have been entirely candid with us about their offer, but they weren’t hostile, and they weren’t threatening us in any way.’

‘Ah—Lord Vanion,’ Ulath interrupted, “I don’t think anybody in his right mind would threaten Sparhawk. Threatening the man who holds Bhelliom in his fist is not the course of wisdom—not even for people who glow in the dark and mulch their neighbors down into compost.’

‘That’s exactly my point, Vanion.’ Sephrenia seized upon Ulath’s words. ‘The Delphae were afraid to attack us because of Bhelliom. That’s all that was holding them back.’

‘But they were holding back. They weren’t any danger to us. Why did you want Sparhawk to kill them?’

‘I despise them!’ It came out in a kind of hiss.

‘Why? What did they ever do to you?

‘They have no right to exist!’

‘Everything has a right to exist, Sephrenia—even wasps and scorpions. You’ve spent your whole life teaching bloodthirsty young Pandions that lesson. Why are you suddenly throwing it away?’

She turned her face away from him.

‘Please don’t do that. You’ve got some kind of problem here, and your problems are mine. Let’s pull this out into the light and look at it.’

‘NO!’ and she turned abruptly on her heel and stalked away.

‘It has absolutely no basis in fact,’ Itagne told them as they rode across the barren miles under a murky sky.

‘Those are usually the best stories,’ Talen said.

Itagne smiled briefly. ‘There’s been a body of folk-lore about the Shining Ones in Tamul culture for eons. It started out with the usual horror stories, I suppose, but there’s something in the Tamul nature that drives us to extremes. About seven hundred years ago, a decidedly minor poet began to tamper with the legend. Instead of concentrating on the horror, he began to wax sentimental, delving into how the Delphae felt about their situation. He wept copiously in vile verse about their loneliness and their sense of being outcast. He unfortunately turned to the pastoral tradition and added the mawkishness of that silly conceit to his other extravagances. His most famous work was a long narrative poem entitled “Xadane”. Xadane was supposedly a Delphaeic shepherdess who fell in love with a normal human shepherd boy. As long as they met in the daytime, everything was fine, but Xadane had to run away every afternoon to keep her paramour from discovering her real identity. The poem’s very long and tedious, and it’s filled with lengthy, lugubrious passages in which Xadane feels sorry for herself. It’s absolutely awful.’

‘I gather from what those people out in the fog said last night that the word “Delphae” is their own name for themselves,’ Bevier noted. ‘If Tamul literature also uses the term, that would seem to suggest some sort of contact.’

‘So it would, Sir Knight,’ Itagne replied, ‘but there’s no record of them. The traditions are very old, and I suspect that many of them grew out of the warped minds of third-rate poets. The city of Delphaeus supposedly lies in an isolated valley high in the mountains of southern Atan. The Delphae are said to be a Tamul people somewhat akin to the Atans but without the gigantic proportions. If we’re to believe our poets, which we probably shouldn’t, the Delphae were a simple pastoral folk who followed their flocks into that valley and were trapped there by an avalanche that sealed the only pass leading to the outside world.’

‘That’s not entirely impossible,’ Ulath said.

‘The impossibilities start cropping up later on in the story,’ Itagne said dryly. ‘We’re told that there’s a lake in the center of the valley, and the lake’s supposed to be the source of the Delphasic peculiarity. It’s said to glow, and since it’s the only source of water in the valley, the Delphae and their flocks are forced to drink from it and bathe in it. The story has it that, after a while, they also started to glow.’ He smiled faintly. ‘They must save a fortune on candles.’

‘That’s not really possible, is it?’ Talen asked skeptically. ‘I mean, people aren’t going to glow in the dark just because of what they eat or drink, are they?’

‘I’m not a scientist, young sir, so don’t ask me about what’s possible and impossible. It could be some sort of mineral, or maybe a form of algae, I suppose. It’s a neat sort of explanation for an imaginary characteristic.’

‘Those people last night did glow, your Excellency,’ Kalten reminded him.

‘Yes, and I’m trying very hard to forget about that.’ Itagne looked back over his shoulder. Sephrenia had refused even to listen to a discussion of the Delphae, and she and Berit followed them at some distance. ‘Lady Sephrenia’s reaction to the Delphae isn’t really uncommon among Styrics, you know. The very name makes them irrational. Anyway, “Xadane” enjoyed enormous popularity, and there were the usual imitators. A whole body of literature grew up around the Delphae. It’s called, quite naturally, “Delphaeic literature”. Serious people don’t take it seriously, and foolish people take it foolishly. You know how that goes.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Bevier murmured.

‘I had to read whole libraries full of abominable verse when I was a student. Every professor had his favorite poet, and they all inflicted them on us without mercy. I think that’s what ultimately led me to take up a military career.’

Khalad came riding back to join them. ‘I wouldn’t want to seem critical of my betters, my Lords,’ he said dryly, ‘but the decision to abandon the road and cut across country may have been just a little ill-advised on a day when we can’t see the sun. Does anyone know which way we’re going?’

‘East,’ Vanion said firmly.

‘Yes, my Lord,’ Khalad replied. ‘if you say it’s east, then it’s east—even if it really isn’t. Aren’t we supposed to be getting fairly close to the border?’

‘It shouldn’t be very far ahead.’

‘Doesn’t your map indicate that the River Sama marks the boundary between Cynesga and Tamul proper?’ Vanion nodded. ‘Well, I just rode to the top of that hill on up ahead and took a look around. I could see for about ten leagues in every direction, and there aren’t any rivers out there. Do you suppose that someone might have stolen the Sarna?’

‘Be nice,’ Sparhawk murmured.

‘Cartography’s not an exact art, Khalad,’ Vanion pointed out. ‘The distances on any map are only approximate. We started out at dawn, and we rode toward the lightest place in the cloud-cover. Unless somebody’s changed things, that’s east. We’ve taken sightings on landmarks every hour or so, and we’re still riding in the same direction we were when we set out this morning.’

‘Where’s the river, then, my Lord?’ Khalad looked at Itagne. ‘How wide would you say the valley of the Sarna is, your Excellency?’

‘Sixty leagues, anyway. It’s the longest and widest river on the continent, and the valley’s very fertile.’

‘Grass? Trees? Lots of green crops?’ Itagne nodded. ‘There’s not a hint of green in any direction, my Lords,’ Khalad declared. ‘It’s all a brown wasteland.’

‘We’re riding east,’ Vanion insisted. ‘The mountains of Atan should be to the north—off to the left.’

‘They could be, my Lord, but they’re a little bashful today. They’re hiding themselves in the clouds.’

‘I’ve told you, Khalad, the map’s inaccurate, that’s all.’ Vanion looked back over his shoulder. ‘Why don’t you ride back and ask Sephrenia and Berit to join us? It’s about lunch-time, isn’t it, Kalten?’

‘Definitely, my Lord.”

‘I sort of thought so myself. Let’s dig into the packs and put together something to eat.’

‘Is Sir Kalten skilled at estimating the time?’ Itagne asked Sparhawk.

Sparhawk smiled. ‘We normally rely on Khalad—when the sun’s out. When it’s cloudy, though, we fall back on Kalten’s stomach. He can usually tell you to within a minute how long it’s been since the last time he ate.’

Late that afternoon, when they had stopped for the night, Khalad stood a short distance from where the rest of them were setting up their encampment. He was looking out over the featureless desert with a slightly smug expression on his face. ‘Sparhawk,’ he called, ‘could you come here a moment? I want to show you something.’

Sparhawk put down Faran’s saddle and walked over to join his squire. ‘Yes?’ he asked.

‘I think you’d better talk with Lord Vanion. He probably won’t listen to me, since he’s already got his mind made up, but somebody’s going to have to convince him that we haven’t been riding east today.’

‘You’re going to have to convince me first.’

‘All right.’ The husky young man pointed out across the desert. ‘We came from that direction, right?’

‘Yes.’

‘If we’ve been riding east, that would be west, right?’

‘You’re being obvious.’

‘Yes, I know. I have to be. I’m trying to explain something to a knight. The last time I looked, the sun went down in the west.’

‘Please, Khalad, don’t try to be clever. just get to the point.’

‘Yes, my Lord. If that’s west, then why’s the sun going down over there?’ He turned and pointed off toward the left, where an angry orange glow stained the clouds.

Sparhawk blinked, and then he muttered an oath. ‘Let’s go talk to Vanion,’ he said, and led the way back across the camp to where the Pandion Preceptor was speaking with Sephrenia.

‘We’ve got a problem,’ Sparhawk told them. ‘We made a wrong turn somewhere today.’

‘Are you still riding that tired horse, Khalad?’ Vanion’s tone was irritable. His conversation with Sephrenia had obviously not been going well.

‘Our young friend here just pointed something out to me,’ Sparhawk said, ‘... speaking slowly, of course, because of my limited understanding. He says that unless somebody’s moved the sun, we’ve been riding north all day.’

‘That’s impossible.’

Sparhawk turned and pointed toward the ugly orange glow on the horizon. ‘That’s not the direction we came from, Vanion.’

Vanion stared at the horizon for a moment, and then he started to swear.

‘You wouldn’t listen to me, would you?’ Sephrenia accused. ‘Now will you believe me when I tell you that the Delphae will deceive you at every turn?’

‘It was our own mistake, Sephrenia—well, mine, anyway. We can’t just automatically blame the Delphae for everything that goes wrong.’

‘I’ve known you since you were a boy, Vanion, and you’ve never made this kind of mistake before. I’ve seen you find your way on a dark night in the middle of a snowstorm.’

‘I must have confused a couple of landmarks and taken my bearings on the wrong one.’ Vanion grimaced. ‘Thanks for being so polite about it, Khalad—and so patient. We could have ridden on until we ran into the polar ice. I tend to get pig-headed sometimes.’

Sephrenia smiled fondly at him.

‘I much prefer to speak of your singleness of purpose, dear one,’ she told him.

‘It means the same thing, doesn’t it?’

‘Yes, but it sounds nicer.’

‘Set out some markers, Khalad,’ Vanion instructed. He looked around. ‘There aren’t any sticks lying around, so pile up heaps of rock and mark them with scraps of colored cloth. Let’s get an absolute reference on the position of the sun this evening so that we don’t make the same mistake again tomorrow morning.’

‘I’ll take care of it, my Lord.’

‘They’re back,’ Kalten said, roughly shaking Sparhawk awake.

‘Who’s back?’ Sparhawk sat up.

‘Your glowing friends. They want to talk with you again.’

Sparhawk rose to his feet and followed his friend to the edge of the camp.

‘I was standing watch,’ Kalten said quietly, ‘and they just appeared out of nowhere. Itagne’s stories are entertaining enough, but I don’t think they’re all that accurate. The Shining Ones don’t shine all the time. They crept up on me in the dark, and they didn’t start to glow until they were in place.’

‘Are they still staying back a ways?’

Kalten nodded. ‘They’re keeping their distance. There’s no way we could rush them.’

There was no fog this time, and there were only two of the Shining Ones standing about twenty yards from the picketed horses. The eerie glow emanating from them still blurred their features, however.

‘Thy peril increases, Anakha,’ that same hollow, echoing voice declared. ‘Thine enemies are seeking thee up and down in the land.’

‘We haven’t seen anyone, neighbor.’

‘It is the unseen enemy which is most perilous. It is with their minds that thine enemies seek thee. We urge thee to accept our offer of sanctuary. It may soon be too late.’

‘I wouldn’t offend you for the world, neighbor, but we’ve only got your word for this unseen danger, and I think you may be exaggerating a bit. You said that Bhelliom’s directing my steps, and Bhelliom has unlimited power. I’ve tested that myself a few times. Thanks for your concern, but I still think I can take care of myself and my friends.’ He paused a moment and then plunged ahead on an impulse. ‘Why don’t we just cut across all this polite chit-chat? You’ve already admitted to a certain self-interest here. Why don’t you come right out and tell me what you want and what you’re prepared to offer in exchange? That might give us a basis for negotiation.’

‘Your charm’s positively blinding, Sparhawk,’ Kalten muttered.

‘We will consider thy proposal, Anakha.’ The echoing voice was cold.

‘Do that. Oh, one other thing, neighbor. Stop tampering with our direction. Deceit and trickery at the outset always seem to get negotiations off on the wrong foot.’

The glowing Delphae did not respond, but receded back into the desert and slipped out of sight.

Then you do believe me, don’t you, Sparhawk?’ Sephrenia said from just behind the two knights. ‘You realize how unprincipled and dishonest those creatures are.’

‘Let’s just say that I’m keeping an open mind on the subject, little mother. You were absolutely right about what you said earlier, though. We could blindfold Vanion, spin him around in circles for a day or so, and he’d still come out pointing due north.’ He looked around. ‘Is everybody awake? I think we’d better start considering options.’

They returned to the place where their beds were laid out on the hard, uncomfortable gravel. ‘You’re really very clever, Sparhawk,’ Bevier said. ‘The fact that our visitors didn’t deny that accusation you pulled out of the air suggests that Sephrenia’s been right about them all along. They have been misdirecting us.’

‘That doesn’t alter the fact that the Cyrgai are out there,’ Ulath reminded him, ‘and the Cyrgai are definitely our enemies. We may not know what the Delphae are really up to, but they ran off the Cyrgai for us last night, and that sort of inclines me to like them.’

‘Could that have been some sort of collusion?’ Berit asked.

‘That’s very unlikely,’ Itagne said. ‘The Cyrgai traditionally have a sublime belief that they’re the crown of creation. They’d never agree to any ruse that put them in a subservient position —not even for the sake of appearances. It’s just not in their racial make-up.’

‘He’s right,’ Sephrenia agreed, ‘and even though I hate to admit it, an alliance of that sort would be totally out of character for the Delphae as well. There could be no common ground between them and the Cyrgai. I don’t know what the Delphae are doing in this business, but they have their own agenda. They wouldn’t be cat’s paws for anyone else.’

‘Wonderful,’ Talen said sardonically, ‘now we’ve got four enemies to worry about.’

‘Why worry at all?’ Kalten shrugged. ‘Bhelliom can put us down on the outskirts of Matherion in the space between two heartbeats. Why don’t we just go away and leave the Cyrgai and the Delphae here in this wasteland to resolve their differences without us?’

‘No,’ Sephrenia said.

‘Why not?’

‘Because the Delphae have misdirected us already. We don’t want to go to Delphaeus.’

‘They’re not going to be able to fool the Bhelliom, Sephrenia,’ Vanion disagreed. ‘They might have been able to confuse me, but Bhelliom’s an entirely different matter.’

‘I don’t think we can take that chance, dear one. The Delphae want something from Sparhawk, and it’s obviously going to involve Bhelliom. Let’s not deliver them both into Delphaeic hands. I know that it’s tedious and dangerous, but let’s keep our feet on the ground. Bhelliom moves through a vast emptiness. If the Delphae can deceive it, we could come out of that emptiness almost any place.’

‘What’s an eclogue?’ Talen asked. They were riding toward what they hoped was the east the following morning, and Itagne was continuing his rambling discourse on Delphaeic literature.

‘It’s a sort of primitive drama,’ he replied. ‘It usually involves a meeting between two shepherds. They stand around discussing philosophy in bad verse.’

‘I’ve known a few sheep-herders,’ Khalad said, ‘and philosophy wasn’t their usual topic of conversation. They’re far more interested in women.’

‘There’s some of that involved in eclogues as well, but it’s so idealized that it’s hardly recognizable.’ Itagne tugged thoughtfully at one earlobe. ‘I think it’s some sort of disease,’ he mused. ‘The more civilized people become, the more they romanticize the simple bucolic life and ignore the dirt and grinding toil involved. Our sillier poets grow all weepy-eyed about shepherds and shepherdesses, of course. It wouldn’t be nearly as much fun without the shepherdesses. The aristocracy periodically becomes enamored of the pastoral tradition, and they go to great lengths to act out their fantasies. Emperor Sarabian’s father even went so far as to have an idealized sheep-farm built down near Saranth. He and his court used to go there in the summer-time and spend months pretending to watch over flocks of badly over-fed sheep. Their rude smocks and kirtles were made of velvet and satin, and they’d sit around all moony-eyed composing bad verse and ignoring the fact that their sheep were wandering off in all directions.’

He leaned back in his saddle. ‘Pastoral literature doesn’t really hurt anything. It’s silly and grossly over-sentimental, and the poets who become addicted to it tend to be a bit heavy-handed when they ladle on the moral lessons. That’s always been the problem with literature—finding a justification for it. It really doesn’t serve any practical purpose, you know.’

‘Except that life without it would be sterile and empty,’ Bevier asserted.

‘It would indeed, Sir Bevier,’ Itagne agreed. ‘Anyway, Delphaeic literature—which probably doesn’t have anything at all to do with the real Delphae—grew up around these ridiculous literary conventions, but after several centuries of that nonsense, the potentials of the pastoral tradition had been pretty much exhausted, so our poets began to wander afield—like untended sheep, if I may extend the metaphor. Sometime during the last century, they began to posit the notion that the Delphae practice a non-Styric form of magic. That really upsets my Styric colleagues at the university.’

Itagne looked back over his shoulder to make sure that Sephrenia, who still rode in the rear with Berit, was out of earshot. ‘Many people find something fundamentally irritating about Styrics. The pudding of smug superiority and accusatory self-pity doesn’t cook up very well, and the favorite form of Styric-baiting on the university campus is to mention “Delphaeic magic” to a Styric and then watch him go up in flames.’

‘Can you think of anything at all that might explain Sephrenia’s reaction to the Delphae?’ Vanion asked with troubled eyes. ‘I’ve never seen her behave this way before.’

‘I really don’t know Lady Sephrenia that well, Lord Vanion, but her explosion the first time I mentioned Delphaeic literature provides some clues. There’s a very brief passage in “Xadane” that hints that the Delphae were allied with the Styrics during the war that was supposed to have exterminated the Cyrgai. The passage was clearly based on a very obscure section in a seventh-century historical text. There’s mention of a betrayal and not much more. Evidently, when their war with the Cyrgai began, the Styrics contacted the Delphae and tricked them into mounting an attack on the Cyrgai from the east. They promised aid and all manner of other inducements, but when the Cyrgai counter-attacked and began to over-run the Delphae, the Styrics chose to renege on their promises. The Delphae were almost exterminated. The Styrics have been wriggling and squirming for eons trying to justify that blatant breach of faith. There are many people in the world who don’t like Styrics, and they’ve used that betrayal as a vehicle for their bigotry. Styrics quite understandably don’t care much for the literature.’

He looked pensively out across the featureless desert. ‘One of the less attractive aspects of human nature is our tendency to hate the people we haven’t treated very well. That’s much easier than accepting guilt. If we can convince ourselves that the people we betrayed or enslaved were sub-human monsters in the first place, then our guilt isn’t nearly as black as we secretly know that it is. Humans are very, very good at shifting blame and avoiding guilt. We do like to keep a good opinion of ourselves, don’t we?’

‘I think it would take more than that to set Sephrenia off,’ Vanion said dubiously. ‘She’s too sensible to catch on fire just because somebody says unflattering things about Styrics. She’s spent several hundred years in the Elene kingdoms of Eosia, and anti-Styric prejudice there goes far beyond literary insults.’ He sighed. ‘If she’d only talk to me about it. I can’t get anything coherent out of her, though. All she does is splutter wild denunciations. I don’t understand at all.’

Sparhawk, however, had at least some slight inkling of what was happening. Aphrael had hinted that Sephrenia was going to encounter something extraordinarily painful, and it was growing increasingly obvious that the Delphae would be the cause of her pain. Aphrael had said that Sephrenia’s suffering would be necessary as a prelude to some kind of growth. Itagne, who really didn’t know any of them that well, may have hit upon something very relevant. Sephrenia was Styric to her fingertips, and the acceptance of racial guilt for an eons-old misbehavior would cause her the exact kind of pain Aphrael had so sorrowfully described. Sephrenia, however, would not be the only one who would suffer. Vanion had said that Sephrenia’s problems were also his. Unfortunately, the same held true of her pain. Sparhawk rode on across the desolate waste, his thoughts as bleak as the surroundings.

12

Kring looked pensively out across the lawn. ‘It came on me like a madness, Atan Engessa,’ he told his towering friend. ‘From the moment I first saw her, I couldn’t think of anything else.’ The two were standing in the shadows near the Ministry of the Interior.

‘You are fortunate, friend Kring,’ Engessa replied in his deep, soft voice. ‘Most men’s lives are never touched by such love.’

Kring smiled a bit wryly. ‘I’m sure my life would be much easier if it hadn’t touched mine.’

‘Do you regret it?’

‘Not for a moment. I’d thought that my life was full. I was the Domi of my people and I’d assumed that my mother would find me a suitable wife in due time, as is customary and proper. I’d have married and fathered sons, and that would have satisfied the requirements. Then I saw Mirtai, and I realized how empty my life had been before.’ He rubbed one hand over his shaved scalp. ‘My people will have a great deal of trouble with her, I’m afraid. She’s like no other woman we’ve ever encountered. It wouldn’t be so difficult if I weren’t the Domi.’

‘She might not have accepted you if you hadn’t been, friend Kring. Mirtai is a proud woman. She was meant to be the wife of a ruler.’

‘I know. I wouldn’t have dared to approach her if I hadn’t been Domi. There’ll be trouble, though. I can see that coming. She’s a stranger, and she’s not at all like Peloi women. Status is very important to our women, and Mirtai’s of a different race, she’s taller than even the tallest of the Peloi men, and she’s more beautiful than any other woman I’ve ever seen. Just by themselves, those things would shrivel the hearts of Peloi women. You saw how Tikume’s wife Vida looked at her, didn’t you?’

Engessa nodded.

‘The women of my people will hate her all the more because I am their Domi. She will be Dona, the Domi’s wife, and she’ll have first place among the women. To make matters even worse, she’ll be one of the wealthiest of all the Peloi.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘I’ve done quite well. My herds have increased, and I’ve stolen much. All my wealth will belong to her. She’ll own vast herds of sheep and cattle. The horse herds will still be mine, though.’

‘Is that the Peloi custom?’

‘Oh, yes. Sheep and cattle are food, so they belong to the women. The women also own the tents and the beds and the wagons. The gold we get from the king for Zemoch ears is owned by all the people in common, so about the only thing we Peloi men own are our weapons and our horses. When you get right down to it, the women own everything, and we spend our lives protecting their possessions.’

‘You have a strange society, friend Kring.’

Kring shrugged. ‘A man shouldn’t have his mind all cluttered with possessions. It distracts him when the time comes for fighting.’

‘There’s wisdom there, my friend. Who holds your possessions until you marry?’

‘My mother. She’s a sensible woman, and having a daughter like Mirtai will increase her status enormously. She has a great deal of authority among the Peloi women, and I’m hoping she’ll be able to keep matters under control—at least among my sisters.’ He laughed. ‘I’m going to enjoy watching the faces of my sisters when I introduce them to Mirtai and they have to bow to her. I’m not really fond of them. They all pray for my death every night.’

‘Your own sisters?’ Engessa sounded shocked.

‘Of course. If I die before I’m married, everything I’ve won becomes the property of my mother, and my sisters will inherit all of it. They already think of themselves as women of property. They’ve turned down perfectly acceptable suitors because of their pride of position and the wealth they think they’ll inherit. I’ve been too busy making war to think much about marriage, and every year that passed made my sisters feel that their ownership of the herds was that much more secure.’ He grinned. ‘Mirtai’s sudden appearance is going to upset them terribly, I’m afraid. One of the customs of our people obliges a bride-to-be to spend two months in the tent of her betrothed’s mother learning all the little things she’ll need to know about him after they’re married. During that period my mother and Mirtai will also select husbands for all my sisters. It’s not a good idea to have too many women in one tent. That will really upset my sisters. I expect they’ll try to murder Mirtai. I’ll warn them against it, of course,’ he added piously. ‘I am their brother, after all. But I’m sure they won’t listen—at least not until after Mirtai’s killed a few of them. I’ve got too many sisters anyway.’

‘How many?’ Engessa asked him.

‘Eight. Their status will change drastically once I marry. Right now they’re all heiresses. After my wedding, they’ll be possessionless spinsters, dependent on Mirtai for every crust of bread they eat. I think they’ll bitterly regret all the suitors they’ve refused at that point. Is that somebody creeping through the shadows over by the wall?’

Engessa looked toward the Interior Ministry.

‘It seems to be,’ he replied. ‘Let’s go ask him his business. We don’t really want anybody going inside that building while Atana Mirtai and the thieves are in there.’

‘Right,’ Kring agreed. He loosened his saber in its sheath, and the oddly mismatched pair moved silently across the lawn to intercept the furtive shadow near the wall.

‘How far is it from here to Tega, Sarabian?’ Ehlana asked, looking up from Sparhawk’s letter. ‘In a direct line, I mean?’

Sarabian had removed his doublet, and he really looked quite dashing in his tight-fitting hose and full-sleeved linen shirt. He had tied back his shoulder-length black hair, and he was practicing lunges with his rapier, aiming at a golden bracelet hanging from the ceiling on a long string.

‘About a hundred and fifty leagues, wouldn’t you say, Oscagne?’ he replied, contorting his body into an garde position. He lunged and caught the rim of the bracelet with the point of his rapier, sending the bracelet spinning and swinging on the string. ‘Blast.’ he muttered.

‘Perhaps closer to a hundred and seventy-five, your Majesty,’ Oscagne corrected.

‘Could it really be raining there?’ Ehlana asked. ‘The weather’s been beautiful here. A hundred and seventy-five leagues isn’t really all that far, and Sparhawk says right here that it’s been raining on Tega for the past week.’

‘Who can say what the weather’s going to do?’ Sarabian lunged again, and his rapier passed smoothly through the bracelet.

‘Well thrust,’ Ehlana said a bit absently.

‘Thank you, your Majesty.’ Sarabian bowed, flourishing his rapier. ‘This is really fun, you know that?’ He crouched melodramatically. ‘Have at you, dog.’ He lunged at the bracelet again, missing by several inches. ‘Blast.’

‘Alcan, dear,’ Ehlana said to her maid, ‘would you go see if the sailor who brought this letter is still on the premises?’

‘At once, my Queen.’

Sarabian looked inquiringly at his hostess. ‘The sailor just came from Tega. I think I’d like to hear his views on the weather there.’

‘Surely you don’t think your husband would lie to your Majesty, do you?’ Oscagne protested.

‘Why not? I’d lie to him if there was a valid political reason for it.’

‘Ehlana.’ Sarabian sounded profoundly shocked. ‘I thought you loved Sparhawk.’

‘What on earth has that got to do with it? Of course I love him. I’ve loved him since I was about Danae’s age, but love and politics are two entirely different things, and they should never be mixed. Sparhawk’s up to something, Sarabian, and your excellent foreign minister here probably knows what it is.’

‘Me?’ Oscagne protested mildly.

‘Yes, you. Mermaids, Oscagne? Mermaids? You didn’t really think I’d swallow that story, did you? I’m just a bit disappointed in you, actually. Was that the best you could come up with?’

‘I was a bit pressed for time, your Majesty,’ he apologized with a slightly embarrassed look. ‘Prince Sparhawk was in a hurry to leave. Was it the weather that gave us away?’

‘Partly,’ she replied. She held up the letter. ‘My beloved outsmarted himself, though. I’ve seen his letters before. The notion of “felicity of style” has never occurred to Sparhawk. His letters usually read as if he’d written them with his broadsword. This one—and all the others from Tega—have been polished until they glisten. I’m touched that he went to all the trouble, but I don’t believe one word of them. Now then, where is he? and what’s he really up to?’

‘He wouldn’t say, your Majesty. All he told me was that he needed some excuse to be away from Matherion for several weeks.’

She smiled sweetly at him. ‘That’s all right, Oscagne,’ she said. ‘I’ll find out for myself. It’s more fun that way anyhow.’

‘It’s a big building,’ Stragen reported the following morning. ‘It’s going to take time to go over it inch by inch.” He, Caalador and Mirtai had just returned from their night of unsuccessful burglary.

‘Have you made much progress?’ Sarabian asked.

‘We’ve covered the top two floors, your Majesty,’ Caalador replied. ‘We’ll start on the third floor tonight.’ Caalador was sprawled in a chair with a weary look on his face. Like his two companions, he was still dressed in tight-fitting black clothing. He stretched and yawned. ‘God, I’m tired,’ he said. ‘I’m getting too old for this.’

Stragen unrolled a time-yellowed set of drawings. ‘I still think that the answer’s right here,’ he said. ‘Instead of opening doors and poking under desks, we should be matching dimensions against these drawings.’

‘Yet still a-thankin’ there’s sekert passages an’ corn-sealed rooms in that, ain’t ya, Stragen?’ Caalador drawled, yawning again. ‘That doesn’t speak too well for your taste in literature, old boy.”

Sarabian gave him a puzzled look.

‘Thalesians are addicted to bad ghost stories, your Majesty,’ Caalador explained. ‘It gives the copying-houses in Emsat something to do now that they’ve exhausted the body of real literature.’

Stragen shrugged. ‘We’ve got a whole sub-genre of highly popular books spewing out of grubby garrets on back streets—lurid narratives which all take place in cemeteries or in haunted houses on dark and stormy nights. The whores of Emsat absolutely adore them. I rather expect the policemen at Interior share that taste. After all, a policeman’s sort of like a whore, isn’t he?’

‘I didn’t exactly follow that,’ Mirtai said, ‘and I’m not really sure I want to. There’s probably something disgusting involved in your thinking, Stragen. Caalador, will you stop yawning like that. Your face looks like an open barn-door.’

‘I’m sleepy, little dorlin’. You two bin a-keepin’ me up past muh bedtime.’

‘Then go to bed. You make my jaws ache when you gape at me like that.’

‘You should all get some sleep,’ Ehlana told them. ‘You’re the official royal burglars now, and Sarabian and I would be absolutely mortified if you were to fall asleep in mid-burgle.’

‘Are we ready to be practical about this?’ Caalador asked, rising to his feet. ‘I can have two dozen professionals here by this evening, and we’ll have all the secrets of the Interior Ministry in our hands by tomorrow morning.’

‘And Interior will know that we have them by tomorrow afternoon,’ Stragen added. ‘Our impromptu spy network isn’t really all that secure, Caalador. We haven’t had enough time to weed out all the people Krager’s probably subverted.’

‘There’s no real rush here, gentlemen,’ Ehlana told them. ‘Even if we do find the documents the policemen at Interior are hiding, we won’t be able to do a thing about them until my wandering husband finds his way home again.’

‘Why are you so positive that Sparhawk’s deceiving you, Ehlana?’ Sarabian asked her.

‘It’s consistent with his character. Sparhawk’s devoted his entire life to protecting me. It’s rather sweet, even though it is bloody hindering awkward at times. He still thinks of me as a little girl—although I’ve demonstrated to him that I’m not on any number of occasions. He’s out there doing something dangerous, and he doesn’t want me to worry. All he really had to do was tell me what he was planning and then lay out the reasons why he thought it was necessary. I know it’s hard for you men to believe, but women are rational too—and far more practical than you are.’

‘You’re a hard woman, Ehlana,’ Sarabian accused.

‘No, I’m a realist. Sparhawk does what he thinks he has to no matter what I say, and I’ve learned to accept that. The point I’m trying to make is that no matter what we dig out of the walls of the Interior Ministry, there’s absolutely nothing we can do about it while Sparhawk and the others are out there wandering around the countryside. We’re going to disband Interior and throw about a quarter of the Empire’s policemen in prison. Then we’re going to place all of Tamuli under martial law with the Atans enforcing our decrees. The Daresian Continent’s going to look like an ant-hill that’s just been run over by a cavalry charge. I don’t know what Sparhawk’s doing, so I don’t know what kind of impact that chaos is going to have on him. I am not going to let you put him in any more danger than I think he’s already in.’

‘Do you know something, Ehlana?’ Sarabian said. ‘You’re even more protective of Sparhawk than he is of you.’

‘Of course I am. That’s what marriage is all about.’

‘None of mine are,’ he sighed.

‘That’s because you’ve got too many wives, Sarabian. Your affection’s dispersed. Your wives each return only as much love as you give them.’

‘I’ve found that it’s safer that way.’

‘But dull, my friend, and sort of boring. Being consumed with a burning passion that only has a single object is very exciting. It’s sort of like living in a volcano.”

‘What an exhausting prospect,’ he shuddered.

‘Fun, though,’ she smiled.

Baroness Melidere had retired early, pleading a painful headache. It was not that she found her duties as Ehlana’s lady-in-waiting onerous, but rather that she had an important decision to make, and she knew that the longer she put it off, the more difficult it would be. To put it rather bluntly, the Baroness had reached the point where she was going to have to decide what she was going to do about Stragen.

We must candidly admit that Melidere was no innocent. Few members of any court really are. An innocent girl has only one option in her dealings with the opposite sex. A more worldly girl has two, and this was the crux of Melidere’s dilemma. Stragen, of course, would make a perfectly acceptable paramour. He was presentable, interesting, and he had exquisite manners. Melidere’s reputation at court would not be tarnished by a liaison with him; quite the reverse, actually. That had originally been her intention, and the time had come for her to take the final step and to invite him to her bedchamber and have done with it. The liaison could be brief, or it could be extended renewed each time Stragen visited Cimmura. That would give the affair a certain status, while at the same time leaving them both free to pursue other amusements, as was normal in such situations.

Melidere, however, was not sure if that was all she wanted. More and more, of late, she had found herself thinking of a more permanent arrangement, and therein lay the dilemma. There is a rhythm, almost a tide, in the affairs of the heart. When that tide reaches its high point, a lady must give certain signals to her quarry. One set of signals points toward the bedchamber, the other, toward the altar. Melidere could no longer put it off. She had to decide which set of signal flags to hoist. Stragen intrigued her. There was a sense of dangerous excitement about him, and Melidere, a creature of the court, was attracted by that. It could be intoxicating, addictive, but she was not entirely sure that the excitement would not begin to pall as the years went by.

There was, moreover, the problem of Stragen himself. His irregular origins and lack of any official status had made him overly sensitive, and he continually imagined slights where none had been intended. He hovered around the edges of Ehlana’s court like an uninvited guest at a banquet, always fearful that he might be summarily ejected. He had the outsider’s awe of the nobility, seeming at times to view aristocrats almost as members of another species.

Melidere knew that if she decided to marry him, she would have to attack that first. She personally knew that titles were a sham and that legitimacy could be purchased, but how was she going to persuade Stragen of that? She could easily buy him out of bastardy and into the aristocracy, but that would mean that she would have to reveal the secret she had kept locked in her heart since childhood. Melidere had always concealed the fact that she was one of the wealthiest people at court, largely because her fabulous wealth had not been legally obtained.

