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Domes of Fire

David Eddings

The Tamuli book 1

Danger stalked Queen Ehlana's realm. When an ambasador from the

far-off Tamul Empire begged for help, Sparhawk, Ehlana's champion and

Prince Consort, was the Emperor's last hope. For surely the knight who

had killed the evil God Azash could prevail against the terror in

Tamul. But waiting for him was a glittering court seething with

corruption, treachery--and the greatest danger Sparhawk would ever

face!

Prologue

Excerpted from Chapter Two of The Cyrga

Affair: An Examination of the Recent Crisis.

Compiled by the Contemporary History Department

of the University of Matherion.

It was quite obvious to the Imperial Council at this point

that the empire was facing a threat of the gravest nature

a threat which his Imperial Majesty's government

was ill-prepared to confront. The empire had long

relied upon the armies of Atan to defend her interests

during the periodic outbreaks of incidental civil disorder

which are normal and to be expected in a disparate population

 ruled by a strong central authority. The situation

facing his Majesty's government this time, however,

did not appear to arise from spontaneous demonstrations

 by a few malcontented hotheads spilling out into

the streets from various university campuses during

the traditional recess which follows final examinations.

Those particular demonstrations can be taken in stride,

and order is usually restored with a minimum of bloodshed.

The government soon realized that this time, however,

 things were different. The demonstrators were not

high-spirited schoolboys, for one thing, and domestic

tranquillity did not return when 'classes at the universities

 resumed. The authorities might still have maintained

  order had the various disruptions been the result

of ordinary revolutionary fervour. The mere presence of

Atan warriors can dampen the spirits of even the most

enthusiastic under normal circumstances. This time, the

customary acts of vandalism accompanying the demonstrations

 were quite obviously of paranormal origin.

Inevitably, the imperial government cast a questioning

eye at the Styrics in Sarsos. An investigation by Styric

members of the Imperial Council whose loyalty to the

throne could not be questioned, however, quite clearly

indicated that Styricum had had no part in the disturbances.

 The paranormal incidents were obviously coming

from some as yet to be determined source and were so

widespread that they could not have emanated from

the activities of a few Styric renegades. The Styrics themselves

 were unable to identify the source of this activity,

and even the legendary Zalasta, pre-eminent magician

in" all of Styricum though he might be, ruefully confessed

to total bafflement.

It was Zalasta, however, who suggested the course

ultimately taken by his Majesty's government. He

advised that the empire might seek assistance from

the Eosian  continent, and he specifically directed the

government's attention to a man named Sparhawk.

All imperial representatives on the Eosian continent

were immediately commanded to drop everything else

and to concentrate their full attention upon this man.

It was imperative that his Majesty's government have

information about this Sparhawk person. As the reports

from Eosia began to filter in, the Imperial Council began

to develop a composite picture of Sparhawk, his appearance,

 his personality and his history.

Sir Sparhawk, they discovered, was a member of one

of the quasi-religious orders of the Elene Church. His

particular order is referred to as 'The Pandion Knights'.

He is a tall, ' lean man of early middle years with a

battered face, a keen intelligence and an abrupt, even

abrasive manner. The Knights of the Elene Church are

fearsome warriors, and Sir Sparhawk is in the forefront

of their ranks of champions. At the time in the history

of the Eosian continent when the four orders of Church

Knights were founded, the circumstances were so

desperate that the Elenes set aside their customary

prejudices and permitted the Militant Orders to receive

instruction in the arcane practices of Styricum, and it

was the proficiency of the Church Knights in those arts

which helped them to prevail during the First Zemoch

War some five centuries ago.

Sir Sparhawk held a position for which there is

no equivalent in our empire. He was the hereditary

'Champion' of the royal house of the Kingdom of

Elenia. Western Elenes have a chivalric culture replete

with many archaisms. The 'Challenge' (essentially an offer

to engage in single combat) is the customary response

of members of the nobility who feel that their honour

has been somehow sullied. It is amazing to note that

not even ruling monarchs are exempt from the necessity

of answering these challenges. In order to avoid the

inconvenience of responding to the impertinences of

assorted hotheads, the monarchs of Eosia customarily

designate some highly-skilled (and usually widelyfeared)

 warrior as a surrogate. Sir Sparhawk's nature

and reputation is such that even the most quarrelsome

nobles of the kingdom of Elenia find after careful consideration

 that they have not really been insulted. It is a

credit to Sir Sparhawk's skill and cool judgement that

he has seldom 'even been obliged to kill anyone during

these affairs, since, by ancient custom, a severely

incapacitated combatant may save his life by surrendering

 and withdrawing his challenge.

After his father's death, Sir Sparhawk presented himself

 to King Aldreas, the father of the present queen, to

take up his duties. King Aldreas, hoWever, was a weak

monarch, and he was dominated by his sister, Arissa,

and by Annias, the Primate of Cimmura, who was also

Princess Arissa's surreptitious lover and the father of

her bastard son, Lycheas. The Primate of Cimmura, who

was the de facto ruler of Elenia, had hopes of ascending

the throne of the Archprelacy of the Elene Church

in the Holy City of Chyrellos, and the presence of the

stern and moralistic Church Knight at the court inconvenienced

 him, and so it was that he persuaded King

Aldreas to send Sir Sparhawk into exile in the Kingdom

of Render.

In time, King Aldreas also became inconvenient, and

Primate Annias and the Princess poisoned him, thus

elevating Princess Ehlana, Aldreas' daughter, to the

throne. Though she was 'young, Queen Ehlana had

received some training from Sir Sparhawk as a child,

and she was a far stronger monarch than her father had

been. She soon became more than a mere inconvenience

to the Primate. He poisoned her as well, but Sir Sparhawk's

 fellow Pandions, aided by their tutor in the

arcane arts, a Styric woman named Sephrenia, cast an

enchantment which sealed the queen up in crystal and

sustained her life.

Thus it stood when Sir Sparhawk returned from exile.

Since the Militant Orders had no wish to see the Primate

of Cimmura on the Archprelate's throne, certain of the

champions of the other three orders were sent to assist

Sir Sparhawk in finding an antidote or a cure which

could restore Queen Ehlana to health. Since the queen

had denied Annias access to her treasury in the past,

the Church Knights reasoned that should she be

restored, she would once again deny Annias the funds

he needed to pursue his candidacy.

Annias allied himself with a renegade Pandion named

Martel, and this Martel person was, like all Pandions,

skilled in the use of Styric magic. He cast obstacles, both

physical and supernatural, in Sparhawk's path, but

Sir Sparhawk and ' his companions were ultimately

successful in discovering that Queen Ehlana could

only be restored by a magical object known as 'The

Bhelliom.'

Western Elenes are a peculiar people. They have a

level of sophistication in worldly matters which sometimes

 surpasses our own, but at the same time, they

have an almost childlike belief in the more lurid forms

of magic. This 'Bhelliom' we are told, is a very large

sapphire which was laboriously carved into the shape

of a rose at some time in the distant past. The Elenes

here insist that the artisan who carved it was a Troll. We

will not dwell on that absurdity.

At any rate, Sir Sparhawk and his ' friends overcame

 many obstacles and were ultimately able to obtain

the peculiar talisman, and (they claim) it was successful

 in restoring Queen Ehlana - although one strongly

suspects that their tutor, Sephrenia, accomplished

that task unaided, and that the apparent use of the

Bhelliom was little more than a subterfuge she used

to protect her ,from the virulent bigotry of western

Elenes.

When the Archprelate Cluvonus died, the Hierocracy

of the Elene Church journeyed to Chyrellos to participate

 in the 'election' of his successor. Election is a peculiar

  practice which involves the stating of preference.

That candidate who receives the approval of a majority

of his fellows is elevated to the office in question. This,

of course, is an unnatural procedure, but since the Elene

clergy is ostensibly celibate, there is no non-scandalous

way the Archprelacy can be made hereditary. The

Primate of Cimmura had bribed a goodly number of

high churchmen to state a preference for him during the

deliberations of the Hierocracy, but he still fell short of

the needed majority. It was at this point that his

underling, the aforementioned Martel, led an assault on

the Holy City, hoping thereby to stampede the Hierocracy

 into electing Primate Annias. Sir Sparhawk and a

limited number of Church Knights were able to keep

Martel away from the Basilica where the Hierocracy was

deliberating. Most of the city of Chyrellos, however,

was severely damaged or destroyed during the fighting.

As the situation reached crisis proportions, help

arrived for the beleaguered defenders in the form of

the armies of the western Elene kingdoms. (Elene

politics, one notes, are quite robust.) The connection

between the Primate of Cimmura and the renegade

Martel came to light as well as the fact that the pair

had a subterranean arrangement with Otha of

Zemoch. Outraged by the ' perfidy of the man, the

Hierocracy rejected his candidacy and elected instead

one Dolmant, the Patriarch of Demos. This Dolmant

appears to be competent, though it may be too early to

say for certain.

Queen Ehlana of the Kingdom of Elenia was scarcely

more than a child, but she appeared to be a strongwilled

 and spirited young woman. She had long had a

secret preference for Sir Sparhawk, though he was more

than twenty Years her senior, and upon her recovery

it had been announced that the two were betrothed.

Following the election of Dolmant to the Archprelacy,

they were wed. Peculiarly enough, the queen retained

her authority, although we must suspect that Sir Sparhawk

 exerts considerable influence upon her in state as

well as domestic matters.

The involvement of the Emperor of Zemoch in the

internal affairs of the Elene Church was, of course, a

Casus belli, and the armies of western Eosia, led by the

Church Knights, marched eastward across Lamorkand

to meet the Zemoch hordes poised on the border. The

long-dreaded Second Zemoch War had begun.

Sir Sparhawk and his companions, however, rode

north to avoid the turmoil of the battlefield, and they

then turned eastward, crossed the mountains of northern

 Zem'och and surreptitiously made their way to

Otha's capital at the city of Zemoch, evidently in pursuit

of Annias and Martel.

The best efforts of the empire's agents in the west

have failed to reveal precisely what took place at

Zemoch. It is quite certain that Annias, Martel and

Otha himself perished there, but they are of little note

in the pageant of history. What is far more relevant

is the incontrovertible fact that Azash, Elder God

of Styricum and the driving force behind Otha and

his Zemochs, also perished, and it is undeniably true

that Sir Sparhawk was responsible. We must concede

that the levels of magic unleashed at Zemoch were

beyond our comprehension and that Sir Sparhawk

has powers at his command such as no mortal has

ever possessed. As evidence of the levels of violence

unleashed in the confrontation, we need only point

to the fact that the city of Zemoch was utterly destroyed

during the discussions.

Clearly, Zalasta the Styric had been right. Sir

Sparhawk, the prince consort of Queen Ehlana, was

the one man in all the world capable of dealing with

the crisis in Tamuli. Unfortunately, Sir Sparhawk was

not a citizen of the Tamul Empire, and thus could not

be summoned to the imperial capital at Matherion

by the emperor. His Majesty's government was in

a quandary. The emperor had no authority over this

Sparhawk, 'and to have been obliged to appeal to a man

who was essentially a private citizen would have been

an unthinkable humiliation.

The situation in the empire was daily worsening, and

our need for the intervention of Sir Sparhawk was growing

 more and more urgent. Of equal urgency was the

absolute necessity of maintaining the empire's dignity.

It was ultimately the Foreign Office's most brilliant

diplomat, First Secretary Oscagne, who devised a solution

 to the dilemma. We will discuss his Excellency's

brilliant diplomatic ploy at greater length in the following

 chapter.

PART ONE

Eosia

CHAPTER 1

It was early spring, and the rain still had the lingering

chill of winter. A soft, silvery drizzle sifted down out of

the night sky and wreathed around the blocky watchtowers

 of Cimmura, hissing in the torches on each side

of the broad gate and making the stones of the road

leading up to the gate shiny and black. A lone rider

approached the city.,He was wrapped in a heavy traveller's

 cloak and rode a tall, shaggy roan horse with a long

nose and flat, vicious eyes. The traveler was a big man,

a bigness of large, heavy bone and ropy tendon rather

than of flesh. His hair was coarse and black, and at some

time his nose had been broken. He rode easily but with

,the peculiar alertness of the trained warrior.