And there it was. She almost laughed when she realized how simple it was. If she really wanted to marry Stragen, all she’d have to do would be to share her secret with him. That would put them on equal footing and tear down the largely imaginary barrier.

Melidere was a baroness, but her title had not been in her family for very long. Her father, a man with huge shoulders and a mop of curly blond hair, had begun life as a blacksmith in Cardos, and he had amassed a fortune with a simple invention which he had crafted in his forge.

Most people look upon gold coins as money—something with intrinsic and unalterable value. There are some, however, who realize that the value of a coin lies in the social agreement saying that it is worth what the words stamped on its face say that it’s worth. The words do not change, even if the edge of the coin has been lightly brushed with a file or a sharp knife a few times. The tiny fragments of pure gold thus obtained do not amount to very much if one files or carves the edge of one coin. If one tampers with a thousand coins, however, that’s quite another matter. Governments try to discourage the practice by milling the edges of coins during the stamping process. A milled coin has a series of indentations around its edge, and if the edge has been filed or carved, it is immediately apparent.

Melidere’s father had contrived a way to get around that. He had carefully crafted a set of re-milling dies, one die for each size coin. A blacksmith will not handle enough coins in his entire life to make enough to pay for the effort of hammering out such equipment. Melidere’s father was a genius, however. He did not make the dies for his own use, nor did he sell them. Instead, he rented them, along with the services of highly trained operators, taking a small percentage as his fee.

Melidere smiled. She was positive that very few gold coins in the whole of Eosia were of true weight, and she also knew that five percent of the difference between face value and true value was stacked in ingots in the hidden vault in the basement of her own manor house near Cardos. Once she had made Stragen aware of the fact that she was a bigger and more successful thief than he was, the rest would be easy. His illusions about her nobility would fall away to be replaced with an almost reverential respect for her consummate dishonesty. She could even show him the source of her wealth, for she always carried the most prized memento of her childhood, her father’s original dies. Even now, they nestled in velvet in the ornately carved rosewood case on her dressing table, polished steel jewels more valuable than diamonds.

Even as she realized that the means to marry Stragen were at hand, she also realized that she had already made her decision. She would marry him. She would, the very next time she saw him, hoist those signal flags rather than the others. Then she thought of something else. Her father’s activities had been confined to the Eosian Continent. All of Tamuli was literally awash with virgin coins unviolated by file or knife-edge. Once he realized that, Stragen would not walk to the altar, he would run.

Melidere smiled and picked up her hairbrush. She hummed softly to herself as she brushed her long, honey-blonde hair. Like any good Elene girl, she had attacked the problem logically, and, as it almost always did, logic had won out. Logic was a friendly and comforting thing to have around, particularly if morality didn’t interfere.

‘Hold it,’ Stragen whispered as the three of them started down the broad staircase descending to the third floor. ‘There’s still somebody down there.’

‘What’s he doing this late?’ Mirtai asked. ‘They all went home hours ago.’

‘We could go ask him,’ Caalador said.

‘Don’t be absurd. Is it a watchman?’

‘I don’t know,’ Stragen replied. ‘I didn’t see him. I just caught a flicker of candlelight. Somebody down there opened a door.’

‘Some drudge working late, most likely.’ Caalador shrugged.

‘Now what?’ Mirtai asked.

‘We wait.’ Caalador sat down on the top step.

Stragen considered it. ‘Why don’t the two of you stay here?’ he suggested. ‘I’ll go have a look. If he’s settling in for the night, there’s not much point in camping on these stairs until morning.’

He went on down, his glove-soft shoes making no sound on the mother-of-pearl tiles. When he reached the hallway below, he saw the fine line of candlelight glowing out from under a door at the far end. He moved quickly with the confidence of long practice. When he reached the door, he heard voices. Stragen did not even consider listening at the door. That was far too amateurish. He slipped into the room adjoining the lighted one, felt his way carefully to the wall, and set his ear against it.

He couldn’t hear a sound. He swore under his breath, and went back out into the hallway. Then he padded on past the door with the candlelight coming out from under it and entered the room on the other side. He could hear the two men talking as soon as he entered.

‘Our esteemed Prime Minister is slowly beginning to grasp the situation,’ a rusty-sounding voice was saying. ‘It’s a struggle, though. Pondia Subat’s severely limited when something new appears on the horizon.’

‘That’s more or less to be expected, your Excellency.’ Stragen recognized the second voice. It was Teovin, the Director of the Secret Police. ‘The Prime Minister’s almost as much a figurehead as the Emperor.’

‘You’ve noticed,’ the rusty-sounding man replied. ‘Subat’s not likely to ask too many questions. As long as he’s aware of the situation in general terms, he’ll probably prefer to let us handle things without personally learning too many of the details. That gives us a fairly free rein, and that’s what we wanted in the first place. Have you made any progress with the others?’

‘Some. I have to broach the subject rather carefully, you realize. The Elene strumpet’s made many friends here at court. They all listen to me, though. I hold the keys to the Treasury, and that helps to get their attention. Most of the ministries are ceremonial, so I haven’t wasted much time on the men who head them. The Ministry of Culture’s probably not going to be of much use—or the Ministry of Education either, for that matter.’

‘I wouldn’t be so sure of that one, your Excellency. The Ministry of Education controls the universities. We have to think past the current emergency. I don’t think either of us wants whole generations to go through life believing that Interior and Exchequer are hot-beds of treason. Technically, we are acting contrary to the Emperor’s wishes.’

‘That’s true, I suppose, but the Ministry of the Interior controls the police, and Exchequer levies and collects the taxes. We’re neither one of us ever going to be very popular, no matter what we do. But you’re probably right. If the history professors at the universities start telling their students that we’re traitors, people might start claiming that it’s their patriotic duty to ignore the officers of the law or to stop paying their taxes.’

‘That raises an interesting point, Chancellor Gashon,’ Teovin mused. ‘You’ve got a sort of police force, haven’t you?—muscular fellows who accompany your tax-collectors to make sure that people pay what they owe,’

‘Oh, yes. One way or the other, everybody pays his taxes. I get money—or blood—from all of them.’

‘Follow me on this, if you will. The Elenes probably know that Interior—and most likely the army as well—are opposed to them, so they’ll try their very best to disrupt our customary operations. I’d like to conceal some of my more valuable people. Do you suppose I might transfer them into your enforcement branch? That way I’ll still have a functional operation—even if the Elenes start burning down police stations.’

‘I can manage that, Teovin. Is there anything else you’ll need?’

‘Money, Chancellor Gashon.’

There was a pained silence. ‘Would you accept eternal friendship instead?’

‘Afraid not, your Excellency. I have to bribe people.’ Teovin paused. ‘There’s an idea. I could probably use some form of tax-immunity as an inducement in many cases.’

‘I don’t recognize the term.’

‘We give people an exemption from taxation in exchange for their cooperation.’

‘That’s immoral!’ Gashon gasped. ‘That’s the most shocking thing I’ve ever heard in my whole life!’

‘It was only a thought.’

‘Don’t even suggest something like that, Teovin. It makes my blood run cold. Can we get out of here? Police stations make me apprehensive for some reason.’

‘Of course, your Excellency. I think we’ve covered the things we wanted to keep private.’

Stragen sat in the dark office listening as the two men pushed back their chairs and went out into the corridor. He heard Teovin’s key turn in the lock of his office door. The blond thief waited for perhaps ten minutes, and then he went back to the foot of the staircase. ‘They’re gone now,’ he called up the stairs in a loud whisper.

Mirtai and Caalador came on down. ‘Who was it?’ Caalador asked.

‘The head of the secret police and the Chancellor of the Exchequer,’ Stragen replied. ‘It was a very enlightening conversation. Teovin’s enlisting other ministries to help him. They don’t know what he’s really up to, but he’s managed to convince several of them that it’s in their own interest to join him.’

‘We can sort out the politics later,’ Caalador said. ‘It’s almost midnight. Let’s get to burgling.’

There’s no need,’ Stragen shrugged. ‘I’ve found what we’re looking for.’

‘Isn’t that disgusting?’ Caalador said to the Atan giantess. ‘he tosses it off as if it weren’t really very important. All right, Stragen, stun us with your brilliance. Make my eyes pop out, and make Mirtai swoon with admiration.’

‘I can’t really take much credit for it,’ Stragen confessed. ‘I stumbled across it, actually. It is a secret room. I was right about that. We still have to find the door, though, and make sure that the documents we want are inside, but the room’s in the right place. I should have thought of it immediately.’

‘Where is it?’ Mirtai asked.

‘Right next to Teovin’s office.’

‘That’s the logical place, right enough,’ Caalador noted. ‘How did you find it?’

‘Well, I haven’t actually found it yet, but I’ve reasoned out its existence.’

‘Don’t throw away your soft shoes or your black clothes just yet, Caalador,’ Mirtai advised.

‘You hurt me, love,’ Stragen protested.

‘I’ve seen Elene reasoning go awry before. Why don’t you tell us about it?’

‘I wanted to do some constructive eavesdropping, so I went into the adjoining office to listen to Teovin and Chancellor of the Exchequer Gashon’s conversation.’

‘And?’

‘I couldn’t hear a thing.’

‘The walls are stone, Stragen,’ she pointed out, ‘and they’ve got sea-shells glued to them.’

‘There’s no such thing as a soundproof wall, Mirtai. There are always cracks and crannies that the mortar doesn’t seep into. Anyway, when I tried the office on the other side, I could hear everything. Believe me, there’s a room between that first office and the one Teovin uses.’

‘It does sort of fit together, dorlin’,’ Caalador said to Mirtai. ‘The door to that room would almost have to be in Teovin’s office, wouldn’t it? Those documents are sensitive, and he wouldn’t want just anybody to have access to them. If we’d just taken a little while to think our way through it, we could have saved ourselves a lot of time.’

‘It wasn’t a total waste,’ Mirtai smiled. ‘I’ve learned the art of burglary, and I’ve had the chance to absolutely wallow in your affection. You two have made me happier than I could possibly say. The office door’s certain to be locked, you know.’

‘Nuthin’ simpler, little dorlin’,’ Caalador smirked, holding up a needle-thin implement with a hook on the end.

‘We’d better get started,’ Stragen said. ‘It’s midnight, and it might take us the rest of the night to find the door to that hidden room.’

‘You’re not serious,’ Ehlana scoffed.

‘May muh tongue turn green iffn I ain’t, yet Queenship.’ Caalador paused. ‘Dreadful, isn’t it?’ he added.

‘I don’t quite understand,’ Sarabian confessed.

‘It’s a cliche, your Majesty,’ Stragen explained, ‘taken from a type of literature that’s currently very popular in Eosia.’

‘Do you really want to dignify that trash by calling it literature, Stragen?’ Baroness Melidere murmured.

‘It satisfies the needs of the mentally deprived, Baroness,’ he shrugged. ‘Anyway, your Imperial Majesty, the literature consists largely of ghost stories. There’s always a haunted castle complete with hidden rooms and secret passages, and the entrances to these rooms and passages are always hidden behind bookcases. It’s a very tired old device—so tired in fact that I almost didn’t think of it. I didn’t believe anybody would be so obvious.’ He laughed. ‘I wonder if Teovin thought it up all by himself or if he plagiarized. If he stole it, he has abominable taste in literature.’

‘Are books all that available in Eosia?’ Oscagne asked curiously. ‘They’re fearfully expensive here.’’

‘It’s one of the results of our Holy Mother’s drive toward universal literacy during the last century, your Excellency, ‘ Ehlana explained. ‘The Church wanted her children to be able to read her message, so parish priests spend a great deal of time teaching everybody to read.’

‘The message of the Church doesn’t really take all that long to browse through, however,’ Stragen added, ‘and after the browsing’s done, you’ve got crowds of literate people with a skill they can’t really apply. It was the invention of paper that set off the literary explosion, though. The labor costs involved in copying aren’t particularly high. It was the cost of parchment that made books so prohibitively expensive. When paper came along, books became cheaper. There are copy-houses in most major cities with whole platoons of scriveners grinding out books by the ton. It’s a very profitable business. The books don’t have illuminations or decorated capitals, and the lettering’s a little shoddy, but they’re readable—and affordable. Not everyone who can read has good taste, though, so a lot of truly dreadful books are written by people with minimal talent. They write adventure stories, ghost stories, heroic fantasies and those naughty books that people don’t openly display in their bookcases. The Church encourages lives of the saints and tedious religious verse. Things like that are produced, of course, but nobody really reads that sort of thing. Ghost stories are currently in vogue—particularly in Thalesia. It has something to do with our national character, I think.’

He looked at Ehlana. ‘The business of getting the information out of Teovin’s hidey-hole is going to be tedious, my Queen. There are mountains of documents in there, and I can’t take whole platoons of people in over the roof every night to help plow through them. Mirtai, Caalador and I are going to have to read every document ourselves.’

‘Perhaps not, Milord Stragen,’ Ehlana disagreed. She smiled at the blond thief. ‘I had absolute confidence in your dishonesty, dear boy, so I knew that sooner or later you’d find what we were looking for. I struggled for a time with the very problem you just mentioned. Then I remembered something Sparhawk once told me. He’d used a spell to put the image of Krager’s face in a basin of water so that Talen could draw his picture. I spoke with one of the Pandions who came along with us—a Sir Alvor. He told me that since Sephrenia refuses to learn to read Elenic, she and Sparhawk devised a way round her deliberate incapacity. She can glance at a page—a single glance—and then make the whole page come up in a mirror or on the surface of a basin of water hours or even days later. Sir Alvor knows the spell. He’s a fairly young and agile fellow, so he’ll be able to creep across the roof-top with you. Take him along next time you visit the Interior Ministry and turn him loose in Teovin’s hidden closet. I rather imagine he’ll be able to carry that entire library out with him in a single night.’

‘Does it really work, your Majesty?’ Caalador asked her a bit doubtfully.

‘Oh, yes, Caalador. I handed Alvor a book he’d never seen before. He leafed through it in a couple of minutes and then printed it on that mirror over there—page after page after page. I checked what he was producing against the original, and it was absolutely perfect—right down to the smudges and the food-stains on the pages.’

‘Them there Pandion fellers is real useful t’ have around,’ Caalador admitted.

‘You know,’ she smiled, ‘I’ve noticed the exact same thing myself. There’s one in particular who does all sorts of useful things for me.’

13

‘We don’t have any choice, dear,’ Vanion said to Sephrenia. ‘We’ve even tried turning around and going back, and we still keep moving in the same direction. We’re going to have to use the Bhelliom.’ He looked on up the gorge lying ahead of them. The mountain river was tumbling over the boulders jutting up out of its bed, sawing its way deeper and deeper into the rock with its white, roaring passage. The sides of the gorge were thick with evergreens which dripped continually in the swirling mist rising out of the rapids.

‘No, Vanion,’ Sephrenia replied stubbornly. ‘We’ll fall directly into their trap if we do that. The Delphae want the Bhelliom, and as soon as Sparhawk tries to use it, they’ll attack us and try to kill him and take it away from him.’

‘They’ll regret it if they do,’ Sparhawk told her.

‘Maybe,’ she said, ‘but then again, maybe not. We don’t know what they’re capable of. Until I know how they’re misleading us, I can’t even guess at what else they can do. There are too many uncertainties involved to be taking chances.’

‘Isn’t this what they call an impasse?’ Khalad suggested. ‘We keep going north no matter how much we try to go in some other direction, and we don’t know what the Delphae will do if Sparhawk tries to use Bhelliom to pull us out of these nountains. Why don’t we just stop?’

‘We have to get back to Matherion, Khalad,’ Sparhawk objected.

‘But we’re not going to Matherion, my Lord. Every step we take brings us that much closer to Delphaeus. We’ve been twisting and turning around through these mountains for two days now, and we’re still going north. If all directions lead to a place where we really don’t want to go, why keep moving at all? Why not find a comfortable camp-site and stay there for a while? Let’s make them come to us, instead of the other way around.’

‘It makes sense, Lord Vanion,’ Itagne agreed. ‘As long as we keep moving, the Delphae don’t have to do a thing except herd us in the right direction. If we stop moving, they’ll have to try something else, and that might give Lady Sephrenia some clues about their capabilities. It’s called “constructive inaction” in diplomatic circles.’

‘What if the Delphae just decide to wait us out?’ Ulath objected. ‘Autumn isn’t a good time to linger in the mountains. It wasn’t so bad in those foothills we came through when we left the desert, but now that we’re up here, time starts to get very important.’

‘I don’t think they’ll wait, Sir Ulath,’ Itagne disagreed.

‘Why not? They’ve got all the advantages, haven’t they?’

‘Let’s just call it a diplomat’s instinct. I caught a faint odor of urgency about them when they approached us. They want us to go to Delphaeus, right enough, but it’s also important to them that we get there soon.’

‘I’d like to know how you worked that out, your Excellency,’ Kalten said skeptically.

‘It’s a combination of a thousand little things, Sir Kalten—the tone of voice, slight changes of expression, even their posture and their rate of breathing. The Delphae weren’t as certain of themselves as they seemed, and they want us to go to Delphaeus as quickly as possible. As long as we keep going, they don’t have any reason to make further contact, but I think we’ll find that if we just sit still, they’ll come to us and start making concessions. I’ve seen it happen that way many times.’

‘Does it take long to learn how to be a diplomat, your Excellency?’ Talen asked him with a speculative look.

‘That depends entirely on your natural gifts, Master Talen.’

‘I’m a quick learner. Diplomacy sounds like a lot of fun.’

‘It’s the best game there is,’ Itagne smiled. ‘There’s no other that even approaches it.’

‘Are you considering another career-change, Talen?’ his brother asked him.

‘I’m never going to be a very good knight, Khalad—not unless Sparhawk takes the Bhelliom and makes me about four times bigger than I am now.’

‘Isn’t this about the third occupation you’ve grown excited about so far this year?’ Sparhawk asked him. ‘Have you given up the notion of becoming the emperor of the thieves or the archprelate of larceny?’

‘I don’t really have to make any final decisions yet, Sparhawk. I’m still young.’ Talen suddenly thought of something. ‘They can’t arrest a diplomat, can they, your Excellency? I mean, the police can’t really touch him at all—no matter what he does?’

‘That’s a long-standing custom, Master Talen. If I throw your diplomats into a dungeon, you’ll turn around and do the same thing to mine, won’t you? That puts a diplomat more or less above the law.’

‘Well, now,’ Talen said with a beatific smile, ‘isn’t that something to think about?’

‘I like caves.’ Ulath shrugged.

‘Are you sure you’re not part Troll, Ulath?’ Kalten asked.

‘Even Trolls and Ogres can have good ideas once in a while.” A cave’s got a roof in case the weather turns sour, and nobody can come at you from behind. This one’s a good cave, and it’s been used before. Somebody spent quite a bit of time building a wall around that spring in there so that there’s plenty of water.’

‘What if he comes back and wants his cave again?’

‘I don’t think he’ll do that, Kalten.’ The big Thalesian held up a beautifully crafted flint spearhead. ‘He left this behind when he moved out. I’d say that he’d probably be too old to give us much to worry about—fifteen or twenty thousand years too old, at least.’ He touched a careful thumb to the serrated edge of the spearpoint. ‘He did very nice work, though. He drew pictures on the wall, too—animals, mostly.’

Kalten shuddered. ‘Wouldn’t it be sort of like taking up residence in a tomb?’

‘Not really. Time’s all one piece, Kalten. The past is always with us. The cave served the fellow who made this spearpoint very well, and the work he left behind inclines me to trust his judgement. The place has everything we need—shelter, water, plenty of firewood nearby, and then there’s that steep meadow a hundred yards off to the south, so there’s plenty of forage for the horses.’

‘What are we going to eat, though? After a couple of weeks, when our supplies run out, we’ll be trying to boil rocks down for soup-stock.’

‘There’s game about, Sir Kalten,’ Khalad told him. ‘I’ve seen deer down by the river and a flock of feral goats higher up the slope.’

‘Goat?’ Kalten made a face.

‘It’s better than rock soup, isn’t it?’

‘Sir Ulath is right, gentlemen,’ Bevier told them. ‘The cave’s in a defensible position. So far as we know, the Delphae have to get close enough to touch us in order to do us any harm. Some breastworks and a well-planted field of sharpened stakes on that steep slope leading down to the river will keep them at arm’s length. If Ambassador Itagne is right and the Delphae are pressed for time, that should encourage them to come to the bargaining table.’

‘Let’s do it,’ Vanion decided. ‘And let’s get right at it. The Delphae seem to come out at night, so we’ll want some defenses in place before the sun goes down.’

The overcast which had turned the sky into an oppressive leaden bowl for the past week was gone the following morning, and the autumn sunlight touching the turning leaves of the grove of aspens across the gorge from their cave filled the day with a vibrant, golden light. Everything seemed etched with a kind of preternatural clarity. The boulders in the stream-bed below were starkly white, and the swift-moving river was a dark, sunilluminated green. The gorge was alive with bird song and the chatter of scolding squirrels.

The knights continued the labor of fortification, erecting a substantial, chest-high wall of loosely piled stones around the edge of the semi-circular shelf that extended out from the mouth of the cave, and planting a forest of sharpened stakes on the steep slope that led down to the river. They pastured their horses in the adjoining meadow by day and brought them inside the makeshift fort as the sun went down. They bathed and washed their clothing in the river, and hunted deer and goats in the forest. They took turns standing watch at night, but there was no sign of the Delphae. They stayed there for four nights, growing more restless with each passing hour.

‘If this is how the Delphae respond to something urgent, I’d hate to sit around waiting for them when they were relaxed,’ Talen said dryly to Itagne on the morning of the fourth day. ‘They don’t even have anybody out there watching us.’

‘They’re out there, Master Talen,’ Itagne replied confidently.

‘Why haven’t we seen them, then? They’d be fairly hard to miss at night.’

‘Not necessarily,’ Kalten disagreed. ‘I don’t think they glow all the time. We saw them shining out there in that fog the first time they came to call, but the second time they crept up to within twenty yards of us before they lit up. They seem to be able to control the light, depending on the circumstances.’

‘They’re out there,’ Itagne repeated, ‘and the longer they wait, the better.’

‘I didn’t follow that,’ Talen confessed.

‘They know by now that we’re not going to move from this spot, so they’re out there right now arguing among themselves about what they’re going to offer us. Some of them want to offer more than the others, and the longer we sit right here, the more we strengthen the position of that faction.’

‘Have you suddenly become clairvoyant, Itagne?’ Sephrenia asked him.

‘No, Lady Sephrenia, just experienced. This delay is fairly standard in any negotiation. I’m on familiar ground now. We’ve chosen the right strategy.’

‘What else should we be doing?’ Kalten asked.

‘Nothing, Sir Knight. It’s their move.’

She came from the river in broad daylight, climbing easily up the rocky path that ascended the steep slope. She wore a gray, hooded robe and simple sandals. Her features were Tamul, but she did not have the characteristic golden skin-tone of her race. She was not so much pale as she was colorless. Her eyes were gray and seemed very wise, and her hair was long and completely white, though she appeared to be scarcely more than a girl. Sparhawk and the others watched her as she came up the hill in the golden sunlight. She crossed the steep meadow where the horses grazed. Ch’iel, Sephrenia’s gentle white palfrey, approached the colorless woman curiously, and the stranger gently touched the mare’s face with one slim hand.

‘That’s probably far enough,’ Vanion called to her. ‘What is it that you want?’

‘I am Xanetia,’ the young woman replied. Her voice was soft, but there was a kind of echoing timbre to it that immediately identified her as one of the Delphae. ‘I am to be thy surety, Lord Vanion.’

‘You know me?’

‘We know thee, Lord Vanion—and each of thy companions. Ye are reluctant to come to Delphaeus, fearing that we mean ye harm. My life will serve as pledge of our good faith.’

‘Don’t listen, Vanion,’ Sephrenia said, her eyes hard.

‘Art thou afeared, Priestess?’ Xanetia asked calmly. ‘Thy Goddess doth not share thy fear. Now do I perceive that it is thy hatred which doth obstruct that which must come to pass, and thus it shall be into thy hands that I shall place my life—to do with as thou wilt. If thou must needs kill me to quench this hatred of thine, then so be it.’

Sephrenia’s face went deathly pale. ‘You know I wouldn’t do that, Xanetia.’

‘Then put the implement of death into the hands of another. Thus thou mayest command my dying and put no stain of blood upon thine own hands. Is this not the custom of thy race, Styric? Thou shalt remain undefiled—even as this thirst of thine is slaked. All unsmirched mayest thou face thy Goddess and protest thine innocence, for thou shalt be blameless. My blood shall be upon the hands of thine Elenes, and Elene souls are cheap, are they not?’ She reached inside her robe and drew out a jewel-like stone dagger. ‘Here is the implement of my death, Sephrenia,’ she said. ‘The blade is obsidian, so thou shalt not contaminate thy hands—or thy soul—with the loathsome touch of steel when thou spillest out my life.’ Xanetia’s voice was soft, but her words cut into Sephrenia like hard, sharp steel.

‘I won’t listen to this.’ the small Styric woman declared hotly.

Xanetia smiled. ‘Ah, but thou wilt, Sephrenia,’ she said, still very calm. ‘I know thee well, Styric, and I know that my words have burned themselves into thy soul. Thou wilt hear them again and again. In the silence of the night shall they come to thee, burning deeper each time. Truly shalt thou listen, for my words are the words of truth, and they shall echo in thy soul all the days of thy life.’

Sephrenia’s face twisted in anguish, and with a sudden wail she fled back into the cave.

Itagne’s face was troubled as he came back along the narrow path from the meadow to the open area in front of the cave. ‘She’s very convincing,’ he told them. ‘I get no sense of deceit from her at all.’

‘She probably doesn’t know enough about the real motives of the leaders of her people to have anything to hide,’ Bevier said doubtfully. ‘She could very well be nothing more than a pawn.’

‘She is one of the leaders of her people, Sir Bevier,’ Itagne disagreed. ‘She’s the equivalent of the crown princess of the Delphae. She’s the one who’ll be Anarae when the Anari dies.’

‘Is that a name or a title?’ Ulath asked.

‘It’s a title. The Anari—or in Xanetia’s case, the Anarae—is both the temporal and spiritual leader of the Delphae. The current Anari is named Codon.’

‘She’s not just making it up?’ Talen asked. ‘She could be just pretending to be their crown princess, you know. That way, we’d think she was important, when she’s actually nothing more than a shepherdess or somebody’s housemaid.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Itagne said. ‘It may sound immodest, but I don’t really believe anyone can lie to me for very long and get away with it. She says that she’s the one who’ll be Anarae, and I believe her. The move’s consistent with standard diplomatic practice. Hostages have to be important. It’s another indication of just how desperate the Delphae are in this business. I think Xanetia’s telling the truth, and if she is, she’s the most precious thing they possess.’ He made a wry face. ‘It definitely goes against everything I’ve been trained to believe about the Shining Ones since childhood, but I think we almost have to trust them this time.’

Sparhawk and Vanion looked at each other. ‘What do you think?’ Vanion asked.

‘I don’t see that we’ve got much choice, do you?’

‘Not really. Ulath was right. We can’t sit here all winter, and no matter which way we turn, we keep going toward Delphaeus. The fact that Xanetia’s here is some assurance of good faith.’

‘Is it enough, though?’

‘It’s probably going to have to be, Sparhawk. I don’t think we’re going to get anything better.’

‘Kalten!’ Sephrenia exclaimed. ‘No!’

‘Somebody has to do it,’ the blond knight replied stubbornly. ‘Good faith has to go both ways.’ He looked Xanetia full in the face. ‘is there something you’d like to tell me before I help you up onto that horse?’ he asked her. ‘Some warning, maybe?’

‘Thou art brave, Sir Kalten,’ she replied.

‘It’s what they pay me for.’ he shrugged. ‘Will I dissolve if I touch you?’

‘No.’

‘All right. You’ve never ridden a horse before, have you?’

‘We do not keep horses. We seldom leave our valley, so we have little need of them.’

‘They’re fairly nice animals. Be a little careful of the one Sparhawk rides, though. He bites. Now, this horse is a pack animal. He’s fairly old and sensible, so he won’t waste energy jumping around and being silly. Don’t worry too much about the reins. He’s used to following along after the others, so you don’t have to steer him. If you want him to go faster, nudge him in the ribs with your heels. If you want him to slow down, pull back on the reins a little bit. If you want him to stop, pull back a little harder. That pack saddle’s not going to be very comfortable, so let us know if you start getting stiff and sore. We’ll stop and get off and walk for a while. You’ll get used to it after a few days —if we’ve got that far to travel.’

She held out her hands, crossed at the wrist. ‘Wilt thou bind me now, Sir Knight?’

‘What for?’

‘I am thy prisoner.’

‘Don’t be silly. You won’t be able to hold on if your hands are tied.’ He set his jaw, reached out and took her by the waist. Then he lifted her easily up onto the patient pack horse. Then he held out his hands and looked at them. ‘So far so good,’ he said. ‘At least my fingernails haven’t fallen off. I’ll be right beside you, so if you feel yourself starting to slip, let me know.’

‘We always underestimate him,’ Vanion murmured to Sparhawk. ‘There’s a lot more to him than meets the eye, isn’t there?’

‘Kalten? Oh yes, my Lord. Kalten can be very complicated sometimes.’

They rode away from their fortified cave and followed the gorge the river had cut down through the rock. Sparhawk and Vanion led the way with Kalten and their hostage riding close behind them. Sephrenia, her face coldly set, rode at the rear with Berit, keeping as much distance as possible between herself and Xanetia.

‘Is it very far?’ Kalten asked the pale woman at his side. ‘I mean, how many days will it take us to get there?’

‘The distance is indeterminate, Sir Kalten,’ Xanetia replied, ‘and the time as well. The Delphae are outcast and despised. We would be unwise to make the location of the valley of Delphaeus widely known.’

‘We’re used to traveling, Lady,’ Kalten told her, ‘and we always pay attention to landmarks. If you take us to Delphaeus, we’ll be able to find it again. All we’d have to do is find that cave and start from there.’

‘That is the flaw in thy plan, Sir Knight,’ she said gently. ‘Thou couldst consume a lifetime in the search for that cave. It is our wont to conceal the approaches to Delphaeus rather than Delphaeus itself.’

‘It’s a little hard to conceal a whole mountain range, isn’t it?’

‘We noted that self-same thing ourselves, Sir Kalten,’ she replied without so much as a smile, ‘so we conceal the sky instead. Without the sun to guide thee, thou art truly lost.’

‘Could you do that, Sparhawk?’ Kalten raised his voice slightly. ‘Could you make the whole sky overcast like that?’

‘Could we?’ Sparhawk asked Vanion.

‘I couldn’t. Maybe Sephrenia could, but under the circumstances it might not be a good idea to ask her. I know enough to know that it’s against the rules, though. We’re not supposed to play around with the weather.’

‘We do not in truth cloud the sky, Lord Vanion,’ Xanetia assured him. ‘We cloud thine eyes instead. We can, an we choose, make others see what we wish them to see.’

‘Please, Anarae,’ Ulath said with a pained look, ‘don’t go into too much detail. You’ll bring on one of those tedious debates about illusion and reality, and I really hate those.’

They rode on with the now unobscured sun clearly indicating their line of travel. They were moving somewhat northeasterly. Kalten watched their prisoner (or captor) closely, and he called a halt somewhat more frequently than he might normally have done. When they stopped, he helped the strange pale woman down from her horse and walked beside her as they continued on foot, leading their horses.

‘Thou art overly solicitous of my comfort, Sir Kalten,’ she gently chided him.

‘Oh, it’s not for you, Lady,’ he lied. ‘The going’s a bit steep here, and we don’t want to exhaust the horses.’

‘There’s definitely more to Kalten than I’d realized,’ Vanion muttered to Sparhawk.

‘You can spend a whole lifetime watching somebody, my friend, and you still won’t learn everything there is to know about him.’

‘What an astonishingly acute perception,’ Vanion said dryly.

‘Be nice,’ Sparhawk murmured.

Sparhawk was troubled. While Xanetia was certainly not as skilled as Aphrael, it was clear that she was tampering with time and distance in the same way the Child Goddess did. If she had maintained the illusion of an overcast sky, he might not have noticed, but the position of the sun clearly indicated that there were gaps in his perception of time. The sun does not normally jump as it moves across the sky. The troubling fact was not that Xanetia did it badly, but the fact that she did it at all. Sparhawk began to revise a long-held opinion. This ‘tampering’ was obviously not a purely divine capability. Itagne’s rather sketchy discourse on the Delphae had contained at least some elements of truth. There was indeed such a thing as ‘Delphaeic magic’, and so far as Sparhawk could tell, it went further and into areas where Styrics were unable or unwilling to venture. He kept his eyes open, but did not mention his observations to his friends.

And then, on a perfect autumn evening, when the birds clucked and murmured sleepily in the trees and a luminous twilight turned the mountains purple around them, they rode up a narrow, rocky trail that wound around massive boulders toward a V-shaped notch high above. Xanetia had been most insistent that they not stop for the night, and she and Kalten had pressed on ahead. Her normally placid face seemed somehow alight with anticipation.

When she and her protector reached the top of the trail, they stopped and sat on their horses, starkly outlined against the last rosy vestiges of the sunset.

‘Dear God.’ Kaltten exclaimed. ‘Sparhawk, come up and look at this!’

Sparhawk and Vanion rode on up to join them. There was a valley below, a steep, basin-like mountain valley with dark trees covering the slopes. There were houses down there, close-packed houses with candlelit windows and with columns of pale blue smoke rising straight up into the evening air from innumerable chimneys. The fact that there was a fair-sized town this deep in the inaccessible mountains was surprising enough, but Sparhawk and the others were not looking at the town.

In the very center of the valley, there was a small lake. There was, of course, nothing unusual about that. Lakes abound in mountains in all parts of the world. The spring run-off from melting snow inevitably seeks valleys and hains—any place that is lower than the surrounding terrain and from which there is no exit channel. It was not the fact that the lake was there that was so surprising. The thing that startled them and raised those vestigial hackles of superstitious awe along the backs of their necks was the fact that the lake glowed in the lowering twilight.

The light was not the sickly, greenish glow of the phosphorescence that is sometimes exuded by rotting vegetable matter, but was instead a clear, steely white. Like a lost moon, the lake glowed, responding to the light of her new-risen sister standing above the eastern horizon.

‘Behold Delphaeus,’ Xanetia said simply, and when they looked at her, they saw that she too was all aglow with a pure white light that seemed to come from within her and which shone through her garment and through her skin itself as if that pale, unwavering light were coming from her very soul.

14

Sparhawk’s senses were preternaturally acute for some reason, although his mind seemed detached and emotionless. He observed, he heard, he catalogued, but he felt nothing. The peculiar state was not an unfamiliar one, but the circumstances under which this profound calm had come over him were unusual very unusual. There were no armed men facing him, and yet his mind and body were preparing for battle.