The big' roan shuddered, shaking the rain

out of his shaggy coat as they approached the east gate

of the city and stopped in the ruddy circle of torchlight

just outside the wall.

An unshaven gate guard in a rust-splotched breastplate

 and helmet and with a patched green cloak hanging

 negligently from one shoulder came out of the

gate house to look inquiringly at the traveler. He was

swaying slightly on his feet.

"Just passing through, neighbour,' the big man said

in a quiet voice. He pushed back the hood of his cloak.

. 'Oh,' the guard said, 'it's you, Prince Sparhawk. I

didn't recognise you. Welcome home.'

Thank you,' Sparhawk replied. He could smell the

cheap wine on the man's breath.

'Would you like to have me send word to the palace

that you've arrived, your Highness?'

"No. Don't bother them. I can unsaddle my own

horse.' Sparhawk privately disliked ceremonies - particularly

 late at night. He leaned over and handed the

guard a small coin. 'Go back inside, neighbour. You'll

catch cold if you stand out here in the rain.' He nudged

his horse and rode on through the gate.

The district near the city wall was poor, with shabby,

run-down houses standing tightly packed beside each

other, their second storeys projecting out over the wet

littered streets. Sparhawk rode up a narrow, cobbled

street with the slow clatter of the big roan's steel-shod

hooves echoing back from the buildings. The night

breeze had come up, and the crude signs identifying

this or that tightly-shuttered shop on the street-level

floors swung creaking on rusty hooks.

A dog with nothing better to do came out of an alley to

bark at them with brainless self-importance. Sparhawk's

horse turned his head slightly to give the wet cur a

long, level stare that spoke eloquently of death. The

empty-headed dog's barking trailed off and he cringed

back, his rat-like tail between his legs. The horse bore

down on him purposefully. The dog whined, then

yelped, turned and fled. Sparhawk's horse' snorted

derisively.

'That make you feel better, Faran?' Sparhawk asked

the roan.

Faran flicked his ears.

"Shall we proceed then?'

A torch burned fitfully at an intersection, and a buxom

young whore in a cheap dress stood, wet and

bedraggled, in its ruddy, flaring light. Her dark hair was

plastered to her head, the rouge on her cheeks

was streaked and she had a resigned expression on

her face.

'What are you doing out here in the rain, Naween?'

Sparhawk asked her, reining in his horse.

'I've been waiting for you, Sparhawk.' Her tone was

arch, and her dark eyes wicked.

'Or for anyone else?'

'Of course. I am a professional, Sparhawk, but I still

owe you. Shouldn't we settle up one of these days?'

He ignored that. 'What are you doing working the

streets?'

"Shanda and I had a fight,' she shrugged. "I decided

to go into business for myself.'

'You're not vicious enough to be a street-girl,

Naween.' He dipped his fingers into the pouch at his

side, fished out several coins and gave them to her.

'Here,' he instructed. 'Get a room in an inn someplace

and stay off the streets for a few days. I'll talk with

Platime, and we'll see if we can make some arrangements

 for you . '

Her eyes narrowed. 'You don't have to do that,

Sparhawk. I can take care of myself.'

'Of )course you can. That's why you're standing out

here in the rain. Just do it Naween. It's too late and too

wet for arguments.'

'This is two I owe you, Sparhawk. Are you absolutely

sure . . . ?' She left it hanging.

"Quite sure, little sister. I'm married now, remember?'

'So?'

'Never mind. Get in out of the weather.' Sparhawk

rode on, )shaking his head. He liked Naween, but she

was hopelessly incapable of taking care of herself.

He passed through a quiet square where all the shops

and booths were shut down. There were few people

abroad tonight, and few business opportunities. He let

his mind drift back over the past month and a half. No

one in Lamorkand had been willing to talk with him.

Archprelate Dolmant was a wise man, learned in doctrine

 and Church politics, but he was woefully ignorant

of the way the common people thought. Sparhawk had

patiently tried to explain to him that sending a Church

Knight out to gather information was a waste of time,

but Dolmant had insisted, and Sparhawk's oath obliged

him to obey. And so it was that he had wasted six weeks

in the ugly cities of southern Lamorkand where no one

had been willing to talk with him about anything more

serious than the weather. To make matters even worse,

Dolmant had quite obviously blamed the knight for his

own blunder.

In a dark side-street where the water dripped monotonously

 onto the cobblestones from the eaves of the

houses, he felt Faran's muscles tense. 'Sorry,' he said

quietly. "I wasn't paying attention." Someone was

watching him, and he could clearly sense the animosity

which had alerted his horse. Faran was a war-horse,

and he could probably sense antagonism in his veins.

Sparhawk muttered a quick spell in the Styric tongue,

concealing the gestures which accompanied it beneath

his cloak. He released the spell slowly to avoid alerting

whoever was watching him.

The watcher was not an Elene. Sparhawk sensed that

immediately. He probed further. Then he frowned.

There were more than one, and they were not Styrics

either. He pulled his thought back, passively waiting for

some clue as to their identity.

The realization came as a chilling shock. The watchers

were not human. He shifted slightly in his saddle, sliding

 his hand toward his sword-hilt.

Then the sense of the watchers was gone, and Faran

shuddered with relief. He turned his ugly face to give

his master a suspicious look.

'Don't ask me, Faran,' Sparhawk told him. "I don't

know either.' But that was not entirely true. The touch

of the minds in the darkness had been vaguely familiar,

and that familiarity had raised questions in Sparhawk's

mind, questions he did not want to face.

He paused at the palace gate long enough to firmly

instruct the soldiers not to wake the whole house, and

then he dismounted in the courtyard.

A young man stepped out into the rain-swept yard

from the stable. 'Why didn't you send word that you

were coming, Sparhawk?' he asked very quietly.

'Because I don't particularly like parades and wild

celebrations in the middle of the night,' Sparhawk told

his squire, throwing back the hood of his cloak. 'What

are you doing up so late? I promised your mothers I'd

make sure you got your rest. You're going to get me in

trouble, Khalad.'

'Are you trying to be Funny?' Khalad's voice was

gruff, abrasive. He took Faran's reins. 'Come inside,

Sparhawk. You'll rust if you stand out here in the

rain.'

'You're as bad as your father was.'

"It's an old family trait.' Khalad led the prince consort

and his evil-tempered warhorse into the hay-smelling

stable where a pair of lanterns gave off a golden light.

Khalad was a husky young man with coarse black hair

and a short-trimmed black beard. He wore tight-fitting

black leather breeches, boots and a sleeveless leather

vest that left his arms and shoulders bare. A heavy

dagger hung from his belt, and steel cuffs encircled his

wrists. He looked and behaved so much like his father

that Sparhawk felt again a brief, brief pang of loss. "I

thought Talen would be coming back with you,' Sparhawk's

 squire said as he began unsaddling Faran.

'He's got a cold. His mother - and yours - decided

that he shouldn't go out in the weather, and I certainly

wasn't going to argue with them.'

'Wise decision,' Khalad said, absently slapping Faran

on the nose as the big roan tried to bite him. 'How are

they?'

'Your mothers? Fine. Aslade's still trying to fatten Elys

up, but she's not having too much luck. How did you

find out I was in town?'

'One of Platime's cut-throats saw you coming through

the gate. He sent word.'

"I suppose I should have known. You didn't wake my

wife, did you?'

'Not with Mirtai standing watch outside her door, I

didn't. Give me that wet cloak, my Lord. I'll hang it in

the kitchen to dry.'

Sparhawk grunted and removed his sodden cloak.

'The mail shirt too, Sparhawk,' Khalad added, 'before

it rusts away entirely.'

Sparhawk nodded, unbelted his sword and began to

struggle out of his chain-mail shirt. 'How's your training

going?' Khalad made an indelicate sound. "I haven't learned

anything I didn't already know. My father was a much

better instructor than the ones at the chapterhouse. This

idea of yours isn't going to work, Sparhawk. The other

novices are all aristocrats, and when my brothers and I

outstrip them' on the practice field, they resent it. We

make enemies every time we turn around.' He lifted the

saddle from Faran's back and put it on the rail of a

nearby stall. He briefly laid his hand on the big roan's

back, then bent, picked up a handful of straw and began

to rub him down.

'Wake some groom and have him' do that,' Sparhawk

told him. 'is anybody still awake in the kitchen?'

'The bakers are already up, I think.'

'Have one of them throw something together for me

to eat. It's been a long time since lunch.'

'All right. What took you so long in Chyrellos?'

"I took a little side trip into Lamorkand. The civil war

there's getting out of hand, and the Archprelate wanted

me to nose around a bit.'

'You should have got word to your wife. She was just

about to send Mirtai out to find you.' Khalad grinned at

him. "I think you're going to get yelled at again,

Sparhawk.'

There's nothing new about that. Is Kalten here in the

palace?'

Khalad nodded. 'The food's better here, and he isn't

expected to pray three times a day. Besides, I think he's

got his eye on one of the chambermaids.'

That wouldn't surprise me very much. Is Stragen

here too?'

'No. Something came up, and he had to go back to

Emsat.'

'Get Kalten up then. Have him join us in the kitchen.

I want to talk with him. I'll be along in a bit. I'm going

to the bathhouse first.'

'The water won't be warm. They let the fires go out

at night.'

'We're soldiers of God, Khalad. We're all supposed to

be unspeakably brave.'

'I'll try to remember that, my Lord.'

The water in the bathhouse was definitely on the

chilly side, so Sparhawk did not linger very long. He

wrapped himself in a soft white robe and went into

the dim corridors of the palace and to the brightly-lit

kitchens where Khalad waited with the sleepy-looking

Kalten.

'Hail, Noble Prince Consort,' Kalten said drily. Sir

Kalten obviously didn't care much for the idea of being

roused in the middle of the night.

'Hail, noble Boyhood Companion of the Noble Prince

Consort,' Sparhawk replied.

'Now there's a cumbersome title,' Kalten said sourly.

What's so important that it won't wait until morning?'

Sparhawk sat down at one of the work tables, and a

white-smocked baker brought him a plate of roast beef

and a steaming loaf still hot from the oven.

'Thanks, neighbour,' Sparhawk said to him.

'Where have you been, Sparhawk?' Kalten

demanded, sitting down across the table from his friend.

Kalten had a wine flagon in one hand and a tin cup in

the other.

'Sarathi sent me to Lamorkand,' Sparhawk replied,

tearing a chunk of bread from the loaf.

'Your wife's been making life miserable for everyone

in the palace, you know.'

"It's nice to know she cares.'

'Not for any of the rest of us it isn't. What did Dolmant

need from Lamorkand?'

'information. He didn't altogether believe some of the

reports he's been getting.'

'What's not to believe? The Lamorks are just engaging

in their national pastime - civil war.'

'There seems to be something a little different this

time. Do you remember Count Gerrich?'

'The one who had us besieged in Baron Alstrom's

castle? I never met him personally, but his name's sort

of familiar.'

'He seems to be coming out on top in the squabbles

in western Lamorkand, and most everybody up there

believes that he's got his eye on the throne.'

'So?' Kalten helped himself to part of Sparhawk's loaf

of bread. 'Every baron in Lamorkand has his eyes on

the throne. What's got Dolmant so concerned about it

this time?'

'Gerrich's been making alliances beyond the borders

of Lamorkand. Some of those border barons in Pelosia

are more or less independent of King Saros.'

'Everybody in Pelosia's independent of Saros. He isn't

much of a king. He spends too much time praying.'

'That's a strange position for a soldier of God,' Khalad

murmured.

'You've got to keep these things in perspective,

Khalad,' Kalten told him. 'Too much praying softens a

man's brains.'

'Anyway,' Sparhawk went on. 'if Gerrich succeeds in

dragging those Pelosian barons into his bid for King

Friedahl's throne, Friedahl's going to have to declare

war on Pelosia. The Church already has a war going on

in Render, and Dolmant's not very enthusiastic about a

second front.' He paused. "I ran across something else,

though,' he added. "I overheard a conversation I wasn't

supposed to. The name Drychtnath came up. Do you

know anything about him?'

Kalten shrugged. 'He was the national hero of the

Lamorks some three or four thousand years ago. They

say he was about twelve feet tall, ate an ox for breakfast

every morning and drank a hogshead of mead every

evening. The story has it that he could shatter rocks by

scowling at them and reach up and stop the sun with

one hand. The stories might be just a little bit exaggerated,

 though.'

'Very funny. The group I overheard were all telling

each other that he's returned.'

'That'd be a neat trick. I gather that his closest friend

killed him. Stabbed him in the back and then ran a spear

through his heart. You know how Lamorks are.'

'That's a strange name,' Khalad noted. 'What does it

mean?'

'Drychtnath?' Kalten scratched his head. "'Dreadnought",

 I think. Lamork mothers do that sort of thing

to their children.' He drained his cup and tipped his

flagon over it. A few drops came out. 'Are we going to

be much longer at this?' he asked. 'if we're going to sit

up talking all night, I'll get more wine. To be honest

with you though, Sparhawk, I'd really rather go back to

my nice warm bed.'

'And your nice warm chambermaid?' Khalad added.

"She gets lonesome,' Kalten shrugged. His face grew

serious. 'if the Lamorks are talking about Drychtnath

again, it means that they're starting to feel a little confined.

 Drychtnath wanted to rule the world, and any

time the Lamorks start invoking his name, it's a fair

indication that they're beginning to look beyond their

borders for elbow room.'

Sparhawk pushed back his plate. "It's too late at night

to start worrying about it now. Go back to bed, Kalten.

You too, Khalad. We can talk more about this tomorrow.

I really ought to go pay a courtesy call on my wife.' He

stood up.

'That's all?' Kalten said. 'A courtesy call?'

'There are many forms of courtesy, Kalten.'

The corridors in the palace were dimly illuminated by

widely-spaced candles. Sparhawk went quietly past the

throne-room to the royal apartments. As usual, Mirtai

dozed in a chair beside the door. Sparhawk stopped and

considered the Tamul giantess. When her face was in

repose, she was heart-stoppingly beautiful. Her skin

was golden in the candlelight, and her eyelashes were

so long that they touched her cheeks. Her sword lay in

her lap with her hand lightly enclosing its hilt.

'Don't try to sneak up on me, Sparhawk.' She said it

without opening her eyes.

'How did you know it was me?'

"I could smell you. All you Elenes seem to forget that

you have noses.'

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

'Yes. I noticed that too. You should have taken the

time to let the water heat up a little more.'

'Sometimes you amaze me, do you know that?'

'You're easily amazed, Sparhawk.' She opened her

eyes. 'Where have you been? Ehlana's been nearly

frantic.'

'How is she?'

'About the same. Aren't you ever going to let her

grow up? I'm getting very tired of being owned by a

child.' In Mirtai's own eyes, she was a slave, the property

 of the Queen Ehlana. This in no way hindered her

in ruling the royal family of Elenia with an iron fist,

arbitrarily deciding what was good for them and what

was not. She had brusquely dismissed all the queen's

attempts to emancipate her, pointing out that she was

an Atan Tamul, and that her race was temperamentally

unsuited for freedom. Sparhawk tended strongly to

agree with her, since he was fairly certain that if she

were left to follow her instincts, Mirtai could depopulate

several fair-sized towns in short order.

She stood up, rising to her feet with exquisite grace.

She was a good four inches taller than Sparhawk, and

he felt again that odd sense of shrinking as he looked

up at her. 'What took you so long?' she asked him.

"I had to go to Lamorkand.'

'Was that your idea? or somebody else's?'

"Dolmant sent me."

'Make sure Ehlana understands that right from the

start. If she thinks you went there on your own, the

fight will last for weeks, and all that wrangling gets on

my nerves.' She produced the key to the royal apartment

 and gave Sparhawk a blunt, direct look. 'Be very

attentive, Sparhawk. She's missed you a great deal, and

she needs some tangible evidence of your affection. And

don't forget to bolt the bedroom door. Your daughter

might be just a little young to be learning about certain

things.' She unlocked the door.

'Mirtai, do you really have to lock us all in every

night?'

'Yes, I do. I can't get to sleep until I know that none

of you is out wandering around the halls.'

Sparhawk sighed. 'Oh, by the way,' he added, 'Kring

was in Chyrellos. I imagine he'll be along in a few days

to propose marriage to you again.'

"It's about time,' she smiled. "It's been three months

since his last proposal. I was beginning to think he

didn't love me any more.'

'Are you ever going to accept him?'

'We'll see. Go wake up your wife, Sparhawk. I'll let you out in the

morning.' She gently pushed him on through the doorway and locked the door

behind him. Sparhawk's daughter, Princess Danae, was curled up in a large

chair by the fire. Danae was six years old now. Her hair was very dark,

and her skin as white as milk. Her dark eyes were large, and her mouth a

small pink bow. She was quite the little lady, her manner serious and very

grown-up. Her constant companion, nonetheless, was a battered and

disreputable-looking stuffed toy animal named Rollo. Rollo had descended

to Princess Danae from her mother. As usual, Princess Danae's little feet

had greenish grass-stains on them. 'You're late, Sparhawk,' she said

flatly to her father. 'Danae,' he said to her, 'you know you're not supposed

 to call me by name like that. If your mother hears you, she's going

to start asking questions.'

'She's asleep,' Danae shrugged.

'Are you really sure about that?'

She gave him a withering look. 'Of course I am.

I'm not going to make any mistakes. I've done this many, many times

before, you know. Where have you been?'

"I had to go to Lamorkand.'

'Didn't it occur to' you to send word to mother? She's been absolutely

unbearable for the last few weeks.'

"I know. Any number of people have already told me about it. I didn't

really think I'd be gone for so long. I'm glad you're awake. Maybe you can

help me with something. '

'I'll consider it - if you're nice to me.'

'Stop that. What do you know about Drychtnath?'

'He was a barbarian, but he was'an Elene, after all, so it

was probably only natural.'

'Your prejudices are showing.'

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

"There's a wild story running through Lamorkand that Drychtnath's returned.

They're all sitting around sharpening swords with exalted expressions on

their faces. What's the real significance of that?'

'He was their king several thousand years ago. It was shortly after you

Elenes discovered fire and came out of your caves.'   'Be nice.'   'Yes,

father. Anyway, Drychtnath hammered all the Lamorks into something that

sort of resembled unity and then set out to conquer the world. The Lamorks

were very impressed with him. He worshipped the old Lamork Gods, though,

and your Elene Church was a little uncomfortable with the notion of a pagan

sitting on the throne of the whole world, so she had him murdered.'

'The Church wouldn't do that,' he said flatly.

'Did you want to listen to the story? or did you want to

argue theology? After Drychtnath died, the Lamork priests disembowelled a

few chickens and fondled their entrails in order to read the future. That's

really a disgusting practice, Sparhawk. It's so messy.' She shuddered.

'Don't blame me. I didn't think it up.'

"The "auguries", as they called them, said that one day Drychtnath would

return to take up where he'd left off and that he'd lead the Lamorks to

world domination.'

"you mean they actually believe that?'

"They did once.'

"There are some rumours up there of backsliding reversion to the worship of

the old Pagan Gods.'

"It's the sort of thing you'd expect. When a Lamork starts thinking about

Drychtnath, he automatically hauls the old Gods out of the closet. It's so

foolish. Aren't there enough real Gods for them?'

'The old Lamork Gods aren't real, then?'

'Of course not. Where's your mind, Sparhawk?'

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

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

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

'Because you haven't kissed me yet.'

'Oh. Sorry. I had my mind on something else.'

'Of course not.'

'Then give me a kiss.' He did that. As always she

smelled of grass and trees. 'Wash your feet,' he told her.

'Oh bother,' she said.

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

'That's all I get?' she protested. 'One meager little kiss

and bathing instructions?' He laughed, picked her up and kissed her again

- several times. Then he put her down. 'Now scoot.' She pouted a little

and then sighed. She started back toward her bedroom, negligently carrying

Rollo by one hind leg. 'Don't keep mother up all night,' she said back

over her shoulder, 'and please try to be quiet. Why do you two always have

to make so much noise?' She looked impishly back over her shoulder. 'Why

are you blushing, father?' she asked innocently. Then she

laughed and went on into her own room and closed the

door.

He could never be sure if his daughter really understood

the implications of such remarks, although he was

certain that one level at least of her strangely layered

personality understood quite well. He made sure that

her door was latched and then went into the bedroom

he shared with his wife. He closed and bolted the door

behind him.

The fire had burned down to embers, but there was

still sufficient light for him to be able to see the young

woman who was the focus of his entire life. Her wealth

of pale blonde hair covered her pillow, and in sleep she

looked very young and vulnerable. He stood at the foot

of the bed looking at her. There were still traces of the

little girl he had trained and moulded in her face.

He sighed. That train of thought always made him

melancholy, because it brought home the fact that he

was really too old for her. Ehlana should have a young

husband - someone less battered, certainly someone

handsome. He idly wondered where he had made the

mistake that had so welded her affection to him that she

had not even considered any other possible choice. It

had probably been something minor - insignificant

even. Who could ever know what kind of effect even

the tiniest gesture might have on another?

"I know you're there, Sparhawk,' she said without

even opening her eyes. There was a slight edge to her

voice.

"I was admiring the view.' A light tone might head off

the incipient unpleasantness; though he didn't really

have much hope of that.

She opened her grey eyes. 'Come over here,' she

commanded, holding her arms out to him.

"I was ever your Majesty's most obedient servant.' He

grinned at her, going to the side of the bed.

'Oh, really?' she replied, wrapping her arms about his

neck and kissing him. He kissed her back, and that went

on for quite some time.

'Do you suppose we could save the scolding until

tomorrow morning, love?' he asked. 'i'm a little tired

tonight. Why don't we do the kissing and making up

now, and you can scold me later.'

'And lose my edge? Don't be)silly. I've been saving

up all sorts of things to say to you.'

"I can imagine. Dolmant sent me to Lamorkand to

look into something. It took me a little longer than I

expected.'

'That's not fair, Sparhawk,' she accused.

"I didn't follow that.'

'You weren't supposed to say that yet. You're supposed

 to wait until after I've demanded an explanation

before you give me one. Now you've gone and spoiled

it.'

'Can you ever forgive me?' He assumed an expression

of exaggerated contrition and kissed her on the neck.

His wife, he had discovered, loved these little games.

She laughed. 'I'll think about it.' She kissed him back.

The women of his family were a very demonstrative

little group, he decided. 'All right then,' she said.

'You've gone and spoiled it anyway, so you might as

well tell me what you were doing, and why you didn't

send word that you'd be delayed.'

'Politics, love. You know Dolmant. Lamorkand is right on the verge of

exploding. Sarathi wanted a professional assessment, but he didn't want

it generally known that I was going there at his instruction. He didn't

want any messages explaining things floating around.'

"I think it's time

for me to have a little talk with our revered Archprelate,' Ehlana said.

'He seems to have a little trouble remembering just who I am.' "I don't

recommend it, Ehlana.' 'i'm not going to start a fight with him, my love.

I'm just going to point out to him that he's ignoring the customary

courtesies. He's supposed to ask before he commandeers my husband. I'm

getting just a little weary of his imperial Archprelacy, so I'm going to

teach him some manners.' 'Can I watch? That might just be a very

interesting conversation. ' 'Sparhawk,' she said, giving him a

smouldering look, "if you want to avoid an official reprimand, you're

going

to have to start taking some significant steps to soften

my displeasure.'

"I was just getting to that,' he told her, enfolding'her

in a tighter embrace.

'What took you so long?' she breathed.

It was quite a bit later, and the displeasure of the Queen

of Elenia seemed to be definitely softening. 'What did

you ' find out in Lamorkand, Sparhawk?' she asked,

stretching languorously. Politics were never really very

far from the queen's mind.

'Western Lamorkand's in turmoil right now. There's

a count up there - Gerich, his name is. We ran across

him when we were searching for Bhelliom. He was

involved with Martel in one of those elaborate schemes

devised to keep the Militant Orders out of Chyrellos

during the election.'

'That speaks volumes about this count's character.'

'Perhaps, but Martel was very good at manipulating

people. He stirred up a small war between Gerrich and

Patriarch Ortzel's brother. Anyway, the campaign

appears to have broadened the count's horizons a bit.