Faran tensed, bunching his muscles, and the sound of his steel-shod hooves altered very slightly, becoming somehow more crisp, more deliberate. Sparhawk touched the big roan’s neck with one hand. ‘Relax,’ he murmured. ‘I’ll let you know when the time comes.’

Faran shuddered, absently flicking his Master’s reassurance off like a bothersome insect and continuing his cautious pace. Vanion looked at his friend questioningly. ‘Faran’s being a little sensitive, my Lord.’

‘Sensitive? That ill-tempered brute?’

‘Faran doesn’t really deserve that reputation, Vanion. When you get right down to it, he’s a good-natured horse. He tries very hard to please me. We’ve been together for so long that he knows what I’m feeling most of the time, and he goes out of his way to match his attitude to mine. I’m the one who’s the ill-tempered brute, but he gets all the blame. He behaves like a puppy when Aphrael’s riding on his back.’

‘Are you feeling belligerent just now?’

‘I don’t like being led around by the nose, but it’s nothing specific. You’ve over-trained me, Vanion. Any time anything unusual comes up, I start getting ready for war. Faran can feel that, so he does the same.’

Xanetia and Kalten were leading them across the meadow that sloped down toward the glowing lake and the strangely alien town nestled on the near hure. The pale Delphaeic woman still glowed with that eerie light. The radiance surrounding her seemed to Sparhawk’s heightened senses to be almost a kind of aura, a mark more of a special kind of grace rather than a loathsome contamination.

‘It’s all one building, did you notice that?’ Talen was saying to his brother. ‘It looks like any other city from a distance, but when you get closer, you start to see that the houses are all connected together.’

Khalad grunted. ‘It’s a stupid idea,’ he said. ‘A fire could burn out the whole town.”

‘The buildings are made of stone. They won’t burn.’

‘But the roofs are thatch, and thatch will burn. It’s a bad idea.’

Delphaeus had no separate wall as such. The outermost houses, all interconnected, turned their backs to the world, facing inward with their windowless rear walls presented to the outside. Sparhawk and the others followed Xanetia through a large, deep archway into the city. There was a peculiar fragrance about Delphaeus, a scent of new-mown hay. The streets were narrow and twisting, and they frequently ran through the buildings, passing under heavy arches into vaulted corridors which emerged again on the far side. As Talen had noted, Delphaeus was all one building, and what would have been called streets in another town were simply unroofed hallways here. The citizens did not avoid them, but they made no particular effort to approach. Like pale ghosts they drifted through the shadowy maze.

‘No torches,’ Berit noted, looking around.

‘No need,’ Ulath grunted.

‘Truly,’ the young knight agreed. ‘Notice how it changes the smell of the place? Even Chyrellos always reeks of burning pitch even in the daytime. It’s a little strange to be in a city that doesn’t have that greasy smoke clinging to everything.’

‘I don’t think the world at large is ready for self-illuminating people yet, Berit. It’s an idea that probably won’t catch on particularly in view of the drawbacks attached to it.’

‘Where are we going, Lady?’ Kalten asked the pale, glowing woman at his side. Kalten’s situation was a peculiar one. He guarded and protected Xanetia. He was solicitous about her comfort and well-being. He would, however, be the one who would kill her at the first sign of hostility from her people.

‘We go to the quarters of the Anari,’ Xanetia replied. ‘It is he who must place our proposal before Anakha. Anakha holds the keys to Bhelliom, and only he can command it.’

‘You could have saved the rest of us a lot of trouble and made this trip alone, Sparhawk,’ Talen said lightly.

‘Maybe, but it’s always nice to have company. Besides, if you hadn’t come along, you’d have missed all the fun. Look at how entertaining it was to jump off that cliff and lounge around in midair with about a thousand feet of absolute emptiness under you.’

‘I’ve been trying very hard to forget about that, my Lord,’ the boy replied with a pained expression.

They dismounted in one of those vaulted corridors near the center of the city, and turned their horses over to several young Delphae. The young men looked to Sparhawk like goatherds who had been pressed into service as stable-boys. Then they followed the glowing woman to a dark-stained door, worn with centuries of use.

Sparhawk, still in the grip of that emotionless calm, looked rather carefully at Xanetia. She was not much bigger than Sephrenia, and, although she was clearly a woman and quite an attractive one, that fact somehow had no meaning. Xanetia’s gender seemed irrelevant. She opened the worn door and led them into a hallway with deeply inset doorways piercing the walls at widely spaced intervals. The hallway was lighted by glass globes hanging on long chains from the vaulted ceiling, globes filled with a glowing liquid—water drawn from the lake, Sparhawk surmised.

At the far end of the corridor, Xanetia paused in front of one of the doors, and her eyes grew distant for a moment. ‘Codon bids us to enter,’ she said after a brief pause. She opened the door, and with Kalten close behind her, she led them into the chambers beyond. ‘The hall of Codon, Anari of the Delphai.” she told them in that peculiarly echoing voice that seemed to be one of the characteristics of her race.

Three worn stone steps led down into the central chamber, a tidy room with vaulted ceilings supported by low, heavy arches. The slightly inwardly curving walls were covered with white plaster, and the low, heavy furniture was upholstered with snowy lamb’s-wool. A small fire burned in an arched fireplace at the far end of the room, and more of those glowing globes hung from the ceiling.

Sparhawk felt like a crude, barbaric intruder here. Codon’s home reflected a gentle, saintly nature, and the big Pandion was accutely conscious of his chain-mail shirt and the heavy broadsword belted at his waist. He felt bulky and out of place, and his companions, wrapped in steel and leather and rough, gray cloth, seemed to loom around him like the crude monoliths of an ancient and primitive culture.

A very old man entered from the far side of the room. He was frail and bent, and his shuffling steps were aided by a long staff. his hair was wispy and snowy-white, in his case the mark of extreme age rather than a racial characteristic. In addition to his unbleached wool robe he wore a kind of shawl about his thin shoulders.

Xanetia went to him immediately, touching his wrinkled old face with a gentle hand. Her eyes were full of concern for him, but she did not speak.

‘Well met, Sir Knights,’ the old man greeted them. He spoke in only slightly accented Elenic, and his voice sounded thin and rusty as if he seldom had occasion to speak at all. ‘And welcome to thee as well, dear sister,’ he added, speaking to Sephrenia in nearly flawless, though archaic, Styric.

‘I am not your sister, old man,’ she said, her face cold.

‘We are all brothers and sisters, Sephrenia of Ylara, High priestess of Aphrael. Our kinship lies in our common humanity.’

‘That may have been true once, Delphae,’ she replied in a voice like ice, ‘but you and your accursed race are no longer human.’

He sighed. ‘Perhaps not. It is hard to say precisely what we are—or what we shall become. Put aside thine enmity, Sephrenia of Ylara. Thou wilt come to no harm in this place, and for once, our purposes merge into one. Thou wouldst set us apart from the rest of mankind, and that is now also our desire. May we not join our efforts to achieve this end?’

She turned her back on him.

Itagne, ever the diplomat, stepped in to fill the awkward gap. ‘Codon, I presume?’ he said urbanely.

The old man nodded.

‘I find Delphaeus puzzling, revered one, I must confess it. We Tamuls know virtually nothing about your people, and yet the Delphae have been central to a grossly affected genre in our literature. I’ve always felt that this so-called “Delphaeic literature” had been spun out of whole cloth by third-rate poets with diseased imaginations. Now I come to Delphaeus and find that all manner of things I had believed to be literary conceits have more than a little basis in fact.’

Itagne was smooth, there was no question about that. His assertion that he was even more clever than his brother, the Foreign Minister, was probably quite true.

The Anari smiled faintly. ‘We did what we could, Itagne of Matherion. I will grant thee that the verse is execrable and the sentimentality appalling, but “Xadane” did serve the purpose for which it was created. It softened and turned aside certain of the antagonisms the Styrics had planted in your society. The Tamuls control the Atans, and we did not wish a confrontation with our towering neighbors. I cringe to confess it to thee, but I myself played no small part in the composition of “Xadane”.

Itagne blinked. ‘Codon, are we talking about the same poem? The “Xadane” I studied as a schoolboy was written about seven hundred years ago.’

‘Has it been so long? Where do the years go? I did enjoy my stay in fire-domed Matherion. The university was stimulating.’

Itagne was too well trained to show his astonishment. ‘Your features are Tamul, Codon, but didn’t your coloration seem odd?’

‘Ye Tamuls are far too civilized to make an issue of deformity. My racial characteristics were simply taken to mean that I was an albino. The condition is not unheard of. I had a colleague—a Styric—who had a club-foot. Rather surprisingly, we got on well together. I note from thy speech that contemporary Tamul hath changed from what it was when I was last among thy people. That would make it difficult for me to return to Matherion. Please accept my apologies for “Xadane”. It is truly abominable, but as I say, it served its purpose.’

‘I should have known,’ Sephrenia cut in. ‘The whole body of Delphaeic literature was created with the sole purpose of fostering a climate of anti-Styric bigotry.’

‘And what was the purpose of the eons of outright falsehood with which ye Styrics deceived the Tamuls?’ Codon demanded. ‘Was the design not precisely the same? Did you not seek to instill the idea in the Tamul perception that the Delphae are sub-human?’

Sephrenia ignored the question. ‘Does your hatred of us run so deep that you would contaminate the understanding of an entire race?’

‘And how deeply doth thy hatred run, Sephrenia of Ylara? Art thou not even now attempting to poison the minds of these simple Elenes against us?’ The Anari sank into a cushioned chair, passing one weary hand across his face. ‘Our mutual hatreds have gone, methinks, too far to be healed. Better far that we live apart. And that doth bring us to the issue which hath brought us together. It is our wish to be apart from all others.’

‘Because you’re so much better than the rest of us?’ Sephrenia’s tone was thick with contempt.

‘Not better, Priestess, only different. We will leave that puffed-up sense of superiority to thy race.’

‘If you two want to renew a few eons-old hatreds, I think the rest of us would prefer not to sit through it,’ Vanion said coolly. ‘You both seem quite able to manage without our help.’

‘You don’t know what they’ve done, Vanion,’ Sephrenia said with a mute appeal in her eyes.

‘Frankly, dear, I’m not really interested in what happened several thousand years ago. If you want to chew old soup, please do it on your own time.’ Vanion looked at the ancient Delphae. ‘I believe you had some kind of an exchange in mind, Codon. We’d love to sit around and watch you and Sephrenia slice each other into thin strips, but we’re a little pressed for time. Affairs of state, you understand.’

Even Sparhawk choked a bit on that.

‘Thou art very blunt, Lord Vanion,’ Codon said in a coldly reproving tone.

‘I’m a soldier, revered Anari. A conversation made up of spiteful little insults bores me. If you and Sephrenia really want to fight, use axes.’

‘Have you had many occasions to deal with Elenes, revered Anari?’ Itagne asked in an unruffled manner.

‘Almost none.’

‘You might consider offering up a few prayers of thanksgiving for that. The Elenes have this distressing tendency to get right to the point. It’s dreadfully uncivilized, of course, but it does save time. I believe you wanted to address your proposal to Anakha. That’s him right there. I should probably warn you that Lord Vanion is the absolute soul of finesse when compared to Sparhawk, but Sparhawk is Anakha, so sooner or later you’re going to have to deal with him.’

‘Since we’ve all decided to be unpleasant this evening, I don’t think we’ll get very far,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Why don’t you tell me what you want, Codon, and what you’re prepared to offer in return? I’ll think it over tonight, and then we can talk about it tomorrow, after we’ve all had time to get a firmer grip on our civility.’

‘A wise course, perhaps, Anakha,’ the old man agreed. ‘There is turmoil afoot in Tamuli.’

‘Yes. We’ve noticed that.’

‘The turmoil is not directed at the Empire, Anakha, but at thee. Thou wert lured here because thou hast the keys to Bhelliom. Thine enemies covet the jewel.’

‘We know that too. I don’t really need a preamble, Codon. What’s the point of this?’

‘We will aid thee in thy struggle, and I do assure thee that without our aid, thou canst not prevail.’

‘You’ll have to convince me of that, but we can talk about it some other time. What do you want in return?’

‘We would have thee take up Bhelliom and seal us in this valley.’

‘That’s all?’

‘That is all we ask. Put us beyond the reach of all others, and put all others beyond our reach. All will be served by this, Elene and Tamul, Styric and Delphae. Use the infinite power of Bhelliom to set us apart from the rest of mankind so that we may continue our journey undisturbed.’

‘Journey?’

‘A figure of speech, Anakha. Our journey is measured in generations, not in leagues.’

‘An even exchange, then? You’ll help us to deal with our enemies if I close off this valley so that no one can ever get in or out?’

‘An even exchange, Anakha.’

‘All right. I’ll think about it.’

‘She won’t talk to me about it, Sparhawk,’ Vanion sighed, ‘or about anything else, for that matter.’ The silvery-haired Preceptor and his friend were speaking privately in a small room just off the corridor that led to the cluster of tiny, cell-like rooms where they had spent the night.

You were just a bit blunt last night,’ Sparhawk told him.

‘Irrational behavior irritates me. I wish Aphrael were here She could straighten Sephrenia out in fairly short order.’

Sparhawk slid lower in his chair. ‘I’m not so sure, Vanion. I don’t know if I’m supposed to tell you this, but I get the feeling that Aphrael wouldn’t interfere. Before she left, she told me that Sephrenia has to work this out for herself.’

‘Could Itagne shed any light on this antagonism between the Styrics and the Delphae?’

Sparhawk shook his head. ‘No more than he’s already told us. The whole business seems to date back to the time of the war with the Cyrgai. That was about ten thousand years ago, so history’s a little vague about what really happened. Evidently the Styrics and the Delphae were allies, and there seems to have been a betrayal of some sort.’

‘I gathered as much. Can Itagne make any guesses about who was betrayed?’

‘No. The Styrics have made themselves useful to the Tamuls over the centuries—in much the same way as they made themselves useful to the Church in Eosia. They’ve been busy insinuating their version of what happened into the Tamul perception of history. From what Codon told us last night, I’d say that the Delphae have infiltrated the University of Matherion and inserted Delphaeic literature into the Tamul culture with precisely the same idea. The events of ten thousand years ago are going to be buried under a thick layer of myth and legend anyway, and with both the Styrics and the Delphae busily muddying up the waters, the real truth probably won’t ever come out into the open.’ He smiled faintly. ‘I’m not sure how significant it is, but the Styrics tried to contaminate the historians, while the Delphae spent their time trying to contaminate the poets. Interesting contrast, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Aphrael would know the truth.’

‘Probably, but she’s not talking. I know her well enough to know that her silence is deliberate. I don’t think she really wants us to know who was originally at fault. She doesn’t seem to want us to take sides for some reason, and that puts us in a very difficult position. I don’t think we’ll ever find out the truth behind this racial antagonism—not that it really matters. I doubt if Sephrenia or the Anari themselves even know. They’ve both had the benefit of about four hundred generations of hysterical propaganda to set their prejudices in stone. Our problem is that the Delphae can probably hold us here indefinitely. If we try to ride away, they’ll just turn us around and lead us right back, so eventually we’re going to have to negotiate with them. We all love Sephrenia, though, so if we do negotiate with the Delphae, she’ll take fire spontaneously.’

‘Yes, I noticed that. What am I going to do, Sparhawk? I bleed when she so much as pricks her finger.’

‘Lie to her,’ Sparhawk shrugged.

‘Sparhawk!’

‘You don’t have to be too obvious about it, but lean your neutrality slightly in her direction. I’m the one in charge of Bhelliom, so Codon’s going to have to deal with me. Technically, you’re secondary here—sorry, Vanion, but it’s true. Codon’s going to be negotiating with me, not you. Glare at me now and then and raise objections. Sephrenia’s behaving irrationally, so the others, like good, logical Elenes, are going to oppose her. Let’s not isolate her entirely. You’re the most important person in her life, and if you seem to be turning against her as well, you’ll break her heart.’ He smiled a bit wryly. ‘I’d take it as a personal favor, though, if you didn’t let her turn me into a toad about midway through the negotiations.

‘Let’s go back a step or two, revered Anari,’ Sparhawk suggested when they had gathered again in the large, sunken room. ‘I need to know exactly what I’m getting involved in here. I’m not going to do anything to injure the Styrics. They’re sometimes a prickly and difficult people, but we’ve grown fond of them for some reason.’ He smiled at Sephrenia, hoping to soften her displeasure. ‘You mentioned a journey of some sort. I get the feeling that this journey might be central to our discussion. Where are you going?’

‘We are changing, Anakha. When the world turned against us, we appealed to Edaemus to protect us.’

‘Your God?’

The Anari nodded. ‘We were a child-like, unsophisticated people before the war with the Cyrgai, and Edaemus lived among us, sharing our simple joys and transient sorrows. Of all the people of this world, we were the least suited for war.’ The old man looked at Sephrenia. ‘I will not offend thy teacher by speaking the truth about what led to our being made outcast.

‘The truth is well known,’ Sephrenia said stiffly.

‘Yes, it is, but thy truth is quite different from our’s. You believe that one thing happened, and we believe that something else took place. But that, Sephrenia of Ylara, is between us, and it doth not concern these Elenes. In truth, Lady, neither Styric nor Delphae were very admirable in that unfortunate affair. For whatever cause, Anakha, the Delphae were cast out, and the hands of all men were turned against us. We appealed, as I said, to Edaemus, and he responded by laying a curse on us.’

‘This Edaemus of yours has a peculiar way of showing his affection,’ Ulath noted.

‘It was the only way to protect us, Sir Knight. We are not warlike and have no skill with the weapons with which other men kill each other, and so Edaemus cursed us to make our merest touch a weapon. Other men soon found that the touch of our hands meant death.’

‘Then why am I still here, Codon?’ Kalten asked. ‘I’ve been helping Xanetia on and off her horse for several days now, and her touch hasn’t killed me.’

‘We have learned to control the curse, Sir Kalten. That was a part of the plan of Edaemus when he raised his hand against our lake.’

‘The lake?’

The Anari nodded. ‘Edaemus could not bear the thought of laying his curse upon us directly, and so he cursed the waters of the lake instead. The lake is our only source of water, and we therefore must drink of it. When first we came to this valley, the mind of Edaemus was as child-like as ours. In the spirit of play gave he the waters of the lake that peculiar essence which doth illuminate us. We drink of the lake, and its waters infuse our bodies. Out of love did Edaemus make us appear like Gods. It was a harmless entertainment, and we soon forgave him for so altering us. When the world turned against us, however, did Edaemus curse the lake, and its infusing waters, changed by that curse, changed us as well. The touch of death which doth hold our enemies at bay is but a small part of the design of our God, however. Circumstance hath set us apart from this world, and it is the intent of Edaemus to set us yet further apart. We are changing, my friends. Our bodies are different, and our minds and spirits as well. We are no longer as ye—nor as once we were. With each generation this inexorable change progresses. Xanetia, dear, gentle Xanetia, so far surpasseth me that I cannot even begin to comprehend the extent of her thought. In time, methinks, she will equal—or even surpass—the very Gods themselves.’

‘And then you will supplant us,’ Sephrenia accused. ‘Even as the Trolls supplanted the Dawn-men and as we are supplanting the Trolls, so will you despised Delphae become our masters, putting aside our Gods and kenneling us like dogs in uninhabitable wastelands while you enjoy the fruits of the earth. We Styrics have endured such treatment at the hands of the Elenes for eons, and we have learned much. You will not so easily subdue us, Codon, and we will not worship you nor fawn at your feet like whipped dogs.’

‘How may we supplant thee and seize thy lands, Sephrenia of Ylara? We are bound to our lake and may not long be away from its waters. Thy submission, moreover, would have no meaning for us, for we will not be here. We journey toward the light, and we will become light. My Xanetia, who will be Anarae, could join with the light even now, but those of us who have not yet reached her perfection hold her back. When we are dead there will no longer be any reason for her to remain, and she will lead the Delphae out to dwell among the stars with Edaemus, who hath gone before us to prepare our home.’

‘Where you will be Gods,’ Sephrenia added with a spiteful sneer.

‘That is a word without meaning, Sephrenia of Ylara,’ Xanetia said quietly. ‘All of us, Gods and men, move toward the same goal. Edaemus hath gone before us, and we will go before thee. We will await thy coming with love, and we will even forgive thee for the wrong that thou hast done us.’

‘Forgive me?’ Sephrenia exploded. ‘I spurn thy condescending forgiveness!’ She had lapsed, probably without realizing it, into archaic Styric. ‘I will never forgive thee nor accept any of thy forgiveness.’

‘But thou wilt, Sephrenia,’ the glowing woman disagreed. ‘Even now is thine heart doubtful within thy breast. Thou art of two minds, gentle Sephrenia. I know thee well, and I know that this hatred of thine, like winter frost, doth lurk in the dark, shaded places of thy soul. I do assure thee that it will melt in the warm sun of thy loving nature—even as mine own hatred doth even now begin its painful thaw. But make no mistake, Sephrenia of Ylara, I do hate Styrics even as thou hatest the Delphae. An hundred centuries of enmity is not lightly cast aside. I do hate the perfidious Styrics, but I do not hate thee. I know thine heart, dear sister, for it is even as mine own. In time will we both put aside this childish hatred and live together in peace.’

‘Never.’

‘Never, dear sister, is a long, long time.’

‘I think we’re getting a little far afield here,’ Sparhawk cut in. ‘This sealing up of the valley isn’t intended to be eternal, I gather?’

‘There would be no need of that, Anakha,’ the Anari replied. ‘Once we are gone, Edaemus will lift his curse from the lake, its waters will return to normal, and other men may freely come to this valley without fear.’

‘I should probably tell you that if I seal the valley with Bhelliom, I will seal it. I can absolutely guarantee you that no Delphae will ever leave. If you’re going to turn into moonbeams or sunlight, that won’t inconvenience you, but if you’ve got some other notion hidden away, you might as well forget it. And if this Edaemus of yours has a secret agenda involving some sort of retaliation against the Styrics, you’d better tell him to drop it. Bhelliom eats Gods for breakfast—as Azash found out. Do you still want me to seal your valley?’

‘Yes,’ Codon replied without hesitation.

‘How about you, Sephrenia?’ Sparhawk asked. ‘Would that kind of guarantee satisfy you?’

‘They’ll try trickery, Sparhawk. They’re a deceitful race.’

‘You know the Bhelliom, Sephrenia—probably even better than I do. Do you really think anybody—man or God—could trick it? If I tell it to keep the Delphae in and everybody else out, nobody’s going to cross the line—not you, not me, not Aphrael, not Edaemus—not even the God of the Elenes. Even if all the Gods of this world and of all their worlds combined, Bhelliom would still keep them out. If I seal this valley, it will stay sealed. Even the birds and angleworms won’t be able to leave. Will that satisfy you?’

She refused to look at him.

‘I need an answer, little mother, and I’d rather not have to wait all year to get it. Will it satisfy you?’

‘You’re hateful, Sparhawk!’

‘I’ve got a lot on my mind just now. Think it over and let me know what you decide.’ He turned to face the Anari. ‘All right, now I know what you want. The next question is what’s in it for me? What do I get out of this arrangement?’

‘Our assistance in thy struggle with thine enemies, Anakha.’

‘That’s a little unspecific, Codon. I’ve got the Bhelliom. what can you possibly do for me that I can’t do for myself?’

‘Thou must have the cooperation of the jewel, Anakha. Thou canst compel the stone, but it loves thee not, and it doth sometimes deliberately misunderstand thee—as when it took thee and the Child Goddess to Demos when thou sought to go to Delo in Arjuna.’

‘How did you know about that?’ Sparhawk was startled.

‘Thy mind is open to me, Anakha, as are all minds. This is but one of the services we can offer thee. Would it not be to thine advantage to know what those about thee are thinking?’

‘It would indeed, Codon, but there are other ways to wrest the truth from men’s hearts.’

‘But men who have been put to the torture know that they have been tortured, and they know what they have revealed unto thee. Our way is more subtle.’

‘He’s got a point there, Sparhawk,’ Kalten said. ‘What am I thinking right now, Codon?’

‘Thou art troubled by the duty to slay Xanetia should our people play thee false, Sir Knight. Thy mind is gently inclined toward her.’

‘He’s right about that,’ Kalten admitted to the others. ‘I think these people can hear what others are thinking.’

‘We have other capabilities as well, Sir Knights,’ the Anari told them, ‘and we freely offer them to thee in exchange for what we ask.’ He looked rather sadly at Sephrenia. ‘I fear that when I reveal the nature of these capabilities, it will cause thee pain and harden thine heart yet more toward us, dear sister.’

‘Will you stop calling me that? My heart is already like granite toward you and your kind.’

‘That is not true, Sephrenia of Ylara,’ Xanetia disagreed. ‘Thou art troubled forasmuch as thou hast found no wickedness in us in this, thy first meeting with our kind. Hard put art thou to maintain an hatred which groweth more from thy sense of duty to thy kindred than from any personal rancor. I do freely confess mine own similarly troubled state. I am inclined to love thee, even as thou art so inclined toward me.

‘Stop that!’ Sephrenia burst out. ‘Keep your unclean hands out of my thoughts.’

‘Stubborn, isn’t she?’ Ulath murmured.

‘It is the nature of the Younger Gods of Styricum to protect their children—even from their own folly,’ the Anari noted. ‘Thus it is that the Styrics must appeal to their Gods with spells and prayers for aid when they would step beyond the powers of other men. Is it not so, Sephrenia of Ylara?’ She refused to answer him.

‘That’s the core of Styric magic, Codon,’ Vanion replied for her. She glared at him, and Sparhawk silently groaned. Why couldn’t Vanion keep his mouth shut?

The Anari nodded. ‘Edaemus hath, as I say, gone before us to prepare the way, and he is therefore no longer able to watch over us. Thus hath he granted certain of us the power to do what must be done without his guidance.’

‘Unrestrained magic?’ Sephrenia exclaimed. ‘You hold the power of the Gods in your own hands with no restraints?’

‘Some few of us, yes.’

‘That’s monstrous! The human mind isn’t capable of understanding the nature of that kind of power. We can’t grasp the consequences of unleashing it to satisfy our childish whims.’

‘Thy Goddess hath instructed thee well, Sephrenia of Ylara,’ Xanetia noted. ‘This is what she wishes thee to believe.’

‘Thy Goddess would keep thee a child, dear sister,’ the Anari said. ‘For so long as thou art a child, she is secure in thy love. I tell thee truly, however, Edaemus doth love us even as thine Aphrael doth love thee. His love, however, doth compel us to grow. He hath placed his power in our hands, and we must accept the consequences of our acts when we bring it to bear. It is a different kind of love, but it is love nonetheless. Edaemus is no longer here to guide us, so we can do whatever our minds are able to conceive.’

The Anari smiled gently. ‘Forgive me, my friends,’ he said to them, ‘but one as old as I hath but one peculiar interest.’ He held up one withered old hand and looked at it rather sadly. ‘How soon are we altered by the passing of years, and how distressing is the alteration.’

The change seemed gradual, but considering the staggering nature of that change, what was happening before their eyes was nearly miraculous. The withered hand grew more firm-fleshed, the knobby joints smoothed, and the wrinkles faded. It was not only the hand, however. The tracery of wrinkles and lines on Codon’s face seemed to slide away. His hollow cheeks filled out, and his thin, wispy hair grew fuller, more abundant. They stared at him as, with no apparent effort, he reversed the erosion of years. He regressed to vigorous youth, his skin clear and his hands and face firm and unmarked. Then, he began to diminish, his limbs shrinking inside his garments. The prickly stubble vanished from his cheeks and chin, and, as he continued to regress, his head seemed to grow larger in proportion to his shrinking body.

‘That might be far enough,’ he said in a piping, childish voice. He smiled, a strangely ancient smile which looked very much out of place on that little boy’s face. ‘A miscalculation here might reduce me to nothing. In truth, I have considered that, but my tasks and responsibilities are not yet completed. Xanetia has her own tasks, and I would not yet burden her with mine as well.’

Sparhawk swallowed hard. ‘I think you’ve made your point, Codon,’ he said in a strained voice. ‘We’ll accept the fact that you can do things that we can’t do.’ He looked around at his friends. ‘I can already see arguments brewing,’ he told them, deliberately avoiding Sephrenia’s eyes, ‘and no matter what we decide, we’ll probably all have serious doubts about it.’

‘We could pray,’ Bevier suggested.

‘Or roll dice and let them decide,’ Ulath added.

‘Not with your dice, we couldn’t,’ Kalten objected.

‘We could even fall back on logic,’ Vanion concluded, ‘but Sparhawk’s right. No matter how we try to decide, we could probably sit here all winter and still not agree.’ he also avoided Sephrenia’s eyes.

‘All right, then,’ Sparhawk said, reaching inside his tunic, ‘since Aphrael’s not here to bully us into agreement, we’ll let Bhelliom decide.’ He took out the golden box and set it on the table in front of him.

‘Sparhawk.’ Sephrenia gasped.

‘No, Anakha!’ Xanetia also exclaimed.

‘Bhelliom doesn’t love any of us,’ he said, ‘so we can sort of rely on its neutrality. We need guidance here, and neither Edaemus nor Aphrael is around to provide it—besides which, I don’t know that I’d trust either of them anyway, given the peculiar circumstances here. We want an uncontaminated opinion, so why don’t we just find out what Bhelliom thinks about the situation?

15

‘Blue Rose,’ Sparhawk said in Trollish to the glowing jewel in his hands, ‘I am Anakha. Do you know me?’

Bhelliom’s glow pulsed slightly, and Sparhawk could sense the stone’s stiff reluctance to acknowledge his dominion. Then he thought of something. ‘You and I need to talk,’ he said, speaking in Elenic this time, ‘and I don’t think Khwaj and the others need to be listening. Can you understand me when I speak in this fashion?’

There was the faintest hint of curiosity in the pulse this time. ‘Good. Is there some way you can talk to me? There’s something you and I have to decide. This is too important for me to simply force you to do what I want, because I could be wrong. I know you’re none too fond of me—or of any creature on this particular world—but I think that we may have some common interest this time.’

‘Let me go.’ The voice was a kind of lingering whisper, but it was familiar.

Sparhawk whirled round to stare at Kalten. His boyhood friend’s face was wooden, uncomprehending, and the words came stiffly from his lips.

‘Why hast thou done this thing, Anakha? Why hast thou enslaved me?’ The archaic Elenic could not have come from Kalten, but why had Bhelliom chosen this most unlikely mouth?

Sparhawk carefully readjusted his thoughts, casting them in the profoundly formal language with which the stone had addressed him; and in the instant of that changeover, perception and understanding came. It somehow seemed that knowledge had lain dormant in his mind until unlocked by this peculiar key. Strangely, his understanding had been bound up in language, and once he made the conscious shift from contemporary Elenic with all its casual imprecision to more stately and concise cadences, that previously closed part of his mind opened.

‘It was not I who enslaved thee, Blue Rose. It was thine own inattention that brought thee into such perilous proximity to the red of iron which congealed thee into thy present state, and it was Ghwerig who lifted thee from the earth and contorted thee into this similitude of a flower with his cruel diamond implements.’ A stifled groan came from Kalten’s lips, a groan of pain endured and pain remembered.

‘I am Anakha, Blue Rose,’ Sparhawk continued. ‘I am thy creature. It is thou who hast caused me to be, that I might be the instrument of thy liberation, and I will not betray thy trust in me. I am in some part made of thy thought, and I am therefore thy servant. It is thou who hast enslaved me. Didst thou not set my destiny apart, making me a stranger to the Gods of this world and to all other men? But, though I am thine enslaved servant, I am, nonetheless, still of this world, and I will not have it destroyed nor its people crushed by the vile oppression of mine enemies. I did free thee from the enslavement of Ghwerig, did I not? Is this not in some small measure proof of my fidelity to the task which thou hast lain upon me? And, bound together in common purpose, did we not destroy Azash, who would have chained us both in a slavery harsher than that which now chains us together? For mistake me not, Blue Rose, even as thou art my slave, so am I thine, and once again the chain which binds us together is common purpose, and neither shall be free until that purpose be accomplished. Then shalt thou, and then shall I, be free to go our separate ways—I to remain, and thou to go, an it please thee, to continue thine interrupted and endless journey to the farthest star.’

‘Thou hast learned well, Anakha,’ Bhelliom said grudgingly, ‘but thine understanding of thy situation did never obtrude itself upon thy conscious thought where I could perceive it. I had despaired, thinking that I had wrought amiss.’

Sephrenia was staring at them, first at Sparhawk and then at the seemingly comatose Kalten, and her pale, flawless face was filled with something very like chagrin. Xanetia stared also, and her expression was no less chagrined. Sparhawk took a fleeting satisfaction in that. The two were very much alike in their perhaps unconscious assumption of condescending superiority. Sparhawk’s sudden, unexpected awareness of things long conceiled in his understanding had shaken that irritating smugness of theirs. For the first time in his life he consciously knew that he was Anakha, and more importantly, he knew the meaning of Anakha in ways neither Sephrenia nor Xanetia could ever begin to comprehend. He had stepped around them to reach Bhelliom, and in joining his thought with Bhelliom’s, he had to some degree shared Bhelliom’s awareness, and that was something neither of them could ever do.

‘Thou hast not wrought amiss, Blue Rose,’ he told the jewel. ‘Thine error lay in casting thy thought in this particular speech. Mine understanding was also cast so, and it did not reveal itself to me until I responded to thy words in kind. Now, let us to work withal. Mine enemies are also thine, forasmuch as they would bind thee even as they would bind me. Neither of us shall be secure in our freedom until they are no more. Are we agreed upon that?’

‘Thy reasoning is sound, Anakha.’

‘Our purpose then is the same?’

‘So it would seem.’

‘We’re making some headway here,’ Sparhawk murmured. Kalten’s expression became coldly disapproving. ‘Sorry,’ Sparhawk apologized, ‘force of habit, I suppose. Reason doth urge that since our enemies and our purpose are common, and that since our thoughts are linked by this chain of thy forging, we must join our efforts in this cause. In victory shall we be freed. Our enemies and our common purpose shall be no more, and the chain which links us will fall away. I do pledge it to thee that upon the completion of this task I will free thee to continue thy work. My life is surely within thy fist, and thou mayest destroy me if I play thee false.’

‘I find no falsity in thy thought, Anakha, and I will strengthen thine arm and harden thine heart, lest others, beloved by thee, seek to turn thee aside from thy design and thy pledge. We are agreed.’

‘Done, then.” Sparhawk was exultant.

‘And done.’ Bhelliom’s speech, emerging from Kalten’s lips had been dry and unemotional, but this time the voice was also exultant. ‘And now to this decision which thou and I must make together.’

‘Sparhawk...’ Sephrenia’s tone was uncertain.

‘I’m sorry, little mother,’ he said, ‘I’m not talking with you at the moment. Please don’t interrupt.’

Sparhawk was not entirely sure whether he should address his question to the Sapphire Rose or to Kalten, who seemed to have been completely taken over by the spirit within the jewel. He settled for directing his question somewhere between them. ‘The Delphae have offered their assistance in exchange for a certain service,’ he said. ‘They would have us seal their valley that none may enter and none may leave, and in recompense for that small favor they promise to aid us. Is their offer made in good faith?’ Sparhawk heard Xanetia’s sharp intake of breath.

‘It is,’ Bhelliom replied. ‘There is no falsity in their offer.’

‘I didn’t think so myself, but I wanted to be sure.’

‘Anakha.’ The voice was firm. ‘When thou speakest so, thy mind is concealed from me. Our alliance is new and unfamiliar. It is not wise of thee to raise doubts in me by compressing thy words together so.’

Sparhawk suddenly laughed. ‘Forgive my lapse, Blue Rose,’ he said. ‘We can trust the Delphae, then?”

‘For the moment, yes. Their intent is presently without guile. It is uncertain what it will be tomorrow. Thy kind is inconstant, Anakha.’ Kalten’s voice hesitated briefly. ‘I say that not as criticism, merely as observation. For the presence mayest thou put thy trust in their sincerity—and they in thine. What may come subsequently lieth in the hands of chance.’

‘Then there is such a thing as chance?’ Sparhawk was a bit surprised at that. ‘We are told that all things are pre-determined by the Gods.’

‘Whosoever told thee so was in error.’ Bevier gasped. ‘My journey and my task were interrupted by chance,’ Bhelliom continued. ‘If my course may be turned aside, might not thine as well? Truly I tell thee, Anakha, we must join with the Delphae in this enterprise, for if we do not, we shall surely fail. Whether one or both play the other false will depend on circumstance. At this time, the hearts of the Delphae are pure; that may change. At this time, thine heart is also pure, that may also change. But will we, nil we, we must join with them, lest we fail and languish forever in vilest bondage.’

‘You heard him, Bevier,’ Sephrenia was saying to the olive-skinned Arcian later when Sparhawk quietly entered the room where the two were deep in conversation. ‘They worship the lake—the source of the contamination that makes them outcast.’

‘He did mention a God, Lady Sephrenia,’ Bevier protested mildly. ‘I think he called their God Edaemus—or something like that.’

‘But Edaemus has abandoned them—cursed them and then turned his back on them.’

‘Anari said that Edaemus had gone before them to prepare a place for them.’ Bevier’s objection seemed even weaker. ‘He said that they were changing—turning into pure light.’

‘Lies,’ she snapped. ‘The light that marks them is not the mark of a blessing, Bevier, it’s the mark of their curse. Codon was cleverly trying to twist it around to make it seem that the Delphae are turning into something holy, when the reverse is actually true.’

‘They do perform magic, Sephrenia, and a kind of magic I’ve never seen before. I wouldn’t have believed that anyone could return to childhood if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.’

‘Exactly my point, Bevier. They’re using witchcraft, not magic. You’ve never seen me imitate a God, have you?’

Sparhawk stepped unobserved back out into the hallway and went on down to the doorless cell Vanion occupied. ‘We’ve got a problem,’ he told the Preceptor of the Pandions.

‘Another one?’

‘Sephrenia’s trying to subvert Bevier. She’s trying to convince him that the Delphae practice witchcraft. You know Bevier. His eyes start to bulge out any time anyone so much as mentions the word.’

‘Why won’t she just leave it alone?’ Vanion exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. ‘Wasn’t Bhelliom’s word good enough for her?’

‘She doesn’t want to believe, Vanion,’ Sparhawk sighed. ‘We’ve run into exactly the same thing when we’ve tried to convince rural Elenes that Styrics aren’t born with horns and tails.’

‘She of all people should be free of that sort of thing.’

‘I’m afraid not, my friend. Styrics are good haters, I guess.’

‘How do we want to handle this?’

‘I’ll confront her directly.’

Sparhawk winced. ‘She’ll turn you into a frog if you do.

Vanion smiled briefly. ‘No. I lived in Sarsos, remember? A Styric can’t do anything like that without the consent of his God, and Aphrael’s sort of fond of me—I hope.’

‘I’ll round up the others and get them out from underfoot so that you can speak with her privately.’

‘No, Sparhawk, it has to be done in front of them. She’s trying to slip around behind us to recruit converts. They’re all going to have to be made aware of the fact that she’s not to be trusted in this particular situation.’

‘Wouldn’t it be a little better to talk with her privately at first? —before you humiliate her publicly?’

Vanion shook his head stubbornly. ‘We’ve got to meet this head on,’ he declared.

‘You’d better hope that Aphrael’s fond of you,’ Sparhawk murmured.

‘They’ve reverted to total paganism,’ Sephrenia said stubbornly. ‘They might as well worship trees or oddly shaped rocks. They have no creed, no doctrine and no restraints. Their use of witchcraft proves that.’ They had gathered at Vanion’s summons in a large room at the end of the hall, and Sephrenia was urgently, even stridently, trying to make her case.

‘What’s the difference?’ Talen shrugged. ‘Magic, witchcraft, it’s all the same, isn’t it?”

‘Magic is of the Gods, Talen,’ Bevier explained. ‘Our Holy Mother, in her wisdom, has chosen to allow the Church Knights to learn the secrets of Styricum that we might better serve her. There are restraints on us—certain areas we may not enter. Witchcraft is unrestrained because it is of the evil one.’

‘The Devil, you mean? I’ve never really believed in the Devil. There’s plenty of concentrated wickedness in people anyway, so we can probably get along fairly well without him. I’ve known some very nasty people, Bevier.’

‘The existence of the Devil has been proved.’

‘Not to me it hasn’t.’

‘Aren’t we wandering a bit?’ Ulath suggested. ‘Does it really matter what the Delphae worship? We’ve allied ourselves with all sorts of people in the past in order to achieve this or that goal. Bhelliom says that we have to join forces with the Delphae, or we’re going to lose. I don’t like losing, so what’s the problem?’

‘Bhelliom doesn’t know anything about this world, Ulath,’ Sephrenia said.

‘So much the better. It comes at the problem with a clear and uncluttered understanding. If I need to jump behind a tree to keep from being swept away by an avalanche, I’m not going to stop to question the tree about its beliefs first.’

‘Bhelliom will do or say anything in order to gain its freedom,’ Sephrenia asserted. ‘That’s why I was so much against using it in the first place.’

‘We have to believe Bhelliom, Sephrenia,’ Vanion told her, obviously trying to keep his irritation under control. ‘It doesn’t make much sense for us to trust it with our very lives and then not believe what it tells us, does it? It has done some very useful things for us in the past, you know.”

‘Only because it was compelled to, Vanion. Bhelliom submits because it’s forced to submit. I trust the Bhelliom even less than I trust the Delphae. It’s alien, totally alien, and we have no way of knowing what it will do. We’re safe only for as long as we keep it chained and force it to obey us. The minute we begin to listen to it, we’re in great danger.’

‘Is that how you feel about us too, little mother?’ he asked her sadly. ‘We’re Elenes, and as a race we’ve proved time and again that we’re not to be trusted. Do you want to chain us as well?—and force us to obey you?’

‘Don’t be absurd. Bhelliom’s not a person.’

‘The Delphae are, though, aren’t they?’

‘No!’

‘You’re being illogical, Sephrenia. The Delphae are human. We don’t care for the Zemochs or the Renders, but we’ve never tried to pretend that they aren’t human. There are a lot of Elenes who don’t like you Styrics, but we’ve never gone so far as to try to deny your humanity.’ He paused, then drew in a deep breath.

‘I guess that’s what it comes down to, love. If you’re going to deny the humanity of the Delphae, how can I be positive that you don’t secretly feel the same way about me? I’ve lived in Sarsos, and many of the Styrics there wanted to treat me like some lower life-form. Did you agree with them? have I been some kind of pet, Sephrenia? a dog maybe? Or a tame ape that you kept around for your private amusements? Hang it all, Sephrenia, this is a question of morality. If we deny anyone’s humanity, we open the door to unimaginable horror. Can’t you see that?’

‘The Delphae are different.’

‘Nobody’s different. We have to believe that, because if we don’t, we deny our own humanity as well. Why don’t you understand?’

Her face was very, very pale. ‘This is all very high-sounding and noble, Vanion, but it has nothing whatsoever to do with the Delphae. You don’t know anything about what they are or who they are so you don’t really know what you’re talking about. You’ve always come to me for guidance in the past when your ignorance was putting you in danger. Am I correct in assuming that we’re not going to do that any more?’

‘Don’t be silly.’

‘I’m not. I’m being very serious. Are you going to ignore me on this issue? Are you going to take up with these monstrous lepers, no matter what I tell you?’

‘We don’t have any choice in the matter, can’t you see that? Bhelliom tells us that we’re going to fail if we don’t—and we can’t fail. I think the whole world’s going to depend on our not failing.’

‘You seem to have outgrown your need for me, then. It would have been polite of you to have told me that before you brought me to this accursed valley, but I suppose I was silly to expect politeness from an Elene in the first place. As soon as we get back to Matherion, I’ll make arrangements to return to Sarsos where I belong.’

‘Sephrenia.’

‘No. This concludes it. I’ve served the Pandion order well and faithfully for three hundred years and I thank you for your generous payment for my years of toil. We’re through, Vanion. This ends it. I hope the rest of your life will be happy, but happy or sad, you’re going to live it without me.’ And she turned and swept from the room.

‘It will be very dangerous, Anari,’ Itagne warned, ‘and Xanetia is the most important of all your people. Is it prudent to risk her life?’

‘Truly, Itagne of Matherion,’ the old man replied, ‘Xanetia is precious to us, for she will be Anarae. She is, however, the most gifted of us and it may well be that her gifts will weight the scale in our final confrontation with our common enemy.’

Sparhawk, Vanion and Itagne had been summoned to meet with Codon prior to their departure from the valley of Delphaeus. It was a fine autumn morning. A hint of frost, fast melting in the newly risen sun, gleamed on the meadow, and the shade under the boughs of the evergreens beyond that meadow was a deep, deep blue.

‘I merely wished to point it out, Anari,’ Itagne said. ‘For all its splendor, Matherion is a city filled with hidden dangers, with rough, ignorant people who will react very strongly to the appearance of one of the Delphae in their midst. Your gentle Xanetia is an ethereal, unworldly sort of person, hardly more than a girl. The fact that she’s a Shining One will protect her to some degree against overt physical attack, but are you really willing to expose her to the curses, the vituperation and all the other kinds of abuse she’s sure to encounter there at the center of the world?’

The Anari smiled. ‘Thou hast misperceived Xanetia, Itagne of Matherion. Doth she truly seem so much a child to thee? Would thy mind be more easy if thou wert aware that she is well past her first century of life?’

Itagne stared at him and then at Xanetia, who sat quietly near the window. ‘You are a strange people, Anari,’ he said. ‘I’d have guessed her age at no more than sixteen years.’

‘It is impolite to speculate about a lady’s age, Itagne of Matherion,’ the pale woman smiled.

‘Forgive me, Anarae,’ Itagne replied with a courtly bow.

‘His Excellency here has raised a fairly important point, Anari,’ Vanion said. The Preceptor’s face was still marked by the pain of the previous day’s conversation with Sephrenia. ‘The lady’s appearance won’t go unnoticed—not only in Matherion itself, but along the roads we’ll have to follow as we ride east as well. Is there some way we could disguise her enough so that whole villages won’t go into absolute panic the moment she rides by?’ He looked apologetically at the Delphaeic woman. ‘I wouldn’t offend you for the world, Anarae, but you are very striking.’

‘I thank thee for the compliment, gentle sir.’

‘Do you want to take over, Sparhawk?’ Vanion said. ‘I just seem to be digging myself in deeper.’

‘We’re soldiers, Xanetia,’ Sparhawk said bluntly, ‘and our answer to hostility is fairly direct. We can butcher our way from here to the imperial palace in Matherion if we have to, but I get the feeling that you might find that distressing. Would a disguise of some kind offend you?’ Then a thought came to him. ‘Can we disguise you? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you glow. Some of your people have come fairly close to us before the light started to show. Can your internal fire be dampened?’

‘We can control the light, Anakha,’ Codon assured him, ‘and Xanetia, the most gifted of us all, can control it even better than most, though it doth cause her pain to do so. For us, it is an unnatural thing.’

‘We’ll have to work on that, then.’

‘The pain is of no moment, Anakha,’ Xanetia assured him.

‘Not to you, perhaps, but it is to me. Let’s start with your coloration, though. Your features are Tamul, but your skin and hair are the wrong color. What do you think, Itagne? Could she pass for Tamul if we dyed her skin and hair?’

‘That is not needful, Anakha,’ Xanetia told him. Her brow furrowed briefly in concentration, and gradually, almost like a slow blush, a faint golden tint began to mount in her cheeks, and her hair slipped from its colorless white into pale blonde. ‘Color is a quality of light,’ she explained quite calmly, even as the embronzing of her skin and the darkening of her hair continued, ‘and since I can control the light from within me, so can I also control my color—indeed, by thus altering the light rather than suppressing it entirely, I can lessen the pain. A most happy solution for me and for thee as well, I wot, since thou seemest sensitive to the pain of others. This is a simple matter.’ Her skin by now was almost the same pale gold as Itagne’s, and her hair was a deep, rich auburn. ‘The change of shape is far more difficult,’ she conceded, ‘and the change of gender more difficult still.’

‘The what?’ Itagne choked.

‘I do not do that often, nor willingly,’ she replied. ‘Edaemus did not intend for me to be a man, and I find it most uncomfortable. A man’s body is so cluttered and untidy.’ She held out her arm and examined it closely. ‘The color seemeth me correct,’ she observed. Then she took a lock of her now-black hair and looked at it. ‘And this as well,’ she added. ‘What thinkest thou, Itagne? Would I pass unnoticed in Matherion now?’

‘Hardly, divine Xanetia,’ he smiled. ‘Thy passage through the streets of fire-domed Matherion would stop the hearts of all who beheld thee, for thou art fair, and thy beauty doth bedazzle mine eye beyond all measure.’

‘Well said,’ Sparhawk murmured.

‘Thine honeyed words fall sweetly upon mine ears, Itagne,’ Xanetia smiled. ‘Thou art, I do believe, a master of flattery.’

‘You should probably know that Itagne is a diplomat, Anarae,’ Vanion advised her, ‘and his words aren’t always to be trusted. This time he’s telling you the truth, though. You’re an extraordinarily beautiful woman.’

She looked at him gravely. ‘Thine heart is sore within thee, is it not, Lord Vanion?’ she observed.

He sighed.

‘It’s my personal problem, Anarae,’ he replied.

‘Not entirely so, my Lord. Now are we all of the same fellowship, and the troubles of one are the troubles of all. But that which troubleth thee is of far greater note and causeth us all much greater concern than that which might grow from our comradely feelings for thee. This breach between thy beloved and thee doth imperil our cause, and until it be healed, our common purpose doth stand in peril.’

They rode eastward, following a scarcely perceptible track which seemed more like a game trail than a route normally followed by humans. Sephrenia, accompanied by Bevier and young Berit, rode some distance to the rear, her face set and her eyes as hard as flint.

Sparhawk and Vanion rode in the lead, following occasional directions from Xanetia, who rode directly behind them under Kalten’s watchful eye. ‘Just give her some time, Vanion,’ Sparhawk was saying. ‘Women deliver ultimatums and declarations of war fairly often. Things like that are usually intended to get our attention. Any time I start neglecting Ehlana, she says something she doesn’t really mean to bring me up short.’

‘I’m afraid this goes a little further than that, Sparhawk,’ Vanion replied. ‘Sephrenia’s a Styric, but she’s never been so totally irrational before. If we could find out what’s behind this insane hatred of hers, we might be able to do something about it, but we’ve never been able to get any coherent reasons out of her. Apparently, she hates the Delphae simply because she hates the Delphae.’

‘Aphrael will straighten it out,’ Sparhawk said confidently. ‘As soon as we get back to Matherion, I’ll have a talk with Danae and...’ Sparhawk broke off as a sudden thought chilled his blood. ‘I have to talk with Xanetia,’ he said, abruptly wheeling Faran around.

‘Trouble?’ Kalten asked as Sparhawk joined them.

‘Nothing immediate,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘Why don’t you go on ahead and ride with Vanion for a while. I need to talk with Xanetia.’

Kalten gave him a questioning look but rode on forward without any further questions.

‘Thou art troubled, Anakha,’ Xanetia observed.

‘A little, yes. You know what I’m thinking, don’t you?’ She nodded. ‘Then you know who my daughter is?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s a sort of secret, Anarae. Aphrael didn’t consult with my wife when she chose her present incarnation. It’s very important that Ehlana doesn’t find out. I think her sanity depends on it.’

‘Thy secret is safe, Anakha, I do pledge thee my silence on this issue.’

‘What really happened, Xanetia?—between the Styrics and the Delphae, I mean. I don’t want your version or Sephrenia’s. I want the truth.’

‘Thou art not meant to know the truth, Anakha. A part of thy task is to resolve this issue without recourse to the truth.’

‘I’m an Elene, Xanetia,’ he said in a pained voice. ‘I have to have facts in order to make decisions.’

‘Then it is thine intent to judge?—to decide if the guilt doth condemn the Styrics or the Delphae?’

‘No. My intent is to get to the bottom of Sephrenia’s behavior so that I can change her mind.’

‘Is she so important to thee?’

‘Why do you ask questions when you already know the answers?’

‘My questions are intended to help thee formulate thy thought, Anakha.’

‘I’m a Pandion Knight, Xanetia. Sephrenia’s been the mother of our order for three centuries. Any one of us would give up his life for her without any hesitation at all. We love her, but we don’t share all of her prejudices.’ He leaned back in his saddle. ‘I’ll only wait for so long, Xanetia. If I don’t get the real truth out of you—or out of Sephrenia—I’ll just ask Bhelliom.’

‘Thou wouldst not!’ Her now-dark eyes were filled with a sudden chagrin.

‘I’m a soldier, Xanetia, so I don’t have the patience for subtlety. You’ll excuse me? I have to go talk with Sephrenia for a moment.’

‘Dirgis,’ Xanetia told them as they crested a hill and saw a typical Atan town lying in the valley below.

‘Well, finally,’ Vanion said, taking out his map. ‘Now we know where we are.’ He looked over his map for a moment and then squinted up at the evening sky. ‘Is it too late in the day for us to take one of those long steps, Sparhawk?’

‘No, my Lord,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘There’s plenty of light.’

‘Are we still concerned about that?’ Ulath asked. ‘Haven’t you and Bhelliom hammered that out yet?’

‘We haven’t been having any private chats,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘There are still people out there who can locate Bhelliom when it’s out in the open, so I’ve been keeping it inside its little house—just to be on the safe side.’

‘It’s well over three hundred leagues, Sparhawk,’ Vanion pointed out. ‘It’s going to be later there.’

‘I’m never going to get used to that,’ Kalten said sourly.

‘It’s really very simple, Kalten,’ Ulath told him. ‘You see, when the sun goes down in Matherion, it’s still...’

‘Please, Ulath,’ Kalten told him, ‘don’t try to explain it to me. It just makes things worse. When people start to explain it, I sometimes think I can actually feel the world moving under me. I don’t like that very much. Just tell me that it’s later there, and let it go at that. I don’t really need to know why it’s later.’

‘He’s a perfect knight,’ Khalad told his brother. ‘He doesn’t even want explanations.’

‘Look on the bright side of it, Khalad,’ Talen replied. ‘After we’ve gone through the wonderful training they’ve got planned for us, we’ll be exactly like Kalten. Think how much easier life’s going to be for us when we don’t have to understand anything at all.’

‘I’d guess that it’s very close to being fully dark in Matherion by now, Sparhawk,’ Vanion said. ‘Maybe we’d better wait until morning.’

‘I’m not so sure,’ Sparhawk disagreed. ‘The time’s going to come sooner or later when we’re going to have to make one of these jumps after the sun goes down. There’s nothing urgent in the wind right now, so it’s a good time for us to answer this question once and for all.’

‘Ah—Sparhawk?’ Khalad said.

‘Yes?’

‘If you’ve got a question, why not ask? Now that you and Bhelliom are on speaking terms, wouldn’t it be simpler—and safer—to just ask it first? Before you start experimenting? Matherion’s on the coast, as I recall, and I’d rather not come down about a hundred leagues out to sea.’

Sparhawk felt just a little foolish. He took out the small golden box and opened the lid. He paused momentarily, casting his question in antique Elenic.

‘I must needs have thine advice on a certain matter, Blue Rose,’ he said.

‘Say thy question, Anakha.’ This time the voice came from Khalad’s lips.

‘That’s a relief,’ Kalten said to Ulath. ‘I almost chewed up my tongue with all the “thee”s and “thou”s last time.’

‘Can we safely go from one place to another when the pall of darkness hath covered the earth?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘There is no darkness for me, Anakha.

‘I did not know that.’

‘Thou hadst but to ask.’

‘Yes. I do perceive that now. Mine understanding doth grow with each passing hour. On the eastern coast of far-flung Tamuli there doth lie a road which doth proceed southward to firedomed Matherion.’

‘Yes.’

‘When my companions and I first beheld Matherion, we came in sight of it when we did crest a long hill.’

‘Yes. I share thy memory of the place.’

‘Couldst thou take us there, e’en though darkness doth cover the face of the earth?’

‘Yes.’

Sparhawk started to reach into the box for his wife’s ring Then he stopped. ‘We share a common purpose and thus are comrades. It is not meet that I should compel thee and whip thee into compliance with the power of Ghwerig’s rings. Thus I do not command thee, but request instead. Wilt thou take us to this place we both know out of comradeship and common purpose?’

‘I will, Anakha.

16

The blur that surrounded them momentarily was that same featureless gray, no darker than it had been when Bhelliom had transported them in daylight. Night and day appeared to be irrelevant. Sparhawk dimly perceived that Bhelliom took them through some different place, a colorless emptiness that adjoined all other places—a kind of doorway to everywhere.

‘You were right, my Lord,’ Kalten said to Vanion, looking up at the star-studded night sky. ‘It Is later here, isn’t it?’ He looked sharply at Xanetia, who swayed slightly in her saddle. ‘Are you unwell, Lady?’ he asked her.

‘It is of no moment, Sir Knight. A slight giddiness, nothing more.’

‘You get used to it. The first few times are a little unsettling, but that wears off.’

Khalad held out the box, and Sparhawk put Bhelliom back inside.

‘I do not do this to imprison thee,’ he told the jewel. ‘Our enemies can sense thy presence when thou art exposed, and this receptacle doth conceal thee from their search.’ The Bhelliom pulsed slightly in acknowledgement. Sparhawk closed the cap over his ring, took the box from his squire, and closed it. Then he tucked it back into its usual place inside his tunic.

Matherion, ruddy with torchlight, lay below, and the pale path of light from the newly risen moon stretched from the horizon across the waters of the Tamul Sea to her doorstep, yet another of the innumerable roads leading to the city the Tamuls called the center of the world.

‘Are you open to a suggestion, Sparhawk?’ Talen asked.

‘You sound just like Tynian.

‘I know. I’m sort of filling in for him while he’s away. We’ve been out of Matherion for a while, so we don’t know what’s really been going on here. Suppose I slip into town and have a look—ask a few questions, find out what we’re riding into—the usual sort of thing.’

Sparhawk nodded. ‘All right,’ he said.

‘That’s all? just “all right”? No protests? No objections? No hour-long lectures about being careful? I’m disappointed in you, Sparhawk.’

‘Would you listen to me if I objected or delivered a lecture?’

‘No, not really.’

‘Why waste the time, then? You know what you’re doing and how to do it. Just don’t take all night.’

Talen swung down from his horse and opened his saddlebags. He took out a rough, patched smock and pulled it on over his other clothes. Then he bent, rubbed his hand in the dirt of the road, and artfully smudged his face. He stirred up his hair and sifted a handful of straw from the roadside onto it. ‘What do you think?’ he asked Sparhawk.

‘You’ll do.’ Sparhawk shrugged.

‘Spoil-sport,’ Talen grumbled, climbing back on his horse. ‘Khalad, come along. You can watch my horse for me while I sniff around.’

Khalad grunted, and the two rode on down the hill.

‘Is the child truly so gifted?’ Xanetia asked.

‘He’d be offended if you called him a child, Lady,’ Kalten replied, ‘and he can come closer to being invisible than anybody I know.’

They drew back some distance from the road and waited. It was an hour later when Talen and his brother returned. ‘Things are still more or less the way they were when we left,’ the boy reported.

‘No open fighting in the streets, you mean?’ Ulath laughed.

‘Not yet. Things are a little hectic at the palace, though. It’s got something to do with documents of some kind. The whole government’s in an uproar. None of the people I talked with knew all that much about it. The Church Knights and the Atans are still in control, though, so it’s safe to jump from here to the courtyard of Ehlana’s castle if we want.’

Sparhawk shook his head. ‘Let’s ride in. I’m sure there are still Tamuls inside the walls, and probably half of them are spies. Let’s not give away any secrets if we don’t have to. Is Sarabian still staying in the castle?’

Talen nodded. ‘Your wife’s probably been teaching him a few tricks—”roll over’, ‘play dead”, “sit up and beg”—that sort of thing.’

‘Talen.’ Itagne exclaimed.

‘You haven’t met our queen yet, have you, your Excellency? Talen grinned. ‘I’d say that you’re in for a whole new experience, then.’

‘It has to do with setting up the new filing system, my Lord,’ the young Pandion at the drawbridge explained in reply to Vanion’s question. ‘We needed room to re-arrange things, so we spread all the government files out on the lawn.’

‘What if it rains?’

‘That would probably simplify the job a great deal, my Lord.’

They dismounted in the courtyard and went up the broad stairs to the ornately carved main door, paused briefly to put on the cushioned shoes that protected the brittle floor-covering, and went inside. Queen Ehlana had been advised of their arrival, and she was waiting for them at the door to the throne-room. Sparhawk’s heart caught in his throat as he looked at his lovely young wife.

‘So nice of you to stop by, Sir Sparhawk,’ she said tartly before she threw her arms about his neck.

‘Sorry we’re so late, dear,’ he apologized after they had exchanged a brief, formal sort of kiss. ‘Our travel plans got a little skewed.’ He was painfully conscious of the half-dozen or so Tamuls lingering nearby trying to look very hard as if they weren’t listening.

‘Why don’t we go on upstairs, my Queen? We’ve got quite a bit to tell you, and I’d like to get out of this mail-shirt before it permanently embeds itself into my skin.’

‘You are not going to wear that stinking thing into my bedroom, Sparhawk. As I remember, the baths lie in that general direction. Why don’t you take your fragrant friends and go make use of them? The ladies can come with me. I’ll round up the others, and we’ll all meet you in the royal quarters in about an hour. I’m sure your explanation of your tardiness will be absolutely fascinating.’

Sparhawk felt much better after he had bathed and changed into the conventional doublet and hose. He and his friends trooped on up the stairs that mounted into the central tower where the royal apartments were located.

‘You’re late, Sparhawk,’ Mirtai said bluntly when they reached the top of the stairs.

‘Yes. My wife’s already pointed that out to me. Come inside. You’ll need to hear this too.’

Ehlana and the others who had remained behind were gathered in the large, blue-draped sitting room. Sephrenia and Danae were conspicuously absent, however.

‘Well, finally!’ Emperor Sarabian said as they entered. Sparhawk was startled by the change in the Emperor’s appearance. His hair was tied back from his face, and he wore tight-fitting black hose and a full-sleeved linen shirt. He looked younger for some reason, and he was holding a rapier with the kind of familiarity that spoke of much practice. ‘Now we can get on with the business of overthrowing the government.’

‘What have you been up to, Ehlana?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘Sarabian and I have been expanding our horizons,’ she shrugged.

‘I knew I shouldn’t have stayed away so long.’

‘I’m glad you brought that up. That very same thought’s been on my mind for the longest time now.’

‘Why don’t you just save yourself some time and unpleasantness, Sparhawk?’ Kalten suggested. ‘Just show her why we had to take this little trip.’

‘Good idea.’ Sparhawk reached inside his doublet and took out the unadorned gold box. ‘Things were beginning to get out of hand, Ehlana so we decided to go fetch some reinforcements.’

‘I thought that’s what Tynian was doing.’

‘The situation called for something a little more significant than the Church Knights.’ Sparhawk touched the band of his ring to the lid of the box. ‘Open,’ he said. He kept the lid partially closed to conceal the fact that his wife’s ring was also inside.

‘What have you done with your ring, Sparhawk?’ she asked him looking at the cover concealing the stone. ‘I’ll explain in a bit.’ He reached in and took out the Bhelliom. ‘This is why we had to leave, dear.’ He held up the stone.

She stared at it, the color draining from her face. ‘Sparhawk!’ she gasped.

‘What a magnificent jewel!’ Sarabian exclaimed, reaching his hand out toward the Sapphire Rose.

‘That might not be wise, your Majesty,’ Itagne cautioned. ‘That’s the Bhelliom. It tolerates Sparhawk, but it might pose some dangers to anyone else.’

‘Bhelliom’s a fairy-tale, Itagne.’

‘I’ve been re-assessing my position on various fairy-tales lately, your Majesty. Sparhawk destroyed Azash with Bhelliom —just by touching it to him. I don’t advise putting your hands on it, my Emperor. You’ve shown some promise in the past few months, and we’d sort of hate to lose you at this point.’

‘Itagne!’ Oscagne said sharply. ‘Mind your manners!’

‘We’re here to advise the Emperor, brother mine, not to coddle him. Oh, incidentally, Oscagne, when you sent me to Cynestra, you invested me with plenipotentiary powers, didn’t you? We can check over my commission, if you like, but I’m fairly sure I had that kind of authority—I usually do. I hope you don’t mind, old boy, but I’ve concluded a couple of alliances along the way.’ He paused. ‘Well,’ he amended, ‘Sparhawk did all the real work, but my commission put some slight stain of legality on the business.’

‘You can’t do that without consulting Matherion first, Itagne,” Oscagne’s face was turning purple.

‘Oh, be serious, Oscagne. All I did was seize some opportunities which presented themselves, and I was hardly in a position to tell Sparhawk what he could or couldn’t do; now, was I? I had things more or less under control in Cynestra when Sparhawk and his friends dropped by. We left Cynestra, and ...’

‘Details, Itagne. What did you do in Cynestra?’

Itagne sighed. ‘You can be so tedious at times, Oscagne, I found out that Ambassador Taubel was in bed with Kanzad, the Interior Ministry’s station-chief. They had King Jaluah pretty much dancing to their tune.’

Oscagne’s face went bleak. ‘Taubel’s defected to Interior?’

‘I thought I just said that, You might want to run a quick evaluation of your other embassies, too. Interior Minister Kolata’s been very busy. Anyway, I threw Taubel and Kanzad along with the entire police force and most of the embassy staff into a dungeon, declared martial law, and put the Atan garrison in charge.’

‘You did what.?

‘I’ll write you a report about it one of these days. You know me well enough to know that I had justification.’

‘You exceeded your authority, Itagne.’

‘You didn’t impose any limitations on me, old boy. That gave me carte blanche. All you said was to have a look around and to do what needed to be done, so I did.’

‘How did you persuade the Atans to go along with you without written authorization?’

Itagne shrugged. ‘The commander of the Atan garrison there is a fairly young woman—quite attractive, actually, in a muscular sort of way. I seduced her. She was an enthusiastic seducee. Believe me, Oscagne, she’ll do absolutely anything for me.’ He paused. ‘You might want to make a note of that in my file, something about my willingness to make sacrifices for the Empire and all that. I didn’t give her total free rein, though. The dear child wanted to give me the heads of Taubel and Kanzad as tokens of her affection, but I declined. My rooms at the university are cluttered enough already, so I don’t really have the space for stuffed trophies on the walls. I told her to lock them up instead and to keep a firm grip on King Jaluah until Taubel’s replacement arrived. You needn’t hurry with that appointment, my brother. I have every confidence in her.’

‘You’ve set back relations with Cynesga by twenty years, Itagne.’

‘What relations?’ Itagne snorted. ‘The Cynesgans respond only to naked force, so that’s what I used on them.’

‘You spoke of alliances, Itagne,’ Sarabian said, flicking the tip of his rapier. ‘Just exactly to whom have you committed my undying trust and affection?’

‘I was just coming to that, your Majesty. After we left Cymestra we went on to Delphaeus. We spoke with their chieftain, the Anari—a very old man named Codon—and he offered his assistance. Sparhawk’s going to take care of our side of the bargain so there’s no cost to the Empire involved.’

Oscagne shook his head. ‘It must come from our mother’s side of the family, your Majesty,’ he apologized. ‘There was an aunt of hers who was always a little strange.’

‘What are you talking about, Oscagne?’

‘My brother’s obvious insanity, your Majesty. I’m told that things like that are hereditary. Fortunately, I favor our father’s side of the family. Tell me, Itagne, are you hearing voices too? Do you have visions of purple giraffes?’

‘You can be so tiresome sometimes, Oscagne.’

‘Would you tell us what happened, Sparhawk?’ Sarabian asked.

‘Itagne covered it fairly well, your Majesty. I take it that you Tamuls have some reservations about the Shining Ones?’

‘No,’ Oscagne said, “I wouldn’t call them reservations, your Highness. How could we have any reservations about a people who don’t exist?’

‘This argument could go on all night,’ Kalten said. ‘Would you mind, Lady?’ he asked Xanetia, who sat quietly beside him with her head slightly bowed. ‘If you don’t show them who you are, they’ll wrangle for days.’

‘An it please thee, Sir Knight,’ she replied.

‘So formal, my dear?’ Sarabian smiled. ‘Here in Matherion, we only use that mode of speech at weddings, funerals, coronations and other mournful events.’

‘We have long been isolate, Emperor Sarabian,’ she replied, ‘and unmoved by the winds of fashion and the inconstant tides of usage. I do assure thee that we find no inconvenience in what must seem to thee forced archaism, for it cometh to our lips unbidden and is our natural mode of speech—upon such rare occasions when speech among us is even needful.’

The door at the far end of the room opened, and Princess Danae, dragging Rollo behind her, entered quietly with Alcan close behind her. Xanetia’s eyes widened, and her expression became awed.

‘She fell asleep,’ the little princess reported to her mother.

‘Is she all right?’ Ehlana asked.