He's begun to have some thoughts about the throne.'

'Poor Freddie,' Ehlana sighed. King Friedahl of

Lamorkand was her distant cousin. 'You couldn't give

'me that throne of his. Why should the Church be concerned,

 though? Freddie's got a large enough army to

deal with one ambitious count.'

"It's not quite so simple, love. Gerrich has been

concluding alliances with other nobles in western

Lamorkand. He's amassed an army nearly as big as the

king's, and he's been talking with the Pelosian barons

around Lake Venue.'

'Those bandits,' she said with a certain contempt.

'Anybody can buy them.'

'You're well-versed in the politics of the region,

Ehlana.'

"I almost have to be, Sparhawk. Pelosia fronts my

northeastern border. Does this current disturbance

threaten us in any way?'

'Not at the moment. Gerrich has his eyes turned eastward toward

 the capital.'

'Maybe I should offer Freddie an alliance,' she mused.

'if general war breaks out in the region, I could snip off

a nice piece of southwestern Pelosia.'

'Are we developing territorial ambitions, your

Majesty?'

'Not tonight, Sparhawk,' she replied. 'I've got other

things on my mind tonight.' And she reached out to

him again.

It was quite a bit later, almost dawn. Ehlana's regular

breathing told Sparhawk that she was asleep. He

slipped from the bed and went to the window. His years

of military training made it automatic for him to take a

look at the weather just before daybreak.

The rain had abated, but the wind had picked up. It

was early spring now, and there was little hope for

decent weather for weeks. He was glad that he had

reached home when he had, since the approaching day

looked unpromising. He stared out at the torches flaring

and tossing in the windy courtyard.

As they always did when the weather was bad,

Sparhawk's thoughts drifted back to the years he had

spent in the sun-blasted city of Jiroch on the arid north

coast of Render where the women, all veiled and robed

in black, went to the well in the steely first light of day

and where the woman named lillias had consumed his

nights with what she chose to call love. He did not,

however, remember that night in Cippria when Martel's

assassins had quite nearly spilled out his life. He had

settled that score with Martel in the Temple of Azash in

Zemoch, so there was no real purpose in remembering

the stockyard of' Cippria nor the sound of the monastery

beLs which had called to him out of the darkness.

That momentary sense of being watched, the sense

that had come over him in the narrow street while he

had been on his way to the palace still nagged' at him.

Something he did not understand was going on, and

he fervently wished that he could talk with Sephrenia

about it.

CHAPTER 2

'Your Majesty,' the Earl of Lenda protested, 'you can't address this kind

of language to the Archprelate.' Lenda was staring with chagrin at the

piece of paper the queen had just handed him. 'You've done everything but

accuse him of being a thief and a scoundrel.'

'Oh, did I leave those out?'

she asked. 'How careless of me.' They were meeting in the blue-carpeted

council chamber as they usually did at this time of the morning. 'Can't

you do something with her, Sparhawk?' Lenda pleaded. 'Oh, Lenda,' Ehlana

laughed, smiling at the frail old man, 'that's only a draft. I was a

little irritated when I scribbled it down.'

'A little?'

"I  know  we  can't send the letter in  its  present  form, my Lord. I just

wanted you to know how I really felt about the matter before we rephrase it

and  couch  it  in diplomatic language.  My  whole  point is that Dolmant's

beginning  to  overstep his bounds. He's  the Archprelate, not the emperor.

The  Church  has too much authority  over temporal affairs already, and, if

someone  doesn't bring Dolmant up short, every monarch in Eosia will become

little  more  than his vassal. I'm sorry  gentlemen. I'm a true daughter of

the Church, but I won't kneel to Dolmant and receive my crown back from him

in  some  contrived  little  ceremony that  has  no  purpose  other than my

humiliation.' ' Sparhawk was a bit surprised at his wife's political

maturity. The power structure on the Eosian Continent had always depended

on a rather delicate balance between the authority of the Church and the

power of the various kings. When that balance was disturbed, things went

awry. 'Her Majesty's point may be welltaken, Lenda,' he said thoughtfully.

'The Eosian monarchies haven't been very strong for the last generation or

so. Aldreas was -' He groped for a word. 'inept,' his wife coolly

characterised her own father. "I might not have gone quite that far,' he

murmured. 'Wargun's erratic, Saros is a religious hysteric, Obler's old,

and Friedahl reigns only at the sufferance of his barons. Dregos lets his

relatives make all his decisions, King Brtsant of Cammorta is a voluptuary

and I don't even know the name of the current King of Render.'  'Ogyrin,'

Kalten supplied, 'not that it really matters.'  'Anyway,' Sparhawk

continued, sinking lower in his chair and rubbing the side of his face

thoughtfully, 'during this same period of time, we've had a number of very

able churchmen in the Hierocracy. The incapacity of Cluvonus sort of

encouraged the patriarchs to strike out on their own. If you had a vacant

throne someplace, you could do a lot worse than put Emban on it - or Ortzel

- or Bergsten, and even Annias had a very high degree of political skill.

When kings grow weak, the Church grows strong - too strong sometimes.'

'Spit it out, Sparhawk,' Platime growled. 'Are you trying to say we should

declare war on the Church?'

'Not today, Platime. We might want to keep the idea

in reserve, though. Right now I think it's time to start sending some

signals to Chyrellos, and our queen may be just the one to send them.

After the way she stampeded the Hierocracy during Dolmant's election, I

think they'll listen very carefully to just about anything she says. I

don't know that I'd soften her letter all that much, Lenda. Let's see if

we can get their attention.' Lenda's eyes were very bright. 'This is the

way the game's supposed to be played, my friends,.' he said

enthusiastically. 'You do realise that it's altogether possible that

Dolmant didn't realise that he was stepping over the line,' Kalten noted.

'Maybe he sent Sparhawk to Lamorkand as the interim preceptor of the

Pandion Order and completely overlooked the fact that he's also the prince

consort. Sarathi's got a lot on his mind just now.'

'if he's that absent-minded, he's got no business occupying the

Archprelate's throne,'

Ehlana asserted. Her eyes narrowed, always a dangerous sign. 'Let's make

it very clear to him that he's hurt my feelings. He'll go out of his way

to smooth things over, and maybe I can take advantage of that to retrieve

that Duchy just north of Vardenaise. Lenda, is there any way we can keep

people from bequeathing their estates to the Church?' "It's a

long-standing custom, your Majesty.' "I know, but the land originally

comes from the crown. Shouldn't we have some say in who inherits it? You'd

think that if a nobleman dies without an heir, the estate Would revert

back to me, but every time there's a childless noble in Elenia, the

churchmen flock around him like vultures trying to talk him into giving

them the land.' "jerk some titles,' Platime suggested. 'Make it a law

that if a man doesn't have an heir, he doesn't keep his estate.'

'The aristocracy would go up in flames,' Lenda gasped.

'That's what the army's for,' Platime shrugged, 'to put out fires. I'll

tell you what, Ehlana, you pass the law, and I'll arrange a few very public

and very messy accidents for the ones who scream the loudest. Aristocrats

aren't very bright, but they'll get the point - eventually.'

'Do you think I could get away with

that?' Ehlana asked the Earl of Lenda.

'Surely your Majesty's not seriously considering it?'

'I have to do something, Lenda. The Church is eating up my kingdom acre by

acre, and once she takes possession of an estate, the land's removed from

the tax rolls forever.' She paused. 'This could just be a way to do what

Sparhawk suggested - get the Church's attention. Why don't we draw up a

draft of some outrageously repressive law and just "accidentally" let a

copy fall into the hands of some middle-level 'clergyman. It's probably

safe to say that it'll be in Dolmant's hands before the ink's dry.'

'That's really unscrupulous, my Queen,' Lenda told her.

'i'm so glad you approve, my Lord.' She looked

around. 'Have we got anything else this morning, gentlemen?'

"You've got some unauthorised bandits operating in the mountains near

Cardos, Ehlana,' Platime rumbled.

The gross, black-bearded man sat with his Feet upon the

table. There was a wine flagon and goblet at his elbow. His doublet was

wrinkled and food-spotted, and his shaggy harr hung down over his

forehead, almost covering his eyes. Platime was constitutionally incapable

of using formal titles, but the queen chose to overlook that.

'Unauthorised?' Kalten sounded amused.

'You know what I mean,' Platime growled.

'They don't have permission from the thieves' council to operate

in that region, and they're breaking all the rules. I'm not positive, but

I think they're some of the former henchmen of the Primate of Cimmura. You

blundered there, Ehlana. You should have waited until you had them in

custody before you declared them outlaws.'

'Oh well,' she shrugged. 'Nobody's perfect.'

Ehlana's relationship with 'Platime was peculiar. She

realised that he was unable to mouth the polite formulas of the nobility,

and so she accepted a bluntness from him that would have offended her had

it come from anyone else. For all his faults, Platime was turning into a

gifted, almost brilliant counsellor, and Ehlana valued his advice greatly.

'i'm not surprised to find out that Annias' old cronies have turned to

highway robbery in their hour of need. They were all bandits to begin with

anyway. There have always been outlaws in those mountains, though, so I

doubt that another band will make all that much difference.'

'Ehlana,' he sighed, 'you're the same as my very own baby sister, but

sometimes you're terribly ignorant. An authorised bandit knows the rules.

He knows which travellers can be robbed or killed and which ones have to be

left alone. Nobody gets too excited if some overstuffed merchant gets his

throat cut and his purse lifted, but if a government official or a

high-ranking nobleman turns up dead in those mountains, the authorities

have to take steps to at least make it appear that they're doing their

jobs. That sort of official attention is very bad for business. Perfectly

innocent criminals get rounded up and hanged. Highway robbery's not an

occupation for amateurs. And there's another problem as well. These bandits

are telling all the local peasantry that they're not really robbers, but

patriots rebelling against a cruel tyrant - that's you, little sister.

There's always enough discontent among the peasants to make some of them

sympathetic toward that sort of thing. You aristocrats haven't any business

getting involved in crime. You always try to mix politics in with it.'

'But my dear Platime,' she said winsomely, "I thought you knew.

Politics is a crime.'

The fat man roared with laughter. "I love this girl,' he told the others.

'Don't worry too much about it, Ehlana. I'll try to get some men inside

their band, and when Stragen gets back, we'll put our heads together and

work out some way to put those people out of business.'

"I knew I could count on you,' she said. She rose to her feet.

'if that's all we have, gentlemen, I have an appointment with my

dressmaker.' She looked around. 'Coming, Sparhawk?'

'In a moment,' he replied. "I want to have a word with Platime.'

She nodded and moved toward the door.

'What's on your mind, Sparhawk?' Platime asked.

"I saw Naween last night when I rode into town. She's working the streets.' 'Naween?

That's ridiculous! Half the time she even forgets to take the money.'

'That's what I told her. She and Shanda had a falling out, and she was

standing on a street corner near the east gate. I sent her to an inn to

get her out of the weather. Can we make some kind of arrangement for her?'

"I'll see what I can do,' Platime promised. Ehlana had not yet left the

room, and Sparhawk sometimes forgot how sharp her ears were. 'Who's this

Naween?' she asked from the doorway with a slight edge to her voice.

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

'Platime." SParhawk gasPed. "

'isn't she?'

"Well, I suppose so, but when you say it that way -' Sparhawk groped for

the right words.

'Oh. I didn't mean it that way, Ehlana. So far as I know, your husband's

completely faithful to you. Naween's a whore. That's her occupation, but it

doesn't have anything to do with her friendship - not that she didn't make

Sparhawk some offers '- but she makes those offers to everybody. She's a

very generous girl.'

'Please, Platime," Sparhawk groaned, 'don't be on my

side any more.'

'Naween's a good girl,' Platime continued to explain to

Ehlana. 'She works hard, she takes good care of her customers and she pays

her taxes.'

'Taxes?' Ehlana exclaimed. 'Are you telling me that my

government encourages that sort of thing? Legitimises it by taxing it?'

'Have you been living on the moon, Ehlana? Of course she pays taxes. We

all do. Lenda sees to that. Naween helped Sparhawk once while you were

sick. He was looking for that Krager fellow, and she helped him. Like I

said, she offered him other services as well, but he turned her down '

politely. She's always been a bit disappointed in him about that.'

'You and I are going to have a long talk about this, Sparhawk,' ehlana said

ominously.

'As your Majesty wishes,' he sighed as she swept coolly from

the room.

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

"It's her sheltered upbringing.'

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

'That's right.'

'Then you've only got yourself to blame. I'll have Naween stop by and

explain it all to her.'

'Are you out of your mind?'

Talen came in from Demos the next day, and he rode into the courtyard with

Sir Berit. Sparhawk and Khalad met them at the stable door. The prince

consort was making some effort to be inconspicuous until such time as the

queen's curiosity about Naween diminished. Talen's nose was red, and his

eyes looked puffy. "I thought you were going to stay at ,the farm until

you  got over that cold,' Sparhawk said to him.

"I couldn't stand all that mothering,' Talen said, slipping down from his

saddle. 'One mother is bad enough, but my brothers and I have two now. I

don't think I'll ever be able to look another bowl of chicken soup in the

face again. Hello, Khalad.'

'Talen,' Sparhawk's burly young squire grunted. He looked

critically at his half-brother. 'Your eyes look terrible.'

'You ought to see them from in here.'

Talen was about fifteen now, and he was going

through one of those 'stages. Sparhawk was fairly certain that the young

thief had grown three inches in the past month and a half. A goodly amount

of forearm and wrist stuck out of the sleeves of his doublet. 'Do you

think the cooks might have something to eat?' the boy asked. As a result

of his rapid growth, Talen ate almost constantly now. 'i've got some

papers for you to sign, Sparhawk,' Berit said. "It's nothing very urgent,

but I thought I'd ride in with Talen.' Berit wore a mail shirt, and he had

a broadsword belted at his waist. His weapon of choice, however, was still

the heavy war-axe slung to his saddle. 'Are you going back to the

chapterhouse?' Khalad asked him.

 'Unless Sparhawk has something he wants me

for here.'

 'I'll ride along with you then. Sir Clart wants to give us more

instruction with the lance this afternoon.'

"Why don't you just unhorse him a few times?' Berit suggested. 'Then he'll

leave you alone. 'You could do it, you know. You're already better than he

is.'

Khalad shrugged. 'it'd hurt his feelings.'

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

"It's a bit ostentatious to outperform your instructors,' Khalad

said. 'The other novices are already a little sulky about the way my

brothers and I have outstripped them. We've tried to explain, but they're

sensitive about the fact that we're peasants. You know how that goes.' He

looked inquiringly at Sparhawk. 'Are you going to need e for anything this

afternoon, my Lord?'

'No. Go ahead on out and dent Sir clart's armour a

bit. He's got an exaggerated notion of his own skill. Give him some

instruction in the virtue of humility.'

'i'm really hungry, Sparhawk,' Talen complained.

'All right. Let's go to the kitchen.' Sparhawk looked

critically at his young friend. 'Then I guess we'll have to send for the

tailor again,' he added. 'You're growing like a weed.'

"It's not my idea.'

Khalad started to saddle his horse, and Sparhawk and Talen went into the

palace in search of food. It was about an hour later when the two of them

entered the royal apartment to find Ehlana, Mirtai and Danae sitting by

the fire. Ehlana was leafing through some documents. Danae was playing

with rollo, and Mirtai was sharpening one of her daggers. 'Well,' Ehlana

said, looking up from the documents, "if it isn't my noble prince consort

and my wandering page.'

Talen bowed. Then he sniffed loudly. 'Use your

handkerchief,' Mirtai told him.

'Yes, ma'am.'

> [fold]  [

'How are your mothers?' hlana asked the young man. Everyone, perhaps

> [fold]  ]

unconsciously, used that phrasing when speaking to Talen and his

half-brothers. In a very real sense, though, the usage reflected reality.

Aslade and Elys mothered Kurik's five sons excessively and impartially.

'Meddlesome, my Queen,' Talen replied. "It's not

really a good idea to get sick in that house. In the last week I think

I've been dosed with every cold remedy known to man.' A peculiar, squeaky

noise came from somewhere in the general vicinity of the young man's

midsection.

'is that your stomach?' Mirtai asked him. 'Are you hungry again?'

'No. I just ate. I probably won't get hungry again for ' at least

fifteen minutes.' Talen put one hand to the front of his doublet. 'The

little beast was being so quiet I almost forgot it was there.' He went

over to Danae, who was tying the strings of a little bonnet under the chin

of her stuffed toy. 'i've brought a present for you, Princess,' he said.

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

'But no kissing,' he added. 'Just a "thank you" will do..i've got a cold,

and you don't want to catch it.'

'What did you bring me?' she asked eagerly.

'Oh, just a little something I found under a bush out on the

road. It's a little wet and muddy, but you can dry it out and brush it

off, I suppose. It's not much, but I thought you might like it - ju'st a

little.' Talen was underplaying it for all he was worth.

'Could I see it, please?' she begged.

'Oh, I suppose so.' He reached inside his doublet,

took out a rather bedraggled grey kitten and sat it on the floor in front

of her. The kitten had mackerel stripes, a spiky tail, large ears and an

intently curious look in its blue eyes. It took a tentative step toward

its new mistress. Danae squealed with delight, picked up the kitten and

hugged it to her cheek. "I love it!!' she exclaimed.

'There go the draperies,' Mirtai' said with resignation. 'Kittens always

want to climb the drapes.'

Talen skilfully fended off Sparhawk's exuberant little

daughter. 'The cold, Danae,' the boy warned. 'i've got a cold, remember?'

Sparhawk was certain that his daughter would grow more skilled with the

passage of time and that it wouldn't be very long until Talen would no

longer be able to evade her affection. The kitten had been no more than a

gesture, Sparhawk was certain some spur-of-the-moment impulse to which

Talen had given no thought whatsoever. It rather effectively sealed the

young man's fate, however. A few days before, Sparhawk had idly wondered

where he had made the mistake that had permanently attached his wife's

affection to him. He realised that this scruffy-looking kitten was Talen's

mistake - or at least one of them. Sparhawk mentally shrugged. Talen would

make an adequate son-in-law - once Danae had trained him. 'is it all

right, your Majesty?' Talen was asking the queen. 'For her to have the

kitten, I mean?'

'isn't it just a little late tO be asking that question, Talen?' Ehlana

replied.

'Oh, I don't know,' he said impudently. "I thought

I'd timed it just about right.'

Ehlana looked at her daughter, who was

snuggling the kitten against her face. All cats are born opportunists. The

kitten patted the little girl's cheek with one soft paw and then nuzzled.

Kittens are expert nuzzlers. 'How can I say no after you've already given

it to her, Talen?'

"It would be a little difficult, wouldn't it, your Majesty?' The boy

sniffed loudly.

Mirtai rose to her feet, put her dagger

away and crossed the room to Talen. She reached out her hand, and he

flinched away. 'Oh, stop that,' she told him. She laid her hand on his

forehead. 'You've got a fever.'

"I didn't get it on purpose.'

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

'We should sweat him first,' the giantess said. 'i'll take him to the

bathhouse and steam him for a while.' She took Talen's arm, firmly.

'You're not going into the bathhouse with me!' he protested, his face

suddenly aflame.

'Be quiet,' she commanded. 'Send word to the cooks,

Eh'lana. Have them stir up a mustard plaster and boil up some chicken

soup. When I bring him back from the bathhouse, we'll put the mustard

plaster on his chest, pop him into bed and spoon soup into him.'

'Are' you going to just stand there and let them do this to me, Sparhawk?'

talen aPPealed.

'i'd like to help you, my friend,' Sparhawk replied, 'but I've

got my own health to consider too, you know.'

"I wish I was dead,' Talen groaned as Mirtai pulled him from the room.

Stragen and Ulath arrived from Emsat a few days later and were immediately

escorted to the royal aPartment. 'You're getting fat, Sparhawk,' Ulath

said bluntly, removing his ogre-horned helmet. 'i've put on a few pounds,'

Sparhawk conceded. 'Soft living,' Ulath grunted disapprovingly. 'How's

Wargun?' Ehlana asked the huge blond Thalesian. 'His mind's gone,' Ulath

replied sadly. 'They've got him locked up in the west wing of the palace.

He spends most of his time raving.' Ehlana sighed. "I always rather liked

him - when he was sober.' "I doubt that you'll feel the same way about his

son, your Majesty,' Stragen told her dryly. Like Platime, Stragen was a

thief, but he had much better manners. 'i've never met him,' Ehlana said.

"You might consider adding that to your next prayer of thanksgiving, your

Majesty. His name's Avin - a short and insignificant name for a short and

insignificant fellow. He doesn't show very much promise.' 'is he really

that bad?' Ehlana asked' Ulath. 'Avin Wargunsson? Stragen's being

generous. Avin's a little man who spends all his time hrying to make sure

that people don't overlook him. When he found out that I was coming here,

he called me to the palace and gave me a royal communication to bring to

you. He spent two hours trying to impress me.'

'Were you impressed?'

'Not particularly, no.' Ulath reached inside his surcoat and drew out a

folded and sealed sheet of parchment.

'What does it say?' she asked.

"I wouldn't know. I don't read other people's mail. My guess is that it's a

serious discussion of the weather. Avin Wargunsson's desperately afraid

that people might forget about him, so every traveller who leaves Emsat is

loaded down with royal greetings.'

'How was the trip?' Sparhawk asked them.

"I can't really say that I'd recommend sea travel 'at this time of

year,' Stragen replied. His icy )blue eyes hardened. "I want to have a

talk with Platime. Ulath and I were set upon by some brigands in the

mountains between here and Cardos. Bandits are supposed to know better

than that.'

'They aren't professionals,' Sparhawk told him. 'Platime knows

about them, and he's going to take steps. Were there any problems?'

'Not for us,' Ulath shrugged. 'The amateurs out there didn't have a very

good day, though. We left five of them in a ditch, and then the rest all

remembered an important engagement somewhere else.' He went to the door and

looked out into the hall. Then he closed the door and looked around,

his eyes wary. 'Are there any servants or people like that in any of your

rooms here, Sparhawk?' he asked. 'Mirtai and our daughter is all.' 'That's

all right. I think we can trust them. Komier sent me to let you know that

Avin Wargunsson's been

in contact with Count Gerrich down in Lamorkand. Gerrich's taking a run at

King Friedahl's throne, and Avin's not quite bright. He doesn't know

enough to stay out of the internal squabbles in Lamorkand. Komier thinks

there might just possibly be some sort of secret arrangement between them.

Patriarch Bergsten's taking the same message to Chyrellos.' 'Count

Gerrich's going to start to irritate Dolmant if he doesn't watch what he's

doing,' Ehlana said. 'He's trying to make alliances every time he turns

around, and he knows that's a violation oF the rules. Lamork civil wars

aren't supposed to involve other kingdoms.' 'That's an actual rule?'

Stragen asked her incredulously. 'Of course. It's been in place for a

thousand years. If the Lamork barons were free to form alliances with

nobles in other kingdoms, they'd plunge the continent into war every ten

years. That used to happen until the Church stepped in and told them to

stop.' 'And you thought our society had peculiar rules,' Stragen laughed

to Platime. 'This is entirely different, Milord Stragen,' Ehlana told him

in a lofty tone. 'Our peculiarities are matters of state policy. Yours are

simply good 'common sense. There's a world of difference.' 'So I gather.'

Sparhawk was looking at all three of them when it happened, so there was

no doubt that when he felt that peculiar chill and caught that faint

flicker of darkness at the very outer edge of his vision, they did as

well. 'Sparhawk!' Ehlana cried in alarm. "Yes,' he replied. "I know. I saw

it too.' Stragen had half-drawn his rapier, his hand moving with cat-like

speed. 'What is it?' he demanded, looking around the room. 'An

impossibility,' Ehlana said flatly. The look she gave her husband was a

little less certain, however. 'isn't it, Sparhawk?' her voice trembled

slightly. "I certainly thought so,' he replied. 'This isn't the time to be

cryptic,' Stragen said. Then they all relaxed as the chill and the shadow

passed. Ulath looked speculatively at Sparhawk. 'Was that what I thought

it was?' he asked. 'So it seems.' 'Will someone please tell me what's

going on here?' Stragen demanded. 'Do you remember that cloud that

followed us up in Pelosia?' Ulath said. 'Of course. But that was Azash,

wasn't it?' 'No. We thought so, but Aphrael told us that we were wrong.