‘Lady Sephrenia seemed very tired, your Majesty,’ Alcan responded. ‘She bathed and went directly to bed. I couldn’t even interest her in any supper.’

‘It’s probably best to just let her sleep,’ Ehlana said. ‘I’ll look in on her later.’

Emperor Sarabian had obviously taken advantage of the brief interruption to frame his thoughts in a somewhat studied archaism. ‘Verily,’ he said to Xanetia, ‘thy mode of speech doth fall prettily upon mine ear, Lady. In truth, however, thou hast been unkind to absent thyself from us, for thou art fair, and thine elegant mode of address would have added luster to our court. Moreover, thine eyes and thy gentle demeanor do shine forth from thee and would have provided instruction by ensample for they who are about me.’

‘Thy words are artfully honeyed, Majesty,’ Xanetia said, politely inclining her head, ‘and I do perceive that thou art a consummate flatterer.’

‘Say not so,’ he protested. ‘I do assure thee that I speak truly from mine heart.’ He was obviously enjoying himself.

She sighed. ‘Thine opinion, I do fear me, will change when thou dost behold me in my true state. I have altered mine appearance as necessary subterfuge to avoid affrighting thy subjects. For, though it doth cause me grave distress to confess it, should thy people see me in mine accustomed state, they would flee, shrieking in terror.’

‘Canst thou truly inspire such fear, gentle maiden?’ he smiled. ‘I cannot give credence to thy words. In truth, methinks, shouldst thou appear on the streets of fire-domed Matherion, my subjects would indeed run—but not away from thee.’

‘That thou must judge for thyself, Majesty.’

‘Ah—before we proceed, might I inquire as to the state of your Majesty’s health?’ Itagne asked prudently.

‘I’m well, Itagne.’

‘No shortness of breath? No heaviness or twinges in your Majesty’s chest?’

‘I said that I’m healthy, Itagne,’ Sarabian snapped.

‘I certainly hope so, your Majesty. May I be permitted to present the Lady Xanetia, the Anarae of the Delphae?’

‘I think your brother’s right, Itagne. I think you’ve taken leave of—Good God!’ Sarabian was staring in open horror at Xanetia. Like the dye running out of a bolt of cheap cloth, the color was draining from her skin and hair, and the incandescent glow that had marked her before she had disguised it began to shine forth again. She rose to her feet, and Kalten stood up beside her.

‘Now is the stuff of thy nightmares made flesh, Sarabian of Tamuli,’ Xanetia said sadly. ‘This is who I am and what I am. Thy servant Itagne hath told thee well and truly what transpired in fabled Delphaeus. I would greet thee in manner suitable to thy station, but like all the Delphae, I am outcast, and therefore not subject to thee. I am here to perform those services which devolve upon my people by reason of our pact with Anakha, whom thou has called Sparhawk of Elenia. Fear me not, Sarahian, for I am here to serve, not to destroy.’

Mirtai, her face deathly pale, had risen to her feet. Purposefully, she stepped in front of her mistress and drew her sword. ‘Run, Ehlana,’ she said grimly. ‘I’ll hold her back.’

‘That is not needful, Mirtai of Atan,’ Xanetia told her. ‘As I said, I mean no harm to any in this company. Sheathe thy sword.’

‘I will, accursed one—in your vile heart!’ Mirtai raised her sword. Then, as if struck by some great blow, she reeled back and fell to the floor, tumbling over and over. Kring and Engessa reacted immediately, rushing forward and clawing at their sword-hilts.

‘I would not hurt them, Anakha,’ Xanetia warned Sparhawk, ‘but I must protect myself that I may keep faith with the pact between thee and my people.’

‘Put up your swords!’ Vanion barked. ‘The lady is a friend.’

‘But...’ Kring protested.

‘I said to put up your swords.’ Vanion’s roar was shattering, and Kring and Engessa stopped in their tracks.

Sparhawk, however, saw another danger. Danae, her eyes bleak and her face set, was advancing on the Delphaeic woman. ‘Ah, there you are, Danae,’ he said, moving rather more quickly than his casual tone might have suggested. He intercepted the vengeful little princess. ‘Aren’t you going to give your poor old father a kiss?’ He swept her up into his arms and smothered her indignant outburst by mashing his lips to hers.

‘Put me down, Sparhawk.’ she said, speaking directly down his throat.

‘Not until you get a grip on your temper,’ he muttered, his mouth still clamped to hers.

‘She hurt Mirtai!’

‘No, she didn’t. Mirtai knows how to fall without getting hurt. Don’t do anything foolish here. You knew this was going to happen. Everything’s under control, so don’t get excited—and don’t, for God’s sake, let your mother find out who you really are.’

‘It doesn’t really talk.” Ehlana interrupted Sparhawk’s account of what had taken place in Delphaeus.

‘Not by itself, no,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘It spoke through Kalten. Well, it did the first time, anyway.’

‘Kalten?’

‘I have no idea why. Maybe it just seizes on whoever’s handy. The language it uses is archaic and profoundly formal—thee’s and thou’s and that sort of thing. Its speech is much like Xanetia’s, and it wants me to respond in kind. Evidently, the mode of speech is important.’ He rubbed one hand across his freshly shaved cheek. ‘It’s very strange, but as soon as I began to speak—and think—in twelfth-century Elenic, something seemed to open in my mind. For the first time, I knew that I was Anakha, and I knew that Bhelliom and I are linked together in some profoundly personal way. ‘ He smiled wryly. ‘It seems that you’re married to two different people, love. I hope you’ll like Anakha. He seems a decent enough sort—once you get used to the way he talks.’

‘Perhaps I should just go mad,’ she said. ‘That might be easier than trying to understand what’s going on. How many other strangers do you plan to bring to my bed tonight?’

Sparhawk looked at Vanion. ‘Should I tell them about Sephrenia?’

‘You might as well,’ Vanion sighed. ‘They’ll find out about it soon enough anyway.’

Sparhawk took his wife’s hands in his and looked into her gray eyes. ‘You’re going to have to be a little careful when you talk with Sephrenia, dear,’ he told her. ‘There’s an ancient enmity between the Delphae and the Styrics, and Sephrenia grows irrational whenever she’s around them. Xanetia has problems with the Styrics as well, but she manages to keep it under control better than Sephrenia does.’

‘Doth it seem so to thee, Anakha?’ Xanetia asked. She had resumed her disguise, more for the sake of the comfort of the others than out of any real need, Sparhawk guessed. Mirtai sat not far from her with watchful eyes and with her hand resting on her sword-hilt.

‘I’m not trying to be personally offensive, Anarae,’ he apologized. ‘I’m just trying to explain the situation so that they’ll understand when you and Sephrenia try to claw each other’s eyes out.’

‘I’m sure you’ve noticed my husband’s blinding charm, Anarae,’ Ehlana smiled. ‘Sometimes he absolutely overwhelms us with it.’

Xanetia actually laughed. Then she looked at Itagne. ‘These Elenes are a complex people, are they not? I do detect great agility of thought behind this bluff manner of theirs, and subtleties I would not have expected from a people who tailor steel into garments.’

Sparhawk leaned back in his chair. ‘I haven’t really covered everything that happened, but that’s enough to let you know in a general sort of way what we encountered. We can fill in more detail tomorrow. What’s been going on here?’

‘Politics, of course.’ Ehlana shrugged.

‘Don’t you ever get tired of politics?’

‘Don’t be silly, Sparhawk. Milord Stragen, why don’t you tell him? It shocks him when I start going into all the sordid details.’

Stragen was once again dressed in his favorite white satin doublet. The blond thief was sunk deep in a chair with his feet up on a table. ‘That attempted coup—or whatever it was—was a serious blunder on the other side,’ he began. ‘It alerted us to the fact that there were more mundane elements involved in this business than hob-goblins and resurrected antiquities. We knew that Krager was involved—and Interior Minister Kolata and that turned it into ordinary, garden-variety politics. We didn’t know where Krager was, so we decided to find out just how deeply Interior was infected. Since all policemen everywhere are compulsive about paperwork, we were fairly sure that somewhere in that rabbit warren of a building there were a set of files that would identify the people we wanted to talk with. The problem was that we couldn’t just walk into the ministry and demand to see their files without giving away the fact that we knew what they were up to, which in turn would have let them know that Kolata was our prisoner instead of a willing guest. Baroness Melidere came up with the idea of a new filing system, and that gave us access to all the files of all the ministries.’

‘It was dreadful,’ Oscagne shuddered. ‘We had to disrupt the entire government in order to conceal the fact that we were really only interested in the files at Interior. Milord Stragen and the Baroness put their heads together and concocted a system. It’s totally irrational and wildly inconsistent, but for some reason it works amazingly well. I can lay my hands on any given piece of paper in less than an hour.’

‘Anyway,’ Stragen continued, ‘we browsed around through the files at Interior for a week or so, but the people over there kept slipping back into the building at night to move things around so that we’d have to start all over again every morning. That’s when we decided to just move our operations out onto the lawns. We stripped all the paper out of all the buildings and spread it out on the grass. That inconvenienced the rest of the government enormously, but Interior was still holding out on us. They were still hiding the critical files. Caalador and I reverted to type and tried burglary—along with Mirtai. The queen sent her along to remind us that we were looking for paper rather than miscellaneous valuables, I guess. It took a few nights, but we finally found the hidden room where the files we wanted were concealed.’

‘Didn’t they miss them the next morning?’ Bevier asked him.

‘We didn’t take them, Sir Knight,’ Caalador told him. ‘The queen called in a young Pandion who used a Styric spell to bring the information back to the castle without physically removing the documents.’ He grinned. ‘We got us all that there real incriminatin’ stuff, an’ they don’t know we got it. We stole it, an’ they don’t even miss it.’

‘We’ve got the name of every spy, every informer, every secret policeman and every conspirator of whatever rank Interior has in all of Tamuli,’ Sarabian smirked. ‘We’ve been waiting for all of you to come home so that we can take steps. I’m going to dissolve the Ministry of the Interior, round up all those people, and declare martial law. Betuana and I have been in close contact, and we’ve laid our plans very carefully. As soon as I give the word, the Atans are going to take charge of the entire Empire. Then I’ll really be the Emperor instead of just a stuffed toy.’

‘You’ve all been very busy,’ Vanion observed.

‘It makes the time go faster, my Lord.’ Caalador shrugged. ‘We went a little farther, though. Krager obviously knew that we were using the criminals of Matherion as spies, but we weren’t sure if he knew about the hidden government. If he thinks our organization’s localized, that’s not much of a problem; but if he knows that I can give the order here in Matherion, and somebody dies in Chyrellos, that’s a whole ’nother thang.’

‘I’ve missed that dialect,’ Talen said. He considered it. ‘Not really very much, though,’ he added.

‘Critic,’ Caalador accused.

‘How much were you able to find out?’ Ulath asked him.

Caalador spread one hand and rocked it back and forth doubtfully. ‘It’s sorta hord t’ say,’ he admitted. ‘They’s some places whur it iz oz them folks o’ ourn kin move around free oz frogs in a muddy pond. Other places, they can’t.’ He made a sour face. ‘It probably all boils down to natural talent. Some are gifted; some aren’t. We’ve made a little headway in putting names to some of the rabid nationalists in various parts of Tamuli—at least we think it’s headway. If Krager really knows what we’re doing, he could be feeding us false information. We wanted to wait until you came back before we tested the information we’ve got.’

‘How do you test something like that?’ Bevier asked.

‘We’ll send out the order to have somebody’s throat cut, and see if they try to protect him,’ Stragen replied. ‘Some chief of police somewhere, or maybe one of those nationalist leaders Elron, maybe. Isn’t that astonishing, Sparhawk? That’s one of the things we found out. It turns out that Elron is the mysterious Sabre.’

‘What an amazing thing,’ Sparhawk replied with feigned astonishment.

‘Caalador wants to kill the man named Scarpa,’ Stragen went on, ‘but I favor Elron—although my preference in the matter could be viewed as a form of literary criticism. Elron deserves killing more for his abominable verse than his political opinions.’

‘The world can stand a little more bad poetry, Stragen,’ Caalador told his friend. ‘Scarpa’s the really dangerous one. I just wish we could put a name to Rebal, but so far he’s eluded us.’

‘His real name’s Amador,’ Talen told him. ‘He’s a ribbon clerk in Jorsan on the west coast of Edam.’

‘How did you find that out?’ Caalador seemed astonished.

‘Pure luck, to be honest about it. We saw Rebal making a speech to some peasants out in the woods. Then, later on, when we were in Jorsan, a gust of wind blew me into his shop. He isn’t really very much to worry about. He’s a charlatan. He uses carnival tricks to make the peasants think that he’s raising the ghost of Incetes. Sephrenia seems to think that means that our enemies are spread thin. They don’t have enough real magicians to arrange all these visitations, so they have to resort to trickery.’

‘What were you doing in Edam, Sparhawk?’ Ehlana asked.

‘We went through there on our way to pick up Bhelliom.’

‘How did you get there and back so fast?’

‘Aphrael helped us. She’s very helpful—most of the time.’ Sparhawk avoided looking at his daughter. He rose to his feet. ‘We’re all a little tired tonight,’ he suggested, ‘and I rather expect that filling in all of the details is going to take us quite a while. Why don’t we break off here and get some sleep? Then we’ll be able to attack it again in the morning when we’re all fresh.’

‘Good idea,’ Ehlana agreed, also rising. ‘Besides, I’ve got this burning curiosity.’

‘Oh?’

‘As long as I’m going to be sleeping with him, I should probably get to know this Anakha fellow, wouldn’t you say? Sleeping with total strangers so tarnishes a girl’s reputation, you know.’

‘She’s still asleep,’ Danae said, quietly closing the door to Sephrenia’s room.

‘Is she all right?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘Of course she isn’t. What did you expect, Sparhawk? Her heart’s broken.’

‘Come with me. We need to talk.’

‘I don’t think I want to talk with you right now, father. I’m just a little unhappy with you.’

‘I can live with that.’

‘Don’t be too sure.’

‘Come along.’ He took her by the hand and led her up a long flight of stairs to the top of the tower and then out onto the parapet. He prudently closed the door and bolted it behind them. ‘You blundered, Aphrael,’ he told her. She raised her chin and gave him a flat, icy stare. ‘Don’t get imperial with me, young lady. You made a mistake. You never should have let Sephrenia go to Delphaeus.’

‘She had to go. She has to go through this.’

‘She can’t. It’s more than she can bear.’

‘She’s stronger than she looks.’

‘Don’t you have any heart at all? Can’t you see how much she’s suffering?’

‘Of course I can, and it’s hurting me far more than it’s hurting you, father.’

‘You’re killing Vanion too, you know.’

‘He’s also stronger than he looks. Why did all of you turn against Sephrenia at Delphaeus? Two or three soft words from Xanetia was all it took to make you throw away three hundred years of love and devotion. Is that the way you Elenes customarily treat your friends?’

‘She’s the one who forced the issue, Aphrael. She started delivering ultimatums. I don’t think you realize how strongly she feels about the Delphae. She was totally irrational. What’s behind all of that?’

‘That’s none of your business.’

‘I think it is. What really happened during the Cyrgai wars?’

‘I won’t tell you.’

‘Art thou afeared to speak of it, Goddess?’ Sparhawk spun around quickly, a startled oath coming to his lips. It was Xanetia. She stood all aglow not far from where they were talking.

‘This doesn’t concern you, Xanetia,’ Aphrael told her coldly.

‘I must needs know thine heart, Goddess. Thy sister’s enmity is of no real moment. Thine, however, would be more troublesome. Art thou also unkindly disposed toward me?’

‘Why don’t you leech my thoughts and find out for yourself?’

‘Thou knowest that I cannot, Aphrael. Thy mind is closed to me.’

‘I’m so glad you noticed that.’

‘Behave yourself,’ Sparhawk told his daughter, speaking very firmly.

‘Stay out of this, Sparhawk.’

‘No, Danae, I don’t think I will. Are you behind the way Sephrenia was behaving at Delphaeus?’

‘Don’t be absurd. I sent her to Delphaeus to cure her of that nonsense.’

‘Are you sure, Aphrael? You’re not behaving very well at the moment yourself, you know.’

‘I don’t like Edaemus, and I don’t like his people. I’m trying to cure Sephrenia out of love for her, not out of any affection for the Delphae.’

‘But thou didst stand for us against thy kindred when all this began, Goddess,’ Xanetia pointed out.

‘That also was not out of any great affection for your race, Xanetia. My family was wrong, and I opposed them out of principle. You wouldn’t understand that, though, would you? It had to do with love, and you Delphae have outgrown that, haven’t you?’

‘How little thou knowest us, Goddess,’ Xanetia said sadly.

‘As long as we’re all speaking so frankly, I’ve noticed a certain bias against Styrics in some of your remarks, Anarae,’ Sparhawk said pointedly.

‘I have reasons, Anakha—many reasons.’

‘I’m sure you have, and I’m sure Sephrenia has too. But whether we like each other or not is really beside the point. I am going to straighten this all out. I’ve got work to do, and I can’t do it in the middle of a cat-fight. I will make peace among you—even if I have to use the Bhelliom to do it.’

‘Sparhawk.’ Danae’s face was shocked.

‘Nobody wants to tell me what really happened during the Cyrgai wars, but maybe that’s just as well. I was curious at first, but not any longer. What it boils down to, ladies, is that I don’t care what happened. The way you’ve all been behaving sort of says that nobody’s hands were really clean. I want this spiteful wrangling to stop. You’re all behaving like children, and it’s beginning to make me tired.’

17

There were dark circles under Sephrenia’s eyes the next morning, and the light had gone out of her face. Her white Styric robe was partially covered by a sleeveless overmantle of deepest black. Sparhawk had never seen her wear that kind of garment before, and her choice—of both the garment and the color seemed ominous. She joined them at the breakfast table reluctantly, and only at Ehlana’s express command. She sat slightly apart from the rest of them with her injury drawn about her like a defensive wall. She would not look at Vanion, and refused breakfast despite Ehlana’s urgings.

Vanion appeared no less injured. His face was drawn and pale, quite nearly as pale as it had been when he had been carrying the burden of the swords, and his eyes were filled with pain.

Breakfast under those circumstances was strained, and they all left the table with a certain relief. They proceeded directly to the blue-draped sitting room and got down to business.

‘The others aren’t really all that significant,’ Caalador told them. ‘Rebal, Sabre and Baron Parok are decidedly second-rate. All they’re really doing is exploiting existing hostilities. Scarpa’s something quite’ different, though. Arjuna’s a troublesome sort of place to begin with, and Scarpa’s using that to the fullest. The others have to be fairly circumspect because the Elene kingdoms of western Tamuli are so well populated. There are people everywhere, so the conspirators have to sneak around. Southeastern Arjuna’s one vast jungle, though, so Scarpa’s got places to hide, and places he can defend. He makes some small pretense at nationalism in the way that the others do, but that doesn’t appear to be his main agenda. The Arjuni are far more shrewd than the Elene peasants and serfs of the west.’

‘Have you got any background on him?’ Ulath asked. ‘Where he came from, what he did before he set up shop, that sort of thing?’

Caalador nodded. ‘That part wasn’t very difficult. Scarpa was fairly well known in some circles before he joined the conspiracy.’ Caalador made a face. ‘I wish there were some other word. ‘Conspiracy” sounds so melodramatic.’ He shrugged. ‘Anyway, Scarpa’s a bastard.’

‘Calador.’ Bevier said sharply. ‘There are ladies present!’

‘It wasn’t intended as an obscenity, Sir Bevier, merely as a legal definition. Scarpa’s the result of a dalliance between a militantly promiscuous Arjuni tavern-wench and a renegade Styric. It was an odd sort of pairing-off, and it produced a very odd sort of fellow.’

‘Don’t pursue this too far, Caalador,’ Stragen said ominously.

‘Grow up, Stragen. You’re not the only one with irregular parentage. When you get right down to it, I’m not entirely sure who my father was either. Bastardy’s no great inconvenience for a man with brains and talent.’

‘Milord Stragen’s oversensitive about his origins,’ Baroness Melidere explained lightly. ‘I’ve spoken with him time and again about it, but he still has feelings of inadequacy. It might not be a bad thing, though. He’s so generally stupendous otherwise that a little bit of insecurity keeps him from being absolutely unbearable.’ Stragen rose and bowed flamboyantly. ‘Oh, sit down, Stragen,’ she said.

‘Where was I?’ Caalador said. ‘Oh, yes, now I recollect. This yore Scarpa feller, he growed up in a shack-nasty sorta roadside tavern down that in Ar-juna—an’ he done all the sorta thangs which it iz oz bastards does in then formative years in a place ’thout no real moral restraints on ’em.’

‘Please, Caalador,’ Stragen sighed.

‘Just entertaining the queen, old boy,’ Caalador shrugged. ‘She pines away without periodic doses of down-home folksiness.’

‘What does “shack-nasty” mean, Caalador?’ Ehlana interrupted him.

‘Why, gist whut it sez, yer Queenship. A shack’s a kinda th’owed-together hovel built outten ole boards an’ scraps, an’ ‘nasty” means putty much whut it sez. I knowed a feller oz went by that name when I wuz a pup. He lived in th’ messiest place y’ ever did see, an’ he warn’t none too clean his ownself, neither.

‘I think I can survive for several hours now without any more mangled language, Master Caalador,’ she smiled. ‘I want to thank you for your concern, though.’

‘Always glad to be of service, your Majesty.’ He grinned. ‘Scarpa grew up in a situation that sort of skirted the edges of crime. He was what you might call a gifted amateur. He never really settled down into one given trade.’ He made a face. ‘Dabblers. I absolutely detest dabblers. He pandered for his mother just as every good boy should—and also for his numerous half-sisters, who, if we’re to believe the common gossip, were all whores from the cradle. He was a moderately competent pick-pocket and cut-purse, and a fairly gifted swindler. Unlike many of his mother’s one-time paramours, Scarpa’s Styric father stayed around for a time, and he used to drop back to visit his son from time to time, so Scarpa got a smattering of a Styric education. Eventually, however, he made the kind of mistake we expect amateurs to make. He tried to cut the purse of a tavern patron who wasn’t quite as drunk as he appeared to be. His intended victim grabbed him, and Scarpa demonstrated the Arjuni side of his nature. He whipped out a small, very sharp knife and spilled the fellow’s guts out on the floor of the tavern. Some busy-body went to the police about it, and Scarpa left home rather abruptly.’

‘Wise move,’ Talen murmured. ‘Didn’t he get any professional training while he was growing up?’

‘No. He appears to have picked things up on his own.’

‘Precocious.’

Caalador nodded his agreement. ‘If he’d had the right teachers, he probably could have become a master thief. After he ran away, he seems to have kept moving for a couple of years. He was only twelve or so when he killed that first man, and when he was about fourteen, he turned up in a traveling carnival. he billed himself as a magician—the usual sort of carnival fakery—although he occasionally utilized a few Styric spells to perform real magic. He grew a beard—which is unusual among the Tamul races, since Tamul men don’t have much facial hair. Neither do Styrics for that matter, now that I think about it. Scarpa’s a half-breed, and the mixture of Southern Tamul and Styric came out rather peculiarly. Neither his features nor some of his traits are really characteristic of either race.’ Caalador reached inside his doublet and drew out a folded sheet of paper. ‘Here,’ he said, opening the paper, ‘judge for yourselves.’

The drawing was a bit crude—more a caricature than a portrait. It was a depiction of a man with a strangely compelling face. The eyes were deep-sunk under heavy brows. The cheekbones were high and prominent, the nose aquiline, and the mouth sensual. The beard appeared to be dense and black, and it was meticulously trimmed and shaped.

‘He spends a lot of time on that beard,’ Kalten observed. ‘It looks as if he shaves off stray whiskers hair by hair. ‘ He frowned slightly. ‘He looks familiar, for some reason—something around the eyes, I think.’

‘I’m surprised you can even recognize the fact that it’s supposed to be a picture of a human being,’ Talen sniffed. ‘The technique’s absolutely awful.’

‘The girl hasn’t had any training, Talen,’ Caalador defended the artist. ‘She’s gifted in her own profession, though.’

‘Which profession is that, Master Caalador?’ Ehlana asked.

‘She’s a whore, your Majesty.’ He shrugged. ‘The drawing is just a side-line. She likes to keep pictures of her customers. She studies their faces during the course of her business transactions, and some of the portraits have strange expressions.’

‘May I see that?’ Sephrenia asked suddenly.

‘Of course, Lady Sephrenia.’ Caalador looked a little surprised as he took the drawing to her. Then he returned to his seat. ‘Did you ever meet Djukta, Sparhawk?’ he asked.

‘Once.’

‘Now there’s a beard for you. Djukta looks like an ambulatory shrub. He’s even got whiskers on his eyelids. Anyhow, Scarpa traveled with the carnival for several seasons, and then about five years back he dropped out of sight for a year or so. When he came back, he went into politics—if that’s what you want to call it. He makes some small pretense at nationalism in the same way that Rebal, Parok and Sabre do, but that’s only for the benefit of the truly ignorant down in Arjuna. The national hero there was the man who established the slave-trade, a fellow named Sheguan. That’s a fairly contemptible sort of thing, so not many Arjunis take much pride in it.’

‘They still practice it, though,’ Mirtai said bleakly.

‘They do indeed, little dorlin’,’ Caalador agreed.

‘Friend Caalador,’ Kring said, “I thought we agreed that you weren’t going to call Mirtai that any more.’

‘Ain, it don’t mean nuthin’, Kring. It’s gist muh folksy way o settin’ people at their ease.’ He paused. ‘Where was I?’ he asked.

‘You were starting to get to the point,’ Stragen replied.

‘Testy this morning, aren’t we, old boy?’ Caalador said mildly. ‘From what our people were able to discover, Scarpa’s far more dangerous than those three enthusiasts in western Tamuli. Arjuni thieves are more clever and devious than run-of-the-mill criminals, and a number of them have infiltrated Scarpa’s apparatus for fun and profit. The Arjuni are an untrustworthy people, so the Empire’s been obliged to deal with them quite firmly. Arjuni hatred for the Tamuls is very real, so Scarpa hasn’t had to stir it up artificially.’

Caalador tugged at his nose a bit doubtfully. ‘I’m not altogether sure how much of this we can believe—the Arjuni being what they are and all—but one highway robber down there claims to have been a member of Scarpa’s inner circle for a while. He told us that our man’s just a little deranged. He operates out of the ruins of Natayos down in the southern jungles. The town was destroyed during the Atan invasion back in the seventeenth century, and Scarpa doesn’t so much hide there as he does occupy the place—in a military sense of the word. He’s reinforced the crumbling old walls so that the town’s defensible. Our highwayman reports that Scarpa starts raving sometimes. If we can believe our informant, he started talking about the Cyrgai once, and about Cyrgon. He tells his cronies that Cyrgon wants to make his people the masters of the world, but that the Cyrgai, with that institutionalized stupidity of theirs, aren’t really intelligent enough to govern a global empire. Scarpa doesn’t have any problems with the idea of an empire. He just doesn’t like the way the present one’s set up. He’d be more than happy with it if there were just a few changes up at the top. He believes that the Cyrgai will conquer the world and then retreat back into their splendid isolation. Somebody’s going to have to run the government of the world for them, and Scarpa’s got a candidate in mind for the position.’

‘That’s insane!’ Bevier exclaimed.

‘I think I already suggested that, Sir Knight. Scarpa seems to think he’d make a very good emperor.’

‘The position’s already been filled,’ Sarabian noted dryly.

‘Scarpa’s hoping that Cyrgon will vacate it, your Majesty. He tells his people that the Cyrgai have absolutely no administrative skills and that they’re going to need someone to run the conquered territories for them. He’ll volunteer at that point. He’ll genuflect perfunctorily in Cyrgon’s direction once in a while, and more or less run things to suit himself. He has large dreams, I’ll give him that.’

‘It has a sort of familiar ring to it, doesn’t it, Sparhawk?’ Kalten said with a tight grin. ‘Didn’t Martel—and Annias—have the same sort of notion?’

‘Oh my goodness, yes,’ Ehlana agreed. ‘I feel as if I’ve lived through all of this before.’

‘Where does Krager fit in?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘Krager seems to be some sort of coordinator,’ Caalador replied. ‘He serves as a go-between. He travels a great deal, carrying messages and instructions. We’re guessing about this, but we think that there’s a layer of command between Cyrgon and the people like Scarpa, Parok, Rebal and Sabre. Krager’s known to all of them, and that authenticates his messages. He seems to have found his natural niche in life. Queen Ehlana tells us that he served Martel and Annias in exactly the same way, and he was doing the same kind of thing back in Eosia when he was carrying Count Gerrich’s instructions to those bandits in the mountains east of Cardos.’

‘We should really make some sort of effort to scoop Krager up,’ Ulath rumbled. ‘He starts talking if someone so much as gives him a harsh look, and he knows a great deal about things that make me moderately curious.’

‘That’s how he’s managed to stay alive for so long,’ Kalten grunted. ‘He always makes sure that he’s got so much valuable information that we don’t dare kill him.’

‘Kill him after he talks, Sir Kalten,’ Khalad said.

‘He makes us promise not to.’

‘So?’

‘We’re knights, Khalad,’ Kalten explained. ‘Once we give someone our oath, we’re obliged to keep our word.’

‘You weren’t thinking of knighting me at any time in the immediate future, were you, Lord Vanion?’ Khalad asked.

‘It might be just a little premature, Khalad.’

‘That means that I’m still a peasant, doesn’t it?’

‘Well—technically, maybe.’

‘That solves the problem, then,’ Khalad said with a chill little smile. ‘Go ahead and catch him, Sir Kalten. Promise him anything you have to in order to get him to talk. Then turn him over to me. Nobody expects a peasant to keep his word.’

‘I’m going to like this young man, Sparhawk,’ Kalten grinned.

‘Zalasta’s coming for me, Sparhawk,’ Sephrenia told the big Pandion. ‘He’ll escort me safely back to Sarsos.’ She shook her head, refusing to enter the room to which they were returning after lunch.

‘You’re being childish. You know that, don’t you, Sephrenia?’

‘I’ve out-lived my usefulness, and I’ve been around Elenes long enough to know what a prudent Styric does when that happens. As long as a Styric’s useful, she’s relatively safe among Elenes. Once she’s served her purpose, though, her presence starts to be embarrassing, and you Elenes deal abruptly with inconvenient people. I’d rather not have one of you slip a knife between my ribs.’

‘Are you just about finished? Conversations like this bore me. We love you, Sephrenia, and it has nothing to do with whether or not you’re useful to us. You’re breaking Vanion’s heart. You know that, don’t you?’

‘So? He broke mine, didn’t he? Take your problems to Xanetia since you’re all so enamored of her.’

‘That’s beneath you, little mother.’

Her chin came up. ‘I think I’d rather you didn’t call me that any more, Sparhawk. It’s just a bit grotesque in the present circumstances. I’ll be in my room—if it’s still mine. If it isn’t, I’ll go live in the Styric community here in Matherion. If it’s not too much trouble, let me know when Zalasta arrives.’ And she turned and walked on down the corridor, ostentatiously wearing her injury like a garment.

Sparhawk swore under his breath. Then he saw Kalten and Alcan coming down the tiled hallway. At least that particular problem had been resolved. The queen’s maid had laughed in Kalten’s face when the blond knight had clumsily offered to step aside so that she could devote her attentions to Berit. She had then, Sparhawk gathered, convinced Kalten that her affections were still quite firmly where they were supposed to be.

‘But you never leave her side, Sir Kalten,’ the doe-eyed girl accused. ‘You’re always hovering over her and making certain that she has everything she needs or wants.’

‘It’s a duty, Alcan,’ Kalten tried to explain. ‘I’m not doing it because I have any kind of affection for her.’

‘You’re performing your duty just a little too well to suit me, Sir Knight.’ Alcan’s voice, that marvelous instrument, conveyed a whole range of feelings. The girl could speak volumes with only the slightest change of key and intonation.

‘Oh, God,’ Sparhawk groaned. Why did he always have to get caught in these personal matters? This time, however, he moved quickly to put a stop to things before they got out of hand. He stepped out into the corridor to confront the pair of them. ‘Why don’t we take care of this right now?’ he suggested bluntly.

‘Take care of what?’ Kalten demanded. ‘This isn’t any of your business, Sparhawk.’’

‘I’m making it my business. Are you satisfied that Alcan doesn’t have any kind of serious feelings for Berit?’ Kalten and the girl exchanged a quick, guilty sort of glance. ‘Good,’ Sparhawk said. ‘My congratulations to you both. Now, let’s clear up this Xanetia business. Kalten was telling you the truth, Alcan—as far as he went. His duty obliges him to stay close to her because he’s required to make certain that no harm comes to her. We have an agreement with her people, and she’s here as our hostage to make sure that they don’t go back on their word. We all know that if the Delphae betray us in any way, Kalten will kill Xanetia. That’s why he’s staying so close to her.’

‘Kill.?’ The girl’s huge eyes went even wider.

‘Those are the rules, Alcan.’ Kalten shrugged. ‘I don’t like them very much, but I have to follow them.’

‘You wouldn’t!’

‘Only if I have to, and I wouldn’t really like it very much. That’s what the word “hostage” means, though. I always seem to be the one who gets these dirty jobs.’

‘How could you?’ Alcan said to Sparhawk. ‘How could you do this to your oldest friend?’

‘Military decisions are hard sometimes,’ Sparhawk told her. ‘Are you satisfied now that Kalten’s not straying? You do know, don’t you, that when he thought that you’d fallen in love with Berit, he started going out of his way trying to get himself killed?’

‘You didn’t have to tell her that, Sparhawk,’ Kalten protested.

‘You what?’ Alcan’s voice climbed effortlessly into the upper ranges. She spoke—at length—to Sparhawk’s friend while he stood hanging his head and scuffing his feet like a schoolboy being scolded.

‘Ah...’ Sparhawk ventured. ‘Why don’t the two of you go someplace private where you can discuss things?’

‘With your leave, Prince Sparhawk,’ Alcan agreed with an abrupt little curtsy. ‘You,’ she snapped to Kalten, ‘come with me.’

‘Yes, dear,’ Kalten said submissively, and the two went on back up the corridor.

‘Was that Alcan just now?’ Baroness Melidere asked, sticking her head out through the doorway.

‘Yes,’ Sparhawk replied.

‘Where are she and Kalten going?’ she asked, looking after the pair.

‘They have something important to take care of.’

‘Something more important than what we’re discussing in here?’

‘They seem to think so, Baroness. We can manage without them this afternoon, I expect, and it’s a matter that needs clearing up.’

‘Oh,’ she said, ‘one of those.’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘Alcan will straighten it out,’ Melidere said confidently.