That was after you came back here, so you probably didn't hear about it.

That shadow we just saw was the Troll-Gods. They're inside the Bhelliom.'

'inside?' 'They needed a place to hide after they'd lost a few arguments

with the Younger Gods of Styricum.' Stragen looked at Sparhawk. "I thought

you told me that you'd thrown Bhelliom into the sea.' 'We did.' 'And the

Troll-Gods can't get out of it?' 'That's what we were led to believe.'

'You should have found a deeper ocean.' 'There aren't any deeper ones.'

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

)logical, Sparhawk,' Ulath said. 'That box was lined with gold, and

Aphrael told us that the gold would keep Bhelliom from getting out on its

own. Since the Troll-Gods can't get out of Bhelliom, they were down there

too. Somebody's found that box.'

'i've heard that the people who dive for pearls can go down quite deep,'

Stragen said. 'Not that deep,' Sparhawk said. 'Besides, there's something

wrong.' 'Are you just now realising that?' Stragen asked him. 'That's not

what I mean. When we were up in Pelosia, you could all see that cloud.'

'Oh, yes,' Ulath said fervently. 'But before that - when it was just a

shadow - only Ehlana and I could see it, and that was because we were

wearing the rings. This was definitely a shadow and not a cloud, wasn't

it?' 'Yes,' Stragen admitted. 'Then how is it that you and Ulath could see

it too? Stragen spread his hands helplessly. 'There's something else too,'

Sparhawk added. 'The night I came home from Lamorkand, I felt something in

the street watching me - several somethings. They weren't Elene or Styric,

and I don't think they were human. That shadow that just passed through

here felt exactly the same. ' "I wish there was some way we could talk

with Sephrenia,' Ulath muttered. Sparhawk was fairly certain that there

was a way, but he was not free to reveal it to any of them. 'Do' we tell

anybody else about this?' Stragen asked. 'Let's not start a panic until we

find out some more about it,' Sparhawk decided. 'Right,"Stragen agreed.

'There's always plenty of time for panic later - plenty of reason too, I

think.' The weather cleared over the next few days, and that fact alone

lifted spirits in the palace. Sparhawk spent some time closeted with

Platime and Stragen, and then the two thieves sent men into Lamorkand to

investigate the situation there. 'That's what I should have done in the

first place,' Sparhawk said, 'but Sarathi wouldn't give me the chance. Our

revered Archprelate has a few blind spots. He can't seem to get it through

his head that official investigators aren't going to ever really get to

the bottom of things.' 'Typical aristocratic ineptitude,' Stragen drawled.

"It's one of the things that makes life easier for people like Platime and

me.' Sparhawk didn't argue with him about that. 'just tell your men to be

careful,' he cautioned them. 'Lamorks tend to try to solve all their

problems with daggers, and dead spion don't bring home very much useful

infornation.'

'Astonishing insight there, old boy,' Stragen said, his rich

voice dripping with irony. "It's absolutely amazing that Platime and I

never thought of that.'

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

'We saw that too, didn't we, Platime?' Platime

grunted. 'Tell Ehlana that I'm going to be away from the palace for a few

days, Sparhawk.'

'Where are you going?'

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

'All right, but keep in touch.'

'You're being obvious again, Sparhawk.' The fat man scratched his paunch. 'i'll

talk with Talen. He'll know how to get in touch with me if the queen

really needs me for something.' He groaned as he hauled himself to his

feet. 'i'm going to have to lose some weight,' he said half to himself.

Then he waddled to the door with that peculiarly spraddle-legged gait of

the grossly obese. 'He's in a charming humour today,' Sparhawk noted.

'He's got a lot on his mind just now,' Stragen shrugged. 'How

well-connected are you in the palace at Emsat, Stragen?'

"I have some contacts there. What do you need?'

'i'd like to put some stumbling blocks in the way of this accommodation

between Avin and Count Gerich. Gerich's beginning to get a little too much

influence in northern Eosia. Maybe you ought to get word to Meland in Acie

as well. Gerrich's making alliances in Pelosia and Thalesia already. It

doesn't seem reasonable that he'd overlook Deira, and Deira's a little

chaotic right now. Ask Meland to keep his eyes open.'

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

'There are some things going on in Lamorkand that I don't understand,

Stragen, and I don't want Gerrich to get too far ahead of me while I'm

trying to sort them out.'

'That makes sense - I suppose.'

Khalad came to his feet with his eyes slightly unfocused and with a thin

dribble of blood coming out of his nose. 'You see? You over-extended

again,' Mirtai told him. 'How' did you do that?' Sparhawk's squire asked

her. 'i'll show you. Kalten, come here,'

'Not me,' the blond Pandion refused, backing away.

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

'isn't that what you told Khalad before you bounced him off the

flagstones?'

'You might as well do as I tell you, Kalten,' she said.

'You'll wind up doing it in the end anyway, and it won't be nearly as

painful for you if you don't argue with me. Take out your sword and stab

me in the heart with it.'

"I don't want to hurt you, Mirtai.'

'you? Hurt me?' )Her laugh was sardonic.

'you don't have to be insulting about it,'

he said in an injured tone, drawing his sword. It had 'all begun when

Mirtai had passed through the palace courtyard while Kalten was giving

Khalad some instruction in swordsmanship. She had made a couple of highly

unflattering comments. One thing had led to another, and the end result

had been this impromptu training session, during which Kalten and Khalad

learned humility, if nothing else. 'Stab me through the heart, Kalten,'

Mirtai said again. In Kalten's defence it should be noted in passing that

he really did try. He made a great deal of noise when he came down on his

back on the flagstones. 'He made the same mistake you did,' Mirtai pointed

out to Khalad. 'He straightened his arm too much. A straight arm is a

locked arm. Always keep your elbow slightly bent.'

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

'There are a lot of Elenes, I suppose,' she shrugged. "It shouldn't be all

that hard to replace you. The thing that makes me curious is why you all

feel that it's necessary to stick your sword all the way through somebody.

If you haven't hit the heart with the first six inches of the blade,

another yard or so of steel going through' the same hole won't make much

difference, will it?'

'Maybe it's because it looks dramatic,' Khalad said. 'You kill people

for show? ThaCs contemptible, and it's the sort of thinking that fills

graveyards. Always keep your blade free so that you're ready for your next

enemy. People fold up when you run swords through them, and then you have

to kick the body off the blade before you can use it again.'

'I'll try to remember that.'

"I hope so. I rather like you, and I hate burying

friends.' She bent, professionally peeled Kalten's eyelid back and glanced

at his glazed eyeball. 'You'd better throw a bucket of water on our friend

here,' she suggested. 'He hasn't learned how to fall yet. We'll go into

that next time.'

'Next time?'

'Of course. If you're going to learn how to do this, you'd better learn

how to do it right.' She gave Sparhawk a challenging look. 'Would you like

to try?' she asked him. 'Ah - no, Mirtai, not right now. Thanks all the

same, though.' She went on into the palace, looking just slightly pleased

with herself. "you know', I don't think I really want to be a knight after

all, Sparhawk,' Talen said from nearby. "It looks awfully painful.'

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

"yes. I saw them blundering around out in the streets. I had to go visit

Platime in the cellar.'

'Oh?'

'He picked up something he thought you ought to be

aware of. You know those unauthorised bandits in the hills near Cardos?'

'Not personally, no.'

'Funny, Sparhawk. Very funny. Platime's found out

that somebody we know is sort of directing their activities. '

'Oh? Who's that?'

'Can you believe that it's Krager? You should have killed him when

you had the chance, Sparhawk.'

,Chapter 3

The fog drifted in from the river not long after the sun went down that

evening. The nights in Cimmura were always foggy in the spring when it

wasn't raining. Sparhawk, Stragen 'and Talen left the palace wearing plain

clothing and heavy traveller's cloaks and rode to the southeast quarter of

town. 'You don't necessarily have to tell your wife I said this,

Sparhawk,' Stragen noted, looking around with distaste, 'but her capital's

one of the least attractive cities in the world. You've got a truly

miserable climate here.'

'It's not so bad in the summer-time,' Sparhawk

replied a little defensively.

'I missed last summer,' the blond thief said. 'I took a short nap one

afternoon and slept right 'through it. Where are we going?'

 'We want to see Platime.'

'As I recall, his cellar's near the west gate of the city. You're taking us

in the wrong direction.'

'We have to go to a certain inn first.' Sparhawk looked back over his

shoulder. 'Are we being followed, Talen?' he asked.

'Naturally. '

Sparhawk grunted. 'That's more or less what I expected.' They rode on with

the thick mist swirling around the legs of their horses and making the

fronts of the nearby houses dim and hazy-looking. They reached the inn on

Rose Street, and a surly-appearing porter admitted them to the inn yard

and closed the gate behind them. 'Anything you find out about this place

isn't for general dissemination,' Sparhawk told Talen and Stragen as he

dismounted. He handed Faran's reins to the porter. 'You know about this

horse, don't you, brother?' he warned the man.

'He's a legend, Sparhawk,'

the porter replied. 'The things you wanted are in the room at the top of

the stairs.'

'How's the crowd in' the tavern tonight?'

'Loud, smelly and mostly drunk.'

'There's nothing new about that. What I meant, though, was

how many of them are there?'

'Fifteen or twenty. There are three of our

men in there who know what to do.'

'Good. Thank you, Sir Knight.'

'You're welcome, Sir knight.' Sparhawk led Talen and Stragen up the stairs.

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

'The Pandions own it,' Talen told him. 'They come here when they don't want

to attract attention.'

'There's a little more to it than that,' Sparhawk told

him. He opened the door at the top oF the stairs, and the three of them

entered. Stragen looked at the workmen's smocks hanging on pegs near the

door. 'We're going to resort to subterfuge, I see.'

'It's fairly standard practice,' Sparhawk shrugged.

'Lets get changed. I'd sort of like

to get back to the palace before my wife sends out search parties.' The

smocks were of blue canvas, worn and patched and with a few

artfully-placed smudges on them. There were woollen leggings as well and

thick-soled workmen's boots. The caps were baggy affairs, designed more to

keep off weather than they were for appearance. 'You're going to have to

leave that here,' Sparhawk said, pointing at Stragen's rapier. 'It's a

little obvious.' The big Pandion tucked a heavy dagger under his belt.

'You know that there are people watching the gate of the inn, don't you,

Sparhawk?' talen said.

'I hope they enjoy their evening. We aren't going

out through the gate, though.'.' Sparhawk led them back down to the inn

yard, crossed to a narrow door in a side wall and opened it. The warm air

that boiled out through the doorway smelled of stale beer .and unwashed

bodies. The three of them went inside and closed the door behind them.

They seemed to be in a small storeroom. The straw on the floor was mouldy.

'Where are we?' Talen whisPered. 'In a tavern,' Sparhawk replied softly.

'There's going to be a fight in just a few minutes. We'll slip out into

the main room during the confusion.' He went to the curtained doorway

leading out into the tavern and twitched the curtain several times. 'All

right,' he whispered. 'We'll mingle with the crowd during the fight, and

after a while, we'll leave. Behave as if you're slightly drunk, but don't

over-do it.'

'i'm impressed,' Stragen said.

'i'm more than impressed,'

Talen added. 'Not even Platime knows that there's more than one way out of

that inn.' The fight began not long after that. It was noisy, involving a

great deal of shouting and pushing and finally a few blows. Two totally

uninvolved and evidently innocent by-standers were knocked senseless

during the course of the altercation. Sparhawk and his friends smoothly

insinuated themselves into the crowd, and after ten minutes or so, they

reeled out through the door. 'A little unprofessional,' Stragen sniffed.

'A staged fight shouldn't involve the spectators that way.'

'It should when the spectators might be looking for something other than a

few tankards of ale,' Sparhawk disagreed. 'The two who fell asleep weren't

regular patrons in the tavern. They might have been completely innocent,

but then again, they might not. This way, we don't have to worry about them

trailing along behind US.'

'There's more to being a Pandion Knight than I thought,' Talen noted. 'I

may like it after all.'

They walked through the foggy streets towards the rundown quarter near the

west gate, a maze of interconnecting lanes and unpaved alleys. They

entered one of those alleys and went through it to a flight of muddy stone

stairs leading down. A thick-bodied man lounged against the stone wall

beside the stairs. 'You're late,' he said to Talen in a flat voice.

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

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

The cellar hadn't changed. It was still smoky and dim, and it was filled

with a babble of coarse voices coming from the thieves,' whores and

cutthroats who lived there. 'I don't know how Platime can stand this

place,' Stragen shuddered. Platime sat enthroned on a large chair on the

other side of a smoky fire burning in an open pit. He heaved himself to

his feet when he saw Sparhawk. 'Where have you been?' he bellowed in a

thunderous voice. 'Making sure that we weren't followed,' Sparhawk

replied. The fat man grunted. 'He's back here,' he said; leading them

toward the rear of the cellar. 'He's very interested in his health at the

moment, so I'm keeping him more or less out of sight.' He pushed his way

into a small, closet-like chamber where a man sat on a stool nursing a

tankard of watery beer. The man was a small,' nervous-looking fellow with

thinning hair and a cringing manner. 'This is Polk,' Platime said. 'He's a

sneak-thief. I sent him to Cardos to have a look around and to see what he

could find out about some people we're interested in. Tell him what you

found out, Polk.'

'Well sir, good masters,' the weedy man began, 'it tuk

me a goodly while to git close to them fellers, I'll tell the world, but I

made myself useful, an' they finally sort of assepted me. They was all

sorts of rigimarole I had to go thee - swearin' oaths an' gettin'

blindFolded the first couple times they tuk me to their camp an all, but

after a while, they kinda let down then guard, an' I come an' went putty

much as I pleased. Like Platime prob'ly tole you, we figgered a't first

they wuz gist a buncha amachooms what didn't know nothin' about the way

things is supposed to be did. We sees that sorta thing all the time, don't

we, Platime? Them's the kind as gits thenselves caught an' hung.'

'And good riddance to them,' Platime growled.

'Well sir,' Polk continued, 'like

I say, me'n Platime we figgered as how them fellers in the mountings was

gist a buncha them amachoors I tole you about - fellers what'd took up

cuttin' th'oats fer fun an' profit, don't y'know. As she turns out,

howsomever, they was more'n that. Then leaders was six er seven noblemen

as was real disappointed 'bout the way the big plans of the Primate Annias

fell on then faces, an' they was powerful unhappy 'bout what the queen had

writ down on the warrants she put out fer 'em - nobles not bein'

accustomed to bein' called them sorta names. 'Well sir, t' short it up

some, these here noblemen all run off into the mountings 'bout one jump

ahead of the hangman, an' they go t' robbin' travellers t' make ends meet

an' spent the resta then time thinkin' up nasty names t' call the queen.'

'Get to the point, Polk,' Platime told him wearily.

'Yessir, I wuz gist about to. Well now, it went on like that fer a spell,

an' then this here Krager feller, he come into camp, an' some of them there

nobles, they knowed him. He tole 'em as how he knowed some furriners as'd

help 'em out iffn they'd raise enough fuss here 'in Elenia t' keep the

queen an' her folks from gittin' too curious 'bout some stuff what's goin'

on off in Lamorkand. This here Krager feller, he sez as how this stuff in

Lamorkand might just could be a way fer 'em all t' change the way then

forchunes bin goin' since ol' Annias got hisself kilt. Well, sir, them

dukes an' earls an' such got real innerested at that point, an' they tole

us all t' go talk t' the local peasants an' t' start runnin' down the

tax-collectors an' t' say as how it ain't natural fer no country t' be run

by no woman an' the like. We wuz'supposed t' stir up them peasants an' t'

git 'em t' talkin' among themselves ,'bout how the people oughtta all git

together an' thaw the queen out an' the like, an' then them nobles, they

caught a few tax collectors an' hung 'em an' give the money back t' the

folks it'd been stole from in the first place, an' them peasants, they wuz

all happy as pigs in mud 'bout that.' Polk scratched at his head. 'Well

sir, I guess I've said m'piece now. At's the way she stands in the

mountings now. This here Krager feller, he's got some money with 'im, an'

he's mighty free with it, so them nobles what's bin on short rations is

gettin' downright fond of 'im.

'Polk,' Sparhawk told him, 'you're a treasure.' he gave the

man several coins, and then' he and his friends left the cubicle. 'What

are we going to do about it, Sparhawk?' Platime asked.

'We're going to take steps,' Sparhawk replied. 'How many of these

'liberators' are there?'

'A hundred or so.

'i'll need a couple dozen of your men who know the country.'

Platime nodded.

'Are you going to bring in the army?'

'I don't think so. I think a troop of Pandions might make a more lasting

impression on people who think they have grievances against our queen,

don't you?'

'isn't that just a bit extreme?' Stragen asked him.

'I want to make a statement, Stragen. I want everybody in Elenia to know

just how much I disapprove of people who start plotting against my wife. I

don't want to have to do it again, so I'm going to do it right the first

time.'

'He didn't actually talk like that, did he, Sparhawk?' Ehlana asked

incredulously. 'That's fairly close,' Sparhawk told her. 'Stragen's got a

very good ear for dialect.'

'It's almost hypnotic, isn't it?' she

marvelled, 'and it goes on and on and on.' She suddenly grinned impishly.

'Write down 'happy as pigs in mud', Lenda. I may want to find a way to

work that into some official communication. '

'As you wish, your Majesty.' Lenda's tone was neutral, but Sparhawk knew

that the old courtier disapproved. 'What are we going to do about this?'

the queen asked.  'Sparhawk said that he was going to take steps, your

Majesty,' Talen told her. 'You might not want to know too many details.'

'Sparhawk and I don't keep secrets from each other, Talen.'  'i'm not

talking about secrets, your Majesty,' the boy replied innocently. 'i'm just

talking about boring unimportant little things you shouldn't really waste

your time on.' He made it sound very plausible, but Ehlana looked more than

a little suspicious.

'Don't embarrass me, Sparhawk' she warned.

'Of course not,' he replied blandly.

The campaign was brief. Since Polk knew the precise location of the camp

of the dissidents, and Platime's men knew all the other hiding places in

the surrounding mountains, there was no real place for the bandits to run,

and they were certainly no match for the thirty black-armoured Pandions

Sparhawk, Kalten and Ulath led against them. The surviving nobles were

held for the queen's justice and the rest of the outlaws were turned over

to the local sheriff for disposition. 'Well, my Lord of Bolton,' Sparhawk

said to an) earl crouched before him on a log, with a blood-stained

bandage around his head and his hands bound behind him. 'Things didn't

turn out so well, did they?'

'Curse you, Sparhawk.' Bolton' spat,

squinting uP against the afternoon's brightness. 'How did you find out

where we were?'

'My dear Bolton,' Sparhawk laughed, 'you didn't really

think you could hide from my wife, did you? She takes a very personal

interest in her kingdom. She knows every tree, every town and village and

all of the peasants. It's even rumoured that she knows most of the deer by

their first names.'

'Why didn't you come after us earlier then?' Bolton

sneered. The queen was busy. She finally found the time to make some

decisions about you and your friends. I don't imagine you'll care much for

these decisions, old boy. What I'm really interested in is any information

you might have about Krager. He and I haven't seen each other for quite

some time, and I find myself yearning for his company again.' Bolton's

eyes grew frightened. 'You won't get anything from me, Sparhawk,' he

blustered. 'How much would you care to wager on that?' Kalten asked him.

'You'd save yourself a great deal of unpleasantness if you told Sparhawk

what he wants to know, and Krager's not so loveable that you'd really want

to go through that in order to protect him.'

'just talk, Bolton,' Sparhawk insisted implacably.

'I - I can't!' Bolton's sneering bravado crumbled.

His face turned deathly pale, and he began to tremble violently.

'Sparhawk. I beg of you. It means my life if I say anything.'

'Your life isn't worth very much right now anyway,'                Ulath told him

bluntly. 'One way or another, you are going to talk.'

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

'i'm not asking, Bolton.' Sparhawk's face was bleak.

Then, without any warning or reason, a deathly

chill suddenly enveloped the woods, and the midafternoon sun darkened.

Sparhawk glanced upward. The sky was very blue, but the sun appeared wan

and sickly. Bolton screamed. An inky cloud seemed to spring from the

surrounding trees, coalescing around the shrieking Prisoner. Sparhawk

jumped back with a startled oath, his hand going to his sword-hilt.

Bolton's voice had risen to a screech, and there were horrible sounds

coming from the impenetrable darkness surrounding him - sounds of breaking

bones and tearing flesh. The shrieking broke off quite suddenly, but the

sounds continued for several eternal-seeming minutes. Then, as quickly as

it had come, the cloud vanished. Sparhawk recoiled in revulsion. His

prisoner had been torn to pieces. 'Good God!' Kalten gasPed. 'What

haPPened?'

'We both know, Kalten,' Sparhawk replied. 'We've seen it

before. Don't try to question any of the other prisoners. I'm almost

positive they won't be allowed to answer.'

There were five of them, Sparhawk, Ehlana, Kalten, Ulath and Stragen. They

had gathered in the royal apartments, and their mood was bleak. 'Was it

the same cloud?' Stragen asked intently.

'There were some differences,'

Sparhawk replied. 'It was more in the way it felt rather than anything I

could really pin down.'

'Why would the Troll-Gods be so interested in protecting Krager?' Ehlana

asked, her face puzzled.

'I don't think it's Krager they're protecting,' Sparhawk replied. 'I think

it has something to do with what's going on in Lamorkand.' He slammed his

fist down on the arm of his chair. 'I wish Sephrenia were here!' he burst

out with a sudden oath. 'All we're doing is groping in the dark.'

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

'I wouldn't even be opposed to astrology just now,' Sparhawk replied

sourly.

'All right.' The blond Thalesian thief rose to his feet and began to pace

up and down, his eyes thoughtful. first of all, we know that somehow the

Troll-Gods have got out of that box.'

'Actually, you haven't really proved that, Stragen,' ulath

disagreed. 'Not logically, anyway.' Stragen stopped pacing. 'He's right,

you know,' he admitted. 'We've been basing that conclusion on a guess. All

we can say with any logical certainty is that we've encountered something

that looks and feels like a manifestation of the Troll-Gods. Would you

accept that, Sir Ulath?'

 'I suppose I could go that far, Milord Stragen.'

'i'm so happy. Do we know of anything else that does the same sort of

things?'

'No,' Ulath replied, 'but that's not really relevant. We don't

know about everything. There could be dozens of things we don't know about

that take the form of shadows or clouds, tear people all to pieces and

give humans a chilly feeling when they're around.'

'i'm not sure that logic is really getting us anywhere, Stragen conceded.

'There's nothing wrong with your logic, Stragen,' Ehlana told him. 'Your

major premise is faulty, that's all.'  'You too, your Majesty?' Kalten

groaned. 'I thought there was at least one other person in the room who

relied on common sense rather than all this tedious logic.'  'All right

then, Sir Kalten,' she said tartly, 'what does your common sense tell you?'

'Well, first off, it tells me that you're all going at the problem

backwards. The question we should be asking is what makes Krager so special

that something supernatural would go out of its way to protect him? Does it

really matter what the supernatural thing is at the moment?'

 'He might have something there, you know?' Ulath said. 'Krager's a

cockroach basically. His only real reason for existing is to be stepped

on.'

 'i'm not so sure,' Ehlana disagreed. 'Krager worked for Martel, and Martel

worked for Annias.'

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

She waved that distinction aside.

'Bolton and the others were all allied to Annias, and Krager used to carry

messages between Annias and Martel. Bolton and his cohorts would almost

certainly have known Krager. Poke's story more or less confirms that.

That's what made Krager important in the first place.' She paused,

frowning. 'But what made him important after the renegades were all in

custody?'

 'Backtracking,' Ulath grunted. 'I beg your pardon?' The queen looked

baffled. 'This whatever-it-is didn't want us to be able to trace Krager

back to his present employer.'