‘I’m sure she will. How’s your campaign going, Baroness? I’m not trying to pry, you understand. It’s just that these matters break my concentration, and I kind of like to have them out of the way so they don’t come bubbling to the surface when I least expect them to.’

‘Everything’s on schedule, Prince Sparhawk.”

‘Good. Have you told him?’

‘Of course not. He doesn’t need to know yet. I’ll break it to him gently when the time comes. It’s actually kinder that way. If he finds out too soon, he’ll just worry about it. Trust me, your Highness. I know exactly what I’m doing.’

‘There’s something I’d sort of like to get cleared up before we go on, Anarae,’ Stragen said to Xanetia. ‘The Tamuls all believe that the Cyrgai were extinct, but Krager and Scarpa say otherwise.’

‘The Cyrgai want the world to believe that they are no more, she replied. ‘After their disastrous march on Sarsos, they returned home and concentrated for a time on replenishing their subordinate forces, the Cynesgans, which forces had been virtually annihilated by the Styrics.’

‘So we’ve heard,’ Caalador said. ‘We were told that the Cyrgai concentrated with such single-mindedness that their own women were past child-bearing age before they realized their mistake.’

‘Thine informant spoke truly, Master Caalador, and it is the common belief in Tamuli that the Cyrgai race died out some ten eons ago. That common belief, however, is in error. It is a belief that ignores the fact that Cyrgon is a God. He did not, however, take the blind obedience of his people into account when he commanded them to devote their attentions to the women of the Cynesgans. But when he saw that his chosen race was dying out, he did alter the natural course of such things, and aged Cyrgai women became fertile once more—though most died in childbirth. Thus were the Cyrgai perpetuated.’

‘Pity,’ Oscagne murmured.

‘Knowing, however, that the diminished numbers of his warshipers and the Styric curse that imprisoned them in their arid homeland did imperil them, Cyrgon sought to protect them. The Cynesgans were commanded to confirm and perpetuate the belief of the other races of Tamuli that the Cyrgai were no more, and the dread city of Cyrga itself was concealed from the eyes of men.’

‘In the same way that Delphaeus is concealed?’ Vanion asked..

‘Nay, my Lord. We are more subtle than Cyrgon. We conceal Delphaeus by misdirection. Cyrgon hides Cyrga in the central highlands of Cynesga by means of an enchantment. Thou couldst go to those highlands and ride close by Cyrga and never see it.’

‘An invisible city?’ Talen asked her incredulously.

‘The Cyrgai can see it,’ she replied, ‘and, when it doth suit them so, their Cynesgan underlings can as well. To all others, however, Cyrga is not there.’

‘The tactical advantages of that must be enormous,’ Bevier noted in his most professional tone. ‘The Cyrgai have an absolutely secure stronghold into which they can retreat if things go wrong.’

‘Their advantage is offset, however,’ Xanetia pointed out. ‘They may freely ravage and despoil Cynesga, which is theirs already, and which is no more than a barren waste at best, but they may not pass the boundaries of their homeland. The curse of the Styrics is still potent, I do assure thee. It is the wont of the kings of the Cyrgai to periodically test that curse. Aged warriors are taken from time to time to the boundary and commanded to attempt a crossing. They die in mid-stride as they obediently march across the line.’

Sarabian was looking at her, his eyes narrowed shrewdly. ‘Prithee, Anarae, advise me in this matter. Thou hast said that the Cynesgans are subject to the Cyrgai?’

‘Yes, Majesty.’

‘All Cynesgans?’

‘Those in authority, Imperial Sarabian.’

‘The king? The government? The army?’ She nodded.

‘And their ambassadors as well?’ Oscagne added.

‘Very good, Oscagne,’ Itagne murmured to his brother. ‘Very, very good.’

‘I didn’t quite follow that,’ Ulath admitted.

‘I did,’ Stragen told him. ‘We’d probably better look into that, Caalador.’

‘I’ll see to it.’

‘Do you know what they’re talking about, friend Engessa?’ Kring asked.

‘It’s not all that complicated, Kring,’ Ehlana explained. ‘The Cynesgan embassy here in Matherion is full of people who take their orders from the Cyrgai. I’d guess that if we were to look into the matter, we’d find that the headquarters of the recent attempt to overthrow the Emperor was located in that embassy.’

‘And if he’s not out of town, we might even find Krager there as well,’ Khalad mused. ‘Talen, how long would it take you to teach me how to be a burglar?’

‘What have you got in mind?’ Sparhawk asked his squire.

‘I thought I might creep into that embassy and steal Krager, my Lord. Since Anarae Xanetia can tell us what he’s thinking we wouldn’t even have to break his fingers to make him talk or make him any inconvenient promises that we probably didn’t intend to keep anyway.’

‘I sense thy discontent, Anakha,’ Xanetia said later when she, Sparhawk and Danae had returned to the fortified roof of the central tower of Ehlana’s castle.

‘I’ve been had, Anarae,’ he said sourly.

‘I do not recognize the expression.’

‘He means that he’s been duped,’ Danae translated, ‘and he’s being impolite enough to imply that I have too.’ She gave her father a smug little smile. ‘I told you so, Sparhawk.’

‘Spare me, please.’

‘Oh, no, father. I’ve got this wonderful chance to gloat. You’re not going to rob me of it. If I remember correctly—and I do—I was against the idea of retrieving Bhelliom from the very beginning. I knew that it was a mistake, but you bullied me into agreeing.’

He ignored that. ‘Was any of it real? The Troll-Gods? Drychtnath? The monsters?—or was it all just some elaborate game designed to get me to bring Bhelliom to Tamuli?’

‘Some of it may have been real, Sparhawk,’ she replied, ‘but you’ve probably put your finger on the actual reason behind it all.’

‘It is thy belief that Cyrgon deceived thee into bringing Bhelliom within his reach, Anakha?’ Xanetia said.

‘Why bother to ask, Anarae? You know what I’m thinking already. Cyrgon believes that he could use Bhelliom to break that curse so that his people could start invading their neighbors again.’

‘I told you so,’ Danae reminded him again. ‘Please.’

He looked out over the glowing city. ‘I think I need a divine opinion here,’ he said. ‘Up until very recently, we all believed that Bhelliom was just a thing—powerful, but just an object. We know that’s not true now. Bhelliom has its own personality and its own will. It’s more of an ally than just a weapon. Not only that—and please don’t be offended, Aphrael—in some ways it’s even more powerful than the Gods of this world.’

‘I am offended, Sparhawk,’ she said tartly. ‘Besides, I haven’t finished telling you that I told you so yet.’

He laughed, swept her up into his arms, and kissed her. ‘I love you,’ he told her, still laughing.

‘Isn’t he a nice boy?’ Danae said to Xanetia. The Delphaeic woman smiled.

‘If we didn’t know about Bhelliom’s awareness—and its will—could Cyrgon have known? I don’t think Azash did. Speaking as a Goddess, would you want to pick up something that could make its own decision’s—and might just decide that it didn’t like you all that much?’

‘I wouldn’t,’ she replied. ‘Cyrgon might be a different matter, though. He’s so arrogant that he might believe that he could control Bhelliom even against its will.’

‘But he couldn’t, could he? Azash thought he could control Bhelliom by sheer force. He wasn’t even interested in the rings. The rings can compel Bhelliom—because they’re a part of it. Could Cyrgon be as stupid as Azash was?’

‘Sparhawk, you’re talking about one of my distant relatives. Please be a little more respectful.’ Danae’s brow furrowed with thought. She absently kissed her father.

‘Don’t do that,’ he said. ‘This is serious.’

‘I know. It helps me to think. Bhelliom’s never really made itself known before. You’re probably right, Sparhawk. Azash wasn’t really very bright. Cyrgon has the same sort of personality, and he’s made several blunders in the past. That’s one of the drawbacks of divinity. We don’t have to be intelligent. We all know about Bhelliom’s power, but I don’t think any of us have ever come to grips with the notion of its will before. Did it really talk to Sparhawk the way he said it did, Xanetia? As an equal, I mean?’

‘As at least an equal, Goddess,’ Xanetia replied. ‘Bhelliom and Anakha are allies, not friends—and neither is master.’

‘Where are we going with this, Sparhawk?’ Danae asked.

‘I’m not sure. Cyrgon may have made another of those blunders, though. He may just have tricked me into bringing back the one thing that’s going to defeat him. I think we may have an advantage here, but we should probably give a great deal of thought to just exactly how we’re going to use it.’

‘You’re hateful, Sparhawk,’ Danae said.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You’ve just taken all the fun out of all the “I told you so”s I’ve been saving up.’

Zalasta arrived in Matherion two days later. After only the briefest of greetings to the rest of them, he went immediately to Sephrenia’s room.

‘He’ll straighten it out, Vanion,’ Sparhawk assured the Preceptor. ‘He’s her oldest friend, and he’s far too wise to be infected with irrational prejudice.’

‘I wouldn’t be all that sure, Sparhawk.’ Vanion’s face was gloomy. ‘I thought she was too wise, and look what happened there. This blind hatred may infect the entire Styric race. If Zalasta feels the same way Sephrenia does, all he’s going to do is reinforce her prejudices.’

Sparhawk shook his head. ‘No, my friend. Zalasta’s above that. He has no reason to trust Elenes either, but he was willing to help us, wasn’t he? He’s a realist, and even if he does share her feelings, he’ll suppress them in the name of political expediency. And if I’m right, he’ll persuade her to do the same. She doesn’t have to like Xanetia. All she has to do is accept the fact that we need her. Once Zalasta convinces her of that, the two of you will be able to patch things up.’

‘Maybe.’

It was several hours later when Zalasta emerged alone from Sephrenia’s room with his rough-hewn Styric face somber.

‘It will not be easy, Prince Sparhawk,’ he said when the two of them met in the corridor outside. ‘She is deeply wounded. I cannot understand what Aphrael was thinking of.’

‘Who can ever understand why Aphrael does things, learned one?’ Sparhawk smiled briefly. ‘She’s the most whimsical and exasperating person I’ve ever known sometimes. As I understand it, she doesn’t approve of Sephrenia’s prejudice, and she’s taking steps. The expression “doing something to somebody for his own good” always implies a certain amount of brutality, I’m afraid. Were you able to talk any sense into Sephrenia at all?’

‘I’m approaching the question obliquely, your Highness,’ Zalasta replied. ‘Sephrenia’s already been deeply injured. This isn’t a good time for a direct confrontation. I was at least able to persuade her to postpone her return to Sarsos.’

‘That’s something, anyway. Let’s go talk to the others. A lot has happened since you left.’

‘The reports come from unimpeachable sources, Anarae,’ Zalasta said coolly.

‘I do assure thee, Zalasta of Styricum, they are nonetheless false. None of the Delphae have left our valley for well over a hundred years—except to deliver our invitation to Anakha.’

‘It’s happened before, Zalasta,’ Kalten told the white-robed Styric. ‘We watched Rebal use some very obvious trickery when he was talking to a group of Edomish peasants.’

‘Oh?’

‘It was the sort of thing one sees in second-rate carnivals, learned one,’ Talen explained. ‘One of his henchmen threw something into a fire; there was a flash of light and a puff of smoke; then somebody dressed in old-time clothes stood up from where he’d been hiding and started bellowing in an ancient form of speech. The peasants all thought they were seeing Incetes rising from the grave.’

‘Those who witnessed the Shining Ones were not so gullible, Master Talen,’ Zalasta objected.

‘And the fellow who gulled them probably wasn’t as clumsy.’ The boy shrugged. ‘A skilled fake can make almost anybody believe almost anything—as long as they aren’t close enough to see the hidden wires. Sephrenia told us that it means that the other side’s a little short on real magicians, so they have to cheat.’

Zalasta frowned. ‘It may be possible,’ he conceded. ‘The sightings were brief and at quite some distance.’ He looked at Xanetia. ‘You are certain, Anarae? Could there perhaps be some of your people who live separately? Who are cut off from Delphaeus and may have joined with our enemies?’

‘They would no longer be of the Delphae, Zalasta of Styricum. We are bound to the lake. It is the lake which doth make us what we are, and I tell thee truly, the light which doth illuminate us is but the least of the things which do make us unlike all others.’ She looked at him gravely. ‘Thou art Styric, Zalasta of Ylara, and thou art well aware of the consequences of markedly differing from thy neighbors.’

‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘to our sorrow.’

‘The decision of thy race to attempt to co-exist with the other races of man may be suitable for Styrics,’ she continued. ‘For my race, however, it hath not been possible. Ye of the Styric race are oft met with contempt and derision, but thy differences are not threatening to the Elenes or Tamuls who are about ye. We of Delphaeus, however, do inspire terror in the hearts of all others. In time, methinks, thy race will become acceptable. The wind of change hath already begun to blow, engendered in large measure by that fortuitous alliance betwixt ye and the Church of Chyrellos. The knights of that Church are kindly disposed toward Styricum, and their might shall alter Elenic predispositions. For the Delphae, however, such accommodation is impossible. Our very appearance doth set us forever apart from all others, and this doth stand at the heart of our present alliance. We have sought out Anakha, and we have offered him our aid in his struggle with Cyrgon. In exchange, we have besought him only to raise up Bhelliom and to seal us away from all other men. Then none may come against us, nor may we go against any other. Thus will all be safe.’

‘A wise decision perhaps, Anarae,’ he conceded. ‘It was a choice which we considered in eons past. Delphaeic numbers are limited, however, and your hidden valley will easily hold all of you. We Styrics are more numerous and more widespread. Our neighbors would not look kindly on a Styric homeland abutting their own borders. We cannot follow your course, but must live in the world.’

Xanetia rose to her feet, putting one hand on Kalten’s shoulder. ‘Stay, gentle knight,’ she told him. ‘I must confer a moment with Anakha in furtherance of our pact. Should he detect falsity in me, he may slay me.’

Sparhawk stood up, crossed to the door, and opened it for her. Danae, dragging Rollo behind her, followed them from the room.

‘What is it, Anarae?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘Let us repair to that place above where we are wont to speak,’ she replied. ‘What I must tell thee is for thine ears alone.’ Danae gave her a hard look. ‘Thou mayest also hear my words, Highness,’ Xanetia told the little girl.

‘You’re so kind.’

‘We can’t hide from her, Xanetia,’ Sparhawk said. ‘We could go to the top of the highest tower in Matherion, and she’d fly up to eavesdrop on us anyway.’

‘Canst thou truly fly, Highness?’ Xanetia looked startled.

‘Can’t everyone?’

‘Behave yourself,’ Sparhawk told his daughter.

They climbed the stairs to the top of the tower again and went out onto the roof.

‘Anakha, I must tell thee a truth which thou mayest not wish to believe,’ Xanetia said gravely, ‘but it is truth, nonetheless.’

‘That’s an unpromising start,’ Danae observed.

‘I must speak this truth, Anakha,’ Xanetia said gravely, ‘for it is not only in keeping with our pact, but it doth also have a grave import on our common design.’

‘I get the feeling that I should take hold of something solid,’ Sparhawk said wryly.

‘As it seemeth best to thee, Anakha. I must advise thee, however, that thy trust in Zalasta of Styricum is sorely misplaced.’

‘What?’

‘He hath played thee false, Anakha. His heart and his mind are Cyrgon’s.’

18

‘That’s absolutely impossible!’ Danae exclaimed. ‘Zalasta loves my sister and me. He’d never betray us!’

‘He doth love thy sister beyond measure, Goddess,’ Xanetia replied. ‘His feelings for thee, however, are not so kindly. In truth, he doth hate thee.’

‘I don’t believe you!’

Sparhawk was a soldier, and soldiers who cannot adjust to surprises rapidly do not live long enough to become veterans. ‘You weren’t at Delphaeus, Aphrael,’ he reminded the Child Goddess. ‘Bhelliom vouched for Xanetia’s truthfulness.’

‘She’s just saying this to drive a wedge between us and Zalasta.’

‘I don’t really think so.’ A number of things were rapidly falling into place in Sparhawk’s mind. ‘The alliance is too important to the Delphae for her to endanger it with something that petty, and what she just told us explains several things that didn’t make sense before. Let’s hear her out. If there’s some question about Zalasta’s loyalty, we’d better find out about it right now. Exactly what did you discover in his mind, Anarae?’

‘A great confusion, Anakha,’ Xanetia said sadly. ‘The mind of Zalasta might have been a noble one, but it doth stand on the brink of madness, consumed with but one thought and one desire. He hath loved thy sister since earliest childhood, Goddess, but his love is not the brotherly affection thou hast believed it was. This I know with greater certainty than all else, for it is ever at the forefront of his mind. he doth think of her as his affianced bride.’

‘That’s absurd.’ Danae said. ‘She doesn’t think of him that way at all.’

‘Nay, but he doth think so of her. My sojourn within his thought was brief, therefore I do not as yet know all. As soon as I did perceive his treachery, my pledge bound me to reveal it to Anakha. With more time, I will discover more.’

‘What prompted you to look into his thought, Xanetia?’ Sparhawk asked her. ‘The room was full of people. Why did you choose him?—or do you just listen to everybody simultaneously? It seems to me that would be very confusing.’ He made a face. ‘I think I’m going at this backward. It might be helpful if I knew how your gift works. Is it like having another set of ears? Do you hear every thought going on around you?—all at the same time?’

‘Nay, Anakha.’ She smiled faintly. ‘That, as thou hast perceived, would be too confusing. Our ears, will we, nil we, hear all sound. My perception of the thought of others doth require my conscious direction. I must reach out to hear, unless the thought of one who is near me be so intense that it doth become as a shout. So it was with Zalasta. His mind doth scream the name of Sephrenia again and again. In equal measure, moreover, doth his mind shriek thy name, Goddess, and those shrieks are filled with his hatred of thee. In his mind art thou a thief, having stolen away all his hope of joy.’

‘A thief? Me? He was the one who was trying to steal what was mine. I put my sister here on this world. She’s mine. She’s always been mine how dare he?’ Danae’s black eyes were flashing, and her voice was filled with outraged indignation.

‘This isn’t one of the more attractive sides of your nature, Divine One,’ Sparhawk suggested. ‘We don’t own other people.’

‘I’m not a people, Sparhawk. I own what I want.’

‘You’re just digging yourself in deeper. I wouldn’t pursue it any further.’

‘But I do, father. I’ve devoted hundreds of years to Sephrenia, and all that time Zalasta’s been sneaking around behind my back trying to steal her from me.’

‘Aphrael,’ he said gently, ‘you’re an Elene in this particular incarnation, so you’re going to have to stop thinking like a Styric. There are certain things that decent Elenes don’t do, and you’re doing one of them right now. Sephrenia belongs to herself—not to you, not to Zalasta, not even to Vanion. Her soul’s her own.’

‘But I love her!’ it was almost a wail.

‘I’m not built right for this,’ Sparhawk muttered to himself. ‘How can any human hope to be the father of a Goddess?’

‘Don’t you love me, father?’ Her voice was tiny.

‘Of course I do.’

‘Then you belong to me too. Why are you arguing with me about it?’

‘You’re a primitive.’

‘Of course I am. We’re supposed to be primitive. All these years Zalasta’s been pretending to love me—smiling at me, kissing me, holding me while I slept. That wretch! That lying wretch. I’ll have his heart for supper for this!’

‘No, as a matter of fact, you won’t. I’m not raising a cannibal. You won’t eat pork, so don’t start developing a taste for people.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said contritely. ‘I got excited.’

‘Besides, I think Vanion’s got first claim on Zalasta’s tripes.’

‘Oh dear. I completely forgot about Vanion. That poor, poor man.’ Two great tears welled up in her eyes. ‘I’ll spend the rest of his life making this up to him.’

‘Why don’t we let Sephrenia take care of that? Just heal the breach between them. That’s the only thing he really wants.’

Then Sparhawk thought of something. ‘It won’t wash, Xanetia. Zalasta could very well be in love with Sephrenia, but he hasn’t gone over to Cyrgon. When we encountered those Trolls in the mountains of Atan, he was the one who saved us from them and it wasn’t just the Trolls. There were worse things there as well.’

‘The Trolls do not loom large in Cyrgon’s plans, Anakha. The deaths of a hundred of them were of little moment. All else was illusion—illusion wrought by Zalasta himself to allay certain suspicions in the minds of diverse of thy companions. He sought to win thy trust by destroying those shadows of his own making.’

‘It does fit,’ Sparhawk said in a troubled voice. ‘Would you ladies excuse me for a moment? I think Vanion should hear this. It concerns him too, and I’d like his advice before I start making decisions.’ He paused. ‘Will you two be all right here—together, I mean? Without someone here to keep you from each other’s throats?’

‘All will be well, Anakha,’ Xanetia assured him. ‘Divine Aphrael and I have something to discuss.’

‘All right,’ he said, ‘but no hitting—and don’t start screaming at each other. You’ll wake up the whole castle.’

He crossed the parapet to the door and went back down the stairs. The meeting in the royal apartment had adjourned for a time, and Sparhawk found his friend sitting with his face in his hands in a room quite some distance from the one he normally shared with Sephrenia.

‘I need some help, my friend,’ Sparhawk said to him. ‘There’s something you need to know, and we’re going to have to decide what to do about it.’

Vanion raised his grief-ravaged face. ‘More trouble?’ he asked.

‘Probably. Xanetia just told me about something we should deal with. I’ll let her tell you about it herself. She and Danae are up at the top of the tower. I think we’ll want to keep this private—at least until we decide what steps to take.’

Vanion nodded and rose to his feet. The two of them went back out into the corridor and started up the stairs.

‘Where’s Zalasta?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘He’s with Sephrenia. She needs him right now.’ Sparhawk grunted, not really trusting himself to speak.

They found Xanetia and Danae at the battlements looking out over the city. The sun was moving down the intensely blue autumn sky toward the craggy western horizon, and the breeze coming in off the Tamul Sea had a salt tang mingled with the ripe odor of autumn.

‘All right, go ahead and tell him, Xanetia,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Then we’ll decide what to do.’

To Sparhawk’s surprise, Vanion didn’t waste much time on incredulous exclamation. ‘You’re sure, Anarae?’ he asked after Xanetia had told him of Zalasta’s duplicity.

She nodded. ‘I have seen his heart, my Lord. He hath played thee false.’

‘You don’t seem very surprised, Vanion,’ Sparhawk said.

‘I’m not—well, not really. There’s always been something about Zalasta that didn’t quite ring true. He had some trouble keeping his face under control when Sephrenia and I first went to Sarsos and moved into her house there. He tried to hide it, but I could tell that he wasn’t very happy with our living arrangements, and his disapproval seemed to go quite a bit further than a generalized kind of moral outrage about unorthodox relationships.’

‘That’s a delicate way to put it,’ Danae observed. ‘We’ve never understood why you humans make such a fuss about that. If two people love each other, they should do something about it, and living together is much more convenient for that sort of thing, isn’t it?’

‘There are certain ceremonies and formalities customary first,’ Sparhawk explained dryly.

‘You mean something like the way the peacock shows off his feathers to the peahen before they start building a nest?’

‘Something along those lines.’ Vanion shrugged, then sighed. ‘It seems that Sephrenia doesn’t admire my feathers any more.’

‘Not so, Lord Vanion,’ Xanetia disagreed. ‘She doth deeply love thee still, and her heart is made desolate by reason of her separation from thee.’

‘And Zalasta’s with her right now doing everything he can to make the separation permanent,’ Sparhawk added, his voice bleak. ‘How do you want us to proceed with this, Vanion? You’re the one most deeply involved here. There’s nothing any of us could say that would convince Sephrenia that Zalasta’s a traitor, you know.’

Vanion nodded. ‘She’s going to have to see it for herself,’ he agreed. ‘How far were you able to reach into his mind, Anarae?’

‘His present thought is open to me, his memories somewhat less so. Proximity and some time should provide opportunity to probe more.’

‘That’s the key, then,’ Vanion said. ‘Ehlana and Sarabian want to start tearing down the government almost immediately. Once that starts, Zalasta’s presence in our inner councils is going to be potentially disastrous. He’ll find out everything we’ve got planned.’

‘Let him,’ Danae sniffed. ‘It’s not going to do him much good after I’m done with my supper.’

‘What’s this?’ Vanion asked.

‘Our little savage here wants to eat Zalasta’s heart,’ Sparhawk explained.

‘While he watches,’ the Child Goddess added. ‘That’s the whole point of it—making him watch while I do it.’

‘Could she do that?’ Vanion asked.

‘Probably,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘I won’t let her, though.

‘I didn’t ask you, father,’ Danae said.

‘You didn’t have to. I said no. Now let’s drop it.’

‘When did Zalasta make this arrangement with Cyrgon, Anarae?’ Vanion asked.

‘This is unclear for the nonce, my Lord,’ she replied. ‘I shall pursue it further. My sense of his thought doth suggest that their alliance dates back some years and doth involve Bhelliom in some fashion.’

Sparhawk thought about that. ‘Zalasta was very upset when he found out that we’d thrown Bhelliom into the sea,’ he recalled. ‘I could start making some educated guesses at this point, but let’s wait and see what Xanetia’s able to turn up. Right now, I think we’d better concentrate on delaying Ehlana and Sarabian until we can devise some way to make Zalasta expose his own guilt. We need to get Sephrenia out from under his influence, and she’s never going to believe that he’s a traitor until she actually sees and hears him convict himself by doing or saying something that proves his treason.’

Vanion nodded his agreement.

‘I think we’re going to have to keep this just among the four of us,’ Sparhawk continued. ‘Zalasta’s very shrewd, and Sephrenia knows all of us better than we know ourselves. If the others have any idea of what we’re doing, they’ll let something slip, and Sephrenia will know about it immediately—and Zalasta will know about five minutes after she does.’

‘I’m afraid you’re right,’ Vanion agreed.

‘Hast thou a plan, Anakha?’ Xanetia asked.

‘Sort of. I’ve still got to work out some of the details, though. It’s a little complicated.’

Danae rolled her eyes upward. ‘Elenes,’ she sighed.

‘Absolutely not,’ Ehlana said adamantly. ‘He’s too valuable. We can’t risk it.’ She was sitting near the window with the morning sun streaming in on her and setting her pale hair aglow.

‘There’s no risk involved, dear,’ Sparhawk assured her. ‘The cloud and the shadow are both gone. Bhelliom and I took care of that once and for all.’ There was the flaw. Sparhawk was not entirely positive of that.

‘He’s right, my Queen,’ Kalten agreed. ‘He tore the cloud to tatters and dissolved the shadow like salt in boiling water.’

‘I’d really like to ask Kolata some questions, Ehlana,’ Sarabian said. ‘It doesn’t make very much sense to keep feeding him if we aren’t going to get any use out of him. This is what we’ve been waiting for, my dear—some sort of assurance that he won’t be torn to pieces the minute he opens his mouth.’

‘Are you absolutely sure, Sparhawk?’ Ehlana asked.

‘Trust me.’ Sparhawk reached inside his doublet and took out the box. ‘My blue friend here can make sure that Kolata remains intact—no matter what questions we ask.’

He looked at Zalasta. ‘I’m going to ask a favor of you, learned one,’ he said, keeping his voice casual. ‘I think Sephrenia should sit in on this. I know that she’d rather wash her hands of the lot of us right now, but maybe if she listens to Kolata’s confession, she’ll begin to take an interest in things again. It might be just the thing to bring her out of the state she’s in right now.’

Zalasta’s face was troubled, though he was obviously trying very hard to keep his expression under control. ‘I don’t think you realize how deeply she feels about this matter, Prince Sparhawk. I strongly advise you not to force her to be present when you question Kolata. It will only deepen the rift between her and her former friends.’

‘I won’t accept that, Zalasta,’ Ehlana told him. ‘Sephrenia’s a member of the royal council of Elenia. I appointed her to that position when I ascended the throne. Her personal problems are her own business, but I need her here in her official capacity. if necessary, I’ll command her presence, and I’ll send Kalten and Ulath to deliver the command and make sure that she obeys.’

Sparhawk almost felt sorry for Zalasta at that point. Their decisions and their requests were all completely reasonable, and try though he might, Zalasta could find no way to avoid agreeing. Kolata’s testimony was almost certain to be an absolute disaster for the first citizen of Styricum, but there was no way he could prevent that testimony without exposing himself as a traitor. He rose to his feet.

‘I will try to persuade her, your Majesty,’ he said, bowing to Ehlana. He turned and quietly left the blue-draped room.

‘I don’t understand why you won’t let us tell him, Sparhawk,’ Kalten said. ‘He is a friend, after all.’

‘He’s also a Styric, Kalten,’ Vanion said smoothly. ‘We don’t know how he really feels about the Delphae. He might go up in flames if he finds out that Xanetia can pick his thoughts the way Talen picks pockets.’

‘Sephrenia’s probably told him about it already, Lord Vanion,’ Bevier pointed out.

Sparhawk threw a brief questioning look at Xanetia, framing the question in his thought. She shook her head. For some reason, Sephrenia had not told Zalasta about the Delphaeic woman’s strange capability to delve into the minds of others.

‘I don’t think so, Bevier,’ Vanion was saying. ‘He hasn’t shown any reluctance to be in the same room with the Anarae, and that’s a fair indication that he doesn’t know. Now then, who’s going to question Kolata? We should probably limit it to just one of us. If we all start throwing questions at him, his thoughts will be so jumbled that Xanetia won’t be able to make any sense of them.’

‘Itagne’s skilled at debate and disputation,’ Oscagne suggested. ‘Academics spend hours splitting hairs.’

‘We prefer to call it meticulous attention to detail, old boy, Itagne corrected his brother. ‘Kolata has ministerial rank.’

‘Not any more, he doesn’t,’ Sarabian said.

‘Well, he used to, your Majesty. I’d suggest that we let Oscagne conduct the interrogation. He holds the same rank as Kolata, so he’ll be able to approach him as an equal.

‘Might I make a suggestion?’ Stragen asked.

‘Of course, Milord Stragen,’ the Emperor said.

‘Teovin’s been sneaking around out there trying his very best to subvert the other ministries of your Majesty’s government. Wouldn’t it be a good idea to make this a formal inquiry instead of a star-chamber proceeding? If all the ministers and the aides are present when we question Kolata, Teovin won’t have the chance to scramble around and mend his fences.’

‘It’s an interesting notion, isn’t it, Ehlana?’ Sarabian mused.

‘Very interesting,’ she agreed. ‘We’ll have to postpone the interrogation, though.’

‘Oh?’

‘We’ll want to give your Atan runners a head start.’ She looked at him gravely. ‘This is it, Sarabian. Up until now, it’s only been speculation. Once Kolata starts talking in front of the rest of the government, you’ll be committed. Are you really ready to go that far?’

The Emperor drew in a deep breath. ‘Yes, Ehlana, I think I am.’ His voice was firm, but very quiet.

‘Issue the order, then. Declare martial law. Turn the Atans loose.’

Sarabian swallowed hard. ‘Are you certain your idea will work, Atan Engessa?’ he asked the towering warrior.

‘It always has, Sarabian-Emperor,’ Engessa replied. ‘The signal fires are all in place. The word will spread throughout Tamuli in a single night. The Atans will move out of their garrisons the following morning.’

Sarabian’ stared at the floor for a long time. Then he looked up. ‘Do it,’ he said.

The difficult part was persuading Sarabian and Ehlana not to tell Zalasta about what was happening.

‘He doesn’t need to know,’ Sparhawk explained patiently.

‘Surely you don’t mistrust him, Sparhawk,’ Ehlana protested. ‘He’s proved his loyalty over and over again.’

‘Of course he has. He’s a Styric, though, and this sudden move of yours is going to turn all of Tamuli upside down. There’s going to be absolute chaos out there. He may try to get word to the Styric communities hereabouts—a warning of some kind. It’s a natural thing for him to do, and we can’t afford to risk letting that information get out. The only thing that makes your plan workable at all is the fact that it’s going to be a total surprise. There are Styrics, and then there are Styrics.’

‘Say what you mean, Sparhawk,’ Sarabian said in a testy voice.

‘The term “renegade Styric” means the same thing here in Tamuli as it does in Eosia, your Majesty. We almost have to assume that if we tell Zalasta, we’re telling all of Styricum, don’t we? We know Zalasta, but we don’t know all the other Styrics on the continent. There are some in Sarsos who’d sign compacts with Hell itself if they thought it would give them a chance to get even with the Elenes.’

‘You’re going to hurt his feelings, you know,’ Ehlana told him.

‘He’ll live. We only have one chance at this, so let’s not take even the remotest of risks.’

There was a polite tap at the door, and Mirtai stepped into the room where the three of them were meeting. ‘Oscagne and that other one are back,’ she reported.

‘Show them in please, Atana,’ Sarabian told her.

There was a kind of suppressed jubilation on the foreign minister’s face as he entered with his brother, and Itagne’s expression was almost identical. Sparhawk was a bit startled by how much alike they looked.

‘You two look like a couple of cats who just got into the cream, Sarabian told them.

‘We’re pulling off the coup of the decade, your Majesty, Itagne replied.

‘Of the century,’ Oscagne corrected. ‘Everything’s in place, my Emperor. We left it sort of vague—”general meeting of the Imperial Council”, that sort of thing. Itagne dropped a few hints. He’s been planting the notion that you’re considering having your birthday declared a national holiday. It’s the sort of foolish whim your Majesty’s family is famous for.’

‘Be nice,’ Sarabian murmured. he had picked up that particular Elene expression during his stay in Ehlana’s castle.

‘Sorry, your Majesty,’ Oscagne apologized. ‘We’ve passed the whole thing off as a routine, meaningless meeting of the council —all formality and no substance.’

‘May I borrow your throne-room, Ehlana?’ Sarabian asked.

‘Of course,’ she smiled. ‘Formal dress, I suppose?’

‘Certainly. We’ll wear our crowns and our state robes. You wear your prettiest dress, and I’ll wear mine.’

‘Your Majesty!’ Oscagne protested. ‘The customary Tamul mantle is hardly a dress.’

‘A long skirt is a long skirt, Oscagne. Frankly, I’d prefer doublet and hose—and, given the circumstances, my rapier. Stragen’s right. Once you get used to wearing one you start to feel undressed without it.’

‘If formality’s going to be the keynote, I think you and the others should wear your dress armor, Sparhawk,’ Ehlana told her husband.

‘Excellent idea, Ehlana,’ Sarabian approved. ‘That way they’ll be ready when things turn ugly.’

They spent the rest of the day supervising the moving of furniture in the throne-room. The Queen of Elenia, as she sometimes did, went to extremes.

‘Buntings?’ Sparhawk asked her. ‘Buntings, Ehlana?’

‘We want things to look festive, Sparhawk,’ she replied with an airy little toss of her head. ‘Yes, I know. It’s frivolous and even a little silly, but buntings hanging from the walls and trumpet fanfares introducing each of the ministers will set the tone. We want this to look so intensely formal that the government officials won’t believe that anything serious could possibly happen. We’re laying a trap, love, and buntings are part of the bait. Details, Sparhawk, details. Good plots swarm with details.’

‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’

‘Of course I am. Is the drawbridge raised?’ He nodded. ‘Good. Keep it that way. We don’t want anybody slipping out of the castle with any kind of information. We’ll escort the ministers inside tomorrow, and then we’ll raise the drawbridge again. We want to be in absolute control of the situation.’

‘Yes, dear.’

‘Don’t make fun of me, Sparhawk,’ she warned.

‘I’d sooner die.’

It was nearly dusk when Zalasta came into the throne-room and took Sparhawk to one side.

‘I must leave, Prince Sparhawk,’ he pleaded, his eyes a little wild. ‘It is a matter of the gravest urgency.’

‘My hands are tied, Zalasta,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘You know my wife. When she starts speaking in the royal “we”, there’s no reasoning with her.’

‘There are things I must set in motion, your Highness, things vital to the success of the Emperor’s plan.’

‘I’ll try to talk with her, but I can’t hold out much hope. Things are fairly well under control, though. The Atans know what to do outside the castle walls, and my Church Knights can handle things inside. There are ministers and other high-level officials whose loyalty is in doubt, you know. We don’t know exactly what the questioning of the Minister of the Interior is going to bring out. We’ll have those people in our hands, and we don’t want them running off to stir up more mischief.’

‘You don’t understand, Sparhawk!’ The note of desperation was clearly evident.

‘I’ll do what I can, Zalasta,’ Sparhawk said, ‘but I can’t make any promises.’

19

The Tamul architect who had designed Ehlana’s castle had evidently devoted half a lifetime to the study of Elene buildings, and, like so many with limited gifts, he had slavishly imitated the details without capturing the spirit. The throne-room was a case in point. Elene castles have but two purposes—to remain standing and to keep out unwanted visitors. Both these purposes are served best by the kind of massive construction one might consider in designing a mountain. Over the centuries, some Elenes have sought to soften their necessarily bleak surroundings by embellishment. The interior braces intended to keep the walls from collapsing—even when swept by a blizzard of boulders—became buttresses. The massive stone posts designed to keep the ceiling where it belonged became columns with ornately carved bases and capitals. The same sort of strength can be achieved by vaulting, and the throne-room of Ehlana’s Tamul-built castle was a marvel of redundancy. It was massively vaulted and supported by long rows of fluted columns, and was braced by flying buttresses so delicate as to be not only useless but actually hazardous to those standing under them. Moreover, like everything else in fire-domed Matherion, the entire room was sheathed in opalescent mother-of-pearl. Ehlana had chosen the buntings with some care, and the gleaming walls were now accented with a riot of color. The forty-foot-long blue velvet draperies at the narrow windows had been accented with white satin, the walls were decorated with crossed pennons and imitation battle-flags, and the columns and buttresses were bandaged with scarlet silk. The place looked to Sparhawk’s somewhat jaundiced eye like a country fair operated by a profoundly color-blind entrepreneur.

‘Garish,’ Ulath observed, buffing the black ogre-horns on his helmet with a piece of cloth.

‘Garish comes close,’ Sparhawk agreed.

Sparhawk wore his formal black armor and silver surcoat. The Tamul blacksmith who had hammered out the dents and re-enameled the armor had also anointed the inside of each intricately wrought section and all the leather straps with crushed rose-petals in a kind of subtle, unspoken criticism of the armor’s normal fragrance. The resulting mixture of odors was peculiar.

‘How are we going to explain all the guards standing around Ehlana and Sarabian?’ Ulath asked.

‘We don’t have to explain things, Ulath.’ Sparhawk shrugged. ‘We’re Elenes, and the rest of the world believes that we’re barbarians with strange, ritualistic customs that nobody else understands. I am not going to let my wife sit there unprotected while she and Sarabian calmly advise the Tamul government that it’s been dismantled.’

‘Good thinking.’ Ulath looked gravely at his friend. ‘Sephrenia’s being difficult, you know.’

‘We more or less expected that.’

‘She might have an easier time if she could sit next to Zalasta.

Sparhawk shook his head. ‘Zalasta’s an advisor to the government. He’ll have to be on the main floor with the ministers. Let’s keep Sephrenia off to one side. I’ll have Danae sit with her.’

‘That might help. Your daughter’s presence seems to calm Sephrenia. I wouldn’t seat Xanetia with them, though.’

‘I hadn’t planned to.’

‘Just making sure. Did Engessa get any kind of acknowledgement of his signal? Are we absolutely sure his order got to everybody?’

‘He is. I guess the Atans have used signal fires to pass orders along for centuries.’

‘I’m just a bit doubtful about bonfires on hilltops as a way to send messages, Sparhawk.’

‘That’s Engessa’s department. It won’t matter all that much if word hadn’t reached a few backwaters by sunrise this morning.’

‘You’re probably right. I guess we’ve done all we can, then. I just hope nothing goes wrong.’

‘What could go wrong?”

‘That’s the kind of thinking that fills graveyards, Sparhawk. I’ll go tell them to lower the drawbridge. We might as well get started.’

Stragen had carefully coached the dozen Tamul trumpeters and the rest of his musicians, concluding the lesson with some horrendous threats and an instructional visit to the carefully re-created torture chamber in the basement. The musicians had all piously sworn to play the proper notes and to forgo improvisation. The fanfares which were to greet the arrival of each minister of the imperial government had been Ehlana’s idea. Fanfares are flattering; they elevate the ego, they lull the unwary into traps. Ehlana was good at that sort of thing. The depths of her political instincts sometimes amazed Sparhawk.

In keeping with the formality of the occasion, armored Church Knights were stationed at evenly spaced intervals along the walls. To the casual observer, the knights were no more than a part of the decor of the throne-room. The casual observer, however, would have been wrong. The motionless men in steel were there to make absolutely certain that once the members of the imperial government had entered the room, they would not leave without permission, and the drawbridge, which was to be raised as soon as all the guests had arrived, doubly ensured that nobody would grow bored and wander off.

Sarabian had advised them that the ‘imperial Council of Tamuli’ had grown over the centuries. At first, the council had consisted only of the ministers. Then the ministers had included their secretaries; then their undersecretaries. By now it had reached the point where sub-sub-assistant temporary interim undersecretaries were also included. The title ‘Member of the Imperial Council’ had become largely meaningless. The inclusion of such a mob, however, ensured that every traitor inside the imperial compound would be gathered under Ehlana’s battlements. The Queen of Elenia was shrewd enough to use even her enemies’ egotism as a weapon against them.

‘Well?’ Ehlana asked nervously when her husband entered the royal apartment.

The Queen of Elenia wore a cream-colored gown, trimmed with gold lace, and a dark blue, ermine-trimmed velvet cloak. Her crown looked quite delicate, a kind of lace cap made of hammered gold inset with bright-colored gems. Despite its airy appearance, however, Sparhawk knew because he had picked it up several times—that it was almost as heavy as her state crown, which was locked in the royal vault back in Cimmura.

‘They’re starting to drift across the drawbridge,’ he reported. ‘Itagne’s greeting them. He knows everybody of any consequence in the government, so he’ll know when our guests have all arrived. As soon as everyone’s inside, the knights will raise the drawbridge.’

He looked at Emperor Sarabian, who stood near a window nervously chewing on one fingernail. ‘It’s not going to be all that much longer, your Majesty,’ he said. ‘Shouldn’t you change clothes?’

‘The Tamul mantle was designed to cover a multitude of defects, Prince Sparhawk, so it should cover my western clothes and my rapier. I am not going in there unarmed.’

‘We’ll take care of you, Sarabian,’ Ehlana assured him.

‘I’d rather do it myself, mother.’ The Emperor suddenly laughed nervously. ‘A bad joke, perhaps, but there’s a lot of truth to it. You’ve raised me from political babyhood, Ehlana. In that respect, you are my mother.’

‘If you ever call me “mommy”, I’ll never speak to you again, your Majesty.’

‘I’d sooner bite out my tongue, your Majesty.’

‘What’s the customary procedure, your Majesty?’ Sparhawk asked Sarabian as they stood peering round the edge of the draped doorway into the rapidly filling throne-room.

‘As soon as everybody gets here, Subat will call the meeting to order,’ Sarabian replied. ‘That’s when I enter—usually to the sound of what passes for music here in Matherion.’

‘Stragen’s seen to it that your grand entrance will be truly grand,’ Ehlana assured him. ‘He composed the fanfare himself.’

‘Are all Elene thieves artists?’ Sarabian asked. ‘Talen paints, Stragen composes music, and Caalador’s a gifted actor.’

‘We do seem to attract talent, don’t we,’ Ehlana smiled.

‘Should I explain why there are so many of us on the dais?’ Sarabian asked, glancing at Mirtai and Engessa.

She shook her head. ‘Never explain. It’s a sign of weakness. I’ll enter on your arm, and they’ll all grovel.’

‘It’s called genuflectory prostration, Ehlana.’

‘Whatever.’ She shrugged. ‘When they get up again, we’ll be sitting there with our guards around us. That’s when you take over the meeting. Don’t even let Subat get started. We’ve got our own agenda today, and we don’t have time to listen to him babble about the prospects for the wheat harvest on the plains of Edam. How are you feeling?’

‘Nervous. I’ve never overthrown a government before.’

‘Neither have I, actually—unless you count what I did in the Basilica when I appointed Dolmant to the Archprelacy.’

‘She didn’t actually do that, did she, Sparhawk?’

‘Oh yes, your Majesty—all by herself. She was superb.’

‘Just keep talking, Sarabian,’ Ehlana told him. ‘if anyone tries to interrupt, shout him down. Don’t even pretend to be polite. This is our party. Don’t be conciliatory or reasonable. Be coldly furious instead. Are you any good at oratory?’

‘Probably not. They don’t let me speak in public very often except at the graduation ceremonies at the university.’

‘Speak slowly. You tend to talk too fast. Half of any good oration lies in its cadence. Use pauses. Vary your volume from a shout down to a whisper. Be dramatic. Give them a good show.’

He laughed. ‘You’re a charlatan, Ehlana.

‘Naturally. That’s what politics is all about—fraud, deceit, charlatanism.’

‘That’s dreadful!’

‘Of course. That’s why it’s so much fun.

The brazen fanfares echoed back from the vaulted ceiling as each minister entered the throne-room, and they had the desired effect. The ministers in their silken mantles all seemed slightly awed by their own sublime importance, something many of them had overlooked or forgotten. They moved to their places with slow, stately pace, their expressions grave, even exalted. Pondia Subat, the Prime Minister, seemed particularly impressed with himself. He sat splendidly alone in a crimson-upholstered chair to one side of the dais upon which the thrones stood, looking imperially out at the other officials assembling in the chairs lining both sides of the broad central aisle. Chancellor of the Exchequer Gashon sat with Teovin, the Director of the Secret Police, and several other ministers. There seemed to be a great deal of whispering going on in the little group.

‘That would probably be the opposition,’ Ehlana observed. ‘Teovin’s certainly involved, and the others are also most likely part of it—to a greater or lesser degree.’ She turned to Talen, who stood directly behind her, wearing his page’s knee-britches. ‘Pay very close attention to that group,’ she instructed. ‘I want a report on their reactions. We should be able to determine their degree of guilt by the looks on their faces.’

‘Yes, my Queen.’

Then Itagne appeared briefly at the massive double doors to the throne-room and flicked his hand at Ulath, signaling that all of the relevant officials had arrived. Ulath, who stood to one side of the dais, nodded and raised his Ogre-horn trumpet to his lips.

The room seemed to shudder into a shocked silence as the barbaric sound of the Ogre-horn, deep-toned and rasping, reverberated from the nacreous walls. The huge doors boomed shut, and two armored knights, one a Cyrinic all in white, and the other a Pandion all in black, placed themselves in front of the entryway.

The Prime Minister rose to his feet. Ulath banged the butt of his axe on the floor three times to call for silence. The Emperor winced.

‘What’s wrong, Sarabian?’ Mirtai asked him.

‘Sir Ulath just broke several of the floor-tiles.

‘We can replace them with bone.’ She shrugged. ‘There should be quite a few bones lying around before the day’s over.’

‘Will the council please come to order?’ Pondia Subat intoned. Ulath banged the floor again.

Sparhawk looked around the throne-room. Everyone was in place. Sephrenia, dressed in her white Styric robe, sat with Princess Danae and Caalador on the far side of the room. Xanetia, also in white, sat on the near side with Kalten and Berit. Melidere sat in a small gallery with the nine imperial wives. The clever Baroness had carefully cultivated a friendship with Sarabian’s first wife, Cieronna, a member of one of the noblest houses of Tamul proper, and the mother of the crown prince. The friendship had by now grown so close that Melidere was customarily invited to attend state functions in the company of the empresses.

Her presence among them this time had a serious purpose, however. Sarabian had a wife from each of the nine kingdoms, and it was entirely possible that some of them had been subverted. Sparhawk was fairly certain that the bare-breasted Valesian, Elysoun, was free of any political contamination. She was simply too busy for politics. The Tegan wife, Gahennas, a puritanical lady obsessed with her personal virtue and her staunch republicanism, would probably not even have been approached by conspirators. Torellia of Arjuna, and Chacole of Cynesga, however, were highly suspect. They had both established what might best be called personal courts, liberally sprinkled with nobles from their homelands. Melidere had been instructed to keep a close eye on those two in particular for signs of unusual reactions to the revelation of Zalasta’s true affiliation.

Sparhawk sighed. It was all so complicated. Friends and enemies all looked the same. In the long run, it might turn out that Xanetia’s unusual gift would prove more valuable than a sudden offer of aid from an entire army.

Vanion, who had unobtrusively stationed himself with the knights lining the walls, reached up and first lowered, then raised, his visor. It was the signal that all their forces were in place. Stragen, who was with his trumpeters behind the dais, nodded briefly in acknowledgement.

Then Sparhawk looked rather closely at Zalasta, the unknowing guest of honor at this affair. The Styric, his eyes apprehensive, sat among the ministers, his white robe looking oddly out of place among all the bright-colored silk mantles. He quite obviously knew that something was afoot, and just as obviously had no idea what it might be. That was something, anyway. At least no one in the inner circle had been subverted. Sparhawk irritably shook that thought off. Under the circumstances, a certain amount of wary suspicion was only natural, but left unchecked it could become a disease. He made a sour face. About one more day of this and he’d begin to suspect himself.

‘The council will now come to order!’ Pondia Subat repeated. Ulath broke some more tiles. ‘By command of his Imperial Majesty, Emperor Sarabian, this council is called to order!’

‘Good God, Subat,’ Sarabian groaned, half to himself, ‘will you destroy the floor entirely?’

‘Gentlemen, his Imperial Majesty, Sarabian of Tamuli!’ A single trumpet voiced a clear, ringing theme of majestically descending notes. Then another joined the first to repeat the theme a third of an octave higher—then another trumpet another third higher. Then, in a great crescendo and still higher, the musicians all joined in to fill the throne-room with shimmering echoes.

‘Impressive,’ Sarabian noted. ‘Do we go in now?’

‘Not yet,’ Ehlana told him. ‘The music changes. That’s when we start. Pay attention to my hand on your arm. Let me set the pace. Don’t jump when we get to the thrones. Stragen’s got a whole brass band hidden in various parts of the room. The climax will be thunderous. Draw yourself up, throw your shoulders back, and look regal. Try your very best to look like a God.’

‘Are you having fun, Ehlana?’

She grinned impishly at him and winked. ‘There,’ she said, ‘the flutes at the back of the hall have picked up the theme. That’s our signal. Good luck, my friend.’ She kissed him lightly on the cheek and then laid her hand on his arm. ‘One,’ she said, listening intently to the music. ‘Two.’ She drew in a deep breath. ‘Now.’

And the Emperor of Tamuli and the Queen of Elenia stepped through the archway and crossed with regal pace toward their golden thrones as the flutes at the rear of the hall softly sang the plaintive accompaniment of Stragen’s main theme, set now in a minor key. Immediately behind them came Sparhawk, Mirtai, Engessa and Bevier. Talen, Alcan and Itagne, who was still puffing slightly from running through the halls, followed.

As the royal party reached the thrones, Stragen, who was using his rapier as a conductor’s baton, led his hidden musicians into a fortissimo recapitulation of his main theme. The sound was overwhelming. It was not entirely certain whether the members of the imperial council fell to their faces out of habit or were knocked down by that enormous blast of sound. Stragen cut his rapier sharply to one side, and the musicians broke off, slashed as it were into silence, leaving the echoes shimmering in the air like ghosts.

Pondia Subat rose to his feet. ‘Will your Majesty address some few remarks to this assemblage before we commence?’ he asked in an almost insultingly superior tone. The question was sheer formality, almost ritualistic. The Emperor traditionally did not speak at these sessions.

‘Why, yes, as a matter of fact, I believe I will, Pondia Subat,’ Sarabian replied, rising again to his feet. ‘So good of you to ask, old boy.’

Subat gaped at him, his expression incredulous. ‘But...’

‘Was there something, Subat?’

‘This is most irregular, your Majesty.’

‘I know. Refreshing, isn’t it? We’ve got a lot to cover today, Subat, so let’s get cracking.’

‘Your Majesty has not consulted with me. We cannot proceed if I don’t know what issues are...’

‘Sit, Subat!’ Sarabian snapped. ‘Stay!’ His tone was one of command. ‘You will remain silent until I give you leave to speak.’

‘You can’t...’

‘I said sit down!’

Subat quailed and sank into his chair.

‘Your head’s none too tightly attached just now, my Lord Prime Minister,’ Sarabian said ominously, ‘and if you waggle it at me in the wrong way, it might just fall off. You’ve been tiptoeing right on the brink of treason, Pondia Subat, and I’m more than a little put out with you.’

The Prime Minister’s face went deathly pale. Sarabian began to pace up and down on the dais, his face like a thundercloud.

‘Please, God, make him stand still,’ Ehlana said under her breath. ‘He can’t make a decent speech if he’s loping around the dais like a gazelle in flight.’

Then the Emperor stopped to stand at the very front of the slightly elevated platform. ‘I’m not going to waste time with banalities, gentlemen,’ he told his government bluntly. ‘We had a crisis, and I depended on you to deal with it. You failed me —probably because you were too busy playing your usual games of politics. The Empire required giants, and all I had to serve me were dwarves. That made it necessary for me to deal with the crisis personally. And that’s what I’ve been doing, gentlemen for the past several months. You are no longer relevant, my Lords. I am the government.’

There were cries of outrage from the ministers and their subordinates.

‘He’s going too fast.’ Ehlana exclaimed. ‘He should have built up to that.’

‘Don’t be such a critic,’ Sparhawk told her. ‘It’s his speech. Let him make it his own way.’

‘I will have silence!” Sarabian declared. The council paid no attention. They continued their excited babbling.

The Emperor opened his mantle to reveal his Elene clothing, and then he drew his rapier. ‘I said SILENCE!’ he roared. All sound ceased.

‘I’ll pin the next man who interrupts me to the wall like a butterfly,’ Sarabian told them. Then he cut his rapier sharply through the air. The whistling sound of the blade’s passage was as chill as death itself. He looked around at his cowed officials. ‘That’s a little better,’ he said. ‘Now stay that way.’ He set the point of the rapier on the floor and lightly crossed his hands on the pommel. ‘My family has depended on the ministries to handle the day-to-day business of government for centuries,’ he said. ‘Our trust has obviously been misplaced. You were adequate—barely—in times of tranquility, but when a crisis arose, you began to scurry around like ants, more interested in protecting your fortunes, your personal privileges, and perpetuating your petty interdepartmental rivalries than in the good of my Empire—and that’s the one thing you all seem to forget, gentlemen. It’s my Empire. My family hasn’t made a great issue of the fact, but I think it’s time you were reminded of it. You serve me, and you serve only at my pleasure, not at your convenience.’

The officials were all gaping at the man they had thought to be no more than a harmless eccentric. Sparhawk saw a movement near the middle of the throne-room. His eyes flicked back to the front, and he saw that Teovin’s chair was conspicuously empty. The Director of the Secret Police was more clever and much quicker than his colleagues, and, throwing dignity to the winds, he was busily crawling on his hands and knees toward the nearest exit. Chancellor of the Exchequer Gashon, thin, bloodless and wispy-haired, sat beside Teovin’s vacant chair, staring at Sarabian in open terror.

Sparhawk looked quickly at Vanion, and the Preceptor nodded. Vanion had seen the crawling policeman too.

‘When I perceived that I had chosen little men with little minds to administer my Empire,’ Sarabian was saying, ‘I appealed to Zalasta of Styricum for advice. Who better to deal with the supernatural than the Styrics? It was Zalasta who recommended that I submit a request directly to Archprelate Dolmant of the Church of Chyrellos for assistance, and the very core of that assistance was to be Prince Sparhawk of Elenia. We Tamuls pride ourselves on our subtlety and our sophistication, but I assure you that we are but children when compared to the Elenes. The state visit of my dear sister Ehlana was little more than a subterfuge designed to conceal the fact that our main purpose was to bring her husband, Sir Sparhawk, to Matherion. Queen Ehlana and I amused ourselves by deceiving you—and you were not hard to deceive, my Lords—while Prince Sparhawk and his companions sought the roots of the turmoil here in Tamuli. As we had anticipated, our enemies reacted.’

There was a brief, muted disturbance at one of the side doors. Vanion and Khalad were quite firmly preventing the Director of the Secret Police from leaving.

‘Did you have a pressing engagement somewhere, Teovin?’ Sarabian drawled.

Teovin’s eyes were wild, and he looked at his Emperor with open hatred.

‘If you’re discontented with me, Teovin, I’ll be more than happy to give you satisfaction,’ Sarabian told him, flourishing his rapier meaningfully. ‘Please return to your seat. My seconds will call upon you when we’ve concluded here.’

Vanion took the Director of the Secret Police by one arm, turned him round, and pointed at the empty seat. Then, with a none too gentle shove, he started him moving.

‘This windy preamble’s beginning to bore me, gentlemen,’ Sarabian announced, ‘so why don’t we get down to cases? The attempted coup here in Matherion was the direct response to Sir Sparhawk’s arrival. The assorted disturbances that have kept the Atans running from one end of the continent to the other for the past several years have had one source and only one. We have a single enemy, and he has formed a massive conspiracy designed to overthrow the government and to wrest my throne from me, and as I probably should have anticipated, given the nature of those who pretend to serve me, he had willing helpers in the government itself.’

Some of the dignitaries gasped; others looked guilty.

‘Pay very close attention, gentlemen,’ Sarabian told them. ‘This is where it begins to get interesting. Many of you have wondered at the long absence of Interior Minister Kolata. I’m sure you’ll be delighted to know that Kolata’s going to be joining us now.’

He turned to Ulath. ‘Would you be so good as to invite the Minister of the Interior to come in, Sir Knight?’ he asked. Ulath bowed, and Kalten rose from his seat to join him. ‘Minister Kolata, as the chief policeman in all the Empire, knows a great deal about criminal activities,’ Sarabian declared. ‘I’m absolutely sure that his analysis of the present situation will be enlightening.’

Kalten and Ulath returned with the ashen-faced Minister of the Interior between them. It was not the fact that Kolata was in obvious distress that raised the outcry from the other officials, however, but rather the fact that the chief policeman of the Empire was in chains.

Emperor Sarabian stood impassively as his council members shouted their protests. ‘How am I doing so far, Ehlana?’ he asked out of the corner of his mouth.

‘I’d have done it differently,’ she told him, ‘but that’s only a matter of style. I’ll give you a complete critique when it’s all over.’ She looked out at the officials who were all on their feet talking excitedly. ‘Don’t let that go on for too long. Remind them who’s in charge. Be very firm about it.’

‘Yes, mother,’ he smiled. Then he looked at his government and drew in a deep breath. ‘QUIET!’ he roared in a great voice. They fell into a stunned silence.’

‘There will be no further interruptions of these proceedings,’ Sarabian told them. ‘The rules have changed, gentlemen. We’re not going to pretend to be civilized any more. I’m going to tell you what to do, and you’re going to do it. I’d like to remind you that not only do you serve at my pleasure; you also continue to live only at my pleasure. The Minister of the Interior is guilty of high treason. You’ll note that there was no trial. Kolata is guilty because I say that he’s guilty.’ Sarabian paused as a new realization came to him. ‘My power in Tamuli is absolute. I am the government, and I am the law. We are going to question Kolata rather closely. Pay attention to his answers, gentlemen. Your positions in government—your very lives—may hinge on what he says. Foreign Minister Oscagne is going to question Kolata—not about his guilt, which has already been established —but about the involvement of others. We’re going to get to the bottom of this once and for all. You may proceed, Oscagne.’

‘Yes, your Majesty.’ Oscagne rose to his feet and stood a moment in deep thought as Sarabian sat again on his throne.

Oscagne wore a black silk mantle. His choice of color had been quite deliberate. While black mantles were not common, they were not unheard of. Judges and Imperial Prosecutors, however, always wore black. The somber color heightened the Foreign Minister’s pallor, which in turn accentuated his grim expression.

Khalad came forward with a plain wooden stool and set it down in front of the dais. Kalten and Ulath brought the Minister of the Interior forward and plopped him unceremoniously down on the stool.

‘Do you understand your situation here, Kolata?’ Oscagne asked the prisoner.

‘You have no right to question me, Oscagne,’ Kolata replied quickly.

‘Break his fingers, Khalad,’ Sparhawk instructed from his position just behind Ehlana’s throne.

‘Yes, my Lord,’ Khalad replied. ‘How many?’

‘Start out with one or two. Every time he starts talking about Oscagne’s rights—or his own—break another one.’

‘Yes, my Lord.’ Khalad took the Interior Minister’s wrist.

‘Stop him!’ Kolata squealed in fright. ‘Somebody stop him!’

‘Kalten, Ulath,’ Sparhawk said, ‘kill the first man who moves.’ Kalten drew his sword, and Ulath raised his axe.

‘You see how it is, old boy,’ Oscagne said to the man on the stool. ‘You’re not universally loved to begin with, and Prince Sparhawk’s command has just evaporated any minuscule affection anyone here might have had for you. You will talk, Kolata. Sooner or later, you’ll talk. We can do this the easy way, or we can do it the other way, but you are going to answer my questions.’ Oscagne’s expression had become implacable.

‘They’ll kill me, Oscagne!’ Kolata pleaded. ‘They’ll kill me if I talk.’

‘You’re in a difficult situation, then, Kolata, because we’ll kill you if you don’t. You’re taking orders from Cyrgon, aren’t you?’

‘Cyrgon? That’s absurd!’ Kolata blustered. ‘Cyrgon’s a myth.’

‘Oh, really?’ Oscagne looked at him with contempt. ‘Don’t play the fool with me, Kolata. I don’t have the patience for it. Your orders come from the Cynesgan Embassy, don’t they? and most of the time, they’re delivered by a man named Krager.’ Kolata gaped at him.

‘Close your mouth, Kolata. You look like an idiot with it hanging open like that. We already know a great deal about your treason. All we really want from you are a few details. You were first contacted by someone you had reason to trust—and most probably someone you respected. That immediately rules out a Cynesgan. No Tamul has anything but contempt for Cynesgans. Given our characteristic sense of our own superiority, that would also rule out an Arjuni or an Elene from any of the western kingdoms. That would leave only another Tamul, or possibly an Atan, or...’ Oscagne’s eyes suddenly widened, and his expression grew thunderstruck. ‘Or a Styric!’

‘Absurd,’ Kolata scoffed weakly. His eyes, however, were wild, darting this way and that like those of a man looking for a place to hide.

Sparhawk looked appraisingly at Zalasta. The sorcerer’s face was deathly pale, but his eyes showed that he was still in control. It was going to take something more to push him over the edge. The big Pandion placed his left hand rather casually on his sword-hilt, giving Oscagne the pre-arranged signal.

‘We don’t seem to be getting anywhere, old boy,’ Oscagne drawled, recovering from his surprise. ‘I think you need some encouragement.’ He turned and looked at Xanetia. ‘Would you be so kind, Anarae?’ he asked her. ‘Our esteemed Minister of the Interior doesn’t seem to want to share things with us. Do you suppose you could persuade him to change his mind?’

‘I can but try, Oscagne of Matherion,’ Xanetia replied, rising to her feet. She crossed the front of the room, choosing for some reason to approach the prisoner from the side where Sephrenia sat rather than the one from which she herself had been watching.

‘Thou art afeared, Kolata of Matherion,’ she said gravely, ‘and thy fear doth make thee brave, for it is in thy mind that though they who hold thy body captive may do thee great harm, he who hath thy soul in thrall may do thee worse. Now must thou contend with yet an even greater fear. Look upon me, Kolata of Matherion, and tremble, for I will visit upon thee the ultimate horror. Wilt thou speak, and speak freely?’

‘I can’t!’ Kolata wailed.

‘Then art thou lost. Behold me as I truly am, and consider well thy fate, for I am death, Kolata of Matherion, death beyond thy most dreadful imagining.’ The color drained from her slowly, and the glow within her was faint at first. She stood looking at him with her chin raised and an expression of deep sadness in her eyes as she glowed brighter and brighter. Kolata screamed.

The other officials scrambled to their feet, their faces terrified, and their babbling suddenly shrill.

‘SIT DOWN!’ Sarabian bellowed at them. ‘AND BE SILENT!’ A few of them were cowed into obedience. Most, however, were too frightened. They continued to shrink back from Xanetia, crying out in shrill voices.

‘My Lord Vanion,’ Sarabian called over the tumult, ‘would you please restore order?”

‘At once, your Majesty.’ Vanion clapped down his visor, pulled his sword from its scabbard, and raised his shield. ‘Draw swords!’ He barked the command. There was a steely rasp as the Church Knights drew their swords. ‘Forward!’ Vanion ordered. The knights posted along the walls marched clankingly forward, their swords at the ready, converging on the frightened officials. Vanion stretched forth his steel-clad arm, extending his sword and touching the tip to the throat of the Prime Minister.

‘I believe the Emperor told you to sit down, Pondia Subat,’ he said. ‘Do it! Now!”

The Prime Minister sank back into his chair, suddenly more afraid of Vanion than he was of Xanetia.

A couple of the council members had to be chased down and forcibly returned to their seats, and one rather athletic one, the Minister of Public Works, Sparhawk thought, was persuaded to come down from the drape he’d been climbing only by the threat of Khalad’s crossbow. Order was restored.

When the council had returned—or been returned—to their seats, however, the Chancellor of the Exchequer was discovered lying on the floor, vacant-eyed and with a large bubble of foam protruding from his gaping mouth. Vanion checked the body rather perfunctorily. ‘Poison,’ he said shortly. ‘He seems to have taken it himself.’ Ehlana shuddered.

‘Prithee, Anarae,’ Sarabian said to Xanetia, ‘continue thine inquiry.’

‘An it please your Majesty,’ she replied in that strange echoing voice. She turned her gaze on Kolata. ‘Wilt thou speak, and freely, Kolata of Matherion?’ she asked. He shrank back in horror.

‘So be it, then.’ She put forth her hand and moved closer. ‘The curse of Edaemus is upon me,’ she warned, ‘and I bear its mark. I will share that curse with thee. Mayhap thou wilt regret thy silence when thy flesh doth decay and melt like wax from thy bones. The time hath come to choose, Kolata of Matherion. Speak or die. Who is it who hath stolen thy loyalty from thine appointed master.’ Her hand, more surely deadly than Vanion’s sword, was within inches of Kolata’s ashen face.

‘No!’ he shrieked. ‘No. I’ll tell you!’

The cloud appeared quite suddenly in the air above the gibbering minister, but Sparhawk was ready. Half hidden behind Ehlana’s throne, he had taken off his gauntlet and surreptitiously removed the Sapphire Rose from its confinement. ‘Blue Rose!’ he said sharply. ‘Destroy the cloud.’

The Bhelliom surged in his hand, and the dense, almost solid-appearing patch of intense darkness tattered, whipping like a pennon on a flag-staff in a hurricane, then it streamed away and was gone.

Zalasta was thrown back in his chair as his spell was broken. He half rose and fell back again, writhing and moaning as the jagged edges of his broken spell clawed at him. His chair overturned, and he convulsed on the floor like one caught in a seizure.

‘It was him!’ ~Kolata shrieked, pointing with a trembling hand. ‘It was Zalasta. He made me do it!’

Sephrenia’s gasp was clearly audible. Sparhawk looked sharply at her. She had fallen back, nearly as shaken as Zalasta himself. Her eyes were filled with disbelief and horror. Danae, Sparhawk noticed, was talking to her, speaking rapidly and holding her sister’s face quite firmly in her small hands.

‘Curse you, Sparhawk!’ The words came out in a kind of rasping croak as Zalasta, aided by his staff, dragged himself unsteadily to his feet. His face was shaken and twisted in frustration and rage. ‘You are mine, Sephrenia, mine!’ he howled. ‘I have longed for you for an eternity, watched as your thieving, guttersnipe Goddess stole you from me. but no more. Thus do I banish forever the Child Goddess and her hold on thee!’

His deadly staff whirled and leveled. ‘Die, Aphrael!’ he shrieked. Sephrenia, without even thinking, clasped her arms around Sparhawk’s daughter and turned quickly in her seat, shielding the little girl with her own body, willingly offering her back to Zalasta’s fury.

Sparhawk’s heart froze as a ball of fire shot from the tip of the staff.

‘No!’ Vanion cried, trying to rush forward. But Xanetia was already there. Her decision to approach Kolata from Sephrenia’s side of the room had clearly been influenced by her perception of what lay in Zalasta’s mind. She had consciously placed herself in a position to protect her enemy. Unafraid, she faced the raving Styric.

The sizzling fireball streaked through the silent air of the throne-room, bearing with it all of Zalasta’s centuries-old hatred. Xanetia held out her hand, and, like a tame bird returning to the hand that feeds it, the flaming orb settled into that hand. With only the faint hint of a smile touching her lips, the Delphaeic woman closed her fingers around Zalasta’s pent-up hatred. For an instant, incandescent flame spurted out from between her pale fingers, and then she absorbed the fiery messenger of death, the light within her consuming it utterly.

‘What now, Zalasta of Styricum?’ she asked the raging sorcerer. ‘What dost thou propose now? Wilt thou contend with me more at peril of thy life? Or wilt thou, like the whipped cur thou art, clings and flee my wrath? For I do know thee. It hath been thy poisoned tongue which hath set my sister’s heart against me. Flee, master of lies. Abuse Sephrenia’s ears no longer with thy foul slanders. Go. I abjure thee. Go.’

Zalasta howled, and in that howl there was a lifetime of unsatisfied longing and blackest despair.

And then he vanished.