 'Oh, that's obvious, Ulath,' Kalten snorted. 'His employer is Count

Gerrich. Polk told Sparhawk that there was somebody in Lamorkand who wanted

to keep us so busy here in Elenia that we wouldn't have time to take any

steps to put down all the turmoil over there. That has to be Gerrich.'

'You're just guessing, Kalten,' Ulath said. 'You could very well be right,

but it's still just a guess.'

'Do you see what I mean about logic?' Kalten demanded of them. 'What do you

want, Ulath? A signed confession from Gerrich himself?'

 'Do you have one handy? All I'm saying is that we ought to keep an open

mind. I don't think we should close any doors yet, that's all.' There was a

firm knock on the door, and it opened immediately afterward. Mirtai looked

in. 'Beveier and Tynian are here,' she announced. They're supposed to be in

Render,' Sparhawk said. 'What are they doing here?'

 'Why don't you ask them?' Mirtai suggested pointedly. 'They're right out

here in the corridor.' The two knights entered the room. Sir Bevier was a

slim, olive-skinned Arcian, and Sir Tynian a blond, burly Deiran. Both were

in full armour. 'How are things in Render?' Kalten asked them. 'Hot, dry,

dusty, hysterical,' Tynian replied. 'Render never changes. You know that.'

Bevier dropped to one knee before Ehlana. Despite the best efforts of his

friends, the young Cyrinic Knight was stil painfully formal. 'Your

Majesty,' he murmured respectfully. 'Oh, do stand up, my dear Bevier,' she

smiled at him.

'We're friends, so there's no need for that. Besides, you creak like a

rusty iron-works when you kneel.'

 'Overtrained, perhaps, your Majesty,' he admitted. 'What are you two doing

back here?' Sparhawk asked                         them. 'Carrying dispatches,' Tynian replied.

'Darrellon's running things down there, and he wants the other preceptors

kept abreast of things. We're also supposed to go on to Chyrellos and brief

the Archprelate.'

 'How's the campaign going?' Kalten asked them. 'Badly,' Tynian

shrugged.'The Rendorish rebels aren't really organised, so there aren't any

armies for us to meet. They hide amongst the population and come out at

night to set fires and assassinate priests. Then they run back into their

holes. We take reprisals the next day - burn vilages, slaughter herds of

sheep and the like. None of it really proves anything.'

 'Do they have any kind of a leader as yet?'Sparhawk asked. 'They're stil

discussing that,' Bevier said dryly. 'The discussions are quite spirited.

We usually find several dead candidates in the alleys every morning.'

'Sarathi blundered,' Tynian said. Bevier gasped. 'i'm not trying to offend

your religious sensibilities, my young friend,' Tynian said, but it's the

truth. Most of the clergymen he sent to Render were much more interested in

punishment than in reconciliation. We had a chance for real peace in

Render, and it fell aPart because Dolmant didn't send somebody down there

to keep a leash on the missionaries.' Tynian set his helmet on a table and

unbuckled his sword-belt. 'I even saw one silly ass in a cassock tearing

the veils off women in the street. After the crowd seized him, he tried to

order me to protect him. That's the kind of priests the church has been

sending to Render.'

 'What did you do?' Stragen asked him. 'For some reason I couldn't quite

hear what he was saying,' Tynian replied. 'All the noise the crowd was

making, more than likely.'

 'What did they do to him?' Kalten grinned. 'They hanged him. Quite a neat

job, actually.'

 'You didn't even go to his defence?' Bevier exclaimed. 'Our

instructions'were very explicit, Bevier. We were told to protect the clergy

against unprovoked attacks. That idiot violated the modesty of about a

dozen Rendorish women. That crowd had plenty of provocation. The silly ass

had it coming. If that crowd hadn't .hanged him, I probably would have.

That's what Darrellon wants us to suggest to Sarathi. He thinks the church

should pull all those fanatic missionaries out of Render until things quiet

down. Then he suggests that we send in a new batch - a slightly less

fervent one.' The Alcione Knight laid his sword down beside his helmet and

lowered himself into a chair. 'What's been happening here?' he asked. 'Why

don't the rest of you fill them in?' Sparhawk suggested. 'There's someone I

want to talk with for a few minutes.' He turned and quietly went back into

the royal apartment. The person he wanted to talk with was not some court

functionary, but rather his own daughter. He found her playing with her

kitten. After some thought, her Royal little Highness had decided to name

the small animal 'Mmrr', a sound which, when she uttered it, sounded so

much like the kitten's purr that Sparhawk usually couldn't tell for sure

which of them was making it. Princess Danae had many gifts. 'We need to

talk,' Sparhawk told her, closing the door behind him as he entered. 'What

is it now, Sparhawk?' she asked. 'Tynian and Bevier just arrived.'

 'Yes. I know.'

 'Are you playing with things again? Are you deliberately gathering all our

friends here?'

 'Of course I am, father.'

 'Would you mind telling me why?'

 'There's something we're going to need to do before long. I thought I'd

save some time by getting everybody here in advance.'

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

 'i'm not supposed to do that.'

 'You never pay any attention to any of the other rules.'

 'This is different, father. We're absolutely not supposed to talk about

the future. If you think about it for a moment, I'm sure you'll see why.

Ouch!' Mmrr had bitten her finger. Danae spoke sharply with the kitten a

series of little growls, a meow or two and concluding with a forgiving

purr. The kitten managed to look slightly ashamed of itself and proceeded

to lick the injured finger. 'Please don't talk in cat, Danae,' Sparhawk

said in a pained tone. 'if some chambermaid hears you, it'll take us both a

month to explain.'

 'Nobody's going to hear me, Sparhawk. You've got something else on your

mind, haven't you?'

 'I want to talk with Sephrenia. There are some things I don't understand,

and I need her help with them.'

 'i'll help you, father.' He shook his head. 'Your explanations of things

always leave me with more questions than I had when we started. Can you get

in touch with Sephrenia for me?'

She looked around. 'It probably wouldn't be a good idea here in the palace,

father,' she told him. 'It involves something that might be hard to explain

if someone overheard us.'

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

 'Well - sort of.' She picked up her kitten. 'Why don't you find some

excuse to take me out for a ride tomorrow morning? We'll go out of the city

and I can take care of things there. Tell mother that you want to give me a

riding lesson.'

 'You don't have a pony, Danae.' She gave him an angelic smile. 'My

goodness,' she said, 'that sort of means that you're going to have to give

me one, doesn't it?' He gave her a long, steady look. 'You were going to

give me a pony eventually anyway, weren't you, father?' She gave it a

moment's thought. 'A white one, Sparhawk,' she added. 'I definitely want a

white one.' Then she snuggled her kitten against her cheek, and they both

started to purr.

Sparhawk and his daughter rode out of Cimmura not long after breakfast the

following morning. The weather was blustery, and Mirtai had objected rather

vociferously until Princess Danae told her not to be so fussy. For some

reason, the word 'fussy' absolutely enraged the Tamul giantess. She stormed

away, swearing in her own language. It had taken Sparhawk hours to find a

white pony for his daughter, and he was quite convinced after he had that

it was the only white one in the whole town. When Danae greeted the stubby

little creature like an old friend, he began to have a number of

suspicions. Over the past couple of years, he and his daughter had

painfully hammered out a list of the things she wasn't supposed to do. The

process had begun rather abruptly in the palace garden one summer afternoon

when he had come around a box hedge to find a small swarm of fairies

pollinating flowers under Danae's supervision. Although she had probably

been right when she had asserted that fairies were really much better at it

than bees, he had firmly put his foot down. After a bit of thought this

time, however, he decided not to make an issue of his daughters obvious

connivance in obtaining a specific pony. He needed her help right now, and

she might point out with a certain amount of justification that to forbid

one form of what they had come to call 'tampering' while encouraging

another was inconsistent. 'is this going to involve anything spectacular?'

he asked her when they were several miles out of town. 'How do you mean,

spectacular?'

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

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

 'No, that's all right, Danae. What I'm getting at is would you be doing

anything that would startle travellers if we went out into this meadow a

ways and you did whatever it is there?'

 'They won't see a thing, father,' she assured him. 'i'll race you to that

tree out there.' She didn't even make a pretence of nudging her pony's

flanks, and despite Faran's best efforts, the pony beat him to the tree by

a good twenty yards. The big roan warhorse glowered suspiciously at the

short-legged pony when Sparhawk reined him in. 'You cheated,' Sparhawk

accused his daughter. 'Only a little.' She slid down from her pony and sat

cross-legged under the tree. She lifted her small face and sang in a

trilling, flute-like voice. Her song broke off, and for several moments she

sat blank-faced and absolutely immobile. She did not even appear to be

breathing, and Sparhawk had the chilling feeling that he was absolutely

alone, although she clearly sat not two yards away from him. 'What is it,

Sparhawk?' Danae's lips moved, but it was Sephrenia's voice that asked the

question, and when Danae opened her eyes, they had changed. Danae's eyes

were very dark, Sephrenia's were deep blue, almost lavender. 'I'Ve miss

you, little mother,' he told her kneeling and kissing the palms of his

daughter's hands. 'You called me from half-way round the world to tell me

that? I'm touched, but . . .'

 'it's something a little more, Sephrenia. We've been seeing that shadow

again - the cloud too.'

 'That's impossible.'

 'I sort of thought so myself, but we keep seeing them all the same. It's

different, though. It feels different for one thing, and this time it's not

just Ehlana and I who see it. Stragen and Ulath saw it too.'

 'you'd better tell me exactly what's been happening, Sparhawk.' He went

into greater detail about the shadow and then briefly described the

incident in the mountains near Cardos. 'Whatever this thing is,' he

concluded, 'it seems very intent on keeping us from finding out what's

going on in Lamorkand.'

 'is there some kind of trouble there?'

 'Count Gerrich is raising a rebellion.' He seems to think that the crown

might fit him. He's even going so far as to claim that Drychtnath's

returned. That's ridiculous, isn't it?' Her eyes grew distant. 'is this

shadow you've been seeing exactly the same as the one you and Ehlana saw

before?' she asked. 'It feels different somehow.'

 'Do you get that same sense that it has more than one consciousness in

it?'

 'That hasn't changed. It's a small group, but it's a group all the same,

and the cloud that tore the Earl of Bolton to pieces was definitely the

same. Did the Troll-Gods manage to escape from Bhelliom somehow?'

 'Let me think my way through it for a moment, Sparhawk,' she replied. She

considered it for a time. In a curious way she was impressing her own

appearance on Danae's face. 'I think we may have a problem, dear one,' she

said finally. 'I noticed that myself, little mother.'

 'Stop trying to be clever, Sparhawk. Do you remember the Dawn-men who came

out of that cloud up in Pelosia?' Sparhawk shuddered. 'i've been making a

special point of trying to forget that.'

 'Don't discount the possibility that the wild stories about Drychtnath may

have some basis in fact. The Troll-Gods can reach back in time and bring

creatures and people forward to where we are now. Drychtnath may very well

indeed have returned.' Sparhawk groaned. 'Then the Troll-Gods have managed

to escape, haven't they?'

 'I didn't say that, Sparhawk. just because the TrollGods did this once

doesn't mean that they're the only ones who know how. For all I know,

Aphrael could do it herself.' She paused. 'You could have asked her these

questions, you know.'

 'Possibly, but I don't think I could have asked her this one, because I

don't think she'd know the answer. She doesn't seem to be able to grasp the

concept of limitations for some reason.'

 'You've noticed,' she said dryly. 'Be nice. She's my daughter, after all.'

'She was my sister first, so I have a certain amount of seniority in the

matter. What is it that she wouldn't be able to answer?'

 'Could a Styric magician - or any other magician - be behind all this?

Could we be dealing with a human?'

 'No, Sparhawk, I don't think so. In forty thousand years there have only

been two Styric magicians who were able to reach back into time, and they

could only do it imperfectly. For all practical purposes what we're talking

about is beyond human capability.'

'that's what I wanted to find out for sure. We're dealing with Gods then?'

'I'm afraid so, Sparhawk, almost certainly.

CHAPTER 4

Preceptor Sparhawk':

It is our hope that this finds you and your family in good health. A matter

of some delicacy has arisen, and we find that your presence is required

here in Chyrellos. You are therefore commanded by the Church to proceed