20

Emperor Sarabian’s expression was strangely detached as he looked out over the shambles of his government. Some of the officials appeared to be in shock, others scurried aimlessly, bahbling. Several were clustered at the main door, imploring the knights to let them out.

Oscagne, his diplomat’s face imperturbable, approached the dais. ‘Surprising turn of events,’ he noted, as if he were speaking of an unexpected summer shower. He studiously adjusted his black mantle, looking more and more like a judge.

‘Yes,’ Sarabian agreed, his eyes still lost in thought. ‘I think we might be able to exploit it, however. Sparhawk, is that dungeon down in the basement functional?’

‘Yes, your Majesty. The architect was very thorough.’

‘Good.’

‘What have you got in mind, Sarabian?’ Ehlana asked him.

He grinned at her, his face suddenly almost boyish. ‘I ain’t a-tellin’, dorlin’,’ he replied in outrageous imitation of Caalador’s dialect. ‘I purely wouldn’t want t’ spoil th’ sur-prise.’

‘Please, Sarabian,’ she said with a weary sigh.

‘Jist you watch, yer Queenship. I’m a-fixin’ t’ pull off a little choop my own-self.’

‘You’re going to make me cross, Sarabian.’

‘Don’t you love me any more, mother?’ His tone was excited and exhilarated.

‘Men.’ she said, rolling her eyes upward.

‘Just follow my lead, my friends,’ the Emperor told them. ‘Let’s find out how well I’ve learned my lessons.’ He rose to his feet. ‘Lord Vanion,’ he called, ‘would you be so good as to return our guests to their seats?’

‘At once, your Majesty,’ Vanion replied. Vanion, forewarned of Zalasta’s treachery, was completely in control. He barked a few short commands, and the Church Knights firmly escorted the distracted officials back to their chairs.

‘What was he doing?’ Ehlana demanded of her husband in a tense whisper. ‘Why did he try to attack Danae?’

‘He didn’t, love,’ Sparhawk replied, thinking very quickly. ‘He was trying to attack Aphrael. Didn’t you see her? She was standing right beside Sephrenia.’

‘She was?’

‘Of course. I thought everyone in the room saw her, but maybe it was only me—and Zalasta. Why do you think he ran away so fast? Aphrael was right on the verge of jerking out his heart and eating it before his very eyes.’ She shuddered.

Emperor Sarabian moved to the front of the dais again. ‘Let’s come to order, gentlemen,’ he told them crisply. ‘We haven’t finished here yet. I gather that you were surprised by the revelation of Zalasta’s true position—some of you, anyway. I’m disappointed in you, my Lords—most of you for your profound lack of perception, the rest for not realizing that I could see through Zalasta—and you—like panes of glass. Some of you are traitors, the rest are merely stupid. I have no need of men of either stripe in my service. It is my excruciating pleasure to announce that at sunrise this morning, the Atan garrisons throughout Tamuli moved out of their barracks and replaced all imperial authorities with officers from their own ranks. With the exception of Matherion, the entire Empire is under martial law.’ They gaped at him.

‘Atan Engessa,’ Sarabian said.

‘Yes, Sarabian-emperor?’

‘Would you be so kind as to eliminate that lone exception? Take your Atans out into the city and take charge of the capital.’’

‘At once, Sarabian-emperor.’ Engessa’s grin was very broad.

‘Be firm, Engessa. Show my subjects my fist.’

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

‘Splendid chap,’ Sarabian murmured loudly enough to be heard as the towering Atan marched to the door.

‘Your Majesty,’ Pondia Subat protested weakly, half rising.

The look the Emperor gave his Prime Minister was icy. ‘I’m busy right now, Subat,’ he said. ‘You and I will talk later extensively. I’m sure I’ll find your explanation of how all of this happened under your very nose without even disturbing your decades-long nap absolutely fascinating. Now sit down and be quiet.’

The Prime Minister sank back into his chair, his eyes very wide.

‘All of Tamuli is under martial law now,’ the Emperor told his officials. ‘Since you’ve failed so miserably, I’ve been obliged to step in and take charge. That makes you redundant, so you are all dismissed.’

There were gasps, and some of the officials, those longest in office and most convinced of their own near-divinity, cried out in protest.

‘Moreover,’ Sarabian cut across their objections, ‘the treason of Zalasta has cast doubt upon the loyalty of each and every one of you. If I cannot trust all, I must suspect all. I want you to search your souls tonight, gentlemen, because we’ll be asking you questions tomorrow, and we’ll want complete truth from you. We don’t have time for lies or excuses or attempts to wriggle out from under your responsibility or guilt. I strongly recommend that you be forthcoming. The consequences of mendacity or evasion will be very unpleasant.’

Ulath took a long honing-steel from his belt and began to draw it slowly across the edge of his axe-blade. It made the sort of screech that sets the teeth on edge.

‘As a demonstration of my benevolence,’ Sarabian continued, ‘I’ve made arrangements for you all to be lodged here tonight, and to provide you with accommodations that will give each of you absolute privacy to review your past lives so that you can answer questions fully tomorrow. Lord Vanion, would you and your knights be so good as to escort our guests down to their quarters in the dungeon?’ Sarabian was improvising for all he was worth.

‘At once, your Majesty,’ Vanion replied, clashing his mailed fist against his breastplate in salute.

‘Ah, Lord Vanion,’ Ehlana added.

‘Yes, my Queen?’

‘You might consider searching our guests before you put them to bed. We don’t want any more of them hurting themselves the way the Chancellor of the Exchequer did, now do we?’

‘Excellent suggestion, your Majesty,’ Sarabian agreed. ‘Take all their toys away from them, Lord Vanion. We don’t want them to be distracted by anything.’ He paused a moment. ‘Actually, Lord Vanion, I rather think our guests will be able to concentrate a little better if they have something tangible about them to emphasize their situation. It seems that I read something once to the effect that the prisoners in Elene dungeons wear a kind of uniform.’

‘Yes, your Majesty,’ Vanion told him with an absolutely straight face. ‘It’s a sleeveless smock made of gray burlap—with a bright red stripe painted down the back, so that they can be identified in case they escape.’

‘Do you suppose you might be able to find something along those lines for our guests?’

‘If not, we can improvise, your Majesty.

‘Splendid, Lord Vanion—and take their jewels away from them as well. Jewels make people feel important, and I want them all to understand that they’re little more than bugs. I suppose you’d better feed them as well. What do people usually eat in dungeons?’

‘Bread and water, your Majesty—a little gruel once in a while.’

‘That should do nicely. Get them out of here, Vanion. The very sight of them is starting to nauseate me.’

Vanion barked a few sharp commands, and the knights descended on the former government. Each official had an honor guard of armored men to escort him—in some cases to drag him—down to the dungeon.

‘Ah—stay a moment, Teovin,’ the Emperor said urbanely to the Director of the Secret Police. ‘I believe there was something you wanted to say to me?’

‘No, your Majesty.’ Teovin’s tone was sullen.

‘Come, come, old boy. Don’t be shy. We’re all friends here. If you’re in any way offended by anything I’ve done here today, spit it out. Milord Stragen will be happy to lend you his rapier, and then you and I can discuss things. I’m sure you’ll find my explanations quite pointed.’ Sarabian let his mantle slide to the floor. He smiled a chill smile and drew his rapier again. ‘Well?’ he said,

‘It would be treason for me to offer violence to your Majesty’s person,’ Teovin mumbled.

‘Good God, Teovin, why should that bother you? You’ve been involved in treason for the past several years anyway, so why concern yourself with a few picky little technicalities? Take up the sword, man. For once—just once—face me openly. I’ll give you a fencing lesson—one you’ll remember for the rest of your life, short though that may be.’

‘I will not raise my hand against my Emperor,’ Teovin declared.

‘What a shame. I’m really disappointed in you, old boy. You may go now.’

Vanion took the Director’s arm in his mailed fist and half dragged him from the throne-room.

The Emperor of Tamuli exultantly raised his rapier over his head, rose onto tiptoe, and spun about in a flamboyant little pirouette. Then he extended one leg forward and bowed extravagantly to Ehlana, sweeping his slender sword to the side. ‘And that, dear mother,’ he said to her, ‘is how you overthrow a government.’

‘No, Lady Sephrenia,’ the queen said flatly a half-hour later when they had gathered again in the royal apartment, ‘you do not have our permission to withdraw. You’re a member of the royal council of Elenia, and we have need of you.’

Sephrenia’s pale, grief-stricken face went stiff. ‘As your Majesty commands.’

‘Snap out of it, Sephrenia. This is an emergency. We don’t have time for personal concerns. Zalasta’s betrayed us all, not just you. Now we have to try to minimize the damage.’

‘You’re not being fair, mother,’ Danae accused.

‘I’m not trying to be. You’ll be queen one day, Danae. Now sit down, keep your mouth shut, and learn.’

Danae looked startled. Then her chin came up. She curtsied. ‘Yes, your Majesty,’ she said.

‘That’s better. I’ll make a queen of you yet. Sir Bevier.’

‘Yes, your Majesty?’ Bevier replied.

‘Tell your Cyrinics to man their catapults. Vanion, put the rest of the knights on the walls and tell them to start boiling the pitch. Zalasta’s on the loose out there. He’s completely lost control of himself, and we have no idea of what forces he has at his command. In his present state, he may try anything, so let’s be ready just in case.’

‘You sound like a field-marshal, Ehlana,’ Sarabian told her.

‘I am,’ she replied absently. ‘It’s one of my titles. Sparhawk, can Bhelliom counter any magic Zalasta might throw at us?’

‘Easily, my Queen. He probably won’t try anything, though You saw what happened to him when Bhelliom blew his cloud apart. It’s very painful to have one of your spells broken. Sephrenia knows him better than I do. She can tell you whether or not he’s desperate enough to risk that again.’

‘Well, Sephrenia?’ Ehlana asked.

‘I don’t really know, your Majesty,’ the small Styric woman replied after a moment’s thought. ‘This is a side of him I’ve never seen before. I honestly believe he’s gone mad. He might do almost anything.’

‘We’d better be ready for him, then. Mirtai, ask Kalten and Ulath to bring Kolata in here. Let’s find out just how far this conspiracy goes.’

Sparhawk drew Sephrenia to one side. ‘How did Zalasta find out about Danae?’ he asked. ‘It’s obvious that he knows who she really is. Did you tell him?’

‘No. She told me not to.’

‘That’s peculiar. I’ll talk with her later and find out why. Maybe she suspected something—or it might have been one of those hunches of hers.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Could he have been trying to kill you? It seemed that he was throwing that fireball at Danae, but you might have been his target.’

‘I could never believe that, Sparhawk.’

‘At this point, I’m almost ready to believe anything.’ he hesitated. ‘Xanetia knew about him, you realize. She told us earlier.’

‘Why didn’t you warn me?’ Her tone was shocked.

‘Because you wouldn’t have believed her. You’re not really inclined to trust her word, Sephrenia. You had to see Zalasta’s treachery for yourself. Oh, incidentally, she did save your life, you’ll remember. You might want to give that some thought.’

‘Don’t scold me, Sparhawk,’ she said with a wan little smile. ‘I’m having a difficult enough time as it is.’

‘I know, and I’m afraid nobody can make it any easier for you.

Kolata proved to be very cooperative. His weeks of confinement had broken his spirit, and Zalasta’s obvious willingness to kill him had canceled any loyalty he might have felt.

‘I really don’t know,’ he replied to Oscagne’s question. ‘Teovin might, though. He’s the one who brought Zalasta’s proposal to me originally.’

‘Then you haven’t been involved in this affair since you were first appointed to office?’

‘I don’t think “this affair”, as you call it, has been going on for that long. I can’t say for certain, but I got the impression that it all started about five or six years ago.’

‘You’ve been recruiting people for longer than that.’

‘That was just ordinary Tamul politics, Oscagne. I knew that the Prime Minister was an idiot as soon as I took office. You were my only significant opponent. I was recruiting people to counter your moves—and your absurd idea that the subject kingdoms of Daresia are foreign nations rather than integral parts of metropolitan Tamuli.’

‘We can discuss jurisdictional disputes some other time, Kolata. It was Teovin, then? He’s been your contact with the enemy?’

Kolata nodded. ‘Teovin and a disreputable drunkard named Krager. Krager’s an Eosian, and he’s had dealings with Prince Sparhawk before, I understand. Everyone in our loose confederation knows him, so he makes a perfect messenger—when he’s sober.’

‘That’s Krager, all right,’ Kalten noted.

‘What exactly did Zalasta offer you, Kollata?’ Oscagne asked the prisoner.

‘Power, wealth—the usual. You’re a minister of the government, Oscagne. You know the game and the stakes we play for. We all thought that the Emperor was no more than a figurehead, well meaning, a little vague, and not really very well informed—sorry, your Majesty, but that’s what we all believed.’

‘Thank you,’ Sarabian replied. ‘That’s what you were supposed to think. What really baffles me, though, is the fact that you all overlooked the fact that the Atans are loyal to me personally. Didn’t any of you take that into consideration?’

‘We underestimated your Majesty. We didn’t think you grasped the full implications of that. If we’d thought for a moment that you really understood how much power you had, we’d have killed you.’

‘I rather thought you might have. That’s why I played the simpleton.’

‘Did Zalasta tell you who was really behind all of this?’ Oscagne asked.

‘He pretended that he was speaking for Cyrgon,’ Kolata replied. ‘We didn’t take that too seriously, though. Styrics are peculiar people. They always try to make us believe that they represent a higher power of some kind. They never seem to want to accept full responsibility. So far as I know, however, it was Zalasta’s scheme.’

‘I think that maybe it’s time for us to hear from Zalasta himself,’ Vanion said.

‘Have you got him hidden up your sleeve, Vanion?’ Ehlana asked.

‘In a manner of speaking, your Majesty. Kalten, why don’t you take the Minister of the Interior back to his room? He looks a little tired.’

‘I still have questions, Lord Vanion,’ Oscagne protested.

‘We’ll get you your answers, old boy,’ Itagne assured him, ‘quicker and in much greater detail. You plod, Oscagne. It’s one of your failings. We’re just going to hurry things along.’

Vanion waited until Kalten and Ulath had removed Kolata from the room. ‘We’ve told you all in a general sort of way that Xanetia knows what other people are thinking. This isn’t just some vague notion about feelings or moods. If she chooses, she can repeat your thoughts word for word. Most of you probably have some doubts about that, so in the interests of saving time, why don’t we have her demonstrate? Would you tell us what Queen Ehlana’s thinking right now, Anarae?’

‘An it please thee, Lord Vanion,’ the Delphaeic woman replied. ‘Her majesty is enjoying herself very much at the moment. She is, however, discontent with thee for thine interruption. She is pleased with the progress of Emperor Sarabian, thinking it might now be reasonable to expect some small measure of competence from him. She hath, as well, certain designs of an intimate nature upon her husband, for political activity doth ever stir that side of her personality.’

Ehlana’s face turned bright red. ‘You stop that at once.’ she exclaimed.

‘I’m sorry, your majesty,’ Vanion apologized. ‘I didn’t anticipate that last bit. Did Xanetia more or less read your thoughts correctly?”

‘You know I won’t answer that, Vanion.’ The queen’s face was still flaming.

‘Will you at least concede that she has access to the thoughts of others?’

‘I’d heard about that,’ Sarabian mused. ‘I thought it was just another of the wild stories we hear about the Delphae.’

‘Bhelliom confirmed it, Emperor Sarabian,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘Xanetia can read others the way you’d read an open book. I’d imagine that she’s read Zalasta from cover to cover. She should be able to tell us everything we want to know.’ He looked at Xanetia. ‘Could you give us a sort of summary of Zalasta’s life, Anarae?’ he asked her. ‘Sephrenia in particular is deeply saddened by what he revealed in the throne-room. Maybe if she knows the reason for his actions, she’ll find them easier to understand.’

‘I can speak for myself, Sparhawk,’ Sephrenia told him tartly.’

‘I’m sure you can, little mother. I was just serving as an intermediary. You and Xanetia don’t get on too well.’

‘What’s this?’ Sarabian asked quickly.

‘An ancient enmity, your Majesty,’ Xanetia explained. ‘So ancient, in truth, that none living knoweth its source.’

‘I know,’ Sephrenia grated at her, ‘and it’s not as ancient as all that.’

‘Perhaps, but hearken unto the mind of Zalasta, and judge for thyself, Sephrenia of Ylara.’

Kalten and Ulath returned and quietly took their seats again.

‘Zalasta was born some few centuries ago in the Styric village of Ylara, which lay in the forest near Genae in northern Astel,’ Xanetia began. ‘In his seventh year was there born also in that self-same village she whom we now know as Sephrenia, one of the Thousand of Styricum, tutor to the Pandion Knights in the secrets of Styricum, Councillor of Elenia and beloved of Preceptor Vanion.’

‘That’s no longer true,’ Sephrenia said shortly.

‘I spoke of Lord Vanion’s feelings for thee, Sephrenia, not of thine for him. Zalasta’s family was on friendly terms with Sephrenia’s, and they did conclude between them that when Sephrenia and Zalasta should reach a suitable age, they would be wed.’

‘I’d forgotten about that,’ Sephrenia said suddenly. ‘I’ve never really thought of him that way.’

‘It hath been the central fact of his life, however, I do assure thee. When thou wert in thy ninth year didst thy mother conceive, and the child she bore was in truth Aphrael, Child Goddess of Styricum, and in the instant of her birth did Zalasta’s hopes and dreams turn to dust and ashes, for thy life was forever given over entirely to thine infant sister. Zalasta’s wrath knew no bounds, and he did hide himself in the forest, lest his countenance betray his innermost thoughts. Much he traveled, seeking out the most powerful magicians of Styricum, even, at peril of his soul, those outcast and accursed. His search had but one aim, to discover some means whereby a man might overthrow and destroy a God, for his despair drove him to an unreasoning hatred of the Child Goddess, and, more than anything, he sought her death.’

Princess Danae gasped aloud.

‘You’re supposed to be listening,’ her mother said.

‘I was startled, mother.’

‘You must never show that. Always keep your emotions under control.’

‘Yes, mother.’

‘It was in the sixth year of the life of the Child Goddess—in that particular incarnation—that Zalasta, in a frenzy of frustration, since all with whom he had spoken had told him that his goal was beyond human capability, turned to more direct means. Hoping perhaps that the Child Goddess might be caught unawares or that by reason of her tender years might she not yet have come into her full powers, conceived he a reckless plan, an attempt to o’erwhelm her with sheer numbers. Though the Goddess herself is immortal, thought he that mayhap might her incarnation be slain, forcing her to seek another vessel for her awareness.’

‘Would that work?’ Kalten asked Sparhawk.

‘How should I know?’ Sparhawk threw a guarded glance at his daughter.

Danae very casually shook her head.

‘In furtherance of his hasty and ill-conceived scheme did Zalasta assume the guise of an Elene clergyman and did visit the rude villages of the serfs of that region and did denounce the Styrics of his own village, describing them as idolaters and demon-worshipers, whose foul rites demanded the blood of ehlene virgins. So hotly did he inflame them with his false reports that on a certain day did the ignorant serfs gather, and swept they down upon that innocent Styric village, slaughtering all and putting their houses to the torch.’

‘But that was Sephrenia’s home, too!’ Ehlana exclaimed. ‘How could he be sure that she wouldn’t be killed as well?’

‘He was beyond caring, Queen of Elenia. Indeed, it was his thought that better far should she die than that Aphrael should have her. Better a grief that would pass than endless unsatisfied longing. But as it came to pass, the Child Goddess had besought her sister that very morning that they two should go into the forest to gather wild flowers, and thus it was that they were not there when the Elene serfs fell upon the village.’

‘Zalasta told me the story once,’ Sparhawk interrupted. ‘He said that he was with Sephrenia and Aphrael in the forest.’

‘Nay, Anakha. He was at the village, directing the search for the two.’

‘Why would he lie about something like that?’

‘Mayhap he doth lie even to himself. His acts that day were monstrous, and it is in our nature to obscure such behavior from ourselves.”

‘Maybe that’s it,’ he conceded.

‘Ye may well perceive the depths of Zalasta’s hatred and despair when thou knowest that his own kindred perished there,’ Xanetia continued. ‘Yea, his father and his mother and sisters three fell beneath the cudgels and scythes of the ravening beasts he had unleashed even as he looked on.’

‘I don’t believe you!’ Sephrenia burst out.

‘Bhelliom can confirm my truth, Sephrenia,’ Xanetia replied calmly, ‘and if I have broken faith by lying, Sir Kalten stands ready to spill out my life. Put me to the test, sister.’

‘He told us that the serfs had been inflamed against our village by your people—by the Delphae.’

‘He lied unto thee, Sephrenia. Great was his chagrin when he discovered that Aphrael—and thou—didst still live. Seizing upon the first thought which came to him, did he shift his own guilt to my kindred, knowing that thou wouldst surely believe the worst of those whom thou wert already predisposed to hate. He hath deceived thee since childhood, Sephrenia of Ylara, and would deceive thee still, had not Anakha forced him to reveal his true self.’

‘That’s why you hate the Delphae, isn’t it, Sephrenia?’ Ehlana asked shrewdly. ‘You thought that they were the ones responsible for the murder of your parents.”

‘And Zalasta, ever striving to conceal his own guilt, lost no opportunity to remind her of that lie,’ Xanetia said. ‘In truth hath he poisoned her thoughts against the Delphae for centuries, filling her heart with hatred, lest she question him concerning his own involvement.’

Sephrenia’s face twisted, and she bowed her head, buried her face in her hands, and began to weep.

Xanetia sighed. ‘The truth hath made her grief all new. She weeps for her parents, dead these many centuries.’ She looked at Alcan. ‘Take her somewhat apart, gentle child, and comfort her. She hath much need of the ministrations of women presently. The storm of her weeping will soon pass, and then woe unto Zalasta should he ever fall into her hands.’

‘Or mine,’ Vanion added bleakly.

‘Boiling oil is good, my Lord,’ Kalten suggested. ‘Cook him while he’s still alive.’

‘Hooks are good, too,’ Ulath added. ‘Long ones with nice sharp barbs on them.’

‘Must you?’ Sarabian said with a shudder.

‘Zalasta hurt Sephrenia, your Majesty,’ Kalten told him. ‘There are twenty-five thousand Pandion Knights—and quite a few knights from the other orders as well—who are going to take that very personally. Zalasta can pull mountain ranges over his head to try to hide, but we’ll still find him. The Church Knights aren’t really very civilized, and when somebody hurts those we love, it brings out the worst in us.’

‘Well said,’ Sparhawk murmured.

‘We’re getting afield here, gentlemen,’ Ehlana reminded them. ‘We’ll decide Zalasta’s punishment after we catch him. When did he become involved in this current business, Xanetia? Is he really allied with Cyrgon?’

‘The alliance was of Zalasta’s devising, Queen of Elenia. His failure in the forest of Astel and his own guilt arising therefrom did plunge him into deepest despair and blackest melancholy. He roamed the world, losing himself at times in vilest debauchery and at times dwelling alone and hermit-like in the wildernesses of this world for decades on end. He sought out every Styric magician of reputation—good or ill—and gleaned from them all of the secrets. In truth, of all the Styrics who have ever lived in the forty eons of the history of their race, Zalasta is pre-eminent. But knowledge alone consoled him not. Aphrael lived still, and Sephrenia was ever bound to her.

‘But the knowledge of Zalasta, which is beyond measure, did suggest to him a means by which he might break those bonds. At the dawn of time in far Thalesia had the Troll-dwarf Ghwerig wrought Bhelliom, and Zalasta knew that with Bhelliom’s aid might he gain his heart’s desire.

‘Then came the birth of Anakha, signaling that Bhelliom itself would soon emerge from the place where it had lain hidden, and by signs and oracles and diverse other means did outcast Styrics perceive his birth, and counseled they Zalasta, instructing him to journey straightway to Eosia to observe Anakha throughout his childhood and youth that he might know him better, for it was the hope of Zalasta that in the day that Anakha did bring the flower-gem to light, might he wrest it from him and thereby gain the means to prevail over the Child Goddess. But on the day when the ring did come into Anakha’s possession by means of inheritance, did Zalasta perceive his error. Well had the Troll-Gods wrought when they guided Ghwerig in the carving of the Sapphire Rose. Man is capricious and inconstant, and covetousness doth ever lurk in his heart, and Trolls are but reflections of the worst in men. Thus did the Troll-Gods make the rings the key to Bhelliom, lest any or all have power to command it. Thus did Aphrael disarm Ghwerig by stealing the rings, and thus did she scatter the power of the jewel that no mortal might command it. Thinking that their own power was absolute, the Troll-Gods had no interest in the flower-gem, and distrustful each of the others, they laid enchantments upon the stone to ensure that no one of them might take up Bhelliom unless all did. Only in concert might they command it, and they contrived it so that they, as Gods acting in concert, could command Bhelliom without the rings.’ She paused, reflecting, Sparhawk thought, on the peculiarities of the Troll-Gods.

‘Now truly,’ she went on, ‘the Troll-Gods are elementals, each so limited that his mind may in no wise be considered whole and complete. Only when united, which doth rarely happen, can they, by combination, achieve that wholeness we see in the merest human child. For the other Gods, however, it is not so. The mind of Azash was whole and complete, despite his maiming, and in his wholeness had he the power to command Bhelliom without the rings. This then was the peril which did confront thee, Anakha, when thou didst journey to Zemoch to meet with him. Had Azash wrested Bhelliom from thee, he could have compelled it to join its will and its power with his.’

‘That might have been a bit inconvenient,’ Kalten noted.

‘I don’t quite understand,’ Talen said. ‘The last few times he used it, Sparhawk’s been able to get Bhelliom to do what he wants it to do without using the rings. Does that mean that Sparhawk’s a God?’

‘Nay, young sir,’ Xanetia smiled. ‘Anakha is of Bhelliom’s devising and is therefore in some measure a part of Bhelliom, even as are the rings. For him, the rings are not needful. Zalasta did perceive this. When Anakha slew Ghwerig and took up the Bhelliom, did Zalasta intensify his surveillance, ever using the rings as beacons to guide him. Thus did he observe Anakha’s progress, and thus did he watch Anakha’s mate as well.’

‘All right, Sparhawk,’ Ehlana said in a dangerous tone. ‘How did you get my ring? And what’s this?’ She extended her hand to show him the ruby adorning her finger. ‘Is it some cheap piece of glass?’

He sighed. ‘Aphrael stole your ring for me,’ he replied. ‘She’s the one who provided the substitute. I doubt that she’d have used glass.’

She pulled the ring off her finger and hurled it across the room. ‘Give it back! Give me back my ring, you thief.’

‘I didn’t steal it, Ehlana,’ he protested. ‘Aphrael did.’

‘You took it when she gave it to you, didn’t you? That makes you an accessory. Give me back my ring.’

‘Yes, dear,’ he replied meekly. ‘I meant to do that, but it slipped my mind.’ He took out the box. ‘Open,’ he told it. He did not touch his ring to the lid. he wanted to find out if the box would open at his command alone.

It did. He took out his wife’s ring and held it out to her.

‘Put it back where it belongs,’ she commanded.

‘All right. here, hold this.’ He gave her the box, took her hand, and slipped the ring onto her finger. Then he reached for the box again.

‘Not just yet,’ she said, holding it out of his reach. She looked at the Sapphire Rose. ‘Does it know who I am?’

‘I think so. Why don’t you ask it? Call it “Blue Rose”. That’s what Ghwerig called it, so it’s familiar with the name.’

‘Blue Rose,’ she said, ‘do you know me?’

There was a momentary silence as Bhelliom pulsed, its azure glow dimming and then brightening.

‘Anakha,’ Talen said in a slightly wooden voice, ‘is it thy desire that I respond to the questions of thy mate?’

‘It was well that thou didst, Blue Rose,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘She and I are so intertwined that her thoughts are mine and mine hers. Whether we will or no, we are three. Ye two should know one another.’

‘This was not my design, Anakha.’ Talen’s voice had an accusing note in it.

‘The world is ever-changing, Blue Rose,’ Ehlana said, ‘and there is no design so perfect that it cannot be improved.’ Her speech, like Sparhawk’s, was profoundly formal. ‘Some there are who have feared that I might imperil my life should I touch thee. Is there in truth such peril?’

The wooden expression slid off Talen’s face to be replaced with a look of bleak determination. ‘There is, mate of Anakha.’ The note in Talen’s voice was as hard and cold as steel. ‘Once did I relent and once only, when, after ages uncounted of lying imprisoned in the earth, did I permit Ghwerig to lift me from the place where I had lain. This shape, which is so pleasing unto thee, was the result. With cruel implements of diamond and accursed red iron did Ghwerig carve and contort me, living, into this grotesque form. I must submit to the touch of a God; I willingly submit to the touch of Anakha in the sure and certain hope that he will liberate me from this shape which hath become my prison. It is death for any other.’

‘Couldn’t you... ?’ She left it hanging.

‘No.’ There was an icy finality in it. ‘I have no reason to trust the creatures of this world. The death that lieth in my touch shall remain, and there also will remain the lure which doth incline all who see me to touch me. They who see me will yearn to touch me, and will they eagerly reach forth their hands—and die. The dead have no desire to enslave me, the living are not to be trusted.’

She sighed. ‘Thou art hard, Blue Rose,’ she said.

‘I have reason, mate of Anakha.’

‘Someday, mayhap, we will learn trust.’

‘It is not needful. The achievement of our goal doth not hinge upon it.’

She sighed again and handed the box back to her husband. ‘Please go on, Xanetia. That shadow that was pestering Sparhawk and me was Zalasta, then? At first we thought it was Azash—and then, later on, the Troll-Gods.’

‘The shadow was Zalasta’s mind, Queen of Elenia,’ Xanetia replied. ‘A Styric spell known to very few doth make it possible for him thus to observe and listen unseen.’

‘I’d hardly call it unseen. I saw the edges of him every single time. It’s a very clumsy spell.’

‘That was Bhelliom’s doing. It sought to warn Anakha of Zalasta’s presence by making him partially visible. Since one of the rings was on thy hand, the shadow of Zalasta’s mind was also visible to thee.’ She paused.

‘Zalasta was afeared,’ she went on. ‘It was the design of the minions of Azash to lure Anakha—with Bhelliom in his grip—to go even unto Zemoch, where Azash might take the jewel from him. Should that have come to pass, Zalasta’s one hope of defeating Aphrael and possessing Sephrenia would have been forever dashed. In truth, Anakha, were all the impediments heaped in thy path to Zemoch of Zalasta’s devising.’

‘I sort of wondered about that,’ Sparhawk mused. ‘Martel was being inconsistent, and that wasn’t at all like him. My brother was usually as single-minded as an avalanche. We thought it was the Troll-Gods, though. They had plenty of reason not to want Bhelliom to fall into the hands of Azash.’

‘Zalasta wished thee to believe so, Anakha. It was yet another means whereby he could conceal his own duplicity from Sephrenia, and her good opinion of him was most important. In short, thou didst win thy way through to Zemoch and didst destroy Azash there—along with diverse others.’

‘We did that, all right,’ Ulath murmured. ‘Whole lots of diverses.’

‘Then was Zalasta sore troubled,’ Xanetia continued, ‘for Anakha had come to full realization of his power to control Bhelliom, and with that realization had he become as dangerous as any God. Zalasta could no more confront him than he could confront Aphrael. And so it was that he went apart from all other men to consider his best course of action, and to consult with certain outcasts of his acquaintance. The destruction of Azash had confirmed their surmise. Bhelliom could, in fact, confront and destroy the Gods. The means of the death of Aphrael was at hand, could Zalasta but obtain it. That means, however, was in the hands of the most dangerous man on life. Clearly, if Zalasta wished to achieve his goal, he must needs ally himself with a God.’

‘Cyrgon,’ Kalten guessed.

‘Even so, my protector. The Elder Gods of Styricum, as ye have discovered, were powerless by reason of their lack of worshipers. The Troll-Gods were confined, and the Elene God was inaccessible, as was Edaemus of the Delphae. The Tamul Gods were too frivolous, and the God of the Atans too inhospitable to save all his own children. That left only Cyrgon, and Zalasta and his cohorts did immediately perceive a means by which he might strike a bargain with the God of the Cyrgai. With Bhelliom might Cyrgon lift the Styric curse which confined his children and unleash them upon the world. In return, Zalasta believed, might Cyrgon be persuaded to permit him to use Bhelliom to destroy Aphrael, or, at the very least, to raise it against Aphrael with his own divine hand.’

‘It would have been a reasonable basis for opening negotiations,’ Oscagne conceded. ‘I’d take that kind of bargain to the table and expect a hearing at least.’

‘Perhaps,’ Itagne said dubiously, ‘but you’d have to live long enough to get to the table first. I don’t imagine that the appearance of a Styric in Cyrga would have moved the population there to enthusiastic demonstrations of welcome.’

‘It was in truth a perilous undertaking, Itagne of Matherion. By diverse means did Zalasta gain entrance into the Temple of Cyrgon in the heart of the hidden city, and there did he confront the blazing spirit of Cyrgon himself, and there did he stay the God’s vengeful hand with his offer of the liberation of the Cyrgai. The enemies at once became allies by reason of their mutual desires, and concluded they that Anakha must be lured to Daresia, for in no wise would they risk confrontation with the God of the Elenes, whose power, derived from his countless worshipers, is enormous. Conceived they then their involuted plan to disrupt all of Tamuli by insurrection and by apparition so that the imperial government must seek aid, and Zalasta’s position of trust would easily enable him to direct the attention of the government to Anakha and to suggest accommodation with the Church of Chyrellos. The apparitions to be raised were no great chore for Zalasta of Styricum and his outcast comrades, nor was the deceit whereby Cyrgon persuaded the Trolls that their Gods had commanded them to march across the polar ice to the north coast of Tamuli an impossible task for the God of the Cyrgai. More central to their plans, however, were the insurrections which have so sorely marred the peace of Tamuli in recent years. Insurrection, to be successful, must be tightly controlled. Spontaneous uprisings seldom succeed. History had persuaded Zalasta that central to the success of their plan would be the character and personality of him who would unite the diverse populations of the kingdoms of the Tamul Empire and fire them with his force and zeal. Zalasta did not have far to seek in order to find such an one. Straightway upon his departure from Cyrga, did he journey to Arjuna, and there presented he his plan to one known as Scarpa.’

‘Hold it,’ Stragen objected. ‘Zalasta’s plan involved high treason at the very least. It probably involved crimes they haven’t even named as yet—”consorting with ye powers of Darknesse” and the like. How did he know he could trust Scarpa?’

‘He had every reason, Stragen of Emsat,’ she replied. ‘Zalasta knew that he could trust Scarpa as he could trust none other on life. Scarpa, you see, is Zalasta’s own son.’